She smiled up at him, taking him in. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a few inches taller than she, a gangly boy, arms and legs too long for his body. No longer. This Michael was a man, tall and lean.
And very, very handsome.
She still did not quite believe that it was he. “Michael!”
He met her gaze head-on, and a bolt of pleasure shot through her as though the look were a physical touch, warming her—catching her off guard before the brim of his cap shielded his eyes once more, and she filled his silence with her own words. “What are you doing here?”
His lips did not move from their perfect, straight line. There was a long pause, during which she was consumed with the heat of him. With the happiness of seeing him. It didn’t matter that it was late and it was dark and he didn’t seem nearly as happy to see her.
“Why are you traipsing through the darkness in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere?”
He’d avoided her question, yes, but Penelope didn’t care. “It’s not the middle of nowhere. We’re no more than a half a mile from either of our houses.”
“You could have been set upon by a highwayman, or a thief, or a kidnapper, or—”
“A pirate. Or a bear. I’ve already considered all the options.”
The Michael she had once known would have smiled. This one did not. “There are no bears in Surrey.”
“Pirates would be rather a surprise, too, don’t you think?”
No answer.
She tried to rouse the old Michael. To coax him out. “I would take an old friend over a pirate or a bear any day, Michael.”
Snow shifted beneath his feet. When he spoke, there was steel in his tone. “Bourne.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Bourne.”
Shock and embarrassment coursed through her. He was a marquess, yes, but she’d never imagined he’d be so firm about his title . . . they were childhood friends, after all. She cleared her throat. “Of course, Lord Bourne.”
“Not the title. Just the name. Bourne.”
She swallowed back her confusion. “Bourne?”
He gave a slight nod, barely there before it was gone. “I’ll ask you one more time. Why are you here?”
She did not think of ignoring the question. “I saw your lantern; I came to investigate.”
“You came, in the middle of the night, to investigate a strange light in the woods of a house that has been uninhabited for sixteen years.”
“It’s only been uninhabited for nine years.”
He paused. “I don’t remember your being so exasperating.”
“Then you don’t remember me very well. I was a very exasperating child.”
“You were not. You were very serious.”
She smiled. “So you do remember. You were always trying to make me laugh. I’m simply returning the favor; is it working?”
“No.”
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.
Every instinct told her to leave. Quickly. To never return. And still she stayed. “How long will you remain in Surrey?” He did not reply. She took a step toward him, knowing she shouldn’t. “There’s nothing inside the house.”
He ignored her.
She pressed on. “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.”
She regretted the words the instant she spoke them, the product of frustration and irritation, laced with an edge of teasing that better suited a mean-spirited child than a woman of eight-and-twenty.
Regretted them even more when he shot toward her, a wolf from the night. “Your land?”
The words were dark and menacing. She stepped back instantly. “Y-yes.”
She should never have left the house.
“You and your father think to catch you a husband with my land?”
He knew.
She ignored the pang of sadness that came with the realization that he was there for Falconwell. And not for her.
He kept coming, closer and closer, and Penelope’s breath caught in her throat as she backed away from him, trying to keep pace with his strides. Failing. She shook her head. She should deny the words. Should rush to comfort him. To settle this great beast who stalked her through the snow.
But she didn’t.
She was too angry. “It’s not yours. You lost it. And I’ve already caught myself a husband.” He needn’t know she hadn’t accepted the offer.
He paused. “You are married?”
She shook her head, moving away quickly, taking the chance to put distance between them as she slung her words at him. “No, but we will be . . . in no time. And we shall live quite happily here, on our land.”
What was wrong with her? The words were out, quick and impetuous and they could not be taken back.
He advanced again, this time with complete focus. “Every man in London wants Falconwell, if not for the land, then to hold it over my head.”
If she moved any more quickly, she would topple into the snow, but it was worth the attempt, for she was suddenly very nervous about what would happen if he caught her.