“He would if he had the luck of the devil.”
“You don’t seem worried that he knows.”
“That is because I am not. I know too many of his secrets for him to share any of mine.”
“But he’ll happily share Tommy’s?”
Michael slid her a look. “Let’s not talk about that.”
She pressed on. “Are you still planning to ruin him?”
“Not today.”
“When, then?”
He sighed. “At least a week from now, as promised.”
There was something there, in the soft, resigned way that he spoke, something she wished she could identify. Was it doubt? Regret? “Michael—”
“I have bought and paid for this afternoon, wife. No more.” 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.
“It’s a game of chance. It requires no skill.”
“No skill but luck,” she quipped.
He smiled, more handsome than one man should be. “Come, wife. Let’s around the lake.”
He took the bag from her hands, stuffing it into his coat pocket before he guided her to the ice, and she returned the conversation to secrets. “Is that the way of it? You trade in secrets?”
“Only when I must.”
“Only as a means to an end.” The words were more for herself than for him.
“I know I have been out of the aristocracy for a decade, but this remains London, does it not? Information is still the most valuable commodity?”
“I suppose it is.” She did not like how simple it was to him. How callous he was. How easily he kept secrets. How easily he used them to punish those around him. She forced a smile, knowing that all of London watched them. Hating being on display. “And that is the way of it with you and Langford?”
Michael shook his head. “No Langford either, today. We made our deal.”
“I never agreed.”
“Your not tossing me from the carriage on the way here was tacit agreement,” he said dryly. “But if you’d like to formally agree, I will accept your marker in good faith.”
“I don’t have a marker of my own.”
“All is well,” he smiled. “You may borrow mine.”
She cut him a look. “You mean I may return yours.”
“Semantics.”
She could not hide her small smile as she reached into the pocket of her cloak, where she carried the guinea he’d given her and extracted the coin. “One afternoon,” she said.
“For one week,” he agreed.
She dropped the coin in his outstretched palm, watching as he deposited it inside his coat pocket. She turned away, watching Pippa laughing across the pond with a group of young women. “Lord Castleton has proposed to Pippa.”
He did not move. “And?”
“And she will say yes.” He did not respond. Of course he didn’t. He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand. “They are not a good match.”
“Is that so strange?”
No. No, it wasn’t. But he didn’t have to be so callous about it.
She began to skate faster. “She deserves a chance at more.”
“She need not say yes.”
She cast him a sidelong glance. “I’m surprised you would say such a thing. 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?”
“Penelope,” he began, and she pulled ahead of him, skating faster, feeling the cold wind on her cheeks, wishing that she could keep going, wishing that she could glide away from this strange, forced life that she was living. She edged past a large group of people, and he was beside her again, his hand on her arm, slowing her. “Penelope,” he said again. “Please.”
Perhaps it was the word. The softness of it. The strangeness of it on his tongue. The way he said it, as though she could ignore him and he would let her go.
But she stopped, her skates digging deep into the ice as she turned to face him. “I was supposed to stop this,” she said, knowing there was too much emotion in her words. “I was supposed to make it so that they could have a different life. Marriages that were built on more than . . .”
“More than a handsome dowry.”
She looked away from the words. “They’re supposed to have a better chance than us. You gave me your marker.”
“And at least one of them will.” He pointed to the far end of the lake and she followed the line of sight to where Olivia and Tottenham stood in conversation, a blush on Olivia’s perfect cheeks and a wide grin on Tottenham’s face. “He’s worth a fortune, and his reputation is clean enough to make him prime minister someday. If they suit, it could be a tremendous match.”
“They are alone? Together?” She began to skate again, toward them. “Michael, we must go back!”
He reached for her hand, slowing her pace. “Penelope, they are not alone on a balcony at a ball. They are standing, quite happily, on the lakeshore, conversing.”
“Sans chaperone.” She said, “I’m serious. We must return!”
“Well, if you say it in French, it must be very serious indeed.” His face was turned away, so she couldn’t exactly tell, but she thought he was teasing her. “It’s all entirely aboveboard.” He reached out and took her hand, turning her to skate in a different direction even as she tried to pull away. “You owe me an afternoon, wife.” When he held her firm, she stopped resisting, and he orbited her until she couldn’t help but follow him, facing him the entire way.
And then he pulled her into his arms as though they were dancing, and they skated back in an approximation of a waltz, until they were a fair distance from anyone overhearing them.
“Everyone is watching.”
“Let them watch.” He held her tightly, whispering low at her ear, “Don’t you remember what it was like to spend those first, breathless minutes alone with a suitor?”
“No.” She tried to pull away. “Michael, we must go back.”
Suddenly, it wasn’t for Olivia that she felt she must return. It was for herself. For her sanity. Because being in his arms, like this, with his voice at her ear, was not good for her convictions.