“Michael?” He stiffened at the sound of his name, but she did not take the time to wonder why.
She flattened her palm against his cold cheek—an action at which she would later marvel—and laughed, the sound muffled by the snow falling around them. “It is you, isn’t it?”
He reached up, pulling her hand from his face. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and still, he was so warm.
And not at all clammy.
Before she could stop him, he pulled her to him, pushing back the hood of her cloak, exposing her to the snow and the light. There was a long moment while his gaze roamed her face, and she forgot to be uncomfortable.
“You’ve grown.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed again. “It is you! You beast! You scared me! You pretended not to know—! Where have you—? When did you—?” She shook her head, her smile straining her cheeks. “I don’t even know where to begin!”
She smiled up at him, taking him in. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been a few inches taller than she, a gangly boy, arms and legs too long for his body. No longer. This Michael was a man, tall and lean.
And very, very handsome.
She still did not quite believe that it was he. “Michael!”
He met her gaze head-on, and a bolt of pleasure shot through her as though the look were a physical touch, warming her—catching her off guard before the brim of his cap shielded his eyes once more, and she filled his silence with her own words. “What are you doing here?”
His lips did not move from their perfect, straight line. There was a long pause, during which she was consumed with the heat of him. With the happiness of seeing him. It didn’t matter that it was late and it was dark and he didn’t seem nearly as happy to see her.
“Why are you traipsing through the darkness in the dead of night in the middle of nowhere?”
He’d avoided her question, yes, but Penelope didn’t care. “It’s not the middle of nowhere. We’re no more than a half a mile from either of our houses.”
“You could have been set upon by a highwayman, or a thief, or a kidnapper, or—”
“A pirate. Or a bear. I’ve already considered all the options.”
The Michael she had once known would have smiled. This one did not. “There are no bears in Surrey.”
“Pirates would be rather a surprise, too, don’t you think?”
No answer.
She tried to rouse the old Michael. To coax him out. “I would take an old friend over a pirate or a bear any day, Michael.”
Snow shifted beneath his feet. When he spoke, there was steel in his tone. “Bourne.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Bourne.”
Shock and embarrassment coursed through her. He was a marquess, yes, but she’d never imagined he’d be so firm about his title . . . they were childhood friends, after all. She cleared her throat. “Of course, Lord Bourne.”
“Not the title. Just the name. Bourne.”
She swallowed back her confusion. “Bourne?”
He gave a slight nod, barely there before it was gone. “I’ll ask you one more time. Why are you here?”
She did not think of ignoring the question. “I saw your lantern; I came to investigate.”
“You came, in the middle of the night, to investigate a strange light in the woods of a house that has been uninhabited for sixteen years.”
“It’s only been uninhabited for nine years.”
He paused. “I don’t remember your being so exasperating.”
“Then you don’t remember me very well. I was a very exasperating child.”
“You were not. You were very serious.”
She smiled. “So you do remember. You were always trying to make me laugh. I’m simply returning the favor; is it working?”
“No.”
She lifted her lantern high, and he allowed her to free him from the shadows, casting his face in warm, golden light. He had aged marvelously, grown into his long limbs and angled face. Penelope had always imagined that he’d become handsome, but he was more than handsome now . . . he was nearly beautiful.
If not for the darkness that lingered despite the glow of the lantern—something dangerous in the set of his jaw, in the tightness of his brow, in eyes that seemed to have forgotten joy, in lips that seemed to have lost their ability to smile.
He’d had a dimple as a child, one that showed itself often and was almost always the precursor to adventure. She searched his left cheek, looking for that telltale indentation. Did not find it.
Indeed, as much as Penelope searched this new, hard face, she could not seem to find the boy she’d once known. If not for the eyes, she would not have believed it was him at all.
“How sad,” she whispered to herself.
He heard it. “What?”
She shook her head, meeting his gaze, the only thing familiar about him. “He’s gone.”
“Who?”
“My friend.”