Beckett was quite sure that Queen Adelaide of England was as peculiar of a queen as a country could have.

But that was precisely why he liked her.

She spoke plainly, like those she championed. The queen had never been one for flowery language. And yet, her words could cut down any man with their wit and precision. Adelaide had not simply inherited the crown; she fought for it. And there was a reason that she won.

After all, she came back from the dead, faced the man who'd tried to kill her, and then all but brushed him aside.

Simply put, she had gained Beckett's respect tenfold.

But the damn woman was currently putting his loyalty to the very test.

He shuffled on his feet as he stood before the seated queen.

"Your Majesty, you have never led me astray. And so I say this with the utmost respect and adoration for my queen."

She raised her brow, but beyond that, her expression was unmoving. Placid and calm.

Beckett cleared his throat before making his position on the matter of his assignment quite clear.

"No."

Adelaide leaned forward, over the desk which was oddly small and simple considering the number of important documents that spread across it. "No, Colonel Ash?"

"No," Beckett repeated.

Loud, thudding footsteps sounded outside the chamber door, and Beckett whipped around, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. While he did not precisely expect enemies of the state to simply barge into Buckingham, he couldn't help the response. It was ingrained in him, as natural as breathing.

Protect the queen.

A snort came from his left, breaking through Beckett's defensive state.

A man sat in the corner, one leg crossed lazily over the other as he leaned back in an upholstered seat. He ran a hand through his neatly combed blonde hair, and a wry smile tugged on his lips.

"Settle, mate," he said.

Beckett scowled.

Settle. He did not know how to do that. And he also did not like being spoken to as if he were an animal.

The man flicked his eyes toward the gold-trimmed door even as the footsteps faded away. "I reckon it's merely Kingfield, coming to impose his dominance on you for daring to openly declare your adoration for his wife." He chuckled. "And then refuse her orders."

His casual way of speaking relaxed Beckett, and he rocked back on the balls of his feet with a slight scoff. "Kingfield does not frighten me."

Which was the truth. The prince consort was a man for whom the word overbearing was a perfect description. But Beckett had dealt with far worse men in his life, those who did more than overuse their intimidating glower.

The man in the corner chuckled again. "When I first met Addie, I looked at her for a second too long, and Kingfield has never forgiven me."

Addie? Beckett narrowed his eyes at the presumptuous lord—or at least he assumed he was a lord, considering his arrogance. Then he turned back toward the queen.

"Who the devil is this toff, anyway?"

"Oh, and now you have cursed at the queen," the man behind him murmured, making Beckett consider the best way to cut his tongue out. "My, my. I must admit, I do look forward to seeing Kingfield scowl when I tell him of it."

Her Majesty attempted to hide a smile, but it slipped upward, irritating Beckett even further even though he knew it was simply something she could not resist when one mentioned her husband.

Queen Adelaide could best any man at cards, but one mention of the Duke of Kingfield and her poker face was wiped.

"Colonel Ash," she said in a placating tone that grated on his last nerve. "This is Lord Farrington. The earl is a dear friend, one who shall be escorting you to the location of your assignment."

Beckett could have laughed if he were not so goddamn annoyed. Because there was no chance in hell that he would be going anywhere with this man.

"The assignment that I have refused," he replied, looking the queen dead in the eye.

The queen returned the look.

"Your acceptance of the assignment is not up for debate, Colonel. I need you in Southampton."

"I very much doubt that Lord Lawton is using a house party in Southampton as a guise for his smuggling operation, as you so believe. And even if he were, it is all rather...."

Beckett bit off the end of his sentence, knowing that he was teetering on the edge of impertinence.

"Beneath you?" Lord Farrington drawled from behind him, a touch of humor in his voice.

Well yes, that was rather close to what Beckett had been about to say. After all, he had fought for England in the high seas for the past ten years. He'd traveled across enemy lines for his queen, and now she wished for him to attend a party?

But say what he was thinking, he did not. For precisely the reason that was before him now: the look on Queen Adelaide's face, which dared him to agree with the annoying earl and face the consequences.

"Colonel Ash would never believe such an assignment from his queen is beneath him. Isn't that correct?" she questioned. Her sparkling blue gaze probed him.

"It is, Your Majesty," Beckett acquiesced.

He had some sense, after all.

And it wasn't so much the operation itself that bothered Beckett; he was certain that Adelaide had reasoning behind her delegation of such an assignment.

It was the location—that was the problem.

A house party was the epitome of all things that Beckett Ash hated. He did not enjoy the company of simpering females, searching for future husbands. Nor did he relish in the idea of galavanting with dukes and earls, such as Lord Farrington here. Beckett did not appreciate the Beau Monde, and the Beau Monde did not particularly appreciate him. He was not a member of the peerage, nor did he want to be, and that was a concept that most lords could not simply fathom.

Therefore, spending a month, or god forbid more than a month, in the company of haut ton did not appeal to Beckett in the slightest.

But Adelaide had no sympathy for this plight; he could see it in her eyes. She was sending him into the belly of the beast, into a mass of enemies far worse than he had fought on the front lines.

The nobility.

The idea left a foul taste in his mouth.

"Quite good," Adelaide said. She nodded before looking down to write something on the parchment before her. Beckett's mouth tightened at the finality of it.

"Your Majesty, I daresay that Hitchens might be a better candidate—"

"You are going, Colonel Ash," she cut in, a slight drawl to her words. Her directness reminded Beckett of his own grandmother, making the queen sound older than her twenty-seven years. She did not even bother to look up from her document, and Beckett was left to stare at the pile of golden hair upon her head. "I believe I said the terms of the assignment were not up for debate."

Beckett bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remain quiet.

"Oh, come along, Ash," Lord Farrington piped in. "It is a party, after all. And I am certain that Penelope shall not let us down."

At that, the queen looked up. "Oh yes, on the matter of Lady Hutton."

Beckett raised a brow. He did not recognize the name.

"Your host," she clarified.

"Penelope," Lord Farrington added, very matter of fact.

Adelaide gave a slight roll of her eyes before murmuring beneath her breath. "Please ignore Lord Farrington. Lady Hutton is a marchioness, and I do not advise that you address her as Penelope."

Clearing his throat, Beckett nodded in agreement. He knew better than to call any unfamiliar woman by her first name.

Lord Farrington, on the other hand, was apparently a twat.

"What of the lady?" Beckett questioned.

"She is hosting the event without her husband. The first one of its kind for her. Please do be a gracious guest and attend to the lady if she has need of anything."

The queen's expression was nearly blank as she spoke to Beckett, but he did not miss the slight twitch of her lips.

"Attend to the lady?" he repeated.

He was not some bloody butler for goddamn widows. He was a British naval officer. But more importantly, he was a direct intelligence agent for the Queen of England herself.

"Yes, I do not wish her any stress at this event. I simply require your assurance that you will be courteous."

"When am I ever not courteous, Your Majesty?"

There was a snort behind him.

The queen simply smiled. "I am certain it will be a wonderful affair. I expect a report after the first week."

And with that, she lowered her head again. A dismissal.

Beckett swallowed his fumes, bowed, and walked stiffly from the chamber. Lord Farrington followed behind him; he could hear his light footsteps bouncing off the polished floorboards.

"I must speak with my wife regarding our date of departure," he said, his voice as springy as his steps. "And then I shall be in touch."

Beckett barely managed a grunt in response.

"Do lighten up, Ash," Farrington continued. "The summer will be lovely. You might even find it in you to smile once or twice."

Swiveling around, Beckett tossed the smiling earl a glare.

Because absolutely none of that was true.

Of that, Beckett was certain.