26
" You'll need to prove your worth again. They'll need to see it. To believe I see it."
He cut her a look. "My worth is three times that of most respected men of the ton."
She shook her head. "I mean your value. As a marquess. As a man."
He went still. "Anyone who knows my tale can tell you that I haven't much value as either of those things. I lost it all a decade ago. Perhaps you hadn't heard?"
The words oozed from him, all condescension, and she knew the question was rhetorical, but she would not be cowed. "I have heard.." She lifted her chin to meet his gaze head-on. "And you are willing to let one foolish, childhood peccadillo cloud your image for the rest of eternity? And mine as well, now?"
He shifted, leaning toward her, all danger and threat. She held her own, refusing to sit back. To look away. "I lost it all. Hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth. On one card. It was colossal. A loss for the history books. And you call it a peccadillo?"
She swallowed. "Hundreds of thousands?"
"Give or take."
She resisted the urge to ask precisely how much was to be given or taken. "On one card?"
"One card."
"Perhaps not a peccadillo, then. But foolish, to be sure." She had no idea where the words came from, but they came nonetheless, and she knew that her choices were to brazen it through or show her fear. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
27
" You'll need to prove your worth again. They'll need to see it. To believe I see it."
He cut her a look. "My worth is three times that of most respected men of the ton."
She shook her head. "I mean your value. As a marquess. As a man."
He went still. "Anyone who knows my tale can tell you that I haven't much value as either of those things. I lost it all a decade ago. Perhaps you hadn't heard?"
The words oozed from him, all condescension, and she knew the question was rhetorical, but she would not be cowed. "I have heard." She lifted her chin to meet his gaze head-on. "And you are willing to let one foolish, childhood peccadillo cloud your image for the rest of eternity? And mine as well, now?"
He shifted, leaning toward her, all danger and threat. She held her own, refusing to sit back. To look away. "I lost it all. Hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth. On one card. It was colossal. A loss for the history books. And you call it a peccadillo?"
She swallowed. "Hundreds of thousands?"
"Give or take."
She resisted the urge to ask precisely how much was to be given or taken. "On one card?"
"One card."
"Perhaps not a peccadillo, then. But foolish, to be sure." She had no idea where the words came from, but they came nonetheless, and she knew that her choices were to brazen it through or show her fear. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
28
" He reached into her bag of chestnuts and popped one, whole, into his mouth. Instantly, his eyes went wide, and he sucked in a long breath. "Those are scalding!"
She should not have taken pleasure in his pain, but she did. "If you had asked for one before simply taking what you wanted, I would have warned you."
One of his brows rose. "Never ask. Take what you want, when you want it."
"Another rule of scoundrels?"
He dipped his head to acknowledge the quip. "It is part of the fun."
The words sizzled through her as the memory came- unbidden- of his tossing her over his shoulder on that first night... the night that had changed everything.
She raised her chin, refusing to be embarrassed. "Yes, I discovered as much last night at your club when I won at the wheel." His brows shot up, and Penelope was rather proud of herself. A direct hit. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
33
" Pippa is virtually engaged to Lord Castleton; we expect he'll propose within a matter of days of her return to London."
His hand stilled for a moment before continuing its long, slow slide. "How did she and Castleton come to know each other?"
She thought of the plain, uninspiring earl. "The same way it happens with anyone, really. Balls, dinners, dancing. He seems nice enough, but... I do not care for the idea of him with Pippa."
"Why not?"
"Some would say she's peculiar, but she's not. She's simply bookish, loves the sciences. She is fascinated by how things work. He doesn't seem to be able to keep up with her. But, honestly? I don't think she gives a fig one way or another about whether or whom she marries. As long as he has a library and a few dogs, she'll make a happiness of sorts for herself. I only wish she could find someone more... well, I hate to sound cruel, but... intelligent. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
34
" Not that we expect anything less of Lord Bourne- husband or not, he remains a rogue! And that which we call a rogue, by any other name would scandalize as sweet!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Penelope did roll her eyes at that, looking to Michael, who looked... pleased. "You're complimented?"
He turned innocent eyes on her. "Should I not be?"
"Well," Philippa added thoughtfully, "anything Shakespearean must be at least a vague compliment."
"Precisely," Michael said, gifting Pippa with a smile that made Penelope more than a little envious of her younger sister. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
36
" May I help you?"
She did not look up. "You've miscalculated column F."
What in hell?
"I have not."
She pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, entirely focused on the ledger. "You have. The proper calculation should be one hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred forty-six and seventeen pence."
Impossible.
He stood, moving to look over her shoulder. "That's what it says."
She shook her head, placing one long finger on the tabulation line. He noticed the tip of the finger was slightly crooked, leaning a touch to the right. "You've written one hundred twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-five and seventeen pence. You-" She looked up at him, eyes owl-like behind her spectacles as she took in his height and his bare chest. "You- you've lost a quid."
He bent over her, deliberately crowding her and enjoying the way her breath caught at his nearness. "That is a six."
She cleared her throat and looked again. "Oh." She leaned in and checked the number again. "I suppose you've lost your handwriting skills, instead," she said dryly, and he chuckled as she reached for a pencil and repaired the number.
He watched, riveted to the callus at the tip of her second finger, before he whispered low in her ear, "Are you an accounting fairy sent in the dead of night to check my figures?"
She leaned away from the whisper and and turned to look at him. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she said, matter-of-factly, and he had an intense desire to take her spectacles from her face and kiss her senseless, just to see what this odd young woman would say. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
37
" Before she could think of what to say, he grasped the axe and turned toward her, his face a mass of angles in the lanternlight. "Step back."
This was a man who expected to be heeded. He did not wait to see if she followed his direction before he lifted the axe high above his head. She pressed herself into the corner of the dark room as he attacked the furniture with a vengeance, her surprise making her unable to resist watching him.
He was built beautifully.
Like a glorious Roman statue, all strong, lean muscles outlined by the crisp linen of his shirtsleeves when he lifted the tool overhead, his hands sliding purposefully along the haft, fingers grasping tightly as he brought the steel blade down into the age-old oak with a mighty thwack, sending a splinter of oak flying across the kitchen, landing atop the long-unused stove.
He splayed one long-fingered hand flat on the table, gripping the axe once more to work the blade out of the wood. He turned his head as he stood back, making sure she was out of the way of any potential projectiles- a movement she could not help but find comforting- before confronting the furniture and taking his next swing with a mighty heave.
The blade sliced into the oak, but the table held.
He shook his head and yanked the axe out once more, this time aiming for one of the remaining table legs.
Thwack!
Penelope's eyes went wide as the lanternlight caught the way his wool trousers wrapped tightly around his massive thighs. She should not notice... should not be paying attention to such obvious... maleness.
But she'd never seen legs like his.
Thwack!
Never imagined they could be so... compelling.
Thwack!
Could not help it.
Thwack! "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
39
" She lifted her lantern high, and he allowed her to free him from the shadows, casting his face in warm, golden light. He had aged marvelously, grown into his long limbs and angled face. Penelope had always imagined that he'd become handsome, but he was more than handsome now... he was nearly beautiful.
If not for the darkness that lingered despite the glow of the lantern- something dangerous in the set of his jaw, in the tightness of his brow, in eyes that seemed to have forgotten joy, in lips that seemed to have lost their ability to smile.
He'd had a dimple as a child, one that showed itself often and was almost always the precursor to adventure. She searched his left cheek, looking for that telltale indentation. Did not find it.
Indeed, as much as Penelope searched this new, hard face, she could not seem to find the boy she'd once known. If not for the eyes, she would not have believed it was him at all.
"How sad," she whispered to herself.
He heard it. "What?"
She shook her head, meeting his gaze, the only thing familiar about him. "He's gone."
"Who?"
"My friend."
She hadn't thought it possible, but his features hardened even more, growing more stark, more dangerous, in the shadows. For one fleeting moment, she thought perhaps she had pushed him too far. He remained still, watching her with that dark gaze that seemed to see everything. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
40
" Why didn't you return it to Michael?"
Needham sighed, throwing down his napkin and rising from the table, through with the conversation. "He was careless with it in the first place," he said simply before quitting the room, Lady Needham fast on his heels.
It might have been sixteen years since she'd seen him last, but a part of her still considered Michael Lawler, Marquess of Bourne, a dear friend, and she did not like the way her father spoke of him, as though he were of little value and less import.
But then, she really didn't know Michael- not the man. When she allowed herself to think of him, more often than she'd like to admit, he was not a twenty-one-year-old who had lost everything in a silly game of chance.
No, in her thoughts, Michael remained her childhood friend- the first she'd ever made- twelve years old, leading her across the muddy landscape on one adventure or another, laughing at inopportune moments until she could not resist laughing with him, muddying his knees in the damp fields that stretched between their houses and throwing pebbles at her window on summer mornings before he headed off to fish in the lake that straddled Needham and Bourne lands.
She supposed the lake was part of her dowry, now.
Michael would have to ask permission to fish there.
He would have to ask her husband permission to fish there.
The idea would be laughable if it weren't so... wrong.
And no one seemed to notice. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
