"I have to plan for the ball. It is in less than a week."

"No," Beckett growled for the millionth time that day. "You do not. You were kicked in the shoulder by a damn horse, fell, and likely hit your head. You do not need to do anything other than rest."

Penelope glared at the man, who sat near the fireplace in her room, staring at the flames as though it was the only thing he had to do.

The accident in the stables happened to remain a bit fuzzy. She had not been able to remember precisely where the horse had struck her, but the blossoming bruise and severe pain in her right shoulder had been a relatively good indicator.

"There was sufficient hay on the ground if I do remember correctly. I could not have hit my head that hard."

Beckett lifted his gaze and returned her glare.

"I do not care if you landed on a cloud of hay. You were still knocked out cold, and there is no reason for you to leave this room."

If Penelope had not been cocooned in blankets, she would have stomped her foot on the ground. Or the bed. Or anywhere, really. "There is very much reason, Colonel!"

She caught the roll of the damn man's eyes as he continued to look anywhere but at her. If he were a gentleman, Penelope might assume that his cause of avoiding her was for her favor. Privacy, perhaps. Or the acknowledgment of propriety.

But Beckett Ash was only half a gentleman if his behavior during this house party was any indication. And Penelope was entirely confident that Beckett refused to look at her simply because he found her vexing and irritating.

As if she had known there would be thunder. As if she'd purposefully chosen to be struck by a horse.

"I would think this ball of yours would be inconsequential when compared to your health, Penelope," Beckett drawled, though she did not miss the sharpness in his tone when he said her name.

"My health is perfectly fine," she insisted. "And the ball is of extreme consequence. Or do you not truly wish to unmask the man of treason?"

"Matters of treason are not something you need to worry yourself with, my lady. That is my job."

"Then why are you not doing your job?" Penelope pressed, launching a throw pillow at him from across the room. It fell short, however, and Beckett did not even spare a glance in her direction. "I thought that was the entire point of rescinding your so-called protection duties to my brother dearest. So you might get on with more pressing matters that did not include spending time with me."

Beckett lifted his hand, running his fingers along his jawline in apparent frustration. "Yes, I rescinded my duties, and then what happened, Penelope?"

Penelope thought that was likely a rhetorical question and also an unfair one, so she stayed silent. It was not like Griffin had done anything wrong. Again, it was not as if a person could predict the timing of a thunderstorm or the exact temperament of a horse when one appeared.

When the colonel grunted at her lack of answer, Penelope fought the desire to roll her eyes. "I apologize that I am such an inconvenience to you, Colonel."

She shifted in the bed, trying to find a position that might be more comfortable for her shoulder, which had grown mightily sore as the day progressed. While yes, the physician had recommended that she stay put, Penelope wondered if perhaps the requirement to remain statue-like only made her muscles stiffer. She did not truly know, but she did know she was wholly uncomfortable.

When a tiny whimper of pain slipped regretfully from Penelope's lips, Beckett turned his head sharply toward her.

"Why the devil are you moving?" he asked, his brows drawing together as she tried to adjust herself in the bed. With a sigh of exasperation or contempt or whatever damning emotion this man felt for her, Beckett pushed out of his armchair and crossed the room.

"I was uncomfortable," Penelope said with a squeak, trying not to let the pain leak into her voice.

Oh, heavens. When Colonel Ash was angry, he was also annoyingly striking, with his clenching jaw and tense, bulking muscles. And he was also alarmingly close to her and her bed, bending over to help her readjust her pillows like he was a gentle maid.

"Come on," he said, his tone softening as he helped her lean forward while putting extra padding behind her shoulders. When he was done, he slowly released her. "Easy now."

Penelope tried to swallow and found it to be rather difficult. There seemed to be something in her throat.

But then, as soon as his hands left her, Beckett returned to behaving domineering and brash, and she found it easier to breath. "See?" he said. "This is why you must stay abed."

"It is awfully boring," Penelope said with a sniff, knowing that after revealing her pain, there would be no use arguing the point that she was well.

Colonel Ash bowed his head toward her as he retreated to her fireplace, but it was done rather sardonically. "I do apologize for the lack of entertainment that I offer, my lady."

"Perhaps a smile or a joke would help," she offered, goading him with a smile of her own.

"The only jokes I know are ones meant for below the decks of ships."

"I would be quite curious to hear those," Penelope replied earnestly.

But Beckett was already shaking his head. "No, I think not."

"And why do you think not?"

He made a sound similar to that of a snort. "Do you often find marchionesses below the decks of ships?"

Penelope frowned. "I would reckon not."

'Then such jokes are not meant for the likes of you, are they?"

"It is not often that a man uses my title against me." Her frown deepened. "You are infuriating; do you realize that?"

He did not appear concerned by her irritation, but Penelope was not surprised. "You should be grateful for your title, Lady Hutton. It gives you this roof over your head and a staff of over one hundred at your beck and call."

She stiffened. "I can realize the privilege of my title and also acknowledge the sacrifices it demands of me."

Lifting a brow, the colonel glanced over at her. "Sacrifices?"

He asked the single question as if he did not believe there were any. Penelope felt anger bubble in her stomach, and her tone dropped as she regarded him.

"I lie here husbandless, childless, and friendless, Colonel."

Beckett flinched at that, blinking a few times and running a hand through his hair before he found himself able to respond.

"You have friends, Penelope," he said, rather softly. "You do not consider any of your guests your friends? What of..." He winced slightly. "What of Lord Farrington?"

"Yes," Penelope sighed. "Yes, of course, I do consider Farrington a friend, more like a brother actually. But I lost many of my friends after I married a lord who promptly left me. And while many have forgotten such a scandal by now, and likely, they would come crawling back if I asked...I find I do not wish to ask."

"That is understandable," Beckett said with a nod. It was in his gaze, too, though. The understanding.

Penelope looked down, staring at the crisscrossed pattern on the counterpane. "I might have a title, Colonel Ash, but you have freedom. What is worth more?"

It was silent for a long moment, and a ridiculously high-pitched laugher broke through Penelope's lips as she realized the absurdity of the entire conversation, of the situation where she sat here with a man whom she hardly knew and lamented her life.

She lifted her gaze, pinning it onto Beckett, who curiously watched her.

"I cannot even have the freedom to lie in my own bedchamber or travel through my home undisturbed, can I?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, and she watched something akin to guilt flash through his expression.

"Do you wish me to leave, my lady?"

Penelope's lips drew together. Did she wish him to leave? No, not entirely. If he were to go, what else would she do to pass her time? Yes, she could attempt to plan for the ball, but there was, in truth, very little she could do from her bed. And her pain was persistent enough to keep her in it.

She let out a long breath. "No, it is quite fine."

He raised a knowing brow, a bit of a smirk sliding onto his face. Penelope immediately regretted her allowance of his presence.

But then Griffin burst into the room, and based on the expression on his face, he would be putting an end to it regardless. His eyes immediately narrowed on his friend, whose position by the fire was not in the least bit concerning. So she had to assume that it was his presence, in general, which bothered her brother so.

"The heavens are you doing in here, Beck?"

The stony wall went back up on Beckett's face. Brick by brick, it reappeared.

"I am ensuring that our lady maintains her well-being."

Griffin's bright blue eyes flicked to Penelope before returning to the colonel.

"I do believe Penelope can lie in bed without concern. And if there is concern, she may ring for Collette or me."

Beckett sighed, appearing not in the mood for an argument. He rose onto his feet, reminding Penelope once more how tall he towered, and then he retreated to his chambers, which were just through the adjoining double doors.

He left them open.

Griffin stared at the doors. Stared at them tersely. Crossed the room and closed them with a definitive click.

"What is going on?" he asked when he whirled back around.

"Nothing is going on, brother. The man simply refused to leave. Just sat there, all grumpy and condescending for the better part of the day."

Her explanation left Griffin in a state of bemusement.

"Strange," he muttered beneath his breath before making a visible effort to brighten his face. "And how are you fairing, my dear?"

Penelope made to shrug, but an excruciating pain greeted her with even the slightest movement. Alarmed, she cried out before snapping her mouth shut again, and Griffin quickened his steps toward her bedside.

The doors across the room were ripped open again, and she looked up to find Beckett frowning in her direction.

"I am fine," she said, switching her gaze between her brother and her damn chamber mate. "It simply pains me to move."

"I did not even see you move, Pen," Griffin muttered.

"Yes, well," she bit out, "when it hurt, I stopped."

Griffin released a long breath. "Let me see if I cannot call for the physician to come again," he said, and before she could protest, he was out the door.

It left Beckett and Penelope alone again, but this time, an odd tension simmered in the room. He hovered by the door silently, his eyes sweeping over her. Finally, his low voice reached across the space.

"Are you certain you are fine?" he asked.

She nodded. Because that was one thing she could muster without pain.

"Yes, I am certain."

Beckett nodded once, and then he vanished again.

But the doors remained open.