“I assume it because you could never resist me.”
“I repeat,” she said, “you are bossy as ever.”
“I’m older and much less patient. These days, I reach out and seize what I want.”
She rolled her eyes. “You always acted that way. Don’t pretend your haughty character is a new development.”
“It’s not new, but it’s been tamped down forever, and it appears you’ve lit a fire under it.”
He stepped in and wrapped an arm around her waist. Suddenly, her entire front was pressed to his, and he’d definitely aged well. He was tall and fit as ever, his shoulders wide, his legs long and lean, so he towered over her. She gazed up at him, and the Devil must have been sitting on her shoulder and urging her to perdition.
Why not? a strident voice was whispering in her ear. Why not trifle with him? He was offering. Why decline such a delicious invitation?
She wasn’t a green girl who had to mind her manners and keep her legs tightly crossed. She was an independent, modern spinster who could behave however she pleased, and he was correct that she couldn’t resist him.
She’d warned herself to avoid him while she was at Roland. The broken heart she’d suffered in the past had been too grueling, so she’d spent the intervening years allied with scoundrels who hadn’t deserved her regard. She’d ceased being imprudent and gullible.
Men weren’t a mystery to her, and she was never surprised by any conduct they perpetrated. Yes, she could dabble with Charles Pendleton, then waltz away unscathed when they parted. She was certain of it.
“It’s your lucky day, Charles,” she said.
He smirked. “Oh, really? And why is that?”
“I’ve decided to give you a chance to make me like you again.”
“You always liked me, Fish. In fact, if I recall, you were once madly in love with me.”
“I might have been,” she blithely said.
“I predict I can stir that sort of hot emotion all over again. Shall we bet on it?”
He was smiling down at her, still gorgeous, still thin and dapper, and still smart enough to desire her—even after so much time had passed.
“We don’t need to bet, Charles,” she told him. “I’m positive we can stir quite a bit of emotion—and some passion too—with no effort at all.”
“That is the answer I was waiting desperately to hear.”
He lifted her off her feet, tossed her onto the bed, and followed her down. In two seconds flat, it seemed as if they’d never been separated a single minute.
Simon peeked down the deserted hall, then slipped into Penny’s bedchamber. He spun the key in the lock so no one could bluster in after him.
She’d continued to refuse to tell him where her room was located, but she’d claimed—if he could figure out where it was on his own—she wouldn’t complain if he snuck in. How could a fellow ignore a dare like that?
He hadn’t even had to bribe a footman to spill the beans. As she’d headed to bed, he’d simply tiptoed after her, with her being too naïve to glance over her shoulder to see him standing there. He hadn’t entered immediately, but had had to dawdle until her maid left.
Her suite was just as grandiose as he’d imagined it would be. The outer room was a sitting room, and there was a bedroom behind it. The whole place was packed with fussy furniture in varying shades of pink. He wondered if the color was a holdover from when she was a child and had liked a frilly décor.
He hoped it wasn’t a recent choice. If he managed to attach himself to her—which he had every intention of doing—the feminine ambiance would drive him batty.
A few dolls were perched on a shelf, but then, she was only eighteen. Maybe she hadn’t matured quite as much as he’d assumed. The notion was disheartening. Then again, if she remained so juvenile in her tastes and habits, it would be much easier to coerce her into debauched conduct.
He went over and leaned against the door jam, and he studied the bedroom with a jaundiced eye. He was only twenty himself, but due to his shocking upbringing, he felt a hundred years older than her.
Even though he was a young man, he’d loafed in many beautiful women’s bedchambers. The rooms always fascinated him, and he learned many tidbits he could use to persuade them to give him things they shouldn’t.
His opinion of the fairer sex had been skewed by his growing up around Libby and Fish. They weren’t ordinary females, so there’d never been a bedroom like this in any of their homes. Normally, they were busy performing in the evenings, earning an income to keep a roof over their heads. They didn’t huddle by the fire at night, knitting shawls or embroidering pillowcases.
With his father, Harry, having directed their every step, they’d moved constantly too, traveling with circuses and acting troupes, so they’d never had the space to accumulate many possessions. If they filled up a wardrobe, it was usually with costumes necessary to play their parts.
There was a dressing room in the back, and Penny was in there and humming to herself. He waited right where he was, his amusement spiraling as he debated over how she’d respond when she saw him.
Finally, she strolled into view, and he was delighted to report that she didn’t scream with alarm.
“Simon Falcon!” she quietly scolded. “Why are you in my bedchamber?”
“You told me—if I could determine where it was—that I’d be welcome to visit you.”
“I wasn’t serious!”
“Weren’t you? Are you sure about that?”
“I’m reasonably sure.”
She frowned, her consternation clear. As with most girls, she’d never met a man like him. He was tantalizing her with thoughts of how her life could be, rather than how it was. She was destined to marry Lord Barrett, that disgusting roué who’d just been lifting Libby’s skirt.
If Penny didn’t wind up betrothed to Lord Barrett, her father would shackle her to another tedious aristocrat
