Read Online A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean - Free Book Online Page A

then resettling her on his shoulder, taking no small amount of pleasure in her grunted “Oof!” as his shoulder found purchase in the soft swell of her stomach.
    It seemed that the lady was not pleased with the direction of her evening.
    “Is there a problem with your ability to hear?” she said archly, or, as archly as one could sound while tossed over a man’s shoulder.
    He did not reply.
    He did not have to. She was filling the silence quite well with her muttering. “I should never have left the house . . . Lord knows if I’d known you would be out here, I would have locked the doors and windows and sent for the constable . . . To think . . . I was actually happy to see you!”
    She had been happy to see him, her laughter like sunshine and her excitement palpable. He stopped himself from thinking about the last time someone had been so happy to see him.
    From questioning if anyone had ever been so happy to see him. Anyone but Penelope.
    He’d stripped the happiness from her, coolly, efficiently, with skill, expecting her to be cowed by it, to be weakened.
    And she’d spoken, soft and simple, the words echoing across the lake, punctuated by the falling snow, the rushing of blood in his ears, and the biting knowledge of the truth.
    You’re on my land.
    It’s not yours.
    You lost it.
    There was nothing weak about this woman. She was strong as steel.
    With a handful of words, she’d reminded him that she was the last thing standing in the way of the one thing he’d wanted for his entire adult life. Of the only thing that gave him purpose.
    Falconwell.
    The land from whence he had come, and his father before him, and his father’s father before that, back generations—too many to count.
    The land he had lost and vowed to regain.
    At any cost.
    Even marriage.
    “You cannot simply carry me off like . . . like . . . a sheep!”
    His stride broke for a split second. “A sheep?”
    She paused, obviously rethinking the comparison. “Don’t farmers carry sheep over their shoulders?”
    “I have never seen such a thing, but you’ve lived in the country longer than I, so . . . if you say I am treating you like a sheep, so be it.”
    “You evidently do not care that I feel as though I have been ill-treated.”
    “If it is any comfort, I do not plan to shear you.”
    “It’s no comfort at all, in fact,” she said tartly. “I will tell you once more! Put. Me. Down!” She squirmed again, nearly slithering out of his grasp, one foot coming dangerously close to connecting with a valuable portion of his anatomy.
    He grunted and tightened his grasp. “Stop it.” He lifted one hand and spanked her once, firmly, on her bottom.
    She went board stiff at the action.
    “You did not . . . I cannot . . . You hit me!”
    He flung open the rear door to the Falconwell kitchens and marched her inside. Placing his lantern on a nearby table, he set her down at the center of the dark room. “You’re wearing half a dozen layers of clothing and a winter cloak. I’m surprised you felt it at all.”
    Penelope’s eyes flashed with fury. “Nevertheless, a gentleman would never dream of . . . of . . .”
    He watched her flounder for the word, enjoying her discomfort, finally offering, “I believe the word you are looking for is ‘spanking.’ ”
    Her eyes went wide at the word. “Yes. That. Gentlemen don’t . . .”
    “First, I thought we’d already established that I am not a gentleman. That ship sailed long ago. And second, you’d be surprised what gentlemen do . . . and what ladies enjoy.”
    “Not this lady. You owe me an apology.”
    “I would not hold my breath waiting for it.” He heard her little gasp as he moved across the kitchen to the place where he’d left a bottle of scotch earlier in the evening. “Would you like a drink?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “So polite.”
    “One of us should be, don’t you think?”
    He turned to face her, half-amused and half-surprised by her smart