When they were through, Caroline watched Penelope's impassive face with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She had grown quite fond of Blake's sister, and it tore her heart in two to think that the countess would cut her off completely.

But Penelope surprised them all by murmuring a quiet, “I see,” followed by an even quieter, “Hmmm.”

Caroline leaned forward.

James leaned forward.

Blake started to lean forward, then caught himself and snorted in disgust. He was well used to his sister's tactics.

Finally Penelope took a deep breath, turned to Blake, and said, “You are a beast not to have informed the family of your governmental activities, but I will not address that insult now.”

“How kind of you,” he murmured.

“It is indeed lucky for you,” she continued, “that the thoughtlessness of your secrecy has been eclipsed by a matter of even graver concern.”

“Indeed.”

Penelope glared at him as she jabbed her finger first at the marquis, then back at her brother. “One of you,” she announced, “is going to have to marry her.”

Caroline, who had been studiously examining the tips of her shoes so as not to give Blake an I-told-you-so smirk when Penelope scolded him about his secrecy, jerked her head up. The sight that awaited her was not reassuring.

Penelope was pointing her long index finger directly at her, and Blake and James had gone utterly white.

That evening found Blake having an exceedingly unpleasant conversation with his sister. She was trying to convince him to marry Caroline with all possible haste, and he was doing his best to ignore her.

He wasn't terribly worried about the outcome of this latest debacle. He had sworn never to marry; Penelope knew it, Caroline knew it, James knew it. Hell, the entire world knew it. And James wasn't the sort to let his best friend's sister goad him into doing anything he didn't want to do. In fact, the only way that Penelope could ensure that Caroline would be swiftly married would be to tell tales and create a huge scandal.

That, Blake was sure, was not a danger. Penelope might be willing to create a little gossip, but she wasn't about to ruin the woman she was now calling “my dearest, closest friend.”

Penelope, could, however, endeavor to make a general nuisance of herself and annoy the hell out of everyone at Seacrest Manor. And in Blake's case, she was succeeding handily.

“Blake,” she said, “you know you need a wife.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Caroline has been irrevocably compromised.”

“Only if you decide to tell tales in London.”

“That is beside the point.”

“That is exactly the point,” Blake growled. “She has been living here to safeguard national security.”

“Oh please,” Penelope said disdainfully. “She is staying here to escape the clutches of that guardian of hers.”

“A guardian who is a threat to national security,” Blake shot back. “And Caroline has been assisting us in his apprehension. A most noble endeavor if you ask me.”