In the House of Secrets

Chapter Sixteen | Penelope and the Pain

"I have to plan for the ball. It is in less than a week."

"No," Beckett growled for the millionth time that day. "You do not. You were kicked in the shoulder by a damn horse, fell, and likely hit your head. You do not need to do anything other than rest."

Penelope glared at the man, who sat near the fireplace in her room, staring at the flames as though it was the only thing he had to do.

The accident in the stables happened to remain a bit fuzzy. She had not been able to remember precisely where the horse had struck her, but the blossoming bruise and severe pain in her right shoulder had been a relatively good indicator.

"There was sufficient hay on the ground if I do remember correctly. I could not have hit my head that hard."

Beckett lifted his gaze and returned her glare.

"I do not care if you landed on a cloud of hay. You were still knocked out cold, and there is no reason for you to leave this room."

If Penelope had not been cocooned in blankets, she would have stomped her foot on the ground. Or the bed. Or anywhere, really. "There is very much reason, Colonel!"

She caught the roll of the damn man's eyes as he continued to look anywhere but at her. If he were a gentleman, Penelope might assume that his cause of avoiding her was for her favor. Privacy, perhaps. Or the acknowledgment of propriety.

But Beckett Ash was only half a gentleman if his behavior during this house party was any indication. And Penelope was entirely confident that Beckett refused to look at her simply because he found her vexing and irritating.

As if she had known there would be thunder. As if she'd purposefully chosen to be struck by a horse.

"I would think this ball of yours would be inconsequential when compared to your health, Penelope," Beckett drawled, though she did not miss the sharpness in his tone when he said her name.

"My health is perfectly fine," she insisted. "And the ball is of extreme consequence. Or do you not truly wish to unmask the man of treason?"

"Matters of treason are not something you need to worry yourself with, my lady. That is my job."

"Then why are you not doing your job?" Penelope pressed, launching a throw pillow at him from across the room. It fell short, however, and Beckett did not even spare a glance in her direction. "I thought that was the entire point of rescinding your so-called protection duties to my brother dearest. So you might get on with more pressing matters that did not include spending time with me."

Beckett lifted his hand, running his fingers along his jawline in apparent frustration. "Yes, I rescinded my duties, and then what happened, Penelope?"

Penelope thought that was likely a rhetorical question and also an unfair one, so she stayed silent. It was not like Griffin had done anything wrong. Again, it was not as if a person could predict the timing of a thunderstorm or the exact temperament of a horse when one appeared.