Penelope woke up next to a very warm and very muscular body pressing into her from behind.

She was naked beneath the sheets; Beckett had thoroughly claimed her last night after they made it back to her bedchamber. Something had possessed him, and she could not be sure what it was...but she was not complaining. He was always spirited in bed, but last night had been entirely different. She ached, her muscles sore in the best of ways.

But despite lying abed naked, Penelope was overheating. She attempted to fling Beckett's arm off her, but he merely tightened his grip around her waist, unrelenting and unwilling to let her escape.

"No," he grumbled before falling silent once more.

He had never been a very expressive man.

Although...that had indeed begun to change. Penelope had been utterly shocked when Beckett had been so...open in front of Griffin. After all his reluctance, she never imagined that he would be willing to act with such affection in front of her brother. Whatever had happened while they were outside?

"If we stay in bed too long, we will be discovered by the maids," she said with a sigh.

Besides being overly warm, Penelope had no strong urge to rise from bed. She reckoned she would be quite content here with Beckett for most of the day. But alas, the morning was upon them.

"They can discover us," Beckett said, uncaring.

Her eyes grew wide. Was this the same man who had staunchly refused her advances for weeks?

Penelope had to giggle at the turnabout. Now he was refusing to leave, was he? She rather enjoyed that, snuggling further into his embrace even though she was nearly sweating from all the huddled body heat.

"Suddenly you do not care?"

"There was only one person whose opinion I cared about, and he now knows." Beckett pulled her hair away from her neck and began kissing it, trailing his lips up the side. "So no, I do not care."

"Did you tell him?" She arched her neck, letting him have every inch of skin he could get his lips on. "Or how did he find out?"

There was no time for talking last night. Beckett had been a man of few words when he brought Penelope to bed and worshiped every inch of her.

"He saw me," Beckett said simply. His tongue licked along the slight trace of a bruise left on her shoulder.

She sucked in, trying to focus. It was challenging, considering how his hands were now dragging up her sides as well.

"He saw you?"

"He saw me looking at you." Beckett's rough palm reached around to cup her breast, his fingers squeezing slightly. He swore beneath his breath as he continued to explore her like it was their first time. "He accused me of ogling."

Penelope groaned as he pinched her nipple, rolling it between the tips of two fingers.

"I did not deny it," Beckett added. "Couldn't."

"You were looking at me?" Penelope gasped.

Beckett switched to the other breast and lightly rocked his hips against hers. She felt him hard and waiting.

"I am always looking at you, Lady Hutton."

"Oh, stop." She tipped her head back further. A bit of laughter got stuck in her throat when her eyes connected with his.

They swirled in the late morning light.

"I am always looking at you," Beckett repeated, more earnestly this time. "Quit telling me to stop when I am being truthful with you."

But for some reason, Penelope still fought it. "You were watching me because of your assignment, though. Right?"

"God, you are infuriating." A deep grumble of displeasure rose in Beckett's throat. His grip fell to her leg, hoisting it back over his hips—opening her up. "How I look at you and how often I do it has nothing to do with my assignment. If I cared about my bloody assignment, would I do this?"

Penelope cried out as Beckett slid his fingers between her legs slowly and plunged them deep inside her without further warning. She'd already been ready for him, slick and wet.

"Sh," he murmured, pressing his free palm over her mouth to muffle her cries as he fingered her with long, languid strokes. "Listen carefully, love. If I had cared about my assignment, I would have tried harder to stay away from you. I would never have touched you that night. I would have told your brother that I'd leave you alone after he caught me. And I certainly would not be in your bed."

Penelope moaned into his hand as his thumb began circling on that spot that he knew would make her break down.

"I wouldn't be planning on fucking you in a few minutes," he said through gritted teeth. "Or—"

He cut himself off short, sucking in.

If Penelope could speak, she would have begged him to finish whatever he was going to say. She needed to hear it. But euphoria washed over her as tension came to an unbearable breaking point. She clenched tightly around Beckett's fingers before spasming out of control, crying into his hand. No sooner had his fingers slipped from her body than he was lining himself at her entrance.

"Please," she whimpered, selfishly wanting even more. More than he had just given her and more than she had received last night. She was afraid that she would always want more and worried about where that would leave her.

"Please, what?" Beckett rasped against the shell of her ear.

"Please let me feel you."

"Where?"

"Inside me."

"Fine, but do not say that again," he groaned. "Or imply it. I am serious, Penelope."

"What?"

"That I'm only here because I am forced to be."

"I promise." Penelope pushed the words out of her throat despite the lingering doubt in the back of her head. When the party was over, he would leave her. No matter what he said, he would not be here, in Southampton, if he did not have to be.

He gripped her hips tightly, tugging her back into him. "Louder, love."

"I promise," she moaned when he thrust into her.

"God, yes." He sank the rest of the way in and relished in it, stilling. Penelope felt the rumble of his continued swearing against her back. His breath against her ear. It tickled and teased. "You are worth risking everything, Penelope."

Everything was terrifying, but she reveled in it, in that thought. That perhaps she was worth everything.

"Beckett." She felt like she was clawing for air.

He gave it to her by pulling out and punching back in again.

She needed him like she needed to take a breath.

"I'm here," he soothed. One of his hands returned to toy with her breasts again, tweaking hard nipples. Penelope closed her eyes, drowning in the mixed sensations. She could not believe that he was about to bring her to yet another release, but there was no denying it was approaching. Not with how her insides began to tighten sweetly.

Beckett grunted behind her, his sounds guttural. They stirred the heat within her even more, his pants hitting her skin while he slid in and out of her core. She loved the feel of him, his manliness. His strength. It wrapped around her.

God, she was close. She was close yet again. And so was Beckett—it was clear from his increasing pace and groans, of the slight sounds of their skin slapping together beneath the bedclothes.

"Don't," she begged. "Do not stop."

She did not want him to pull away. Not yet.

Beckett's hand slid up from her breast to her neck in response. His fingers circled it, squeezing slightly. Her breath began to extinguish, but it came rushing back in a new way when Beckett yanked her back to look up at him. His eyes burned into hers.

His lips caught the edge of Penelope's mouth as he released her neck, his hand falling to tease between her legs again.

And that was—oh, heavens.

Penelope gasped into Beckett's mouth, crying her release against his lips. Crushing them together, he smothered her sounds, thrusting harder and harder, lost in it.

And then he let go.

The room was quiet for a long moment as they both floated back to earth. Only harsh breathing filled the air until Beckett swore harshly beneath his breath, pulled out of her, and rolled over in bed.

Confused, Penelope looked over her shoulder to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress, hunched over. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but his low, distressed voice cut through to her first.

"I cannot believe I just did that."

Instant hurt swelled inside Penelope, especially after everything he had just said and proclaimed. And everything she had just felt.

"But—"

"I should have stopped," he murmured before twisting to pin Penelope with a devastating look. "If you become with child, I shall never forgive myself."

That was what worried him? It was true that this morning was the first time he had not pulled out of her, but Penelope was frankly not concerned.

"Beckett, I never—with Lord Hutton." Penelope was not even sure she could bear children. "And if I do...." She shrugged, surprisingly not put off by the idea of a golden-haired baby, even if it should cause quite the scandal.

But Beckett's eyes only darkened further. "Don't," he choked. "You won't. You can't."

Her brows pulled together in confusion until she recognized the horror on his face. It reminded her of how he'd looked when he told her about his sister...who had died in childbirth.

"I won't," she said, meaning to reassure him. She reached out, wanting to pull Beckett back into bed. But he shook his head, twisting back around to face the wall. "I won't," she repeated. "I never have, Beckett."

He nodded, so at least she knew that he heard her.

And she supposed that would have to be enough for now because it did not seem that Beckett would return to bed.

She watched as he stood, unbothered in his nakedness as he snatched a dressing robe from the armchair. His muscles flexed and rippled as he wrapped the robe around him, tugging the tie tight before striding to the window.

Penelope noticed his jaw clench as he looked outside, and her brain started doing what it liked to do, unraveling and spiraling down. She did not doubt that he worried about childbirth...but perhaps he was also anxious about what she would demand of him if she became with child.

Her breath hitched. "Beckett, you need not worry."

When he did not respond, Penelope told herself the same thing.

There was no reason to worry.

There was no reason to worry at all. Right?