In the House of Secrets

Chapter Twenty-One | Beckett and the Horse

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.