In the House of Secrets

Chapter Twenty-Five | Penelope and the Night

When Penelope entered her bedchamber, she immediately looked for Beckett.

He sat in an armchair by the fireplace wearing only his muslin shirt, unbuttoned to his navel, and trousers. He looked natural like that—freer, less restricted. Dress coats weren't made for men like him; they only hid the rugged beauty beneath the fabric.

Beckett slowly turned his head to face her, and Penelope's breath hitched.

He was here. A part of her had been worried he wouldn't be. That he might have regretted his promise for tonight. He tended to backpedal on her, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd walked away and come to his senses.

But then again...he had kissed her. Asked to kiss her. It felt different tonight. Maybe it was because of her vulnerabilities, that he'd caught her soaking in them.

Penelope did not particularly like that.

She hated admitting that her husband's affair bothered her, even after so many years. She tried to act as though it did not matter, but it was often challenging. Everyone was always so quick to get rid of her. She was barely seventeen when her parents insisted she come out into society and find a man—a rich, titled man—to marry. She was only eighteen when Leo could not take her hand. She was only nineteen when Hutton accepted it...only to leave her not but a year later.

But years later, here Beckett was. He sat there, looking like he had all the time in the world.

She knew he did not. She knew that he would likely leave her too, but for tonight she saw in his eyes that he wanted to stay.

The intent could not be more apparent on his face; it was the look of a man who wasn't about to hold back, and Penelope had never been more ready. She took one step toward him and closed the door behind her.

"You took longer than I expected," he said, crossing his legs leisurely. She noted the slight worry in his expression. Had he thought she wouldn't come?

"It took me some time to find Mrs. Fraser."

Beckett mumbled beneath his breath. "Bloody mansion of a house."

"Usually, I have no concerns navigating my home," Penelope said hotly, resting her hand on her hip. "But she was in the kitchens and is not usually there at this time of night."

"I see." Beckett's hand rested on the end of the armrest on his chair, and his fingers drummed idly. Penelope watched them for a moment, entranced, before his voice pulled her back in. "I only contemplated going to look for you once. Perhaps twice."

"I thought you were going to give me a moment?" she asked with an arched brow.

"I did." Beckett's fingers stopped drumming. "Moment's up, darling."

Penelope's stomach flipped like it always did when he used terms of endearment. She knew she mustn't let it go to her head, or more concerning, her heart, but it was challenging. How he said it was so...perfect.