If Beckett were a wise man, he would distance himself from Penelope. He would let Griffin step in and keep his sister company, as they spoke of previously. He would focus on uncovering the smuggled goods and then leave the premises as soon as possible.

But Beckett had not been able to do any of that.

Even when Griffin told him not to worry about Penelope, Beckett worried.

Even when Griffin told him to take a break, Beckett stayed by her side.

Beckett couldn't leave Penelope even if he tried.

Beckett was decidedly not a wise man.

And it was torture.

All he could think of was how she felt, how she sounded. What wonderful, goddamn sounds she made. He wanted to push her up against the door again and encourage her to make more of them. He wanted to sear them into his memory, so they were there to treasure once he was again alone on a ship.

They did not speak of what happened the night of the ball. They did not speak of the kiss, the one that was repeatedly destroying Beckett every time he thought of it. They did not speak of it, but he saw the truth of it in Penelope's gaze every time it met his. She wanted more...just like he did. And it was killing both of them.

This morning, Beckett watched Penelope emerge at the top of the staircase, looking regal enough to be at Buckingham. God, what a beautiful woman. That auburn hair, that soft face, those bright eyes. He was self-aware enough to know that he was the type of man many women found attractive, but he still found it challenging to believe that Penelope wanted him. He simply was not deserving.

"Where are you off to today, my lady?" he asked as she descended into the grand foyer. He worked to keep his voice steady, to not let it betray his thoughts. It had been a full-time commitment lately.

She wore a riding habit, and it fit her incredibly, hugging curves that he knew felt like heaven in the form of a woman. Beckett tried and failed not to remember how her skin warmed beneath his palms.

She cleared her throat, her eyes drifting slowly over him in an equally appreciative perusal. Beckett found himself straightening his stuffy waistcoat and cravat under her attention. Finally, she brought her bright gaze back up, lingering only slightly on his lips.

How he wished to kiss her again. It was bloody unbearable.

"I am off to the stables, Colonel," she said in clipped tones that did not remotely sound like the memories in his head.

He'd be damned if he wasn't obsessed with the side of Penelope that he unlocked that night, of what she was hiding beneath the surface. And it had been a distraction like no other.

Which probably explained why it took him a moment to register what she said.

"The stables?" he repeated.

"Yes, why, of course." She flashed him a polite smile.

He'd love to wipe the manners from that smile.

"No, not of course," he countered, following her as she strode purposefully to the front door.

"And why not?"

She did not wait to hear his answer, taking off onto the front lawn and making her way across it in stiff strides. Beckett followed without hesitation.

"Because a horse kicked you unconscious not a fortnight ago."

"I daresay it has been more than that by now," she said. "And honestly, that only occurred because of the storm, and today the conditions are quite perfect."

She gestured to the sky above them, which was, in fact, bright and sunny. Not a single cloud marred the blue expanse. It was unusually warm as well. A bit of sweat already gathered on the nape of Beckett's neck.

"I am quite an excellent rider, Colonel," Penelope added.

"Would you quit calling me Colonel?" he grumbled.

He wanted to hear her say Beckett like she had the other night, all desperate and wanton. He wanted his name on her tongue.

"Oh?" she glanced at him, coyly raising a brow. "I thought you wished for me to remain proper."

"That was—"

Before.

Beckett dragged a hand over his face, unable to piece together exactly what he felt and wanted. A war waged on within him. This woman had him feeling hot and cold, and he could not decide which direction to take. He knew it must be terribly confusing for her, but it was also awfully confusing for him.

"I did not make the rules, Penelope." He changed the subject. "Your physician is the one who said you should not—"

"He is not here."

"You are correct." He cleared his voice. "I am."

Beckett had to admit that he admired Penelope for her persistence and tenacity. Many other women—or rather, many other people—would not dare approach a horse so soon after an incident like hers. But she has a fierceness, and perhaps a stubbornness, that would not allow her to be deterred.

"And what are you going to do?"

The question was posed as a dare of sorts. Beckett did not accept it. At least not in the way that she was thinking.

"I shall ride with you," he concluded, not truly wanting to take this away from her.

"That is fine," Penelope said with a shrug, and Beckett had to admit that she was moving much more freely than she had been in the past days. "I merely wished for fresh air before meeting the ladies for tea in the gardens. Thought I'd scope out the grounds for anything suspicious while I was at it."

"There is plenty of fresh air in the gardens," Beckett pointed out, knowing he should be the one searching the grounds for anything suspicious.

"Yes, but...it is quite different."

She gave him a pointed look, but Beckett did not understand.

"And what makes it different?"

"The company." Penelope wrinkled her nose in distaste before mumbling, "Lady Bucklebee."

Beckett was somehow soothed that she did not care if his company remained.

They made their way inside the stables, and Beckett allowed Penelope to direct the servants as they brought around her horse. She was gracious as ever, and Beckett found himself smiling as he sat back and watched. Penelope was washing away all of his previous assumptions and experiences regarding aristocrats.

When it looked like she was preparing to mount the horse, he stepped forward.

"Do you wish to sit in front of me?" Beckett asked. "Or would you prefer behind?"

She spun around, faltering. "Excuse me?"

"You said that I could ride with you."

"I did not mean with me," she sputtered.

"Give it a try, Penelope." He grinned wolfishly. "Perhaps you might like it."

She widened her eyes, unused to the side of Beckett he'd been trying to control.

Lately, he had been failing.

"You think so?" she asked, raising one brow.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I do."

There was no use denying it at this point; Beckett needed an excuse to get Penelope into his arms again. And he did not even care if it were obvious.

"How highly you apparently think of yourself, Beckett." Her lips twisted with amusement. "To believe that my enjoyment is contingent on your presence."

"Not at all," he quickly corrected. "It has nothing to do with what I think of myself and everything to do with what I know of you."

He bit down on his tongue, refraining from adding precisely what he knew of her.

Penelope flushed at his response, but denial didn't appear. Because they both secretly enjoyed each other's company. Likely too much.

"Fine," Penelope gave in. "You may ride behind me, then."

Beckett grinned, feeling as though he had won a grand battle.

In reality, however, the battle was only beginning. He quickly realized that being in such tight quarters with Penelope drove him mad. When she settled before him, pressing right between his legs, he barely held his tongue from unleashing curses. And it only worsened when Penelope urged the horse into motion, and she began to rock against him.

A tortured noise slipped out of him.

"I think it is you who enjoys this, Beckett," Penelope said knowingly, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Enjoys?" he gasped.

She was confusing pleasure with pure pain.

Beckett waited until they reached the trail that led around the estate before grabbing Penelope's hips. They were encased in the thick woods, and not even the sun penetrated the blanket of branches. No one was around, and Beckett yanked Penelope even closer. She sucked in a sharp breath that he reveled in because it was proof that she was going through the same thing as him.

Beckett rubbed his thumbs over her hip bones as they rolled with the horse's motion.

"Beckett," she breathed, and it was needy enough that his brain raced to explore more memories. Which was a problem because Penelope would undoubtedly feel how aroused that made him.

"You should have ridden alone," he admitted breathlessly. He hadn't been thinking clearly. All he'd wanted was to feel her again, but...this was too much. She was much safer without him—for so many reasons. "You should have ridden alone because I am a wreck of a man who cannot keep his hands off you."

"I disagree," she said quietly. "I like that you are no longer afraid of me. If you recall...I asked you to touch me."

Beckett could not think about that latter part—about exactly how she'd sounded when she moaned touch me in the dark—so he responded to the former.

"I have never been afraid of you," he countered, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he spoke. "Only afraid of what you do to me."

His hands wrapped around her waist, smoothing over the fabric. Penelope's breathing hitched.

"Do you feel it?" he asked.

"What?" Her voice was barely audible over the horse's hooves as they met the earth.

"Do you feel what you do to me?"

She whimpered in reply, nodding her head.

God, Beckett wished they were anywhere but here. Anywhere but on this goddamn horse.

"Perhaps we should speak of it," she said after a beat of silence. "Discuss further what happened between us. What is happening between us."

Beckett groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder momentarily. "We cannot speak of it, Penelope." At least not now—it would destroy him. "And there is no use discussing it as it cannot happen again. Nothing is happening."

He would repeat that in his head over and over again if that was what it would take to believe it.

"Is that so?" Penelope hummed.

"That is so," he grunted.

Penelope fell silent after that, surprising him with her lack of fight. Her lack of argument. He almost wanted it...missed it.

Beckett gritted his teeth as she guided the horse along the edges of the grounds. Feeling her was such an immense tease that he nearly asked Penelope to turn around. But he stopped himself.

Beckett had years of experience harnessing control of all types, and he would simply have to rely on that training today.