Penelope sucked in a breath, and they ceased their dance.

"From you?" she repeated.

Beckett released her hand, lifting his own to cup her face. Penelope tensed slightly when he stroked her cheek, but it did not seem to be in fear. It felt as though there was a hum beneath her skin.

He nodded, worried about saying more. He should not have said anything at all. Penelope breathed deeply, and he longed to capture at least one of her breaths. He'd felt the attraction from the very beginning, but he'd be damned if it wasn't getting worse. A goddamn curse on his body.

"I do not understand why I should require protection from you," she said finally.

"Don't you?"

He found that hard to believe. They both knew how close he was that night to shredding off her clothes before Griffin's arrival interrupted them.

The thought of Griffin now should have convinced Beckett to release her, but his fingers pushed back into her hair instead, gripping the base of her neck.

"No," she said softly, eyes dancing now that their feet had stopped. "Would you hurt me?"

God, no. Never. Not intentionally, anyway.

"Of course not."

"I see." Penelope's eyes continued to traverse his face, examining. Searching. "Then I think you underestimate me, Colonel."

Beckett was beginning to think the same thing.

"Perhaps I do," he admitted.

Her brows raised in surprise at his honesty. And then she leaned into him even further, letting her weight rest against Beckett's. When she spoke, her voice dropped seductively.

"Then I do not understand the concern."

At the moment, with Penelope so close and feeling so wonderful in his arms, Beckett was also finding it hard to understand the concern. But then his eyes roamed over her, and the little similarities there reminded him. The likeness to his best friend.

"Your brother," he muttered, sounding wholly unconvincing.

"Ah, Griffin." Penelope's eyes shifted away from him. "He is rather protective, yes. You have that in common with him. Only your motives are entirely different, of course."

Beckett raised a brow, and Penelope took note.

"You are simply determined to do a job, are you not?"

He dropped his hand from her hair, though his other stayed firmly on her waist. He did not like her oversimplification of the situation or her implication that he did not truly give a damn about her well-being.

Beckett might be practical and tied to his duty, but he was not uncaring.

It was likely better, though, that Penelope thought ill of him. Maybe then she would stop flirting with his ability to restrain himself whenever she was near. So he did not correct her.

"You are close with him?" he asked instead.

"Griffin taught me what it was like to have a family in ways that my parents could not," she said, her voice quiet. "It is why I wish to have the ball before he departs."

Her sentiment was sweet, but Beckett could not help but point out the obvious. He sighed as he released her—because he simply could not talk about Griffin whilst groping his sister—and took several steps back.

"Griffin does not care for balls."

Penelope worried her lip for a moment. "No, perhaps he does not. But that is because of how he was treated when we were growing up. He was never invited to balls, and my father never included him in any of their affairs. He deserves to be included for once."

Beckett stayed silent. He wished to tell Penelope that perhaps it was too late for Griffin. She could not undo the damage her father had done in how he raised his bastard son. But he could not bring himself to say it.

"Do you have siblings?" Penelope wondered.

She started to move slowly toward the door as though the matter of the ball and Griffin had been settled, and Beckett fell into stride beside her. He put out his arm for her to take, and he was not surprised when she shook her head in denial. Even though she looked pained with each and every step.

It wasn't until several moments passed that Penelope's question sank in, hitting him with a pang of pain in the pit of his stomach.

"I had a sister."

Penelope made a little pitying noise that he hated.

"Had?"

"Aye."

To his surprise, Penelope remained silent. She did not pry, nor did she quickly change the course of the conversation. And for some reason, that made Beckett want to keep talking.

"My father was a tailor, though not a very successful one. And not because his business did not provide a decent income, but because he gambled it all away. Gambled my sister away, too."

That got a slight gasp out of Penelope.

"Poor Aurora's beauty was a curse. She married a man with an addiction much like my father's. He always wanted more. He was distantly in line for a title and became determined to create heirs in case he ever weaseled his way into becoming a baron."

Penelope's lips drew thin. "I take it you did not care for the man."

"Still don't." Beckett hated that he was still alive. "When his mistress produced a son, but his wife did not, he was enraged. Declared it Aurora's fault."

"How ridiculous," Penelope muttered.

Beckett would have chosen much stronger words, but then that was the difference between him and Penelope Chapman.

"Yes," Beckett agreed lowly, his stomach clenching. He was regretting this now, telling Penelope this story. Because the ending was one of the many things that kept him up at night.

"Aurora's physicians advised her against another child due to the complications from her first birth," he said before clamping his mouth shut.

He would never forgive that ass for what he did. He would never forgive his father, either, for allowing Aurora to marry him in the first place. Or his mother for being so detached, uncaring, and having a blasé attitude toward the world. Beckett's grandfather was as cynical a man as they came, and his mother grew up with that same unfortunate lens.

Beckett was raised similarly—with the understanding that the universe worked in ways that were simply unfair. There was no justice for those who could not afford it. There was no control in the hands of those without money.

He joined the Navy after Aurora died, the urge to fight running through his veins. His life working with his father lacked control, power, and everything that Beckett needed. And while he spent many years in the Navy beneath the command of others, at least he had been doing something. Fighting for something. Not sitting idle in a shop.

"He forced her, didn't he?" Penelope asked softly when Beckett had grown quiet. "To carry another child?"

He nodded stiffly.

Beckett should have done more. He had been younger than her, yes, but not by much. And he should have done something, anything, to come to her aid. But until then, he hadn't truly believed what monsters men could be.

He would forever regret his inaction. And it was why it crazed him so much to do so little here in Southampton.

"He married his mistress after she passed," Beckett said, acid in his tone. "And he has many heirs to choose from now."

"I am so very sorry, Beckett."

Beckett could tell by Penelope's tone that she meant it sincerely. But he only shook his head, unable to speak. He did not talk about Aurora, and this was the reason.

"I abhor unfaithful men," he eventually grunted, thinking that was the one thing that she should know, being that she also married a man who, for whatever reason, could not keep his hands to his wife.

Beckett could not imagine having Penelope and not wanting her.

"You know, I am a rather practical woman," Penelope said hesitantly. "I did not mind that Lord Hutton had a mistress. In fact, when I thought I might marry Leo, I told him the very same. That he could keep his mistress if he should wish to."

"And what did he say to that?"

It was hard to deny that Beckett was curious about Lord Farrington's response.

Penelope smiled down at her feet as they walked.

"He said he could never be disrespectful to his wife in that manner."

Goddamnit. Beckett did not enjoy having a further reason not to hate Farrington.

"And that was how I knew we were not destined," Penelope said with a sigh. "He gave this rather grand speech, and I knew without a doubt that there was some other woman he was in love with. And that woman should be his wife. And now she is."

There was an awful lot of sentiment in this conversation, and Beckett wrinkled his nose. But it should not be a surprise, he supposed. Farrington was ridiculously besotted.

"I cared not that Lord Hutton had a mistress," Penelope continued. "But I did not appreciate how he left with his mistress."

"What an ass," Beckett said, pushing aside any polite talk.

"I quite concur, Colonel."

He had not realized until now that they had made it back to their chambers. He could scarcely believe that he had managed to get Penelope back here at all, and she hadn't led him off into another part of the estate. Beckett had been so engrossed in their conversation that she likely could have done anything at all, and he would not have even noticed. What a bloody awful protector he was.

"I do believe I require some rest," Penelope said as they stood in front of the door to her chamber.

Did she just say what he thought she said?

"You wish to...rest?" Beckett dared to repeat.

"I do not wish it," she corrected. "But I believe I require it."

He wanted to chide her for her semantics but couldn't bring himself to argue when she was willing to lie down without him demanding it.

Beckett watched her walk into her chambers, forcing his feet not to follow her. "I agree."

"You are not coming?" she called, and he was confident that if she'd possessed the capacity to turn her head freely at the moment, she would be tossing him a coy look. It was there, in the tone of her words. The question wasn't an innocent one.

Damn her.

He ground his teeth together.

"No."

"What a pity," she murmured.

Beckett leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for Penelope to settle herself on the bed. He wanted to ensure she did not require assistance since he was sure she would never ask for it. But she managed to relax herself just fine, and only then did Beckett stride away from the room with stiff movements.

****

"She is back in her chambers," Beckett called as he spotted Griffin in the stables.

He felt relatively assured that Penelope would not be moving for some time, given her admittance that she needed to rest. And Beckett, on the other hand, needed to move very far away from her and gather himself. So he'd stomped off across the grounds, letting the cool mist coat him.

Griffin pulled back from peeking around the stalls. "She is?"

Beckett nodded.

"How did you manage that?" Griffin asked with a cock of his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he began striding toward Beckett.

"She grew tired," Beckett replied honestly. "It was her idea."

"Where did you locate her?"

"The ballroom. Prepping for that damn ball."

Griffin released a long breath, and Beckett added, "She is doing it for you, you know."

"I know," Griffin mumbled, kicking at a rock. "I should likely take my leave from the estate early, and then perhaps she would give it up."

Something tripped in Beckett's chest. "She would be hurt," he said before thinking twice about the comment.

Because it would not hurt her physically. In fact, it just might save her. But it would certainly hurt her in other ways.

Griffin's brows drew together. "I know that, too. But it is just a dance, and you know how much I despise them."

A rare, unsettled silence hovered between them. Griffin had taken to studying Beckett closely, and Beckett was trying to find a way around this situation that would leave everyone intact.

There was only one plausible solution.

"Stay," he said.

Caught off guard, Griffin shifted on his feet. "What?"

"Postpone your departure so she may postpone the ball until she is well again."

Incredulity leaked into Griffin's expression. "You know as well as I that I am needed elsewhere. I was only given a leave of a certain length, Beck."

"We are not at war," Beckett countered. "For God's sake, if there were any peril facing England, do you honestly think I would be holed up here in the damn countryside? I will write to the queen, and she will arrange for your leave to be extended."

Griffin's mouth remained open, unhinged. And Beckett knew it was because he'd never argued for anyone's leave to be extended, and he sounded as though he were growing soft. But that had nothing to do with it; what he'd said was the simple truth.

"Fine," Griffin finally agreed. "But I cannot stay here all blasted summer."

"No." Beckett shook his head. "I'll be damned if we're both not onto our next assignment by the end of this month."

To that, Griffin gave a brisk nod of his head.

He would stay, Penelope would postpone this damned ball, and they would uncover their smuggler.

And then Beckett would get the hell out of the temptation trap that was Hutton House.