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.”

His teeth clenched. “Three minutes in private with that pig Densmore, and you would have seen that I’m a veritable saint compared to some scoundrels. I told you, you were not to come here. Not without me.”

“I find I no longer care for being told what I am not to do.” She took a deep breath, not knowing from where her courage had come, but hoping it would not fail her now, as he looked very, very angry.

And, she realized, very disheveled. His cravat was wrinkled beyond repair, his coat was not straight on his shoulders, and one of his cuffs had disappeared beneath its sleeve.

It wasn’t normal. Not for Michael.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“Bourne.”

The third time the dealer said his name, Michael spun around. “Goddammit. What is it?”

“It’s the lady.”

“What about her?”

Penelope peeked around Michael, pulling her hood forward, making sure she could not be recognized. The dealer’s brows lifted as he offered them both a half smile. “She won.”

A beat, then Bourne said, “What did you say?”

“She won.” The dealer could not mask his surprise. “Number twenty-three. Straight up.”

Michael’s gaze slid to the table, then to the wheel. “She did?”

Penelope’s eyes went wide. “I did?”

The croupier gave her a silly smile. “You did.”

“Send her winnings up to the suite.” In a matter of seconds, Michael had pulled her through a well-guarded door nearby.

As they climbed a long, dark set of stairs, Penelope shored up her courage, prepared to face him. But first, she had to keep up with him. Her hand was tucked into his, and he showed no indication of releasing her as he pulled her down a long hallway and, ultimately, into a large room that would have been completely dark if not for the light from the main floor of the casino pouring through the stained-glass wall at one end of the room—casting the entire space into a mosaic of color.

“How gorgeous,” she whispered, not noticing that he’d let her go before locking the door behind them. “From below, there is no indication that there is anything behind the glass.”

“That’s the point.”

“It’s stunning.” She headed for the window, reaching one hand out to touch a golden panel that made up a lock of Lucifer’s hair.

“What are you doing here, Penelope?”

She snatched her hand back at the question, turning to him, barely able to make him out in the shadows. He seemed to have faded away into the darkness at the far end of the room. Her heart began to pound, and she remembered why she had set out for the club. “There is a conversation we must have.”

“It could not have waited for me to return to Hell House?”

“If I ever believed you would return to the house, my lord, I might have waited,” she said tartly. “As I am unsure of your plans in that regard, I felt it best for me to attend you.”

He crossed his arms across his wide chest, the fabric of his coat straining against his muscled arms. “I’m going to fire the coachman who brought you.”

“Impossible. I came in a hack.” She could not keep the triumph from her voice.

“If Tommy helped you in any way, I shall take great pleasure in destroying him.”

She lifted her chin. “And so we come to it.”

“You are not to see him again.”

She did not care that he towered over her in the darkness, clearly angry with her. For she was angry with him, as well. “I am not so certain that I will follow that order.”

“You will.” He crowded her against the door. “See him again, and I’ll destroy him. Let it be on your head.”

It was the opening for which she had been waiting. “I am told that you plan to destroy him anyway.” He did not deny it, and a sliver of disappointment shot through her. She shook her head. “It’s amazing, how I continue to believe better of you only to be proven wrong.” She spun away from him, heading for the window once more, staring out on the floor. “You’re heartless.”

“It’s best you realize that now, before the days of our marriage grow any longer.”

She spun back toward him, furious at the callous way he referred to their life. To her life. “Perhaps our sham of a marriage isn’t long for this world anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

She gave a little humorless laugh. “Only that you clearly care not a bit for it.”

“Your precious Tommy asked you to run with him, didn’t he?” It was her turn to remain silent. Let him believe what he wanted. He came closer. “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.”

She reached for the door handle, gasping when his hand snaked out of the darkness to capture her wrist. “You are not leaving until this is through. Until you have given me your word that you will stay away from Tommy Alles.”

Of course she wasn’t going anywhere with Tommy. But she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Why? Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I left with him? Then you could get your revenge and your freedom in one wide swath.”

“You’re mine.”

She rounded on him. “You are unbalanced.”

“That may be. But I am also your husband. You would do well to remember that fact. And the fact that you pledged to obey me.”

She gave a little, humorless laugh. “And you pledged to honor me,” she retorted. And we both pledged to love the other. That hasn’t worked out either.

He stilled. “You think I have done you a dishonor?”

“I think you do me a dishonor every time you touch me.”

He released her then, so quickly it was as though her skin had burned him. “What does that mean?”

She hesitated, uncertain, the argument suddenly moving in a direction with which she was not entirely comfortable.

“Oh no, my lady.” He fairly spat the honorific. She realized she had offended him. “You will answer the question.”

Yes. She would.

“Every time you touch me, every time you show me the slightest interest, it is for your benefit. Your goals. Your revenge, of which I want no part. There is nothing about it that is for me.”

“No?” The words dripped with sarcasm. “Interesting, as you seem to have enjoyed my touch.”

“Of course I’ve enjoyed it. You’ve done everything you could to ensure that I would follow you through fire in those instances. You’ve used your obvious . . . She paused, waving a hand in his direction, “ . . . prowess in the bedchamber to further your own goals.” The words were coming fast and furious now. “And you’ve done a remarkable job of it. I confess, I am impressed. By both your clever strategy and your impeccable performance. But pleasure is fleeting, Lord Bourne—fleeting enough that it is not worth the pain of being used.” She set one hand to the door handle, eager to leave the room. And him. “Forgive me if I find myself unwilling to drop everything and remember my vows when you have so misused your own.”