Penelope admittedly threw quite a fit at the suggestion to push the ball back a week. It simply was unnecessary to do so, and she did not like to impose changes to her already curated schedule. It would confuse the guests, after all. And it would shorten the length of time between events. She still had the final grand ball to prepare for.

But then Penelope learned that if she were to postpone the ball, her brother would also defer his departure. And it was challenging to dismiss that opportunity.

And if she must confess, she'd felt a tad sore.

But merely a tad.

It had been good to spend several more days in bed, even if it did involve dealing with the lingering of two brooding men in her chambers.

Colonel Ash and Griffin were acting very overdramatic with the situation of the horse. Penelope was confident that some continuation of pain was normal for an event such as this, and in fact, she should likely feel grateful that it was not much more.

But in the end, Penelope got what she wished for: a dazzling evening and the perfect event to honor Griffin. Not that she made that knowledge public or fussed about it to her guests. In fact, in her opinion, Penelope made very little fuss about this particular gathering altogether. Her decor was relatively minimal, and the music was fresh and summery. The beauty was in the simplicity of a candlelit dance floor on the eve of midsummer.

Griffin attended, though he did look a bit surly as he took a lap around the dance floor with her.

"It is all very lovely, Pen."

"I am glad you like it."

Penelope thought she might have seen a hint of a smile in Griffin's expression. And then he said the most wonderful thing.

"Knowing you're my sister has always made me feel like I belong in this world more than anything else ever has, Penelope."

"Griff—" Penelope bit down on her lip, knowing that if she tried to say anything further, she just might cry.

"Don't," he said with a chuckle. "Don't cry. I'm not worth tears."

"You're worth a lot," she managed to whisper. "That's all I wanted you to know. I am sorry that our father never made you feel that way."

Griffin swore beneath his breath before swiveling toward the large, towering windows that displayed a dusky sky beyond the glass. He stared through them for a moment, and Penelope looped her arm around his before squeezing his hand. Finally, he cleared his throat and spun back around.

"Go on, now," he said, sounding his gruff, usual self once more. "Enjoy the evening. I shall be fine if you wish to mingle with your guests."

So Penelope did.

She spent time conversing with Lady Winchester and Lady Farrington and even danced with Lawton, much to the colonel's displeasure. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck the entire time she danced, reminding her of when they had shared a waltz. Of when he had warned that she should be more careful around him as if Penelope did not want precisely the same thing as he did.

"It is all going to plan?"

The colonel's deep voice startled her as she began pouring herself a glass of lemonade after her dance with Lawton.

Penelope glanced toward him and nodded. Yes, her plan involving Lawton was going quite well indeed, but she could not decide how much of it to reveal. And while she did not wish to give Beckett her lead in solving the case of their supposed smuggler, Penelope found she was eager to share her accomplishments.

"When I danced with Lawton, he said he was having a delightful time at the party and complimented me on my hosting abilities."

To her surprise, the colonel looked down at her and acknowledged the same. "You are a most capable host, Lady Hutton."

The words felt like a warm hug. His eyes traveled her face, heated and focused. It felt like anything could happen around them, and he would not even dare to look away.

"Thank you." She smiled. "He also mentioned that while he enjoys finding company in others at parties such as this, he also has moments in which it has been nice to get away from the constant chatter of the other guests. He's been enjoying the grounds immensely."

"I see."

Beckett raised a brow, convincing her he did not truly...see.

"It gave me the perfect opportunity," she added.

Beckett's brow rose higher, almost comically.

Penelope grinned slyly. "You shall understand soon."

Penelope had dropped the locations of two very secluded and well-sheltered places on the grounds. And if the man were a smuggler, well then...she just gave him the perfect hiding spot for his goods. And the ideal intel to pass along to other potential associates.

Which was why Penelope perked up when she saw Lawton make a break for it, taking quick strides out of the ballroom. Without another word to Beckett, she followed in the direction that Lawton had vanished.

Peeking around the doorway that led into the east hall, Penelope searched for any sign of movement. When it seemed that Lawton was already out of sight, she swerved into the abandoned hallway, trying to keep her steps light as she traversed the tiled floors.

At the end of the hall, the door to the gentlemen's parlor was left ajar. Penelope slid behind it, wedging herself between the wall and the door so she might see through the crack. Lawton, Creighton, and Winchester had all gathered inside. And they were speaking of....her.

"—dancing with Lady Hutton, Lawton?"

"Yes, we had an...interesting conversation."

"Oh? Did you discern whose chambers she is visiting throughout the party?"

Penelope could tell by the deep voice that Creighton was speaking. And she could not help but notice that he sounded somewhat interested in the answer.

Men often gossipped far more than women.

"No," Lawton said succinctly. "But I heard the lady had been making advances on Whitlocke."

Penelope wrinkled her nose. Whitlocke was the elderly marquess she'd invited because he owned an estate not far from hers and was a widower who often seemed like he needed a bit of company. It was more than a little disconcerting to think they assumed her kindness was something else.

As Lawton continued to go on about her supposed interest in Whitlocke, Penelope felt a hot, firm presence press against her. Musky cologne filled the small space, churning the heat lingering in Penelope's stomach.

Beckett slipped behind the door beside her, only he faced the wall. And her.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"You know damn well what I'm doing here," he muttered, his expression stony. "You vanished down a dark hallway, Lady Hutton. What else was I supposed to do?"

She scowled. "Well, do be quiet."

Penelope should have assumed he would follow. He did have a rather annoying habit of trailing after her around the estate. His determination to let Griffin take over his duties had apparently been forgotten, but she had to admit that lately, his presence was more and more welcomed. Despite his sour moods, he did have a bit of charm in him.

Especially when he looked at her in that way of his.

"You're the one who is talking."

Beckett's eyes flashed once more before he fell silent. And to Penelope's horror, the men were still discussing her aptitude to fall into gentlemen's beds. She watched Beckett's expression intently, waiting for his reaction. It barely came. His lips twisted wryly as if he wished to say something, and he shifted slightly on his feet. But he did not breathe a word.

"It is not true," she whispered to Beckett when she could no longer bear it.

Beckett did not respond except for the tick that went off in his jaw.

"It matters not if it is true," he finally said, but that twitch would not let up. "But I do not care for how they speak of you."

"You would not care if they were telling the truth?" Surprised, Penelope cocked her head to the side. "You would not judge me for my pursuits?"

Beckett, who had been holding her gaze consistently until that moment, looked away. "You've never given indication that you care about my opinion, Lady Hutton."

"I care."

Though Penelope knew she could be hardheaded and brashly independent, she did care what others thought of her. And she found that she did care for what Beckett thought of her.

Beckett chewed on the inside of his cheek while he kept his eyes on the crack in the door. The men were laughing now, their conversation moving on to gossip regarding Lord and Lady Barlow.

"No," Beckett admitted softly. "I would not judge you."

"No?"

Somehow Penelope found that difficult to believe. Beckett had a great deal of opinions, and their views often did not align.

Beckett shook his head. "No, but I would—"

He cut himself off.

"You would what?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

His eyes found hers again, and the air between them vanished just as it had when they'd shared their dance.

"Tell me," she whispered, wishing he would stop restraining himself. She longed to experience the heat within his gaze; there was no denying it anymore.

He swallowed hard. "I am doing my part to behave, Penelope."

How frustrating of him.

"I never asked you to do that, you know."

"What?"

"Behave."

A low groan sounded between them, and Beckett closed his eyes for a moment as though he was very much considering not behaving. So Penelope thought she might move that consideration along.

"I have not been with Whitlocke, but I have been with...others."

"Yes, you have hinted at that before," Beckett replied, his gaze remaining steady on her now as if he did not want to miss anything that Penelope might have to say on the subject.

She gave him a crooked smile. "Oh, you recall?"

"Of course I recall." His eyes flicked over her face, and she did not miss how they lingered on her mouth longer than anywhere else. "And now?"

"You would think you'd realize if I had late-night visitors to my chambers."

Beckett maintained his stony facade. His handsome face was taut, and shadows danced over it. There was only enough light for Penelope to make out the bright blue in his eyes and the golden highlights in his hair from the sun. She longed to brush her hands through that hair—just once.

"So there is no one?" he clarified.

There is you, she wished to tell him. Or rather, there could be you.

"There is no one," she confessed. "I thought perhaps...at the house party." She watched as Beckett's expression tightened again, secretly enjoying it far too much. "But none of the guests interested me in such a way."

Certainly not Whitlocke, who was twice her age.

"Good," he muttered.

Penelope raised a brow.

"Good?" She dared to take a half-step forward, so her bodice grazed his chest.

"Good," Beckett repeated gruffly. "None of these men deserve to touch you."

"And who does?" She assessed him, her eyes slowly taking it all in. Appreciating him. Her heart had taken off in the last minute, and she feared it was louder than her words. That the men inside the room would hear it beating. But she spoke her mind anyway. "Do you, Beckett?"

At the sound of his name, Beckett visibly sucked in. But his answer was unmoving all the same.

"No." A slight shake of his head. "No one does."

"What a waste of a life to remain untouched for the rest of it." With her heart in her throat, Penelope frowned. "It feels as though perhaps I am the one who is not deserving."

Beckett's walls visibly tumbled a bit.

"Penelope..." Reaching out, he touched her face like he did the other week. He had not touched her like this since then, and she longed to lean into the slight caress. It was almost embarrassing how desperate she was. "You cannot keep doing this to me," he rasped.

"What am I doing?"

"Testing my loyalty." He dropped his hand, and the walls built back up again. His voice remained affected, though. "It is the one thing I have in this world."

"Your loyalty to whom?"

"Your brother." His voice came out cracked. "The queen."

Penelope stepped back, flattening herself against the wall once more. "I understand."

And she did. She understood. He was right; she could not keep doing this to him.

And because she understood just how important it was to him to remain faithful to his commitment to others—others who were not her—she slipped from her hiding spot, not caring about Lawton anymore, hurrying back down the wall. Her pulse thumped, and her heart ached with rejection. A rushing noise filled her ears.

From now on, she would behave. Just as Beckett had requested of her. Because Penelope could not handle feeling like this again. She could not keep wondering if anyone might ever want her enough.

Her slippered feet moved through the hallways, navigating the manor in ways only she knew. She did not wish to be seen. She merely wanted to hide in her chambers. And Penelope never hid. Never.

But tonight...

Tonight was different.

She rounded the corner, spotting her destination. And just as she was about to complete her escape, an arm caught her around the waist.

And then that arm hauled her inside her bedchamber and slammed the door shut behind them.