Absolutely not, Penelopey said, not even looking up from the book balanced on her knees. Her dark hair was coming loose from its pins, a sign she’d been reading for hours without regard for propriety. I have plans for next month, Benjamin. Important ones, more important than helping your dear brother achieve glory.

Benjamin leaned forward in his chair, grinning with the kind of mischief that always preceded his most outrageous schemes. Penelope, we lost last year. lost to that insufferable couple from Bavaria who wouldn’t stop gloating. I need revenge. Marcus watched this exchange with carefully maintained neutrality, though his jaw had tightened the moment Benjamin proposed bringing Penelopey to the continent.

For 3 years, their annual trip had been sacred. Three weeks of freedom, of being Marcus Ashton instead of the Duke of Westmir, of gambling and laughing and forgetting the crushing responsibility that had descended on him four years ago when his father died. “Your brother has a point,” Penelope, Marcus said, keeping his tone light despite the tension coiling in his chest.

though I’m not sure dragging you to a WIS tournament qualifies as achieving glory. She finally looked up and Marcus felt that familiar jolt he’d been feeling with increasing frequency lately, the way her sharp green eyes could cut straight through his careful composure. I wasn’t aware you wanted me there, your grace. In fact, I seem to recall you spending considerable effort last month explaining why these trips were absolutely essential to male friendship and should never be corrupted by female presence.

I don’t recall using the word corrupted, Marcus said. You implied it heavily. Did I? How terribly rude of me. Benjamin laughed, throwing himself back in his chair. See, this is exactly why I need her there. You play better when she irritates you, Marcus. You get that focused look like you’re about to demolish something. And Penelope, he turned to his sister.

You’re brilliant at strategy. You see patterns nobody else does. With your help, we could actually win this year. I appreciate your faith in my strategic mind, Penelopey said dryly. But I have other obligations. Lady Thornbury invited me to her estate for a reading circle, and I’ve been looking forward to it for months.

A reading circle? Benjamin repeated. Penelopey, you can read anywhere. When will you have another chance to travel to the continent to see actual life beyond ballrooms and calling cards? life beyond. Penelopey’s cheeks flushed. I’m perfectly satisfied with my life. Thank you. Marcus shifted in his chair, wondering why this conversation was making him so uncomfortable.

He should want Benjamin to convince her to stay home. The last thing he needed was the responsibility of watching over Penelope in a city where they all pretended to be something they weren’t, where the rules were looser and the wine flowed freely, where she might see things that would shock her protected sensibilities.

where he might be forced to spend three weeks in close quarters with the one person who had always been able to unsettle him in ways he couldn’t quite name. “I’m against this plan,” Marcus said firmly. “Penelope doesn’t want to come, and frankly, I don’t want to spend my holiday playing nursemaid.” Penelopey’s eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon.

You heard me. Benjamin and I have established routines on these trips. We can’t be worrying about whether you’re safe or comfortable or scandalized by the local customs. Scandalized. Penelopey set her book aside with deliberate care. You think I’m some fragile flower who can’t handle reality, your grace.

I think you’re Benjamin’s sister, which means we’d be responsible for you. That’s a burden I’m not interested in carrying. The room had gone very still. Benjamin was watching them both with an odd expression, his gaze flicking between his best friend and his sister, like he was seeing something he’d missed before. Penelopey stood, smoothing her skirts with precise movements, her chin lifted in that stubborn way Marcus had seen a thousand times before, usually right before she proved someone wrong about something.

“Well then, since his grace finds my presence so burdensome, I suppose I should absolutely stay home.” Good, Marcus said. Except now I’m reconsidering. Penelopey’s smile was dangerous. You know how I hate being told what I can’t handle, Marcus. Penelope? In fact, I’m suddenly quite interested in this tournament.

Benjamin, what would it take to convince me to come? Benjamin’s grin returned triumphant. The complete architectural history collection from Hatchards, the one you’ve been begging me to order. That’s expensive. Worth it to beat those smug Bavarians. Penelopey pretended to consider, though Marcus could see she’d already made up her mind.

She was going to come purely to spite him now, and they both knew it. This was how things had always been between them, a constant game of push and pull, of seeing who could provoke the other into breaking first. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll help you win your precious tournament, but I expect those books delivered before we leave.

” “Done,” Benjamin stood, already moving toward the door. I’ll send the order today. We leave in 2 weeks. Better start packing, sister. He left, whistling, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere he’d left behind. Marcus hadn’t moved from his chair. Neither had Penelope. They stared at each other across the length of the library, and something had shifted.

Something neither of them could quite identify yet, but it hung in the air between them like an unspoken challenge. “You don’t really want me there,” Penelope said quietly. No, Marcus admitted. But apparently my opinion doesn’t matter. It matters to me. She took a step closer. We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we? In this room, at least.

So tell me honestly, why don’t you want me there? Marcus could have said a dozen things. That her presence would complicate everything. that he was used to being someone else on these trips, someone freer and less controlled, that Benjamin’s protection of her bordered on obsessive, and he didn’t want to deal with that tension.

But what came out was because things are different now. Different how? He couldn’t answer that. Didn’t know how to explain the way his awareness of her had sharpened over the past year. The way her laugh made his chest tight. The way he’d started noticing things like the curve of her neck when she bent over a book or the precise shade of green in her eyes when sunlight hit them just right.

Never mind, he said standing abruptly. You’ve made your decision. I’ll see you in 2 weeks. He left her standing there, confusion written across her face, and told himself that 3 weeks on the continent with Penelopey Witmore would be perfectly manageable. He was lying to himself, and some part of him already knew it.

The journey to the continent took 4 days of careful travel, with stops at coaching ins that grew progressively more relaxed the farther they got from London’s watchful eyes. By the time they reached Calala, and boarded the ship for their final crossing, even Penelopey had loosened slightly, her excitement at the adventure outweighing her irritation at Marcus’ continued coolness.

Marcus had spent most of the journey maintaining distance, always positioning Benjamin between them, always finding reasons to check the horses or speak with the drivers. But in the close confines of the ship’s cabin, there was no escape from proximity. “You’re being ridiculous,” Benjamin said bluntly as they stood on deck, watching the French coast emerge from the morning mist.

“Penelopey was below, settling into her cabin. Whatever’s made you so uncomfortable about my sister coming, get over it. We need her sharp mind if we’re going to win. And your brooding is already tiresome. I’m not brooding. You’ve barely spoken to her in 4 days. That’s not like you. Benjamin studied him with uncomfortable perception.

You and Penelopey have always had your verbal sparring matches. They’re entertaining. Why stop now? Because those sparring matches had started to feel different, Marcus thought, but didn’t say. because somewhere between childhood teasing and adult conversation, something had shifted in how he saw her, and he didn’t trust himself to maintain the careful boundaries that had always existed between them.

I’m focused on the tournament, Marcus said instead. As you should be, right, the tournament. Benjamin didn’t sound convinced, but he let it drop. Well, focus on this. When we arrive in Marseilles, remember you’re my cousin Marcus Ashton. Distant relation, minor gentry, good with cards. And Penelopey is your cousin, too, visiting family.

Keep the story straight. I’ve been doing this for 3 years, Benjamin. Yes, but now we have Penelopey to keep track of. She needs to understand the rules. The rules were simple in Marseilles. They weren’t nobility. They stayed at a comfortable, but not opulent hotel. They frequented establishments that catered to wealthy merchants and foreign visitors rather than aristocracy.

And they participated in the annual WIST tournament that had become legendary among a certain set of travelers. The tournament was invitation only, hosted by a French count who enjoyed watching skilled players compete for increasingly substantial prizes. Last year, Marcus and Benjamin had made it to the finals before losing to a husband and wife team from Bavaria, the RTORS, who played with an almost telepathic coordination that had been impossible to counter.

This year would be different. At least that’s what Marcus told himself as Penelopey emerged onto the deck, her face bright with wonder as she took in the approaching coastline. “Is it always this beautiful?” she asked, and her voice held such genuine delight that something in Marcus’ chest cracked slightly.

“Wait until you see the city,” Benjamin said, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “It’s nothing like London. Warmer, more colorful, more chaotic,” Marcus finished. “It’s loud and disorganized, and you’ll need to stay close to us at all times.” Penelopey shot him a look. “I’m not a child, your grace, in Marilles. I’m just Marcus. Get used to it.

” He turned away before she could see how her proximity was affecting him, how the sea breeze carried her scent, something floral he’d never noticed in London, and how it made him want to stand closer instead of maintaining this careful distance. 3 weeks, he reminded himself. He could survive 3 weeks. Marseilles assaulted the senses in the best possible way.

The moment they stepped off the ship, Penelopey felt like she’d entered a different world. The port city sprawled before them in a riot of color and sound. Merchants hawking wares in rapid French. The smell of unfamiliar spices mixing with salt air. Buildings painted in shades of ochre and terra cotta that would have seemed garish in London, but here felt vibrant and alive.

Their hotel was elegant without being ostentatious, located in a quarter where wealthy foreign visitors mingled easily with local society. The owner, Madame Rouso, greeted them warmly in heavily accented English. Ms. Whitmore, Missure Ashton, welcome back. And this must be the cousin I heard about. She beamed at Penelopey. How lovely.

You will enjoy our city very much, Madmoiselle. I’m sure I will, Penelope said, trying not to stare at everything at once. Her room was on the second floor with windows overlooking a narrow street where late afternoon sun painted everything gold. It was smaller than her room at home, but somehow more intimate, more exciting.

As she unpacked with her maid’s help, she could hear music drifting up from somewhere, an accordion maybe, or something similar, and laughter from the cafe across the street. This was freedom. Not the choreographed freedom of a country house party, or the supervised freedom of a London season, but real freedom, the kind where nobody knew who she was, where she could be anyone.

A knock on her door interrupted these thoughts. Benjamin entered without waiting for permission, followed by Marcus, who at least had the courtesy to pause at the threshold. “Change into something comfortable,” Benjamin said. “We’re taking you to dinner at our favorite cafe. Then we have a meeting with the tournament organizer.

” “Already,” Penelopey glanced at the window, noting the sun still high. “It’s barely evening. Things operate differently here,” Marcus said, his voice carefully neutral. Dinner is later, but we want to show you the city first, unless you’re too tired from travel. There was a challenge in his tone, subtle, but unmistakable.

Penelopey straightened her spine. I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Give me 15 minutes. She changed quickly into a simpler dress than she’d wear in London, still respectable, but less formal, and met them in the hotel’s lobby. Benjamin was practically vibrating with excitement, but Marcus had gone quiet again, his jaw tight as he looked her over with an expression she couldn’t read. “Ready,” Benjamin offered his arm.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and they stepped out into Marseilles. The cafe Benjamin led them to was nothing like the gentile establishments in London. It was crowded and noisy with mismatched furniture and a violin player in the corner. People of all classes seemed to mix freely, merchants beside artists beside what looked like ship captains.

The owner shouted greetings to Benjamin and Marcus in French, ushering them to a table by the window. This is amazing, Penelopey breathed, taking it all in. Wait until you try the boule, Benjamin said. It’s a fish stew. Sounds terrible. Tastes incredible. They ordered in a mixture of French and English, and Penelopey found herself relaxing as the food arrived, and the conversation flowed.

Here Benjamin wasn’t the heir to a respectable estate, and Marcus wasn’t a duke with the weight of an ancient title on his shoulders. They were just two young men enjoying an evening with family, laughing over old jokes and trading insults with easy familiarity. And slowly, carefully, Marcus began to Thor toward her.

Remember when you convinced Benjamin that the North Tower at Hartwell was haunted? Marcus asked, a slight smile playing at his lips. I was 12, Penelope protested. And it worked, didn’t it? He avoided that area for months. You’re merciless, Benjamin said without heat. I still have nightmares about those ghost sounds you made.

That was just creative use of the echo chambers in the walls. Penelopey took a sip of wine, stronger than what was served in London, and it made her feel bold. “If you’d paid attention during the house tour our father gave, you’d have known exactly what I was doing.” “She has a point,” Marcus said, and his eyes met hers across the table.

“For a moment, something sparked between them. That old familiar challenge, but charged with something new, something that made Penelopey’s breath catch slightly. Then Benjamin started talking about the tournament and the moment passed. The RTORS will be here, Benjamin said, leaning forward conspiratorally. I saw them confirmed on the participant list. This year we’re prepared.

Penelope, I’ll need you to watch how they play. Look for patterns, signals between them, any tells that might give us an advantage. You want me to spy on them? Penelopey asked, delighted. I want you to observe strategically, Benjamin corrected. There’s a difference, a subtle one. Marcus had been quiet, watching her with an intensity that made her skin feel warm.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low enough that Benjamin barely heard over the cafe’s noise. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this? The tournament attracts a certain crowd. It’s not dangerous, exactly, but it’s not the supervised world you’re used to.” I can handle myself, Penelopey said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Stop treating me like I need protection. Your brother will never forgive me if something happens to you. Then nothing will happen. She leaned back in her chair, adopting his earlier challenging tone. Unless you’re worried you can’t keep up with me, your Marcus. His eyes darkened slightly. Careful, Penelopey. That sounded dangerously close to a challenge.

Did it? How terribly rude of me. She threw his own words from the library back at him, and something shifted in his expression. Surprise, then amusement, then something harder to identify. For the first time since they’d left London, Marcus smiled at her properly, and Penelopey felt ridiculously pleased to have earned it.

The meeting with the tournament organizer was brief and conducted in flawless English, despite taking place in a private salon above an art gallery. The organizer, Msie Lauron, was an older gentleman with sharp eyes who seemed to assess each participant like they were chess pieces.

Msie Witmore, Msie Ashton, welcome back. I trust this year you will provide better entertainment than your disappointing loss in the finals. His tone was teasing but pointed. And who is this? My cousin, Miss Penelopey Ashton, Benjamin said smoothly. She’s visiting family and expressed interest in observing the tournament. observing.

Muluron studied Penelope with renewed interest. Pity you have the look of a player, Madmoiselle. I’m here to support my cousins, Penelopey said carefully. Of course, of course. The tournament begins in 3 days. First round is at Maison Bowmont. You remember the location? Yes. Standard rules apply. Four game elimination rounds. Partnerships must remain consistent.

No outside interference during play. He handed Benjamin a card with details, then dismissed them with a wave. As they walked back to the hotel through darkening streets lit by warm lamplight, Benjamin was already strategizing out loud. Marcus walked slightly behind them, and when Penelopey glanced back, she caught him watching her with that same unreadable expression.

“What?” she asked, slowing so he had to fall into step beside her. “Nothing. Just wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. You didn’t get yourself into anything. I did. She kept her voice light. Are you going to maintain this brooding silence the entire trip, or will you eventually remember that you actually like arguing with me? I remember, Marcus said quietly. That’s part of the problem.

Before she could ask what he meant, Benjamin called back to them, and the moment was lost. That night, Penelopey lay in her unfamiliar bed, listening to the sounds of a foreign city, and replaying every interaction with Marcus. Something had changed between them. She’d felt it in London, but here it was more pronounced, a tension that hadn’t existed before, or perhaps had always existed, and she’d simply never noticed.

She fell asleep thinking about the way he’d looked at her across the dinner table, and told herself it meant nothing at all. The first round of the tournament took place in a converted mansion that had been transformed into a private gaming establishment. Penelopey had never seen anything like it. Elegant but louch with heavy curtains and intimate lighting that made everything feel secretive and slightly dangerous.

Women moved freely here without chaperones. People smoked and drank openly. A quartet played in one corner while card games progressed at various tables. The crowd was wealthy, but not aristocratic, or at least not openly so. There was a sense of anonymity that made Penelopey’s pulse race with excitement. “Stay close,” Benjamin murmured as they entered.

“And remember, you’re observing the RTORs there at the far table.” Penelope looked where he indicated, and saw them immediately. A handsome couple in their early 30s, playing with smooth coordination. The wife, Margaret, had dark hair and intelligent eyes. Her husband Klouse was fair and precise in his movements.

They played wis like they shared one mind, barely needing to communicate. “They’re very good,” Penelopey said quietly. “That’s why we lost,” Marcus replied close enough that his breath stirred her hair. “Watch how they signal each other. There must be a pattern.” For the next hour, Penelopey watched while Benjamin and Marcus played their first round match against a French couple.

The game was intense and tactical, the kind of wis that required not just skill, but psychological insight. Benjamin and Marcus won handily, their own partnership honed by years of playing together. Between rounds, Penelopey leaned over their table, pretending to examine their cards while whispering observations. The RTORS used touch signals.

She taps the table twice before playing a trump card. He adjusts his cuff links when he wants her to lead. “Are you certain?” Marcus asked, his attention fully focused on her “Now watch them, you’ll see.” She was right. Over the next 2 hours, as various matches progressed, Penelopey identified at least five distinct signals between the RTORS.

She also noticed something else. They consistently underestimated their opponents in the first game of each match, perhaps deliberately, then adapted ruthlessly in subsequent games. “You need to surprise them early,” Penelopey said during a break. Don’t show your full strategy in game one. Let them think they figured you out, then change tactics completely for game two.

Ruthless, Benjamin said admiringly. I knew bringing you was brilliant. Marcus was watching her with something that might have been respect, might have been something else entirely. Where did you learn to read people like this? Years of watching you two try to hide things from me, Penelope said lightly.

You’d be surprised what you learn when everyone assumes you’re not paying attention. The words hung between them, heavier than she’d intended. Marcus’s gaze didn’t waver from hers, and for a moment the crowded room seemed to fade away. “We should return to the hotel,” Benjamin said, oblivious to the tension. “Big match tomorrow.

We’re playing the RTORS in the semi-finals if we both keep winning.” The walk back was pleasant, the night air warm and scented with jasmine from nearby gardens. Penelopey felt energized rather than tired, her mind racing with strategies and observations. This was so much better than sitting in Lady Thornbury’s drawing room discussing poetry she’d already read.

So at the hotel, Benjamin headed straight for his room, calling out good night. Penelopey started toward the stairs, then paused when she realized Marcus hadn’t moved from the lobby. Aren’t you going up?” she asked. “In a moment. I need some air first.” He moved toward the small courtyard behind the hotel, then glanced back. “You were impressive tonight.

Thank you for your help.” It was perhaps the most genuine thing he’d said to her since they’d left London. Penelopey found herself following him into the courtyard, where a small fountain burbled peacefully, and the stars were visible overhead. “I’m glad I came,” she said. “Despite your objections. My objections were never about your capabilities.

Marcus stared at the fountain, his profile sharp in the moonlight. I knew you’d be brilliant. That’s not what worried me. Then what does worry you? He turned to face her, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. This being here with you. Seeing you in a place where the rules are different, where I can’t pretend. He stopped abruptly.

Never mind. I’m tired. We should both sleep. Pretend what? Penelopey pressed, taking a step closer. Penelope. Her name was a warning, but underneath it was something that sounded like longing. “Don’t. Don’t what? We’ve always been honest with each other.” “Not about this,” Marcus said roughly. “Never about this.

” “About what?” She was close enough now to see his jaw tighten, to see the way his hands had clenched at his sides, like he was restraining himself from something. For a long moment, they stood frozen. Penelopey’s heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. The air between them felt charged with all the things they weren’t saying, with the shift that had been building for months, or maybe years.

Then Marcus stepped back, breaking whatever spell had held them. “Good night, Penelope. We have an early start tomorrow.” He left her standing in the courtyard, confused and trembling, and more awake than she’d ever felt in her life. sleep when it finally came was restless and full of dreams she couldn’t quite remember in the morning.

The semi-final match against the RTORS happened two days later after Benjamin and Marcus had eliminated three more teams with increasing confidence. Penelopey’s strategies had proven invaluable. She could read opponents with uncanny accuracy, spotting patterns and weaknesses that helped the men adapt their play.

But the RTORS were different. They were seasoned and intelligent, and they clearly recognized that Benjamin and Marcus had improved significantly since last year. The match took place in the same converted mansion, but tonight the crowd was larger, the stakes higher. Money and pride hung in the air as thick as the tobacco smoke.

Penelopey sat at a nearby table, ostensibly reading a book, but actually watching every move. The first game went to the RTORS, deliberately, as she’d advised. Let them think they understood the strategy. Game two belonged to Benjamin and Marcus who shifted tactics so completely that Margaret Richtor actually blinked in surprise. Game three was brutal.

Every trick mattered. Every card placement was analyzed. The lead shifted multiple times. In the end, Benjamin and Marcus won by the narrowest margin. And the crowd that had gathered to watch actually applauded. Game four would determine who advanced to the finals. Penelopey felt the tension like a physical weight.

She’d been watching for an hour, had filled her mind with every detail of how the RTORs played, and suddenly she saw it, a pattern so subtle she’d almost missed it. During a brief pause, while the dealer shuffled, she caught Marcus’s eye and made a small gesture toward the courtyard. He frowned, but excused himself, following her out.

“What is it?” he asked once they were alone. “Claus Richter is counting cards.” Not obviously, it’s legal in this tournament anyway, but he’s doing it in a specific way. He blinks twice when he knows all four of a suit have been played. Watch for it. When he blinks, you’ll know he’s about to change his strategy. Marcus stared at her. You noticed that in one evening.

I notice a lot of things, Penelopey said, then felt her cheeks heat slightly. Will it help? It might win us the match. He looked at her like he was seeing someone new. Someone who’d been hidden in plain sight all along. “Penelopey, go,” she said quickly before he could finish whatever he’d been about to say. “Benjamin’s waiting,” he went.

And when game four resumed, Penelopey watched Marcus watch Klaus Richtor with predatory focus. When the telltale blink came, Marcus adjusted his play instantly. Benjamin, trusting his partner completely, followed the shift. They won, not easily, but definitively. The RTORS were gracious in defeat, shaking hands and promising a rematch next year.

The room erupted in conversation about the finals, which would be held in 3 days against a Spanish team that had dominated their bracket. Benjamin was jubilant, already calculating strategies, but Marcus crossed directly to where Penelopey sat, ignoring everyone else. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You did the playing. I just observed.

You did more than observe. You saw something nobody else did. He paused, something working in his expression. You’re extraordinary. You know that. Penelopey felt warmth spread through her chest. Dangerous and thrilling. I’m just applying the skills you and Benjamin always told me were wasted on needle work and drawing room conversation.

We were fools for saying that. Marcus glanced around, then lowered his voice. After the finals, there’s usually a celebration, a private party at one of the establishments nearby. Benjamin and I always go. It’s different, less formal than this. Are you warning me away or inviting me? Both, Marcus said honestly. You shouldn’t go.

But if you’re determined to see every part of this world, you should know about it. Before Penelopey could respond, Benjamin appeared, throwing an arm around both of them. Did you see that? We destroyed them. Penelopey, you’re a genius. Marcus, you played like a man possessed. 3 days until the finals. We need to celebrate. They celebrated at the cafe, then returned to the hotel.

But as Penelopey prepared for bed that night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus’s words. A private party, less formal. You shouldn’t go. Which meant, of course, that she absolutely had to see what he meant. Finding the party wasn’t difficult. On the second night after their victory over the RTORS, Penelopey waited until her maid had retired, then dressed in her simplest gown and slipped out of the hotel.

She’d heard Benjamin and Marcus leaving an hour earlier, had noted the direction they’d gone. The establishment they’d entered was down a narrow street, marked only by a red lantern above the door. Music drifted out, livelier than anything played at proper gatherings, along with laughter and the clink of glasses. Penelopey hesitated only a moment before slipping inside.

The interior was dimly lit and crowded, very different from the converted mansion where the tournament took place. This was rougher, more honest in its pleasures. People danced close together in the center of the room. Card games happened at small tables. In the corners, couples were entangled with a familiarity that would have caused scandal in London.

Penelopey’s eyes went wide, but not with shock. Exactly. more with fascination. This was the world Benjamin and Marcus inhabited when they left her behind. This was the freedom they’d been protecting her from. She spotted them across the room, and her heart stuttered. Marcus was leaning against a wall, a drink in one hand, talking to two women, who were clearly interested in more than conversation.

One of them, a striking brunette in a green dress cut far lower than fashion dictated, had her hand on his arm. He was smiling at something she’d said, that charming smile he wore so rarely. And Penelopey felt something sharp and hot pierce through her chest. Jealousy. She was jealous. The realization was startling enough that she stood frozen, watching as the woman in green leaned closer to Marcus, whispering something that made him laugh.

When had she started caring who Marcus smiled at? When had the thought of him with another woman become physically painful? Benjamin was a few feet away with his own admirers, oblivious to his sister’s presence. Penelopey knew she should leave before they spotted her, but her feet wouldn’t move. Then a woman about Penelopey’s age appeared at her elbow, smiling warmly.

First time here? You look a bit lost. I Yes, I’m looking for my cousins. The lie came automatically. Cousins? Hm. The woman’s eyes sparkled with amusement. Well, any friend is welcome here. I’m Marie Penelope. They talked for a few minutes. Marie explaining that the establishment was a gathering place for artists, merchants, and travelers, people who wanted to escape the rigid rules of their normal lives for a few hours.

It was perfectly safe, Marie assured her. As long as you were smart about your choices, Penelope was formulating a response when a male voice spoke behind her. Good evening, Madmoiselle. I don’t believe we’ve met. She turned to find a man perhaps a few years older than Marcus, handsome in a careless way, with light brown hair and an easy smile.

He bowed slightly, his eyes appreciative as they took her in. “I’m Andre, and you are far too lovely to be standing alone.” “I’m not alone,” Penelopey said, but she smiled despite herself. This was attention of a kind she’d never received in London’s carefully monitored ballrooms. It was direct and honest and thrilling. Then whoever you’re with is a fool for leaving you unattended.

Andre gestured toward the bar. May I buy you a drink? Or perhaps you’d like to dance? Penelopey opened her mouth to politely decline. The sensible choice, but then she caught another glimpse of Marcus with the woman in green. Saw the woman’s hand slide down his arm in a gesture that was unmistakably intimate. “A drink would be lovely,” Penelopey said.

Andre’s smile widened and he offered his arm. “They’d taken perhaps three steps when a hand closed around Penelopey’s wrist, firm, but not rough. I’m afraid my cousin is otherwise engaged,” Marcus said, his voice pleasant, but with an edge that made Andre step back immediately. “My apologies, Msure. I didn’t realize. Now you do.

” Marcus hadn’t released Penelopey’s wrist. He looked at Andre until the man sketched a bow and retreated, then turned his attention to Penelope. What the hell are you doing here? His voice was low enough that nobody else could hear, but Penelopey heard the anger beneath the words. And something else, concern, possessiveness? The same thing you are, she said, lifting her chin.

Enjoying my evening. This isn’t a place for you. Why? Because I might see that you’re human, that you have needs and desires like everyone else. She was aware her voice had risen slightly. I’m not a child, Marcus. I know that. Something flickered in his eyes. That’s the problem. He started walking, pulling her gently but inexurably toward a side door.

Penelopey went too aware of his hand on her wrist, of the heat of his body as he guided her through the crowd. They passed Benjamin, who was too engrossed in conversation to notice them, and then they were in a narrow hallway with closed doors on either side. Marcus finally released her wrist, but only to brace his hands on either side of her against the wall, caging her in.

“Your brother will murder me if he finds out you were here.” “What were you thinking? I was thinking I wanted to see what you find so entertaining that you need to escape to it every year.” Penelopey’s heart was pounding, but not from fear, from proximity, from the way Marcus was looking at her like she was something dangerous and tempting.

Was I interrupting something with that woman? His eyes darkened. Are you jealous? Should I be? Penelope. Her name was almost a groan. You need to go back to the hotel. I don’t want to. She was being reckless, she knew, but something had broken loose inside her. All the careful restraint she’d maintained for 24 years.

Why do you get to be free here while I sit in my room reading? Why do you get to flirt and laugh? And because you’re you, Marcus cut her off. His voice was rough, strained. Because if I let myself treat you the way I treat those women, I won’t be able to stop. The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Penelopey’s breath caught.

Who says I want you to stop? Marcus went very still. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. You don’t know what you’re saying, don’t I? She was trembling now, but not from fear, from want, from a desire she was only beginning to understand. You’ve been avoiding me since London, looking at me like I’m some kind of problem you need to solve.

But I see how you look at me when you think I won’t notice, Marcus. Like you’re hungry for something you won’t let yourself have. You’re Benjamin’s sister. I’m aware. We’re supposed to be friends. We are friends. She lifted her hand, placed it against his chest, felt his heart pounding as hard as hers. “Can’t we be more?” For a long, tort moment, Marcus didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at her like she’d shattered something fundamental in his carefully ordered world.

Then he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was desperate and consuming, like something held back too long had finally broken free. His hands came up to frame her face, tilting her head back, and Penelopey made a small sound of surprise and need as his mouth moved against hers. She’d never been kissed before, never understood how it could make her feel like she was falling and flying at the same time, how it could shut out the entire world until nothing existed except this.

His lips on hers, his body pressed against her, the thundering of both their hearts. When he lifted his head at last, they were both trembling and breathless. Marcus rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. “This is a mistake,” he said horarssely. “Then why does it feel right?” Penelopey’s voice was shaky but certain. “Because I’m a fool.

” He kissed her again, softer this time, but no less intense. Because I’ve wanted to do this for longer than I can admit. Because you’ve been driving me insane, and I’m tired of fighting it. Then stop fighting. She kissed him back, learning the shape of his mouth, the taste of him. Just for these three weeks, nobody has to know. We’ll go back to London.

And And what? Marcus pulled back slightly, forcing her to meet his eyes. Pretend this didn’t happen. Penelopey hesitated. She hadn’t thought beyond this moment, beyond the intoxication of finally touching him, being touched by him. We’ll figure it out later. Please, Marcus, don’t think. just feel. It was perhaps the most reckless thing she’d ever said, and Marcus, despite all his control and careful planning, couldn’t resist it.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and Penelopey lost herself in the sensation. Her hands found their way into his hair, and his slid around her waist, pulling her closer. The world narrowed to sensation, taste, and touch and heat. A door opened somewhere down the hall, voices spilling out, and they broke apart reluctantly.

Marcus’s breathing was ragged, his usual composure shattered. “You need to go,” he said. “Before Benjamin comes looking for me, before I do something we’ll both regret.” “I don’t regret this,” Penelope said. “You will?” But he kissed her once more, quick and almost violent in its intensity. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.

” Penelopey went, her legs unsteady, her entire body thrumming with sensation. She made it back to the hotel in a days, climbed the stairs like she was floating, and collapsed onto her bed fully clothed. She’d kissed Marcus Devo, more accurately, he’d kissed her, and it had been nothing like the chasteed pecs described in novels.

It had been consuming and addictive, and she already wanted more. Tomorrow she’d worry about what this meant. Tonight she’d replay every second of it until she fell asleep with a smile on her face. The next morning brought awkwardness neither of them was prepared for. At breakfast, Marcus couldn’t meet her eyes, though his gaze kept drifting to her mouth before he’d catch himself and look away.

Benjamin, oblivious, chatted about final preparations for tomorrow’s championship match. “We need to study the Spanish team today,” he said between bites of bread. “They’re known for aggressive play. Penelopey, I’ll need your observations during their practice round this afternoon. Of course, Penelopey managed, though her mind was still in that hallway, pressed against Marcus, drowning in sensation.

After breakfast, Marcus pulled her aside while Benjamin was distracted by Madame Russo. About last night, he started, Penelopey interrupted. Don’t apologize or tell me it was a mistake. I won’t hear it. I was going to say we need to talk about it properly. His voice was low, urgent. What happened was wonderful, she finished.

And I want it to happen again. Marcus closed his eyes briefly. Penelope, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. I understand perfectly. For the next two weeks, can’t we just She struggled for words. Can’t we be Marcus and Penelope? Not the Duke of Westmir and Miss Witmore. Can’t we pretend the rules don’t apply here? The rules always apply.

Then we’ll be careful. She stepped closer, lowering her voice even more. Nobody has to know. It’s just us just for now. And when we go back to London, we’ll figure it out then. She touched his hand briefly. Please don’t make me regret being brave enough to kiss you back. Something in Marcus’s expression softened.

You have no idea how dangerous you are, do you? Teach me, Penelopey said simply. For a long moment, he just looked at her. Then he nodded once, sharp and decisive. Just for these two weeks, but we’re careful, Penelopey. Benjamin can’t find out. Not yet. Not until I can. He stopped, shook his head. Well be careful.

We will, she promised. It was a promise neither of them would be able to keep. The afternoon’s observation of the Spanish team’s practice round should have been straightforward. Penelopey watched with her usual sharp attention, noting patterns and strategies, whispering observations to Benjamin during breaks, but she was intensely aware of Marcus beside her, of every accidental brush of his hand against hers, of the way his attention kept drifting from the card play to her face.

When their eyes met, heat flared between them, a shared memory of last night’s kiss, a promise of more to come. The Spanish team, brothers named Rodrigo and Felipe Mendoza, played with flashy confidence that bordered on arrogance. They were good, possibly better than the Richtors, but they had a weakness. They became careless when winning, growing overconfident in their lead.

Let them think they’re dominating early, Penelopey advised. They get sloppy when they’re ahead. That’s when you strike. Clever as ever, Benjamin said approvingly. What would we do without you? You’d have your best friend, Penelopey thought, but didn’t say. And he wouldn’t be looking at me like he wants to devour me the moment we’re alone.

That moment came sooner than expected. Benjamin excused himself to speak with Msie Lauron about some detail of tomorrow’s match, leaving Penelope and Marcus alone in the observation gallery. There’s a garden behind this building, Marcus said quietly. Would you like to see it? It wasn’t really about the garden, and they both knew it. Penelopey nodded, and they slipped out through a side door into a small courtyard garden, overgrown and private, with high walls covered in jasmine.

The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, and the air smelled sweet and heavy. The moment they were hidden from view, Marcus pulled her close and kissed her with all the pent up tension from hours of forced distance. Penelopey melted into him, her hands clutching his shoulders, and for a long moment there was nothing but this.

the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way he held her like she was precious and desperately wanted. “We can’t keep doing this,” Marcus murmured against her mouth, even as he kissed her again. “Benjamin will notice.” “Benjamin notices nothing when it comes to me,” Penelope said, which was true. Her brother saw her as his protected little sister, incapable of independent desire or action.

“We have time, two more weeks.” And then she didn’t have an answer. Couldn’t think beyond the present. Beyond the addictive sensation of being in Marcus’s arms. Then we decide. Together. Together. Marcus repeated. Something like hope flickering in his eyes. He kissed her more gently now, almost reverently. You’re going to ruin me, Penelopey Whitmore.

Good, she said, and kissed him back. They nearly lost track of time, stealing kisses between whispered conversations, learning each other in small, stolen moments. When Benjamin finally called for them, they had to separate hastily, smoothing clothes and hoping their flushed faces wouldn’t give them away. Benjamin predictably noticed nothing.

That night, after Benjamin had gone to bed, Penelopey slipped out to the courtyard fountain again. She’d waited an hour hoping, and her patience was rewarded when Marcus appeared from the shadows. “This is dangerous,” he said, even as he drew her close. “Everything good is dangerous.” She tilted her face up for his kiss.

“Are you complaining?” “Never.” And he kissed her until her knees went weak, until she forgot why this was supposed to be temporary, until all she could think was mine. They established a pattern over the next days. public propriety, private passion, careful distance during the day, stolen moments at night. Every kiss made it harder to imagine going back to what they’d been before.

Made the end of their time in Marseilles feel more like an approaching catastrophe than a simple return home, but neither of them acknowledged that. Not yet. The tournament finals arrived before they were ready. The championship match was held in the grandest venue yet, a private mansion with crystal chandeliers and a crowd that included some of Marseilles’s wealthiest residents.

Word had spread about the English cousins and their brilliant tactical play, and people had come to watch them face the dominating Spanish brothers. Penelopey felt the weight of expectation as she took her observation seat. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a culmination of everything they’d worked toward, everything she’d contributed.

Benjamin and Marcus needed to win, not just for pride, but because losing would taint these perfect weeks they’d shared. The first game began with predictable aggression from the Mendoza brothers. They played fast and confident, clearly intending to overwhelm their opponents early.

Benjamin and Marcus matched them carefully, never quite surrendering, but never quite threatening either. Just as Penelopey had advised, let them get comfortable. Game one went to the Spanish brothers by a narrow margin. They celebrated with flourish, clearly believing they’d identified their opponent’s limits. That was their mistake.

Game two, Marcus and Benjamin shifted tactics completely. Where they’d been defensive, they became aggressive. Where they’d been cautious, they became bold. The Mendoza brothers were caught off balance, struggling to adapt. And the game went to the English team decisively. One game each. Everything would come down to the final two games.

During the break, Penelopey studied the Spanish brothers. They were conferring intensely, gesturing at their cards, clearly strategizing. But she noticed something else. Tension between them. Small disagreements about whose fault the loss had been. They’re fracturing, she told Marcus and Benjamin quietly. Brothers are either perfectly synchronized or they destroy each other.

Push the pressure and they’ll crack. You’re certain? Benjamin asked. Watch. Felipe, the younger one, keeps second-guessing Rodrigo’s plays. He’s the weak point. Game three was brutal. Every trick mattered. Every card placement was analyzed and counter analyzed. The lead shifted multiple times.

The tension in the room ratcheting higher with each hand played. Marcus was utterly focused. His Duke persona completely stripped away to reveal the pure strategist beneath. Penelopey couldn’t look away from him. This was Marcus at his most essential, brilliant and intense and beautiful in his concentration. When the Mendoza brothers started to fracture exactly as she’d predicted when Felipe snapped at Rodrigo in Spanish after a questionable play, Penelopey felt savage satisfaction.

Marcus and Benjamin won game three. One more game. One more win for the championship. The crowd had gone silent, recognizing they were witnessing something special. Msie Laura watched with sharp interest, his earlier boredom replaced by genuine engagement. Game four began with palpable tension. The Mendoza brothers were desperate now, playing with the recklessness of men who knew they were losing control.

And that recklessness was exactly what Benjamin and Marcus needed. They played with surgical precision, exploiting every mistake, pressing every advantage. The Spanish brothers grew increasingly frustrated, their unity completely shattered. By the time the final trick was played, the outcome was inevitable. Benjamin and Marcus won.

The room erupted. People Penelopey didn’t know were shaking their hands, congratulating them, talking excitedly about the match. Msu Lauron presented the prize, a substantial amount of money and a trophy that was more symbolic than practical, and gave a short speech about the quality of play he’d witnessed. Through it all, Penelopey felt warmth spreading through her chest. They’d done it.

She’d helped them do it. When Marcus finally broke free from the crowd and found her, his eyes were a light with triumph and something deeper. “We couldn’t have done this without you. You would have figured it out, Penelopey said, but she was smiling. No. He glanced around, then lowered his voice.

You’re brilliant, Penelopey. Absolutely brilliant. And I, he stopped, seemed to reconsider. We should celebrate. There’s a party tonight at the usual place. The place Benjamin thinks I don’t know about, Penelopey asked Riley. That one? Will you come? It wasn’t really a question. They both knew she would. The party was in full swing by the time Penelopey arrived, having waited an appropriate interval after Benjamin and Marcus had left the hotel.

She’d worn a different dress tonight, still simple, but with a lower neckline than she’d normally dare, knowing Marcus would notice. He did. The moment she entered the establishment, his eyes found her across the crowded room and darkened with clear appreciation. He was talking to a group of men, probably discussing the match, but his attention was entirely on her now.

Penelopey made her way through the crowd, accepting congratulations from people she’d seen at the tournament until she found Marie again. You came back, Marie said warmly. And your cousins won. How exciting it was, Penelopey agreed, trying to ignore how intensely aware she was of Marcus watching her. They talked for a while. Marie introducing her to other regulars, and Penelope found herself genuinely enjoying the freedom of this place.

Here she wasn’t Miss Witmore of London society, bound by a thousand unspoken rules. She was just Penelope, and people talked to her like she had a mind worth engaging. But all the while she felt Marcus’ attention like a physical touch. When Benjamin got pulled into a drinking game with some of the other tournament participants, and Marie excused herself to speak with friends, Penelopey found herself alone for the first time all evening.

Marcus appeared at her side almost instantly, his hand finding the small of her back in a gesture that looked casual, but felt possessive. “Having fun?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear immensely. She looked up at him, saw the heat in his eyes, and felt answering warmth flood through her. Though I think you’re supposed to be celebrating your victory, not hovering over me.

I am celebrating. His hand pressed slightly more firmly against her back. This is exactly where I want to be. Marcus, there’s a private room upstairs, he said quietly, where we could talk without an audience. Penelopey’s heart skipped. She knew what he was really asking. knew that going upstairs with him would cross a line they couldn’t uncross.

But looking into his eyes, seeing the want there that matched her own, she found she didn’t care about lines anymore. “Show me,” she said. They slipped away from the crowd, Marcus guiding her up a narrow staircase to a hallway lined with doors. Most were closed, sounds of laughter or music filtering through.

He led her to one at the end, opened it to reveal a small sitting room with comfortable furniture and windows overlooking the street below. The moment the door closed behind them, Marcus pulled her into his arms and kissed her with an urgency that stole her breath. Penelopey responded with equal fervor, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.

“We won because of you,” Marcus murmured against her mouth between kisses. your brilliant mind, your observations. You won because you’re exceptional players, Penelopey countered, but she was smiling against his lips. I am exceptional when I’m with you. He kissed her deeper, walking her backward until her legs hit the sofa. Everything is better when I’m with you.

They sank onto the furniture, Marcus’ weight pressing her into the cushions, and for long moments there was nothing but sensation, the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body, the way his hands mapped her waist and hips with growing boldness. “We should stop,” Marcus said, even as he kissed down her neck, finding the sensitive spot below her ear that made her gasp.

“We should,” Penelopey agreed breathlessly, tilting her head to give him better access. But I don’t want to. Neither do I. He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “Penelopey, this is I need you to understand what this means.” “What you mean?” “Then tell me,” she whispered. “I’m falling in love with you,” Marcus said simply honestly.

“Maybe I’ve been falling for years and just didn’t let myself see it.” “But now,” he cupped her face gently. Now I can’t imagine going back to London and pretending you’re just Benjamin’s sister, pretending I don’t want to wake up next to you every morning. Penelopey’s heart felt too large for her chest. Marcus, you don’t have to say anything, he interrupted.

I know this is complicated. I know we said it was just for these weeks, but I needed you to know the truth. The truth, Penelopey said slowly, is that I’m falling in love with you, too. that I don’t want this to end in 10 days when we go home. The smile that broke across Marcus’s face was incandescent. Then we’ll figure it out.

Whatever Benjamin’s reaction, whatever society thinks, we’ll figure it out together. Together. Penelopey agreed and kissed him again. They stayed in that room for an hour talking between kisses, planning a future that felt both impossible and inevitable. When they finally returned downstairs, carefully separated and composed, Benjamin was too drunk on victory and wine to notice anything a miss.

But as Penelopey caught Marcus’s eye across the room later that night, saw the promise in his gaze, she felt certain that everything would work out. She was wrong. The confrontation came 3 days before they were scheduled to leave Marseilles. Penelopey had become friendly with Maria over the past week, and the two women sometimes met for coffee at a cafe near the hotel.

It was a casual friendship, the kind that would probably not survive their return to London, but felt genuine while it lasted. On this particular afternoon, they sat at an outdoor table while Marie told an amusing story about a painter she’d been seeing. The conversation turned, as it often did, to Penelopey’s cousins.

Your cousin Marcus is very attractive,” Marie said with a knowing smile. “Half the women here have tried to catch his attention, but he only has eyes for you.” Penelopey felt her cheeks heat. “We’re family. He’s just protective.” “That’s not protection,” I see in his eyes. Sheree, “That’s desire.” Marie laughed at Penelopey’s expression. “Don’t look so scandalized.

Here we’re more honest about such things. If you want him, take him. Life is too short for pretending. It’s not that simple, Penelopey struggled to explain. In London, there are rules, expectations. Then be grateful we’re not in London. Marie leaned forward conspiratorally. Between you and me, half the cousins who come here aren’t actually related.

It’s just a convenient fiction. Something in Penelopey’s expression must have given her away because Marie’s eyes widened with delight. He’s not really your cousin, is he? Marie, don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But really, Penelope, if he’s not actually family, what’s stopping you? What was stopping her? The same things that had always stopped her, fear of scandal, Benjamin’s reaction, the weight of propriety.

But in this moment, with the Marles sun warm on her face, and freedom singing in her veins, those things felt less important. “Nothing stopping me,” Penelope said, the words coming out before she’d fully thought them through. We’re just enjoying ourselves, having fun for once in our lives. Fun is good, Maria proved.

As long as you’re careful about consequences, there won’t be consequences. Penelopey heard herself saying the words, knowing even as she spoke them that they weren’t quite true. Marcus doesn’t really mean anything serious. It’s just a holiday romance, something to remember when we go back to our real lives.

The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from elaborating. He’s charming and handsome, and here I can pretend to be someone who has adventures instead of someone who sits in drawing rooms discussing needle work. But it’s not real. When we go home, everything goes back to normal. If you say so, Marie said, though she sounded skeptical.

But I’ve seen how he looks at you, Penelope. That’s not a man who’s just having fun. Penelopey laughed, trying to make light of it. Then perhaps he’s a better actor than I thought. What she didn’t see was Marcus standing just inside the cafe doorway, close enough to hear every word. He’d come looking for her, had been about to call out to her when he’d heard his name, and paused.

Now he stood frozen, each word landing like a physical blow. Marcus doesn’t really mean anything serious. It’s just a holiday romance. When we go home, everything goes back to normal. He turned and walked away before Penelopey could spot him, his chest tight with something that felt like grief. Penelopey knew something was wrong the moment she returned to the hotel.

Marcus was in the lobby, his expression carefully blank in a way that made her stomach drop. Marcus, is everything all right? Fine. His voice was clipped, formal. Benjamin is looking for you. Something about dinner arrangements. I’ll find him in a moment. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. What’s wrong? You look I said everything’s fine, Miss Whitmore.

The use of her formal name felt like a slap. If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to. He walked away before she could respond, leaving her staring after him in confusion. The rest of the day was a nightmare of Marcus’s cold politeness and Penelopey’s growing dread. He avoided being alone with her, kept conversations brief and impersonal, and when their eyes met across the dinner table that evening, his expression was shuttered completely.

Benjamin noticed nothing, too busy celebrating their final days in Marseilles, and making plans for next year’s tournament. That night, Penelope waited in the courtyard fountain for an hour. But Marcus never came. She returned to her room, feeling sick with worry, certain something terrible had happened, but unable to understand what.

The next morning, she cornered him in the hotel’s breakfast room before Benjamin came down. “Talk to me,” she demanded quietly. “Please, what did I do?” Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Nothing. You were perfectly honest.” “Honest about what, Marcus? I don’t understand. I heard you,” he said flatly. Yesterday at the cafe with your friend, I heard exactly what you think of this, of us.

Penelopey’s blood went cold as understanding crashed over her. Oh, Marcus. No, that’s not I was lying to protect us. I couldn’t tell Marie the truth about what we are, so I So you told her I meant nothing. His eyes were hard. That this was just fun, a holiday romance you’ll forget when we go home. I didn’t mean it.

Penelopey reached for his hand, but he stepped back. Marcus, please, you know how I feel. I told you. You told me what I wanted to hear. His voice was quiet, deadly. Just like you told your friend what she wanted to hear. How am I supposed to know which version is true? The version I told you is true. Desperation clawed at her throat. Marcus, I love you. That’s real.

Everything else was just just protecting yourself. Marcus finished. I understand. You wanted the fun of a secret romance without the risk of real consequences. And when we get back to London, when I’m just the Duke of Westmir again, and you’re Benjamin’s untouchable sister, we’ll go back to how things were.

Just like you said. That’s not what I want. Tears were threatening now. You’re twisting my words. I’m repeating them. He looked at her with something like pity. Maybe you’re right, Penelope. Maybe this is all it should be. A few stolen weeks that don’t mean anything once we cross back into England. It would certainly be simpler.

I don’t want simple. I want you. Do you? The question hung between them. Or do you want the idea of me? The forbidden romance, the secret kisses, the fantasy of someone who isn’t bound by all those rules you claim to hate but never actually break. Each word cut deeper than the last. That’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

Marcus stepped back, putting more distance between them. We leave in 2 days. Let’s just finish this trip with some dignity intact, shall we? Benjamin deserves that much. He left her standing there, and Penelopey felt like her heart was breaking in her chest. The last two days in Marilles passed in a fog of misery.

Marcus maintained polite distance, treating Penelopey with the same courteous formality he’d use with any stranger. Benjamin finally noticed something was wrong, asking both of them repeatedly if they’d had some kind of argument, but neither would explain. The journey back to London was torture. 4 days in close quarters with Marcus’ careful coldness, with the ghost of what they’d been haunting every interaction.

Penelopey tried twice to corner him for a real conversation, but he evaded her skillfully. By the time they reached London, she’d convinced herself that she’d destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her with a few thoughtless words to a friend she’d never see again. The first week back was worse.

Marcus didn’t visit Hartwell House, didn’t attend any events where he might encounter her. Benjamin complained about his friend’s absence, but assumed it was duty keeping Marcus occupied. Penelopey felt like she was slowly suffocating. Then came the dinner party. It was supposed to be a small gathering, the Witmore family hosting the Daaja Duchess of Westmir and her son for an informal dinner.

The two families had been friends for years, and such occasions were common enough not to cause comment. Penelopey dressed carefully, hoping for a chance to speak with Marcus privately. She needed to make him understand that her words to Marie had been meaningless, that what they’d shared was real and precious and worth fighting for.

Marcus arrived with his mother, impeccably dressed and perfectly composed. He greeted Penelopey with a bow and a polite Miss Witmore, like she was a distant acquaintance rather than someone who’d kissed him breathless under the Marseilles stars. Dinner was agony. Penelopey sat across from Marcus, watching him charm her parents with easy conversation, and wondered how he could be so calm when she felt like she was dying inside.

After dinner, while their parents retired to the drawing room for cards, Benjamin pulled Marcus aside to show him something in the study. Penelopey, desperate, followed them. Thinking about next year’s tournament, Benjamin was saying as she entered. We should start planning strategies early, maybe. Penelopey, did you need something? I need to speak with Marcus, she said, her voice steadier than she felt. Alone.

Benjamin’s eyebrows rose. It’s late. Please, Benjamin. Something in her tone must have convinced him because he nodded slowly. I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me. He left, closing the door behind him. Marcus stood by the window, his back to her, tension visible in every line of his body.

What do you want, Penelope? I want you to stop punishing me for one stupid moment of self-p protection. She moved closer, willing him to turn around. I want you to remember that I told you I loved you, that I meant it, that I still mean it. Love, he finally turned, and the emptiness in his eyes cut deeper than anger would have.

You told your friend I meant nothing. Which statement am I supposed to believe? The one I said to your face. Frustration bled into her voice. Marcus, I was scared. Marie was asking questions I couldn’t answer honestly without exposing us, so I lied badly. I’m sorry you heard it, but but nothing. He crossed to her in three steps, close enough that she could see the pain beneath his controlled exterior.

Do you know what it felt like hearing you dismiss what we had like it was some meaningless diance? Hearing you laugh about me not meaning anything? I wasn’t laughing about you. You were protecting yourself, Marcus said. And I understand that, Penelope. I do. But it made me realize something important. He moved closer still.

Close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell his familiar scent. Close enough that for one hopeful moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he said quietly, “I can’t be with someone who’s ashamed of what we are. Someone who will lie about my importance the moment it’s convenient. I deserve better than that. And so do you. I’m not ashamed.

” “Then why did you tell your friend I meant nothing?” His voice was gentle now, almost pitying. Why not tell her the truth? That you’re falling in love with your brother’s best friend, and damn the consequences. Because I was afraid. The words burst out of her. Afraid of Benjamin’s reaction. Afraid of scandal.

Afraid that if I said it out loud, the magic would break and I’d lose you. You lost me anyway, Marcus said. The moment you pretended I didn’t matter. That’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. He stepped back, putting space between them again. When we go back to London, we already are in London. This is reality now, Penelope. And in reality, you’re Benjamin’s sister, and I’m his best friend, and we should never have crossed that line.

So that’s it. Tears were streaming down her face now, and she didn’t bother hiding them. You’re giving up after everything? I’m being practical. But his voice cracked slightly. Which one of us has to be? A knock at the door made them both jump. Benjamin’s voice came through. Everything all right in there? Marcus moved to open the door before Penelope could respond. Everything’s fine.

Your sister was just leaving. But Benjamin was staring at them both, taking in Penelopey’s tears and Marcus’ rigid control, and his expression shifted from curiosity to suspicion. “What’s going on?” he asked slowly. “And don’t tell me nothing. I’m not blind, Benjamin. Penelopey started. How long? Benjamin cut her off, his gaze moving between them.

How long has something been happening between you two? The silence stretched too long. Marseilles, Benjamin said flatly. That’s why you both have been acting strange since we got back. Something happened in Marseilles. Nothing happened, Marcus said, but his voice lacked conviction. Don’t lie to me. Benjamin’s face had gone pale with anger. You’re my best friend, Marcus.

And Penelope, he looked at his sister. Did he? Did you? We kissed, Penelope said simply, unable to lie anymore. Several times, and I fell in love with him. The words hung in the air like a grenade. Benjamin turned to Marcus, betrayal written across his features. You touched my sister while I trusted you to help protect her.

It wasn’t like that, Marcus said. Then what was it like? Benjamin’s voice rose. Explain to me how you kissing my sister multiple times apparently isn’t exactly what it sounds like. Explain how this isn’t a complete betrayal of our friendship. I love her, Marcus said simply. The words fell into the room like stones.

I love her, Benjamin. Not like a friend’s sister. Like like I want to marry her. like I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy. The confession seemed to shock everyone. Penelopey most of all. He’d said he was falling in love with her, but he’d never said the rest. Never laid it out so starkly.

Marry her? Benjamin repeated slowly. You want to marry her? Yes. And you? Benjamin turned to Penelope. Is that what you want? Penelopey looked at Marcus, saw the raw honesty in his eyes, the way he was finally fighting for them. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s what I want.” Benjamin sank into a chair, looking between them like he was seeing strangers.

“I need I need time to think, to process this.” He looked at Marcus. “Leave, please, just go.” Marcus hesitated, his eyes finding Penelopees. She tried to convey everything she felt in that look. Hope and fear and love and desperation. Then he left and Penelopey was alone with her brother’s anger. Benjamin didn’t speak to her for 2 days.

He avoided her in the house, took his meals in his study, and refused to discuss what had happened. Their parents, sensing something wrong, tried to mediate, but Benjamin wouldn’t explain, and Penelopey couldn’t. On the third day, Marcus appeared at Hartwell House and asked to speak with Benjamin privately.

Penelopey waited in the library, pacing and terrified, while the two men talked in Benjamin’s study for over an hour. She heard raised voices at one point, then long stretches of quiet that were somehow worse. Finally, Benjamin emerged, his expression unreadable. He walked past her without a word, then paused at the door. “He’s waiting for you in the garden,” Benjamin said quietly. and Penelope.

I’m still furious with both of you, but he stopped, struggled for words. I’ve known Marcus my entire life. He’s honorable. If he says he loves you, he means it. And if you love him, another pause. Then I suppose I’ll have to learn to live with it. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was permission, and that was enough. Penelopey ran to the garden.

Marcus stood by the rose bushes, looking more uncertain than she’d ever seen him. When he saw her, something in his expression softened. Benjamin and I have reached an understanding, he said. He’s given me permission to court you officially. He has, Hope flared in her chest. I told him everything.

Marcus took a step closer about Marseilles, about falling in love with you, about hearing what you said to your friend and letting my pride convince me you didn’t care. about being a coward who almost let the best thing in his life slip away because of one misunderstanding. You’re not a coward, Penelopey said softly.

I am, but I’m trying to be brave now. He closed the distance between them, took her hands in his. Penelopey Witmore, I love you. I love your sharp mind and sharper tongue. I love that you see patterns nobody else does. I love that you refuse to be protected from life. That you followed us to that party, that you’ve never let anyone, including me, treat you as less than you are.

Tears were sliding down her cheeks, but she was smiling. Marcus, let me finish. He squeezed her hands gently. I love that you’re brave enough to love me back, even though I’ve been an absolute ass about it. And I’m asking if you’ll have me to let me spend the rest of my life proving that you mean everything to me. Not nothing. everything.

“Yes,” Penelopey said through tears and laughter. “Yes, you ridiculous man. I love you, too. I never stopped loving you, even when you were being impossible.” “I wasn’t being impossible,” Marcus protested. “I was being impossible,” she repeated firmly. “But I love you anyway.” He kissed her then, right there in the garden where anyone could see, and it felt like coming home.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and smiling, Penelopey noticed Benjamin watching from the house. He didn’t smile, but he nodded once before turning away. It was enough. The next weeks passed in a blur of formal courtship, chaperon visits, proper calls, public acknowledgement of Marcus’ intentions.

Society talked, of course. The Duke of Westmir courting his best friend’s sister was prime gossip material. But Marcus handled it all with grace, making it clear through word and action that Penelope was his choice. Not a convenience or a compromise, but the woman he’d chosen above all others. The first time he brought her to a ball as his official partner.

Penelopey wore blue silk and held her head high despite the whispers. Marcus never left her side, his hand at her back, his attention solely on her. “Are you certain about this?” she whispered during a break in dancing. You could have anyone, someone without complications, without I don’t want anyone, Marcus interrupted. I want you.

Complications and all. He smiled at her, that smile she’d fought so hard to earn. Though I should warn you, I’m planning to propose properly soon with your father’s permission and everything. Is that so? Penelopey’s heart soared. And what makes you think I’ll say yes? Because you love me, Marcus said simply.

And because we’re better together than apart, you said it yourself in Marseilles. Together. Together. Penelopey agreed and let him lead her back onto the dance floor. Two months later, Marcus proposed in the library at Hartwell House, the room where they’d first argued about Marseilles, where their story had really begun.

Benjamin was there as witness, having finally forgiven them both. And when Penelopey said yes, both men she loved most looked genuinely happy. The wedding was elegant and intimate, attended by family and close friends. Benjamin stood up with Marcus. His earlier anger transformed into protective blessing. The Daaga Duchess cried happy tears.

And when Marcus kissed his new wife in front of everyone, Penelopey thought about how far they’d come from that first forbidden kiss in a Marseilles hallway. “I love you, Duchess,” Marcus murmured against her lips. “I love you, too,” Penelopey replied. even when you’re being impossible. Especially then, he corrected and kissed her again.

6 months into their marriage, Marcus surprised Penelopey with an announcement at breakfast. I’ve made arrangements, he said casually, though his eyes were dancing with mischief. We’re going to Marles for 3 weeks. Penelope looked up from her correspondence, delight spreading across her face. Really? But won’t Benjamin want to? Benjamin is coming too, Marcus confirmed.

Along with the RTORS actually Msure Lauron is organizing a special exhibition match, last year’s champions defending their title. He’s calling it the championship of champions. That sounds completely ridiculous. Marcus grinned. I know, but I thought you might enjoy returning properly this time as my wife, not my secret.

Penelopey stood, crossing to where he sat and slid into his lap in a way that would have scandalized London society, but made Marcus smile. As your wife, I think it sounds perfect. Good, because I’ve already booked our rooms at Madame Rouso’s hotel. He kissed her softly. And this time there’ll be no rules about keeping distance. No pretending.

Just us. Just us. Penelopey agreed. Though I should warn you, I’ve been developing some new strategies while you’ve been busy being a duke. You and Benjamin might not win this time. Is that a threat, Duchess? It’s a promise. She kissed him deeply, thoroughly until they were both breathless. I learned from the best after all.

Ruthlessly clever as always, Marcus murmured against her mouth. I love you. I know, Penelopey said, smiling. You tell me every day. and I’ll tell you every day for the rest of our lives. Later, when they traveled to Marseilles with Benjamin in tow, the city welcomed them like old friends,” Madame Rouso exclaimed over Penelopey’s wedding ring.

And Marie, who they encountered by chance at a cafe, laughed delightedly at the news. “I told you he was serious,” she said to Penelope. “I knew that wasn’t a man just having fun.” “You were right,” Penelopey admitted. “About everything. The exhibition match was intense and entertaining with Marcus and Benjamin ultimately winning against the RTORS in a dramatic final game.

But this time when they celebrated afterward, Marcus kept Penelopey at his side, his hand linked with hers, making it clear to everyone that she was his partner in every way that mattered. That night, standing on the balcony of their hotel room while Marles sparkled below them, Marcus pulled Penelope into his arms.

Happy, he asked deliriously, she confirmed, though I should probably tease you about something to maintain tradition. Please do. I’ve gotten far too comfortable with you being sweet to me. Penelopey laughed, the sound bright and free. Your grace, are you saying you miss our arguments? I’m saying I miss the fire. He kissed her temple.

Though I like this too, the peace we’ve found. We can have both, Penelope said. Fire and peace, challenge and comfort. Together, Marcus said, echoing that promise they’d made so many months ago. Together, Penelopey agreed. And in the warm Marles night, with the city they’d fled to for freedom now a place they’d chosen together, Marcus kissed his wife and knew that this this partnership, this love, this impossible, perfect thing they’d built was worth every complication, every fear, every moment of doubt. Penelopey Whitmore had always

been extraordinary, but Penelopey Devo, Duchess of Westm, was something even more remarkable. She was his match, his equal, his partner in every game that mattered. And he would spend the rest of his life grateful that she’d teased him that day in the library, that she’d refused to be protected, that she’d followed him to a party she shouldn’t have attended, and kissed him with the kind of fearless honesty that had changed everything.

She’d set a rule he couldn’t escape. That he would love her completely, fiercely, for all the days of their lives. And he’d never been happier to surrender. Thank you for staying with Penelopey and Marcus until the very end. Your time means everything. It’s the reason these stories exist, the reason I write them. If this story touched you, made you smile, or gave you that warm feeling of watching two people find their way to each other, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.