Penelope Marbury Quotes

“She came closer, and he was drawn to the way her skin glistened in the light. He took a deep breath, telling himself it was meant to be calming and not because he was desperate to catch her delicate scent- like the violets that grew in Surrey summer.”
― 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

“Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you."
"So polite."
"One of us should be, don't you think?"
He turned to face her, half-amused and half-surprised by her smart mouth.
She was not tall, barely the height of his shoulder, but at the moment she looked like an Amazon.
The hood of her cloak had fallen away, and her hair was in disarray, tumbling around her shoulders, gleaming pale blond in the dim light. Her chin was thrust forward in a universal sign of defiance, her shoulders were stiff and straight, and her chest rose and fell with harsh anger, swelling beneath her cloak.
She looked as though she'd like to do him no small amount of bodily harm.”
― 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

“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

“Lord Bourne knows precisely where I've been and with whom for the duration of our short, disastrous marriage." She stepped toward Michael, her offense making her bold. "Home, alone. Instead of here, where the female half of London is apparently wishing they had the password to his bed." His eyes went wide.
"I would appreciate it if you would leave, Michael," she added, tossing the mask and the rose to the billiard table. "You see, I've been looking forward to this billiards lesson. And you are making it very difficult to enjoy.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Lord Langford," she acknowledged, looking right down her nose at the man.
"Penelope," the older man said, unable to keep the surprise from his gaze.
"It's Lady Bourne to you." The words were cool and cutting, and Michael was sure she'd never been more beautiful. "Come to think of it, it was always lady to you. And you never referred to me as such."
The older man's gaze narrowed in irritation, and Michael had an intense urge to put a fist into the viscount's face for the look.
It was not necessary. His wife was more than able to care for herself. "You don't like that, I see. Well, let me tell what I don't like. I don't like insolence. And I don't like cruelty. And I most definitely don't like you. It is time you and I have it out, Langford, because while you might have stolen my husband's lands and funds and reputation, and you might have been a truly horrendous father to my friend, I absolutely refuse to have you take another thing from me, you despicable old man.”
― 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

“They'll even marry an aging spinster to get it."
She hated him then. Hated the words, the way he spoke them with such simple cruelty. Tears threatened.”
― 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

“What did she say that has you so eager to take a beating?"
Bourne ignored the question, the explosion of pain in his cheek not doing its job, failing to take away all thought of what had happened earlier with his wife. Of how her blue eyes had flashed as she'd accused him of using her body to secure his interests. Of how she'd squared her shoulders and defended her own honor- something he should have done for her.
Of how she'd looked at him, truth and tears in her eyes, and told him that she'd missed him.
The words had taken his breath away- the idea that pure, perfect Penelope had thought of him, had worried about him.
Because he had missed her, too.
It had taken him years to forget- years that were erased in one moment of honesty, when she'd looked into his eyes and accused him of leaving her.
Of dishonoring her.
And there, in the pit of his stomach, still unmasked by the pain of Temple's beating, was the emotion he'd feared since the beginning of this charade.
Guilt.
She'd been right. He'd misused her. He'd treated her as less than she deserved. And she'd defended herself with strength and pride. Remarkably.
And even as he'd tried to let her go, to push her from him, he'd known that he wanted her. He didn't fool himself into thinking that the desire was new. He'd wanted her in Surrey, when she'd stood in the darkness with nothing but a lantern to protect her. But now... want had become something more serious. More visceral. More dangerous. Now, he wanted her- his strong, intelligent, kindhearted wife, who became more tempting every day as she shifted and blossomed into someone new and different than the girl he'd met on that dark Surrey evening.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“She was running him ragged.
Gone was the soft, sweet wife he'd thought he was getting, snow dusting her bonnet as she confessed past courtships, one errant flake landing and melting almost instantly on the tip of her nose as she smiled up at him.
And in that woman's place was an Amazon, standing at the center of his club, in the heart of the London underworld, placing bets on roulette while the city watched, demanding the safety of her friends and the reputation of her sisters, and scheduling billiards lessons with one of the most powerful and feared men in the city.
And now, she stood in front of him, and bold as brass, suggested he leave her alone.”
― 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

“She faced his enemy and waved a hand at the door, where Bruno and now Cross stood, looking very serious and very frightening. "Would you care to attempt escape before I am through?"
Michael couldn't help it. He grinned. She was a warrior queen.
His warrior queen.”
― 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

“A vision flashed of a young, kind Penelope, the opposite of what he was. Of what he'd become.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“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

“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

“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