Chapter Twenty-Seven| Beckett and the Truth
Becket swirled his scotch in his glass as he sat across from Griffin.
If someone had told him that he and Griff would be in this position, sharing an after-dinner drink in the parlor of some grand countryside estate, he would have likely told them to sod off.
For different reasons, they were not men made for parlors. They were made for ships and temporary encampments. Small apartments in London when they did escape the water.
Not that Beckett truly wished to escape the water. He missed it, actually. Hoped it wasn't long before he returned.
And yet....
There was a stirring in his gut at the thought.
And he suspected he knew why.
Penelope's laugh rang through the air, and unlike the other times when he had watched her entertain, this laugh sounded genuine. She was in the middle of a rather fierce-looking game of chess with Lord Farrington, and based on the look on Farrington's face, Penelope just made a winning move.
Her breath caught as she watched his rebuttal, making Beckett ache.
That sounds. That tiny, obscure sound.
She'd made it when he thrust into her.
She'd made it when he pulled out of her.
She'd made it when he traced designs on her back while they were falling asleep.
He rather liked that sound.
Griffin sighed. Loudly.
"Can you please quit ogling my sister in front of me?" he grunted. "It is rather disconcerting."
Beckett's attention shot back to his friend. He had been careless lately. His focus and attention revolved almost entirely around Penelope, meaning that he hadn't thought much about the consequences of precisely that.
He hadn't thought about her brother. Or about his duties.
He was immediately ashamed.
"I am not ogling her," he argued.
"You were staring."
"I was making sure that nothing was wrong...as is my job."
"She laughed," Griffin emphasized. "And she is with Farrington of all people. They have long been friends. Not to mention, he is also a well-known acquaintance and accomplice of the crown, so I honestly do not know why the queen felt your presence was even necessary."
Beckett had thought that same exact thing on more than occasion. But hearing Griffin say it was oddly grating on his senses.
"Her Majesty knows I am highly skilled."
Griffin snorted. "Is that why we are still here, then?"
All Beckett could do in response was grit his teeth.
"I think you do not truly wish to leave, and that is why you have not made more effort to solve this case," Griffin added.
Beckett opened his mouth but once again struggled to find a legitimate response.
"Why would I want to stay here, Griff?" he finally managed. "Do you think this is how I wanted to spend my summer?"
"Of course not," Griffin was quick to retort. "But I think you are rather enjoying it now. All posh and plush living quarters, drinks, and pretty women." His eyes darted again to Penelope, on the other side of the room. Beckett and Griffin had been sitting on the outskirts, near the door. Because, of course, they did not truly belong. Did they?
When Beckett did not argue back—too busy getting his eyes caught on Penelope again—Griffin added, "Just do not touch her, so help you God."
Beckett lowered his gaze and took a long drink to mask the guilt on his face.
He had touched Penelope, alright. He had touched her everywhere, and he had absolutely no intention of stopping. Not anymore. He couldn't. He was addicted to her now. They had spent every night this week together. Penelope would leave the adjoining door open between their chambers after undressing, and Beckett would slip into her bed to find her waiting.
His lips would find hers, and then they became lost in each other. Again and again and again. Penelope's cries echoed in his head, even now.
Lowering his glass, his eyes caught on Griffin's. And he knew he was caught.
"You didn't," he breathed.
Beckett did not do well without outright lies, so all he could muster was a shake of his head.
And that was all it took for Griffin to lean forward onto his knees and growl, "Outside. Now."
There was a part of Beckett that was relieved. He had not liked the sneaking and the lying by omission. But he also was not looking forward to this conversation. Guilt spun in somersaults in his gut.
"Tell me what you have done," Griffin spat as soon as he'd pushed Beckett out the back doors and into the gardens. "Tell me."
"You wish for the details?" Beckett drawled, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Griffin's face had been pale before, but now it was turning a purplish shade that not even the darkness of night could hide.
"No." The incredulity on Griffin's face was admittedly understandable. "What I want is to know how badly to kick your ass."
"You might as well give me everything you have, then," Beckett admitted.
Griffin seemed so stunned by his anger that he did not even know what to say to that.
"How dare you," he finally hissed, lowering his voice to dangerous levels. "How dare you seduce my sister—"
At that, Beckett interrupted with a laugh. "I did no such thing. You do not even know how long I abstained from her attempts at seduction."
"So you are calling her a—"
"I am not calling her anything," Beckett growled, finding his own outrage rising up in retort. He could not see himself ever speaking ill of Penelope in that way. "I am saying that Penelope and I—"
"There is no Penelope and you," Griffin yelled, and Beckett had to close the distance between them and clap a hand over his friend's mouth to get him to shut the hell up before company found them. The last thing they needed was an audience.
He refused to make this secret into a spectacle. He couldn't care less what people said of him. But Penelope...she had already endured enough in her short life. She was merely in her early twenties and yet carried too much weight.
With his hand still in place over Griff's mouth, Beckett intoned his apology before he could be interrupted again.
"I am sorry," he said. "It was never my intention for this to happen, and I am sorry if it hurts you."
"Bullshit," Griffin cried as soon as Beckett released him, before throwing a punch and catching Beckett square in the jaw.
Pain whipped through his body. Not just the physical pain; the crack of trust hurt, too. He should have told Griffin sooner. But Penelope had warned against it, and he thought maybe...well, he wasn't sure what he'd thought.
"Honest, Griffin," he said once he'd recovered, rubbing his jaw as he squared up to his friend again.
"Well." Griffin straightened himself. "Don't let it happen again, Beckett. Or I swear to God—"
Beckett could not promise that. He simply did not know how to. And Griffin immediately understood his silence.
"You've got to be fucking with me," he seethed, his features twisting into a disgusted grimace.
Beckett didn't know what to say to ease that look. So he said the only thing that he could think of that might.
"Would it please you if I married her?" He could not even believe his words, but they came out surprisingly easy. "I will marry her, Griff."
Beckett did not imagine himself ever married. But he had imagined more than once in the last week what it would be like to wake next to Penelope every morning. And he liked it more than he should ever admit.
Griffin's face scrunched up in confusion, so Beckett went on.
"I know she is a marchioness and deserving of—deserving of more than me. But if—" He steeled himself. "I'd marry her, Griffin. You know I am not one for affairs. You know what I think of them. Why would I be doing this if not—"
He cut himself off, fastening his lips shut.
If not, what? What was he even going to say?
"Beck..." Griffin shook his head as an awareness of sorts washed over him. His expression changed from outrage to...pity. "Beck, you cannot."
Beckett did not like being told of things he could not do. He folded his arms over his chest.
"Well, I refuse to give her up."
Beckett stared at his friend straight on. The one who had dragged him out of the water in that wretched storm after he'd been struck overboard. The one who had stood beside him on the bloodiest of nights. And the more he stared, the most his heart began to rip in two.
Was Penelope worth this?
"Is everything alright?" Penelope brushed through the open garden doors. "You both abruptly left."
One look at her, auburn hair flying, eyes sharp and knowing, and Beckett knew. She was. She was worth it.
Beckett meant no harm toward Griffin's sister, and once his friend realized that...everything would be sorted. Everything had to be sorted. He would prove he could be what was best for Penelope.
Beckett strode to Penelope's side and wrapped an arm around her waist.
"Your brother and I needed to clear the air about something, darling."
Penelope's shock at being affectionate so openly was evident as she peered up at him. He'd called her that a number of times now, but each time was in private. Mostly when he was kissing her or lost inside her.
When Beckett looked back at Griffin, he saw how his eyes were bulging. The wheels turned in his head. He rubbed his jaw, kicked a stone on the ground...and then walked away.
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