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

by Grace Callaway

  “Whereas Polly wants him for reasons I still cannot fathom,” Ambrose muttered.

  His wife’s lips curved. “Can’t you, darling? She may be your youngest sister, but she is also a woman.”

  “Pray do not remind me.” There were things an older brother never wanted to contemplate. “Although I concede that he is not the bounder that I thought him to be and I have no reason to stand in the way of his suit, I still don’t understand why a good girl like Polly would want a man with his past.”

  “You could ask Emma or Thea the same question,” Marianne teased. “It seems your sisters have an attraction to tortured rakes.”

  He grunted. “At least Violet chose a decent chap for herself.”

  “That’s because she’s the wild one in that relationship.” Leaning up, she murmured in his ear, “Personally, I’ve never understood the attraction of rakes. I prefer a good, upstanding man myself. Especially,”—her hands wandered, the delicate caresses setting fire to his blood—“the upstanding part. Mmm… it seems I’m in luck.”

  Even as desire surged through him, he managed, “Are you certain it’s safe?”

  “The doctor said I could resume my regular activities.” Her smile was sultry. “Which means you had better see to your husbandly responsibilities, darling.”

  Never a man to shirk his duties, he obliged.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  For the first time in her recollection, Polly was enjoying herself at a ball. Accompanied by Em and the duke, she made the rounds of the Hunts’ flower-festooned ballroom, determined to do justice to her beautiful new gown. Whenever she received compliments—which was often—she gave credit to the girls and their hard work.

  “You ought to see how clever the children are,” she’d say. Or, “I’ve never encountered such diligent and inquiring minds.”

  To her surprise, others responded well, even expressing interest in visiting the academy, which Polly knew was a thing the Hunts encouraged. She felt a sense of achievement, of burgeoning self-confidence. For once, she wasn’t a wallflower but a young woman with purpose, and she couldn’t wait for Sinjin to arrive so that she could share her successes.

  The only awkward note of the evening thus far occurred during a crush of new arrivals. Someone bumped into her, and she turned to find herself face to face with Lord Brockhurst.

  He gawked at her; her face flamed. It was their first meeting since the incident in the garden.

  “Miss Kent,” he stammered. “You look… different.”

  He, she noted, did not. He still had the look of a storybook prince—and was about as flat and lifeless as a drawing in a book. Perhaps Sinjin had changed her taste in men, but Brockhurst was a mere shadow compared to her husband-to-be. He had none of Sinjin’s masculine vitality, none of his wit or warmth. And why hadn’t she noticed how weak his chin was?

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said stiffly.

  “Well… this is dashed awkward, isn’t it?” he said, his tone rueful.

  Once, she would have found the way his hand disarranged his golden curls charming. Now she felt only gnawing anxiety and anger at herself that she’d let this man know her secret. That she’d given her trust to someone who was unworthy of it.

  But what was done could not be undone. By some miracle, he hadn’t shared her affliction with the world, and if he hadn’t done so in over a year, she reassured herself, then there was no reason for him to do so now.

  “My sister and brother-in-law are waiting for me,” she said.

  “Before you go,” he said in a rush, “I heard about your engagement. Is it true?”

  Was he asking because he couldn’t believe someone would want to marry her? Bitterness nipped at her, making her tone curt. “Yes, it is. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “I think of you, Polly.” His low, urgent words stunned her. “We made a connection, and I regret deeply that I did not pursue it.”

  Flummoxed, she saw that his aura was sincere and could only stare at him in riotous confusion. Once upon a time, she’d have done anything to hear those words from him. But now… they meant nothing.

  “Let us leave the past where it belongs. Good evening, my lord.” Turning on her heels, she went over to Emma, who was waving at her by the dance floor.

  A while later, she stood beneath the ubiquitous potted palm, sipping her second glass of champagne. Once the shock of encountering Brockhurst had worn off, she’d found herself in a strangely celebratory mood. The intersection of past and present had shown her how much she’d changed, and she vastly preferred her new self. She was watching Em dance with the duke when Marianne’s best friends swooped upon her. The trio of beautiful ladies were like aunts to her.

  “Oh, Polly, you look simply ravishing!” Mrs. Hunt declared, herself a vision in sapphire crepe de chine.

  “That color is the perfect match for your eyes.” Lady Helena Harteford, a lovely brunette in amethyst-colored silk, beamed at her. “And for your stunning ring.”

  “May I offer felicitations?” This came from Charity Fines, a slender lady who wore her locks in a short, stylish crop. Her shot silk gown brought out the unique opalescence of her eyes. “I am not acquainted with the Earl of Revelstoke, but I was delighted—and a bit surprised—to hear the news of your engagement.”

  Polly blushed. “Thank you. It all happened, um, rather quickly.”

  “That is the way of love,” Mrs. Hunt said cheerfully. “It’s a whirlwind.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Lady Harteford’s gaze rolled heavenward, and for some reason this made the other two ladies burst into peals of laughter.

  “I agree with Helena,” Mrs. Fines confided. “I was in love with Mr. Fines for years before he noticed.”

  “That’s because your husband is a numskull,” Mrs. Hunt said.

  “Oh ho, are you talking about your favorite brother again?” Mr. Fines, a raffish blond fellow, strolled up. He was followed by Lord Harteford and Mr. Hunt, who each took a proprietary stance by their ladies.

  “Since you’re my only brother,” Mrs. Hunt retorted, “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I may be a numskull, but I still managed to land myself an exceptional wife, didn’t I?” He kissed his lady’s hand, grinning when she blushed. “Honestly, my love, I’ll never understand how a woman with your sweet disposition could be bosom friends with my hoyden of a sister.”

  “Watch your tongue, Fines.” The warning came from Mr. Hunt. With his looming, muscular build and scarred countenance, he was an intimidating presence. But, to Polly, his glow when he looked at his wife softened his rough edges.

  “Yes, Paul, watch your tongue,” Mrs. Hunt said impishly.

  “Easy for you to taunt when you’ve got Goliath at your back,” her brother shot back.

  Lord Harteford, who had his arm around his lady’s waist, muttered to her, “These two squabble worse than our boys.”

  “And that is saying a lot,” Lady Harteford said with a sigh.

  Having spent time in the company of the Hartefords’ four heathens, Polly couldn’t disagree. She was about to inquire after the boys and the other couples’ broods when she felt a slight stirring sensation on her nape. Her head turned—and her heart stuttered.

  Sinjin was here. And he was prowling—there was no other word for it—toward her.

  He was a riveting man on any occasion, but tonight he made her heart thump at an ungoverned pace. His mahogany hair gleamed beneath the chandeliers, his chiseled countenance the ideal of male beauty. In his stark evening wear, he exuded power and predatory grace. But even more than his physical perfection, his vibrant charisma drew all eyes as he passed. Whilst others could not see his aura, Polly reckoned they could feel its pull.

  She didn’t know what caused his flame to burn so brightly tonight; it was more intense than she’d ever seen it. He glowed with vitality, confidence, and sensuality beyond the civilized. His animal energy triggered a visceral reaction in her. Her nipples went taut. Her pussy dampened.


  “Is that your earl?” Mrs. Fines whispered.

  “Oh my,” Lady Harteford breathed.

  “Well done, Polly!” Mrs. Hunt winked at her.

  Sinjin halted before her. His eyes, the deep vivid blue of a dream, were focused entirely, exclusively on her, and the world faded away. There was nothing but him, the warmth of his lips permeating her glove, scattering sparks over her skin.

  “So my wallflower has shed her disguise at last, and there you are,” he said huskily, “in full, glorious bloom. Your beauty devastates me, Miss Kent.”

  His admiration made her feel beautiful. It always had.

  “You look rather wonderful yourself,” she blurted.

  His smile was slow, dazzling. “May I have the next dance?”

  Until that moment, she hadn’t been aware that the orchestra had started up again, but now she heard the lilting first bars of a waltz.

  “Yes, please,” she said breathlessly.

  Belatedly, she looked to the other ladies for permission.

  Their heads were bobbing in unison, their faces beaming.

  Sinjin offered her his arm, and, giddily, she stepped with him onto the dance floor.

  ~~~

  Sinjin had danced with many women, too many to count. But Polly, as always, transformed the experience for him. Dancing was no longer a matter of stepping to music or making chitchat to pass the time or thinking about other things he’d rather be doing. Holding Polly in his arms, staring into her unparalleled eyes, he felt a rightness that he’d never felt before. The moment consumed him: the need to be close to her, to inhale her unique scent… to make love to her.

  She’d always been beautiful, but tonight she mesmerized him. Christ, the way she looked in that dress. Her loveliness made a chaos of his mind. He wanted to have her painted, immortalized. He also wanted to strip her bare, to be horizontal with her, to bury himself in her giving warmth. She laughed breathlessly as he took her into a spin, and he caught other men staring at her, clearly entertaining lustful thoughts—and that made him want to plant a facer on any bastard who dared to look at her twice.

  When the dance ended, it required all his willpower to let her go. He wasn’t ready to relinquish their moment of privacy, public as it had been. The need to be with her felt urgent, overwhelming.

  As he escorted her to her chaperones, he said in low tones, “Meet me on the balcony, kitten.”

  She stared at him, and for an instant he feared she would say no.

  “Which one?” she said.

  “The one in the corner, with the curtains drawn.” Away from the buffet tables and entertainments, the spot might offer a bit of seclusion. “In ten minutes?” His breath held; he felt as if his life depended on her reply.

  Her nod was shy, but her eyes were shining.

  Euphoria rushed through him.

  ~~~

  Polly made her excuses to her sister, saying that she was visiting the retiring room. Instead, she made a furtive escape toward the appointed balcony where Sinjin was waiting. She didn’t know if it was the champagne or the dance with Sinjin or the successes of the night, but she felt freer, more alive than she ever had.

  She wanted to be with Sinjin more than she wanted her next breath… and he felt the same way. She’d seen his desire, felt its wild energy. His pumping need fed her own restless yearning.

  She approached their designated meeting place. Luckily, the refreshment tables had just been replenished, attracting a swarm of guests, leaving the present area deserted. She slipped through the velvet panels and out onto the balcony, closing the glass doors behind her. The darkness enveloped her the moment before warm, strong arms did.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The feel of her, warm and pliant, made Sinjin’s head reel. The pale crescent moon reflected in her luminous eyes, and her smile held all the secrets of the universe. The rest of the world disappeared: there was only the two of them, man and woman alone in a midnight garden, the energy pulsing between them as ancient as time itself.

  “God, you’re beautiful.” He ran his hands reverently over the shoulders left bare by her gown, savoring her silken skin, how she shivered at his touch. “I’ve missed you, kitten.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” she said shyly.

  Her sweetness undid him. Palming the back of her head, he took her mouth. Her taste hit him like a shot of fine whiskey, a long, smooth burn in his gut. Craving more, he deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering her sweetness and fire; when she licked him back, his mind went black. He backed her into a corner where the balcony met the house, lifting her onto the wide balustrade, propping her back against the wall.

  Raging impulse took over. The need to taste, touch, claim every part of her.

  Wedged between her spread, dangling legs, he consumed her mouth. She kissed him back with inflaming ardor. Soon, kissing wasn’t enough—he had to have more. His lips roved to her right ear, sampling the succulent lobe. She shivered, pressing herself against him, and when he cupped her large, firm tits in his palms, her nipples jutted pleadingly beneath her bodice.

  His cock, already rock-hard, jerked in his trousers. He reached for her skirts, tossing them up, wanting nothing between them. When his fingers encountered her slick, hot flesh, he reached a new state of frenzy.

  “Christ, you’re dripping for me.” With pounding lust, he diddled her pearl, painting it over and again with her own dew. “You want me, don’t you, love?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “So much.”

  The last vestiges of his control vanished; he became impulse. His fingers went to the hidden buttons of his waistband, freeing his heavy erection. Fisting himself, he ran the blunt tip along her plush slit, moans escaping both of them at the rapturous contact. He slid his turgid shaft against her love knot, stoking both their fires, building the burning crisis. When she came, she chanted his name, and it was a Siren’s call he could not deny.

  With wanting so intense it was a pain, he notched his cockhead to her entrance.

  “I need you, Polly.” The guttural words tore from him.

  Her eyes held his; the longing and acceptance in them stole his breath.

  “I’m yours,” she whispered.

  With a groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he drove home.

  ~~~

  Polly jolted at the incursion. At the exquisitely tight stretch of Sinjin… inside her.

  The sensation felt shocking yet right. From the moment they’d met, he’d filled her humdrum existence with his larger than life presence, and now he was filling her body too… with his larger than life presence. Her intimate muscles instinctively resisted the thick intrusion.

  “Kitten?” Need was a blazing halo around him. His pupils were dilated, black edging out blue. Even so, he held himself still. “Should I stop?”

  Tenderness flooded her. The discomfort was already fading, a strange but not unpleasant fullness taking its place. She gave a cautious wriggle of her hips, and he suddenly slid in farther. His groan was pained.

  “Did I hurt you?” she said anxiously.

  “You’ve confused the text, I think.” His brows were drawn, as if he were enduring exquisite torture. “You’re so tight. Small and snug. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  “I think… I’m getting used to it.”

  “I’ll go slowly, love. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

  He began to move, slowly as promised, even though she could see the effort it cost him. Soon his surges became more than tolerable, her sex tingling with each plunge and withdrawal. Her excitement returned, along with a burgeoning ache in her lower belly, one that, unlike the earlier discomfort, increased when he left her and eased when he returned. Instinctively, her legs circled his hips to draw him closer.

  “God, yes.” His eyes smoldered into hers. “Can you take more of my cock, little one?”

  When she whimpered in reply, he drove in, and only then did she realize how much he’d been holding back. His next th
rust took him deeper than he’d gone before. The one after that hit some transcendent place inside. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her head rocking against the stone wall as his possession tested her very limits. The aching pressure built and built, and then… the release took her by surprise, and she came on a sudden blissful cry.

  “Bloody fuck, I can feel you coming. So wet and hot, gripping me like a fist…” His mouth covered hers, his groan reverberating in her throat at the same time that his cock exploded inside her. He shuddered, thrusting deeply, drenching her insides with heat.

  Music suddenly blared, and for one disoriented moment, she wondered if it was part of the wondrous aftermath.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” a stranger’s voice shrilled.

  “Well, I never,” another declared.

  Sinjin jerked. He moved in a blur to pull down her skirts, fasten himself. He turned, keeping her shielded behind him. But catching a glimpse of the matrons’ scandalized expressions, the titillated delight in their auras, Polly knew it was far too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A week later, Polly stood before the looking glass in her bedchamber as her older sisters helped her get ready for her wedding. In two hours, she and Sinjin would be getting married by special license; given the scandal they’d caused, there’d been no other choice. She was riddled with nerves, and her family’s presence was a great comfort.

  Her brother Harry had arrived last night, and Ambrose would be walking her down the aisle of the drawing room, which Marianne had decorated with a plethora of hothouse blooms. Maisie, Olivia, and Francesca would be tossing rose petals in her wake.

  And her sister Violet was here as well.

  Looking at Vi, who was adjusting the train of her gown, Polly said tremulously, “I still can’t believe that you made it in time. Carlisle must have driven like Helios himself.”

  Violet’s husband, Viscount Carlisle, was an expert horseman, his breeding program one of the most sought after in the nation. Thanks to his elite driving skills, he’d managed to get Vi and their son Jamie here from Scotland to London on exceedingly short notice.