Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5)

by Grace Callaway

  He gave a curt nod.

  When he said no more, she prompted, “What did he say?”

  Sinjin’s broad shoulders hitched in a careless shrug. “That he was glad the business was over and hoped I wouldn’t besmirch the family name again.”

  “You didn’t in the first place,” she said hotly. “It wasn’t your fault that the villains targeted you. You were an innocent victim. How could the duke blame you?”

  “I wouldn’t say I was innocent, exactly.” His tone was wry. “As for my father blaming me, that’s nothing new. I’m the black sheep of the family. My eldest brother Stephan was the golden child and deservedly so. He was so damned perfect he ought to have been annoying—except he wasn’t. He was the most decent fellow I’ve ever met.”

  Seeing his grief, she said softly, “You miss him.”

  “Yes.”

  “You have a half-brother, don’t you?” she ventured.

  “Theodore’s a prat.” His mouth formed a cynical line. “No surprise, coming from the womb he did.”

  Heavens, Sinjin truly did not get along with his family. Wanting to know more of his past, she said carefully, “What about your own mama? Were you close to her?”

  “She died when I was five.” Emotions clashed, an ambivalent tangling. “She wasn’t mourned. Catherine Pelham was a blight on the Acton name, you see. Not only was her family in trade—my father married her to replenish the family coffers—but she also had a scandalous habit of collecting lovers. In fact, she was running away with one when their ship went down off the coast of Dorset.”

  Beneath the jaded words lay sorrow… and yearning.

  “No matter what she did, she was your mama,” Polly said gently.

  They passed beneath a leafy canopy, a lattice of shadows crossing his face. “I don’t remember her much, but what I do remember is mostly good,” he admitted in gruff tones. “She laughed a lot. Sang to me. Bye, Baby Bunting… I can still recall her voice soothing me to sleep.”

  “My mama sang that lullaby to us as well. She died when I was six, and I still miss her.”

  “Tell me more about your family.”

  His genuine interest made it easy to talk about herself. She recounted what life had been like back in Chudleigh Crest while carefully omitting any mention of her peculiarity. She described the cozy cottage, the creek where she and her siblings had liked to swim, and the schoolhouse where her papa had imparted wisdom to generations of children. She shared some of her family’s good times as well as some of the difficult ones.

  She avoided mention of Rosie; their continuing estrangement was too painful to address. He seemed to understand and didn’t press her on the topic. There were plenty of other things to converse about, and he seemed vastly entertained, even laughing aloud as she related some of the Kents’ adventures.

  When he asked about the large age difference between her and Ambrose, she explained, “Ambrose is actually my half-brother, as his mama was Papa’s first wife, but he’s as kin to me as my other siblings. In fact, he’s more like a father to me in some ways. He’s provided for the family since I was a little girl, when our father first fell ill.”

  “That’s why he’s so protective of you.”

  She nodded. “Ambrose is the best of brothers—and of men. He won’t stop until he sees justice done. I know he’ll settle your case before long.”

  “I hope that’s true as I have important matters I’d like to get on with.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “Such as?”

  “You and me, kitten. More precisely—us.”

  At his lazy, sensual smile, her heart took on a giddy cadence. A carriage came from the opposite direction, interrupting their banter. Sinjin exchanged greetings with the occupants of the other vehicle, whose gazes followed them even as they drove on.

  “I vowed to myself that I’d come to you with a clean slate—at least one unsullied by blackmail and murder,” Sinjin amended. “The rest of my past isn’t subject to change, unfortunately.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to change your past,” she protested. “It’s made you who you are.”

  “And you like me the way I am? You believe in me?”

  Although his tone was playful, flirtatious even, she again sensed an underlying vulnerability. It amazed her that this dazzling, god-like man truly cared what she thought of him. Although, given what he’d disclosed about his family, it ought to come as no surprise that he should want her positive opinion. Either way, the boyish longing in his aura made her heart squeeze.

  “Of course I believe in you,” she said firmly.

  “Then will you fetch something from my left pocket? My hands are full at the moment.”

  She blinked at the non sequitur but did as he asked. When she pulled out a velvet-covered box, she stilled. The box might contain a ring, something she wasn’t certain she was ready for. Or—she flashed to the locket—it might contain a meaningless trinket. And she didn’t want that either.

  “Open it,” he said.

  Halfheartedly, she did… and her next breath whooshed from her lungs.

  It wasn’t a ring inside but a necklace. One that had clearly been chosen with care. Nestled in white satin, the piece was exquisite in its simplicity: a flawless aquamarine cabochon set in a delicate frame of gold. When she lifted the necklace by its fine gold chain, the stone’s pristine, watery depths glimmered in the sunlight, its beauty unique and utterly breathtaking.

  “It reminded me of your eyes, though nothing matches their splendor, of course,” he said huskily. “Happy belated birthday.”

  “You already gave me a present,” she blurted—and immediately wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing up that unpleasant incident.

  “That gift was an unworthy one. And I think you and I both know it didn’t belong to my mama.” Cheekbones reddening, he said, “The locket was sent to me as an, ahem, memento. By whom, I don’t know. I happened to have it on me at the time.”

  Relieved by his honesty and candor, she said curiously, “Why did you give it to me?”

  “It was an impulse.” His brows drew together. “I’d intruded upon your private celebration, and I suppose I wanted to… join in. Contribute in some way. An ill-conceived notion, obviously.”

  The sincerity of his explanation warmed her. She was also aware that she’d misjudged his motivation with the locket, believing his gesture to be the scheming of a seasoned Lothario when the truth was far simpler. He’d just wanted to feel included. To be part of a family celebration—something, she understood now, that he’d had little experience with.

  With aching remorse, she said, “The gesture was thoughtful. And I’m sorry I responded with such poor grace.”

  “You can’t help being acute, Polly.” He studied her intently. “Do you know, sometimes I fancy those eyes of yours can see through anything. Through twisting passages and false ends, straight to the heart of the matter.”

  Watch out for Peculiar Polly…she’ll see what’s in your head… Steer clear of Peculiar Polly…

  Panic knocked her heart against her ribs. “I’m not acute. Or different in any way. I’m perfectly ordinary—”

  “That you most definitely are not. You, kitten, are special.”

  The warmth of his regard gradually dissolved her alarm. Somehow, Sinjin managed to make her feel special—in a good way. As unique and beautiful as the necklace he’d given her. And therein lay her conflict. She needed a marriage of convenience to protect her secret, yet Sinjin made her yearn for intimacy. If she married him, how would she be able to safeguard her heart?

  Yet how could she resist the elemental force between them?

  “You’re special, too,” she said softly.

  “In that case, did I mention that the necklace is part of a set? There’s a matching ring, for instance.”

  At his unsubtle hint, she had to laugh. “The necklace will do for now. Thank you, Sinjin, it’s lovely beyond words.” She admired the treasure on
ce more before carefully stowing it away in her reticule.

  “I promised to court you, and court you I shall. But the truth is, sweeting,”—his gaze grew heated, a ragged edge in his voice—“I cannot wait to make you mine. I’ve been going mad, reliving our time in the carriage.”

  “I’ve thought of it, too,” she confessed.

  “Have you now?” he rasped. “Did you do anything about it… the way I did?”

  Blood surged into her cheeks. She was grateful for her coal-scuttle bonnet, its deep, ribbon-trimmed brim hiding her flaming face from the occupants of another oncoming carriage.

  “That’s wicked,” she managed after the conveyance had passed.

  “Aye, but did you?”

  “I most certainly did not.”

  “Would you consider doing it?” Smoldering challenge entered his gaze. “Because the thought of you petting your soft, wet little pussy while I touch myself, thinking of you… Devil and damn, I’d give everything I own for that to be true.”

  His naughty suggestion ignited her own forbidden yearnings. In truth, it had been a torment thinking of him—of his hot kisses and masterful touch—without being able to do anything about it. Ache had bloomed inside her, the same throbbing awareness that spread through her now. Would it be so bad to relieve that tension… to share something that only he and she would know about?

  “All right,” she said slowly.

  “Holy hell.” His eyes widened. “You mean it?”

  Seeing him actually shudder with lust dispelled her lingering doubts. It thrilled her that she could elicit this reaction in a man as worldly as Sinjin. It dawned upon her that, when she was with him, she felt less inhibited, more comfortable in her own skin. It seemed his bold nature was rubbing off on her… and she liked it.

  “I go to bed at midnight,” she informed him.

  “I’ll be there. In my own bed, I mean.” His grin was downright wolfish. “So what will you be thinking about when we’re together yet apart?”

  “About… you kissing me.” She may have shed some of her inhibitions, but that was as brazen as she could manage.

  “Where?”

  “Sinjin,” she protested with a laugh, “I already gave you an inch. Don’t take a mile.”

  “I shall give you a pass this one time.” He winked. “But I’ll expect a full report tomorrow. When I take you driving again.”

  “Oh… I can’t go for a drive.” Flustered, she said, “I mean, I would like to very much, but I have a prior engagement.”

  She was dreading the event, which Thea’s note—asking if she still needed a chaperone for the Pickering-Parks’ picnic—had reminded her of just this morning. Not only was it too late to send regrets, but Polly felt she owed it to Nigel to make matters clear between them. Although no promises had been made, she’d sensed that he’d been considering offering for her. She wanted to let him know in person (hopefully, in some subtle and adroit manner) that such an offer would no longer be welcomed.

  “What event are you attending? Perhaps I’ve been invited as well.”

  The last thing she needed was for Sinjin to show up at the picnic. His presence would only complicate the already delicate situation.

  “The Pickering-Parks are hosting a picnic at their Hampstead estate,” she said reluctantly, “but I’m certain you won’t want to go. It won’t be your sort of entertainment at all.”

  “My sort?” His brows rose.

  “Mostly wallflowers and dowagers will be attending. And gentlemen willing to sift through the dregs of the marriage mart. So it won’t be a fashionable crowd, and I’m sure the entertainments will be exceedingly dull—”

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” His gaze was all too keen. “Why do I have the distinct feeling that you don’t want me there?”

  “I think you’d be, um, bored is all.” Realizing that further protests would only deepen his suspicion, she adopted a tone of indifference. “But go ahead and attend, if you like.”

  “As it happens, I don’t have an invitation.”

  “You won’t be missing much,” she said lightly.

  Thankfully, he let it go at that, and the ride home was spent in lively banter. He escorted her all the way to her doorstep, bowing over her hand.

  “Until tonight, kitten,” he rasped, “when we meet in our dreams.”

  She floated, rosy-cheeked, through the front door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next day, Polly and Thea arrived to find the picnic in full swing. The Pickering-Parks’ Hampstead estate bordered on the picturesque Heath, and the al fresco event was being held behind the sweeping Italianate manor house. The two were greeted by their hostess, Mrs. Pickering-Parks, a rail-thin woman whose preference for the color pink was shown not only in her wardrobe but that of her only son as well. Nigel stood beside his mama, perspiring in pink and brown plaid worsted, his protruding midsection highlighted by a fuchsia waistcoat.

  “We’ve recently restocked the Chinese Pond with carp,” Mrs. Pickering-Parks was saying. “After luncheon, you must allow my son to guide you ladies on a tour.”

  “Indeed.” Nigel addressed Polly. “Have you finished the book I sent you for your birthday?”

  She hadn’t even started it. “Um… not quite yet. But it was very thoughtful of you to—”

  “It’s unfortunate that you haven’t read the treatise,” he interrupted, “for it would help you to understand the significance of my latest acquisition—”

  “Leave off the old bones for now, dearest,” his mother said hastily. “I’m sure Lady Tremont and Miss Kent would like to refresh themselves first.”

  “Perhaps we could, um, talk later?” Polly said to Nigel.

  At his beaming smile, her discomfiture grew. She hoped that he wouldn’t take the news she had to share badly. On the other hand, it was possible that he wouldn’t care at all. The passion in his aura seemed exclusively linked to his favorite hobby.

  A footman led Polly and Thea to the picnic area, where cloth-covered tables had been set up beneath a flowing pink tent. A quartet provided serene accompaniment to the sweltering summer day whilst perspiring servants delivered trays of refreshments. The stations of games—everything from archery to a ring toss—stood empty, failing to entice guests made lethargic by the heat, food, and their own restrictive finery.

  Finding a quiet table, Polly sat with her sister, sipping on iced lemonade and nibbling on sliced fruits and tiny sandwiches. Scanning the crowd, Polly saw there were quite a few gentlemen at the event, and more latitude than usual was given for the mixing of the sexes. Perhaps the impending end of the Season had persuaded mamas and duennas to sacrifice strict chaperonage for a potential eleventh-hour catch.

  With a pang, Polly said, “I wish Rosie would have come. The place is teeming with eligible parti.”

  “She’ll come around eventually.” Beneath the flower-strewn brim of her bonnet, Thea’s hazel eyes held gentle empathy. “You two love each other far too well for this rift to continue indefinitely.”

  Polly wished she shared Thea’s optimism. It had been five days, and the shoulder Rosie presented to her was colder than ever. Polly had begun to regret her assertive words to her sister, but she didn’t know how to make things right. It was the one dark spot in her burgeoning happiness.

  “What if what I’ve done is unforgivable?” she said forlornly.

  “It’s hardly that, my dear. The fact of the matter is you could not have predicted the connection between you and the earl. And you are fond of Revelstoke, are you not?”

  Fond wasn’t the right word. Thinking of what she’d done in the privacy of her bed last night whilst thinking of him doing the same thing, she flushed. “I do like him. Perhaps too much.”

  “Too much?”

  Unable to resist her sister’s gentle inquiry, Polly shared her fears that she might not be able to safeguard her heart or her affliction if she were to become Sinjin’s wife.

  “But why would you wish
to hide your true self from the man you marry?”

  Astonishment glimmered around Thea, and Polly understood why. Her sister, like the rest of her married siblings, shared uncommonly intimate relationships with their spouses. Thea and Tremont were so close that their auras were oft attuned, mirroring the others’ glow.

  “Because I’m no stranger to rejection,” Polly said frankly, “and the thought of experiencing it at Sinjin’s hands—oh, Thea, it would be too much to bear.”

  Thea studied her. “I could tell you again that you don’t have an affliction—that you are perfectly lovely as you are—but you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

  Of course her sister thought that. Polly’s family loved her unconditionally, which meant they didn’t see her as the rest of the world did.

  “No,” she said honestly, “but thank you for thinking that.”

  “And I could also say that, if Revelstoke truly cares for you as I believe he does, he wouldn’t reject you for any reason… but you wouldn’t believe that either?”

  She wished she could believe it. She shook her head.

  “Then only time will tell, little sister. But if I may pass on something I’ve learned? Love, like anything worthwhile, involves taking a risk. You’ll have to decide if Revelstoke is worth that risk to you. But in the meantime,”—Thea’s gaze went over Polly’s shoulder—“the purpose for today’s visit is headed this way.”

  Polly turned to see Nigel lumbering toward her.

  “Miss Kent.” He bowed, the movement straining the buttons of his waistcoat to an alarming degree. “I believe we are promised for a tour of the pond.”

  He led the way across the scythed grass toward a wooded path at the end of which, he promised, lay the pond. By tacit agreement, Thea performed her chaperonage at a distance, staying several paces behind so that Polly could have the privacy to address the uncomfortable topic.

  Before Polly could begin, however, Nigel launched straightaway into a discourse about his favorite subject. “As you know, I recently returned from an expedition in Sussex, where I purchased the most remarkable specimen.”

  “Oh?” How could she subtly inform him that she was no longer interested in a courtship? If, indeed, they had ever engaged in one. The ambiguity of their relationship made her task all the more challenging, but she wanted to end whatever was between them in a respectful manner.