Penelope And Michael Quotes

“He offered her his hand once more, and the wide, flat palm beckoned.
Hades, offering pomegranate seeds.
If she took it, everything would change. Everything would be different.
There would be no going back. Though, somewhere in her mind, she knew there was no going back anyway.
Clutching her dress together, she took his hand.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Are you planning to go, Penelope? Planning to ruin our marriage and your reputation and your sisters' names with one selfish choice?"
She could not stop herself from replying. "I am selfish?" She laughed, and pushed past him toward the door. "That is amusing, coming from you- the most selfish man I've ever known- selfish enough to destroy your friends, and your wife in service to your own goals.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“You are unbalanced."
"That may be. But I am also your husband. You would do well to remember that. And the fact that you pledged to obey me."
She gave a little, humorless laugh. "And you pledged to honor me," she retorted.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“You want your revenge more."
"I want both. I want everything."
She turned away from him, speaking to the street beyond the carriage window, suddenly irritated. "Oh, Michael, whoever told you that you could have everything?”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“He wasn't going to ruin you, Tommy. He stopped it."
Tommy shook his head. "You stopped it. You loved him enough to show him that there was more to life than revenge. You changed him. You've given him another chance to be the Michael we knew instead of the cold, hard Bourne he became. You've moved the mountain.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“For nine years, I thought it was vengeance that would save me, and it took you- my strong, beautiful wife- to prove that I was wrong and that love was my salvation. You are my redemption," he whispered. "You are my benediction.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“She moved to push past him. When he did not move, she stopped, unwilling to touch him.
A pity. The memory of the warmth of her gloved hand on his cold cheek flashed. Apparently her behavior outside had been the product of surprise.
And pleasure.
He wondered what else he might do instinctively in response to pleasure. An image flashed- blond hair spread wide across dark, silken sheets, ice blue eyes alight with surprise as he gave prim, proper Penelope a glimpse of dark and heady pleasure.
He'd nearly kissed her in the darkness. It had started out as a way to intimidate her, to begin the systematic compromising of quiet, unassuming, Penelope Marbury. But he did not deny that as they stood in his barren kitchen, he wondered what she would taste like. How her breath would sound fluttering across his skin. How she would feel against him. Around him.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“It's just that when a woman is kidnapped and forced into agreeing to marriage, she hopes for a bit more... excitement. Than this."
He rolled slowly- maddeningly- to face her, the air between them thickened, and Penelope was instantly aware of their position, scant inches apart, on a warm pallet in a small room in an empty house, beneath the same blanket- which happened to be his greatcoat. And she realized that perhaps she should not have implied that the evening was unexciting.
Because she was not at all certain that she was prepared for it to become any more exciting. "I didn't mean-" She rushed to correct herself.
"Oh, I think you did an excellent job of meaning." The words were low and dark, and suddenly she was not so very sure that she wasn't afraid after all. "I am not stimulating enough for you?"
"Not you..." she was quick to reply. "The whole..." She waved one hand, lifting the greatcoat as she thought better of finishing. "Never mind."
His gaze was on her, intent and unmoving and, while he had not moved, it seemed as though he had grown larger, more looming. As though he had sucked a great deal of air from the room. "How can I make this night more satisfying for you, my lady?"
The soft question sent a thrum of feeling through her... the way the word- satisfying- rolled languid from his tongue set her heart racing and her stomach turning.
It seemed the night was becoming very exciting very quickly.
And everything was moving much too quickly for Penelope's tastes. "No need," she said, at an alarmingly high pitch. "It's fine."
"Fine?" The word rolled lazily from his tongue.
"Quite thrilling." She nodded, bringing one hand to her mouth to feign a yawn. "So thrilling, in fact, that I find myself unbearably exhausted." She made to turn her back to him. "I shall bid you good night."
"I don't think so," he said, the soft words as loud as a gunshot in the tiny space between them.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Well, considering I'm in full view of half of London, as you are so quick to point out, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Let's see," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you could have been abducted, mistreated, revealed..."
Penelope stiffened. "And how would that have been different than my treatment at your hands?" she whispered, keeping her voice low enough so that only he could hear her, knowing she was pushing his limits.
His eyes flashed. "It would be immensely different. And if you can't see that-"
"Oh, please. Don't pretend you care a bit about me, or my happiness. It would be the same cell, a different jailer.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“It was only then that she realized how closely he held her, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought her almost eye to eye with him.
One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries."
She tucked her chin into the fur cowl at her neck. "It's cold," she said, defensively.
He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I don't understand," Olivia said. "How did Penny sewing and unsewing make for the Trojan War?"
"Penelope was Odysseus's wife," Philippa explained. "He left her, and she sat at her loom, sewing all day, and unraveling all her work at night. For years."
"Why on earth would someone do that?" Olivia wrinkled her nose, selecting a sweet from a nearby tray. "Years? Really?"
"She was waiting for him to come home," Penelope said, meeting Michael's gaze. There was something meaningful there, and he thought she might be speaking of more than the Greek myth. Did she wait for him at night? She'd told him not to touch her... she'd pushed him away... but tonight, if he went to her, would she accept him? Would she follow the path of her namesake?
"I hope you have more exciting things to do when you are waiting for Michael to come home, Penny," Olivia teased.
Penelope smiled, but there was something in her gaze that he did not like, something akin to sadness. He blamed himself for it. Before him, she was happier. Before him, she smiled and laughed and played games with her sisters without reminder of her unfortunate fate.
He stood to meet her as she approached the settee. "I would never leave my Penelope for years." He said, "I would be too afraid that someone would snatch her away." His mother-in-law sighed audibly from across the room as his new sisters laughed. He lifted one of Penelope's hands in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Penelope and Odysseus were never my favored mythic couple, anyway. I was always more partial to Persephone and Hades."
Penelope smiled at him, and the room was suddenly much much warmer. "You think they were a happier couple?" she asked, wry.
He met her little smile, enjoying himself as he lowered his voice. "I think six months of feast is better than twenty years of famine." She blushed, and he resisted the urge to kiss her there, in the drawing room, hang propriety and ladies' delicate sensibilities.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“What password were you given?"
"Éloa."
He sucked in a breath. Chase had given her carte blanche at the club. Access to any room, any event, any adventure she wanted, without chaperone.
Without him.
"What does it mean?" she asked, registering his surprise.
"It means I'm going to have words with Chase."
"I mean, what does Éloa mean?"
He narrowed his gaze, answered her literally. "It's the name of an angel."
Penelope tilted her head, thinking. "I've never heard of him."
"You wouldn't have."
"Was he a fallen angel?"
"She was, yes." He hesitated, not wanting to tell her the story, but unable to stop himself. "Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven."
"Tricked her how?"
He met her gaze. "She fell in love with him."
Penelope's eyes widened. "Did he love her?"
Like an addict loves his addiction. "The only way he knew how."
She shook her head. "How could he trick her?"
"He never told her his name.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“He did not look like a pirate.
He looked... familiar.
There was something there, in the handsome angles and deep, wicked shadows, the hollows of his cheeks, the straight line of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw- in need of a shave.
Yes, there was something there- a whisper of recognition.
He wore a pin-striped cap dusted with snow, the brim of which cast his eyes into darkness. They were a missing piece.
She would never know from where the instinct came- perhaps from a desire to discover the identity of the man who would end her days- but she could not stop herself from reaching up and pushing the hat back from his face to see his eyes.
Only later it would occur to her that he did not try to stop her.
His eyes were hazel, a mosaic of browns and greens and greys, framed by long, dark lashes, spiked with snow. She would have known them anywhere, even if they were far more serious now than she'd ever seen them before.
Shock coursed through her, followed by a thick current of happiness.
He was not a pirate.
"Michael?" He stiffened at the sound of his name, but she did not take the time to wonder why.
She flattened her palm against his cold cheek- an action at which she would later marvel- and laughed, the sound muffled by the snow falling around them. "It is you, isn't it?"
He reached up, pulling her hand from his face. He wasn't wearing gloves, and still, he was so warm.
And not at all clammy.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Where are you sleeping?"
A wicked black brow rose. "Why? Are you inviting me into your bed?"
The words stung with their rudeness. Penelope stiffened as though she had received a physical blow. She waited a beat, sure he would apologize.
Silence.
"You've changed."
"Perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to go on a midnight adventure."
He was nothing like the Michael she had once known.
She spun on her heel, heading into the blackness, toward the place where Needham Manor stood. She'd gone only a few feet before she turned back to face him. He had not moved.
"I really was happy to see you." She turned and headed away, back to her home, the cold seeping deep into her bones before she turned back, unable to resist a final barb. Something to hurt him as he'd hurt her. "And Michael?"
She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew undeniably that he was watching her, listening.
"You're on my land.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“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

“I don't like the way they judge you," she whispered. "Especially Holloway."
"Holloway is a bitch." She gasped at the word, and he continued in her ear. "She deserves a thrashing. It's a shame that her earl is too feeble to do it."
Pleasure lanced through Penelope at the words, and she could not help her smile. "You seem to have few qualms about spanking women."
"Only those I like.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I'm very happy that you did not marry Leighton or Tommy or any of the woefully lacking others, Sixpence."
No one but Michael had ever called her Sixpence, a silly nickname he'd given her a lifetime ago, assuring her that she was worth far more than a penny to him.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Answer me, Penelope. Why are you here?"
She met his gaze, her blue eyes firm. "I told you. I'm here to play billiards."
"With Cross."
"Well, to be fair, I thought it might be with you."
"Why would you think that?" He would never have invited her to his gaming hell.
"The invitation was delivered by Mrs. Worth. I thought you sent it."
"Why would I send you an invitation?"
"I don't know. Perhaps you'd realized you were wrong and did not want to admit it aloud?”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Needham has announced that the former lands of Falconwell are to be included in the dowry of his eldest daughter."
Shock rocked Bourne back on his heels. "Penelope?"
"You know the lady?"
"It's been years since I saw her last- nearly twenty of them."
Sixteen. She had been there on the day he'd left Surrey for the last time, after his parents' burial, fifteen years old and slipped back to a new world with no family. She'd watched him climb into his carriage, and her serious blue gaze had not wavered in tracking his coach down the long drive away from Falconwell.
She hadn't looked away until he had turned onto the main road.
He knew because he'd watched her, too.
She'd been his friend.
When he had still believed in friends.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I am also prepared to ignore the fact that you have committed an egregious breach of etiquette by moving me- bodily- from a public location to an entirely inappropriate... altogether too private one."
"And don't forget spanking you."
"That, too. Utterly... completely... beyond inappropriate."
"Appropriateness seems not to have got you very far.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I am not afraid of risk. Nor am I afraid of you."
One dark brow arched. "No?"
"No."
He leaned in, close. Too close. Close enough to wrap her in bergamot and cedar. Close enough for her to notice that his eyes had turned a lovely shade of brown. "Prove it."
His voice had gone low and gravelly, sending a thrum of excitement down her spine.
He stepped closer, close enough to touch- close enough for the heat of him to warm her in the freezing room- and the fingers of his hand slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her still as he hovered above her, threatening. Promising.
As though he wanted her.
As though he'd come for her.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I don't doubt it, but in ruining me, you would also ruin your chances at Falconwell."
He stiffened. Penelope was breathless with excitement as she waited for his reply.
"Name your price."
She had won.
She had won.
She wanted to crow her success, her defeat of this great, immovable beast of a man.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“There are few men in Britain who cannot find time to speak to me."
"And what of their wives?"
"What of them?"
"You think they won't judge you?"
"I think they all want me in their beds, so they will find room for me in their drawing rooms."
Her head snapped back at the words, at their indelicacy. At the idea that he would say such a thing to his wife. At the idea that he would spend time in other wives' beds. "I think that you mistake the value of your presence in a lady's bedchamber."
He raised a brow. "I think you will feel differently after tonight."
The specter of their wedding night loomed in the words, and Penelope hated that her pulse quickened even as she wanted to spit at him. "Yes, well, however you might ensorcel the women of the ton, I can guarantee you that they are far more discerning in their company in public than they are in private. And you are not good enough.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“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

“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

“Don't you want her married as quickly as possible?"
He looked away, focusing on his skating for long minutes. "You know I do. But I have no interest in forcing her hand."
"It is only my hand that you were interested in forcing?”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I intend to play. We require a dealer."
Michael's gaze snapped to her as Langford sneered, "I will not play cards with a woman."
She took the seat at one side of the table. "I usually will not play cards with men who rob children of their inheritance, but tonight appears to be one for exceptions."
Cross looked to Michael. "She is incredible."
Possessiveness flared as he took his seat, eyes on his wife. "She is mine.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name