Griffin appeared utterly confused.  Which made two of them.

How the hell had Griffin not mentioned in the years that he knew Beckett that his sister was a marchioness?

He'd known the man was a bastard with estranged, titled parents. But he assumed maybe they were a baron or a viscount or at least maybe not one of the wealthiest men in England. Perhaps not a duke.

And he didn't mention that while he was estranged from his parents, his sister, on the other hand, was apparently one of his closest kin.

Of course, Penelope was close with him. She wouldn't be one to place blame on a man for being born a bastard when it was not his fault. Penelope would never.

"Griff," Beckett said, coming down to meet him at his level.

"Beckett?" His friend put out his hand in greeting, even though his gaze was bewildered. "What are you doing—"

"Colonel Ash is here as my personal guest," Farrington jumped to say, ready to recite the same lines he had to everyone else whenever they questioned Beckett's presence at the estate.

However, Farrington appeared uncertain. He didn't know what to make of their apparent acquaintance, his head twisting back and forth between the two men.

"It is fine, Farrington," Beckett cut in before the man attempted to say anything else. The colonel stepped closer to Griffin, taking his extended hand to shake firmly. In a low voice, he said, "I'm here on behalf of the queen."

Griffin drew back, only more puzzled. His gaze swept over Beckett before their hands dropped.

Penelope, meanwhile, was shaking her head, back and forth between the two men. Her confusion was evident and admittedly adorable. Her nose scrunched, and her curls bounced. Adorable.

"You...You know each other?" she asked, her fingers wiggling from Beckett to Griffin.

Beckett turned to her, trying not to think about how he'd been seconds, breaths, from kissing her senseless not five minutes ago. But now, his head was clearer, refocused, back on straight. What the devil had come over him? He could not risk his assignment in such a way. And especially now that Griffin was in the mix. God, that would be a disaster.

His friend would likely cut off his manhood if Beckett should ever lay a finger on his sister.

Beckett cleared his throat. "I know your brother well, my lady."

It was a simple sentence, but it was laced with meaning. He stared at Penelope, watching as a flush came over her face. As she swallowed slowly. Her eyelashes fluttered. Just barely. Just enough for Beckett to notice that something was affecting her.

And that something was him.

"Let us gather in the parlor, perhaps?" Farrington suggested, drawing Beckett's attention away from Penelope as the lord bounced on the balls of his feet.

No one else was in the foyer, but that did not mean that a passerby could not appear at any given moment. There were far too many people in this godforsaken house.

Conceding, Beckett followed Farrington, Penelope, and Griffin into the parlor. Lady Farrington was in the rear, shutting the door softly behind them.

It was quiet for a long moment, no one sure of where to start. Finally, Griffin broke the silence.

"On behalf of the queen?"

Beckett nodded. "One of the guests here is suspected of smuggling goods. She's assigned me to stay for the duration of the party and also to detail your....sister."

The word was sour on his tongue.

A wry smile twisted on Griffin's lips. "So you are here to keep Penelope out of trouble, eh?"

Beckett did not like the idea that his job had been whittled down to that, but essentially, yes. That was the truth. So he gave a curt nod. Even though Penelope's scowl could be seen from a mile away.

"Trouble," she scoffed. "You all act like I do not run this estate on my own for every other week of the year besides this one."

She had a point. She did run this estate, and efficiently, too. She deserved credit where credit was due. However, it did not eliminate that Penelope had already proven to be a danger to herself. Perhaps she should not be running the estate on her own. Perhaps she needed—no, deserved—to have someone else lean on.

"Shall I share with your brother what occurred in the pond?" Beckett drawled.

Penelope fixed him with a glare. "You wouldn't."

He shrugged. "Or with Lord Lawton?"

Her eyes narrowed further, and Griffin, having leaned casually against the fireplace, mimicked her expression. Except for an entirely different reason.

"Do I even want to know, Pen?"

She straightened her back. "You do not."

Griffin's gaze drifted over to Beckett's, and he shrugged again. Beckett wished to speak to Griffin alone, in a space where he could talk freely to his friend instead of with silent, knowing looks. And where Penelope would not deny or protest.

If she did not want her brother to know about what had happened thus far at this godforsaken house party, then so be it. He would keep his mouth closed on the specifics. But Griff needed to know what was at stake and how Penelope was poking her nose in the wrong places and in the wrong way.

"Perhaps we could speak upstairs?"

Griffin nodded, and Beckett did an about-face, ignoring the protests of Penelope as they strode from the parlor. He heard Griffin say something quietly to his sister, apparently appeasing her, before shutting the door and following Beckett up the grand staircase. He was quiet as they walked. Griffin had always been a man of few words, much like Beckett. Frivolous talk was not of interest to either of them.

But Griffin stopped in his tracks as Beckett led him to the door of his chambers.

"You are sharing a suite with Penelope?"

Beckett grimaced before opening the door and beckoning his friend inside.

Griff did not move.

"Not by my design," Beckett assured. "I quite protested it, actually."

"Whose idea was it then?"

"Farrington. The queen. And your sister did not seem to mind."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course she did not. Ever since her husband vanished from her life, she has become much...looser in her opinions on things."

Having an open mind was quite a good thing, Beckett thought. At least in some areas of life. But he could comprehend Griffin's concerns.

"I am merely assigned to ensure your sister's safety,"' he said. Firmly. Almost as if to convince himself that it was true.

Griffin considered that and then gave in, following Beckett into the room.

"You could have mentioned you had such a sister," he said, closing the door behind Griff.

"Don't do this, Beck," his friend grumbled. "Yes, I try to keep my lives separate. Surely you understand."

Beckett did understand. He did not, however, understand why Griffin felt the need to keep it separate from him. And so, he was finding it hard to figure out what to say back to his friend. The silence was loud.

Griffin was the one who eventually broke it.

"I cannot believe you are," he said with a sigh. "This was honestly what the queen wished for you to do with your time? It seems..."

Beckett gritted his teeth because he knew all too well what Griffin was trying to say. He felt the same. "Apparently, it is," he said.

Sighing, Griffin raked a hand through his dirty blonde hair before traveling the room to sit in the armchair by the fire. Stretching his legs out, he crossed them with a frown. He looked too large for the space. Too rugged. Too out of place.

Beckett assumed he looked the same. This house was not built for military men like themselves.

"Has Pen caused you much trouble?"

A rueful smile spread onto Beckett's face. Trouble?

"She is a bit of a handful."

Griffin's blue eyes searched his face, and Beckett tried to flatline his grin. There was no reason he should be grinning. Penelope was a handful. But why should he be smiling about that?

Those blue eyes narrowed. "A handful, huh?"

Beckett cleared his throat. "She has quite an...adventurous spirit."

Griff raised a brow. "Do not pretend that you do not like that. I know you, Colonel."

He scoffed at the formality, but the pace of his heart picked up a little bit like his friend's skeptical gaze crossed over him. Yes, of course, Griff would think that. And, Beckett, as a man who did not like to stay in one place for very long, there was some truth to it. But nevertheless, he forced a frown onto his expression.

"I do not like it when I must trail after her on such adventures. Or when I have to keep her from flirting with the enemy, for Christ's sake. You should have seen how she behaved toward Lawton."

"Lawton?"

"Our suspect."

A slow nod was Griffin's response. "I see."

Beckett could not handle the stare his friend was giving him, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode to the window overlooking the estate. It was a blanket of darkness.

"And what of the pond?"

"Well, I am here now," Griffin added, loud enough that his larger-than-life voice carried across the space. "So you can leave the Penelope-chasing to me."

Something strange twisted in his chest. But he forced a smile onto his face and turned back toward Griffin.

"Excellent." He swallowed. "Excellent."

This would be good. Beckett needed space from Penelope, or else he would never be able to resist her.