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

by Grace Callaway

“We’re leaving,” Hunt said in lethal tones, “and we’ll spare your life if you let us pass.”

  Crooke sniggered. “Brave words when you’re outnumbered. Get ’em, boys.”

  “Stay back with Maisie and Tim,” Sinjin ordered Patrick.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Two of the cutthroats charged Sinjin, and his blood roiled. He planted himself, using the first attacker’s momentum to flip the other over his shoulder. The bastard flew through the air, landing with a cry of pain. The second came at him, fists flying, and Sinjin dodged the swings, moving in close to deliver rib-cracking blows. The bugger doubled over, and Sinjin finished him off with an uppercut.

  His gaze shot to Hunt, who was holding his own against a trio of foes. At that moment, Hunt’s footmen burst through the door, charging to their employer’s aid. Sinjin honed in on Crooke. Gaze shifting, the bugger calculated his odds, then turned on his heels and made a run for it. Sinjin took off in a sprint after him, tackling the other to the ground.

  They grappled. Crooke had the advantage of several stone, but Sinjin managed to gain the upper hand. He smashed his fist into the other’s face, energized by the crack of bone. He did it again and again, punches powered by the dark burn of the cane, the sting of the whip, the deep branding scorch of loneliness.

  Not this boy. Never again. His blood roared, the euphoric rush blocking out pain.

  His arms were suddenly jerked back, and he thrashed in rage at being restrained.

  “Revelstoke, enough. You’re going to kill him.”

  The words percolated through his black haze. Chest heaving, he realized that Hunt and a footman had dragged him off of Crooke. The bastard’s face was a pulpy mess; looking down at his own clenched hands, Sinjin registered the broken skin and leaking veins, knuckles beginning to swell.

  “Not that the world wouldn’t be better off without the bugger, but being a new bridegroom, you might prefer to spend the night in your wife’s bed rather than behind bars,” Hunt went on. “Now are you calm enough for me to release you?”

  “I’m fine,” Sinjin snapped, shaking himself free. He staggered to his feet, aggression still churning inside him. He wanted to take on all the Crookes of the world. He could do it. Right here and right bloody now.

  The invincible rush suddenly hit a wall. Even as he soared in his conviction, something in him balked, his gut clenching… in fear? What the hell did he have to be afraid of?

  The answer surfaced like a leaf on a dark pond. Polly.

  He reeled with awareness… which he knew would be ephemeral. Once the devil’s claws sank into him, his mind would turn black. He’d lose his head—himself. Bloody hell, somehow he had to get it together before he saw Polly. Had to muddle through until he could make his escape to the apartment.

  Hunt hefted Tim into his arms. Maisie and Patrick crowded behind him.

  “Let’s get the children to safety,” he said grimly.

  Sinjin led the way out, thinking, And I have to somehow get myself there, too.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It was dusk by the time Polly and Sinjin made their way home. Thick tension blanketed the carriage. From beneath her lashes, she studied her husband, who was on the opposite bench rather than beside her—or beneath her, as he had a habit of pulling her onto his lap.

  None of that playfulness was present, however, and while she understood that—she herself felt as worn as an old apron—the distance between them pressed heavily upon her. Was she imagining the strain between them? She didn’t think so. Sinjin was brooding; energetic emotions pulsed around him, yet he didn’t see fit to share any of them with her.

  So they sat in stilted silence, rattling over cobblestones together, each in their own separate world. She told herself to let it go, that it had been a long day and neither of them was in a place to have a deep conversation. But she could stand it no more.

  “Sinjin, what is the matter?” she burst out.

  “Nothing.”

  The immediacy of his reply irked her as much as the word itself, so much so that she didn’t watch her tongue. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me. If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”

  “Fine.” His eyes smoldered at her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Fine.”

  They stewed on. She regretted bitterly that she’d given him the option to choose silence. But just because he’d chosen to hide behind walls didn’t mean that she had to.

  “I am glad that the doctor said that Tim will make a quick recovery,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “Maisie’s ever so relieved. Her brother’s a brave lad for standing up to those villains and protecting the younger larks.”

  Sinjin stared fixedly at the corner of the carriage, his arms crossed, a booted ankle resting on one knee. His dark energy filled the carriage, yet his lips remained firmly sealed.

  Her frustration building, she tried again. “You and Mr. Hunt were heroes as well. From what I understand, Mrs. Hunt is going to try to convince the mudlarks to come to the school, although Mr. Hunt says the boys are too feral to stay anywhere long.”

  His response? Silence.

  Her temper snapped. “Dash it all, Sinjin, I know that you’re upset. You might as well stop sulking and talk about it.”

  “You know how I feel. Are you a mind reader, then?”

  His scathing reply churned her stomach. He’s too close to the truth…

  “N-no, of course not,” she stammered. “What I meant was… I can, um, sense the tension between us. Why can’t we just talk about it?”

  “What sweet nothings did you share with that prat?”

  She blinked in confusion. “What prat? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you, my clear-eyed goddess.” He sneered—actually sneered—at her. “You and Theodore made a cozy pair. What were you two whispering about that you didn’t want me to hear?”

  “You cannot be serious.” She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  Who was this man sitting across from her? Because he surely wasn’t the sensual, affectionate husband she knew. In fact, he even looked different: his pupils edged out the blue in his eyes, toxic energy rushing like ink into his blue glow, creating an ominous and murky state.

  “As death, my love,” this stranger ground out. “So tell me: was it a tryst you were planning?”

  “I was inviting your brother to come spend time with you,” she exploded. “He longs to be closer to you, the only sibling he has left. He’s not like your stepmama.”

  “And you say you can’t read minds,” he mocked.

  Fear warred with anger. Should she keep pushing ahead? She was flirting with disaster. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Don’t expose yourself further. At the same time, she couldn’t allow his utterly unreasonable behavior to go on.

  She drew an unsteady breath. “Look, Sinjin, it has been a trying day. For both of us. Perhaps we should continue this discussion at another time—”

  “I didn’t want to talk in the first place,” he thundered. “You’re the one who forced this conversation between us. You’re the one who’s violating the goddamned rules we set for our marriage!”

  “I’m not the one acting like a blessed child!”

  “Yes, you’re perfect, aren’t you? Perfect Polly.” With his jeering tone, he might as well have been calling her Peculiar Polly, and, indeed, that was what echoed furiously through her mind. “You always know what’s best.”

  “I never said that I knew best. What’s the matter with you? Why are you being so dashed unreasonable?”

  “Maybe that’s just the way I am. Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “Well, I don’t like this you,” she shot back.

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have bloody married me,” he snarled.

  The words hung in the air. Their gazes locked, chests surging in unison.

  A knock cut into the charged silence like a
blast of artillery.

  “What?” Sinjin roared.

  “P-pardon, my lord.” The groom’s voice filtered in, and Polly suddenly realized that the carriage had stopped. “We’re back as you instructed, but if you’d like us to drive on—”

  “Open the goddamned door and help Lady Revelstoke out,” Sinjin snapped.

  The partition opened to reveal the groom’s harried face. Face burning, Polly took the servant’s offered hand and alighted down the steps into the cooling night. She tried desperately to calm her inner tumult. She watched as Sinjin vaulted to the ground—only to climb into the driver’s seat.

  “Wh-where are you going?” she stammered.

  His black gaze burned with the devil’s fire.

  “Away from you,” he gritted out.

  Through a haze of shock and mortification, she watched the carriage roll away and vanish into the darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Three nights later, Polly found herself alone in the Shackleton’s garden. She wandered listlessly through the labyrinthine hedges, wishing that she hadn’t let Emma talk her into coming. Her eldest sister had said that the distraction would do her good—that it would be better than moping at home, waiting for her husband to return.

  During the daytime, Polly kept herself busy at the academy. The one bright spot was that Tim was recovering rapidly, his injuries mostly superficial according to the physician. Yesterday, he’d been well enough to sit up in bed, where he’d been visited by a flow of mudlarks who’d apparently crowned him their new Prince. He’d asked repeatedly for Sinjin, adamant in his resolve to return the favor the other had done him by defeating Crooke.

  Inspiration had struck Polly. The mudlarks were the “eyes and ears” of the stews; they were everywhere yet nowhere, blending in perfectly with their environment. Thus, with Ambrose’s blessing, she’d given Tim and his band a sketch of Grundell, asking them to keep an eye out for the villain. They were given strict orders not to approach the man but to alert her brother immediately should there be a sighting.

  She was rather proud of her idea… and wished she could share it with Sinjin. Looking up at the dark canopy of the night, she wondered where Sinjin was right now, what he was feeling and thinking, and her shoulders hunched. Her despair was only slightly lightened by the fact that he’d sent her a note. In those terse lines, he’d let her know he was invoking their agreement on privacy and would return in a few days.

  At least he plans to return. She kicked a pebble out of her path.

  As much as she missed Sinjin and regretted that she’d pushed him into a quarrel, she was also beginning to heartily dislike their moratorium on intimacy. They were fooling themselves if they thought they could spend companionable days and passionate nights together and not develop bonds between them.

  She couldn’t go on this way. She was in love with Sinjin, and she couldn’t and didn’t want to keep it to herself any longer. The pain of keeping an emotional distance was starting to seem worse than her fear of taking a risk and letting him know about her secret.

  How would Sinjin react?

  Would he reject her outright… or might he be able to accept her affliction?

  Three days ago, she’d had budding confidence that his reaction might be the latter. Then again, three days ago, he’d been an affectionate and wildly passionate husband and now…

  Now I don’t know what to do.

  She reached the heart of the maze, which featured a marble fountain of Bacchus surrounded by his band of merry satyrs and Maenads. Just perfect. Now she found herself worrying about what Sinjin might be up to in her absence, whether he would revert to his former rakehell ways.

  Don’t be a ninny. He said he’d be faithful.

  She’d promised not to plague him, to give him space, and she’d broken her vow. What if he did the same? She slumped onto one of the benches circling the fountain, tears she couldn’t hold back trickling from her eyes.

  “Lady Revelstoke?”

  She twisted around. Oh, perfect again.

  “Lord Brockhurst.” Swiping at her wet cheeks, she rose, her curtsy perfunctory. “I was just leaving—”

  “Please don’t go. Not just yet.” In the moonlight, his features were beseeching. “I know I have no right to ask, but I wish for a moment of your time.”

  “What for?” she said warily.

  “I want to apologize.” He exuded sincerity. “All these months, I’ve been too cowardly to do so, but I cannot bear it any longer. I know that you must have somehow discovered my… ungentlemanly behavior. Was it Revelstoke who told you about the wager?”

  “How I know is none of your business,” she said flatly.

  Even in the dimness, she could see color spreading over his chiseled cheekbones.

  “You are right, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I have no excuse except to say that I was an idiot. In my desire to fit in with the popular set, I did something inexcusable. I hurt you, and I humbly beg your forgiveness, knowing that I do not deserve it.”

  His direct apology surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to acknowledge the truth of what he’d done. At the same time, she realized that it didn’t matter any longer. The incident, which had once seemed monumental, was in truth naught more than a molehill in her life’s journey. A speck compared to the vast, mountainous terrain that was her relationship with Sinjin.

  Her husband—he was everything. Her heart clenched.

  “Forget it. I have,” she said.

  “You mean that?” Brockhurst came closer, hope rippling over his features. “I’ve carried the guilt of what I’ve done for so long that—”

  “I said forget it.” Just because she didn’t hold a grudge any longer didn’t mean that she wanted to have some cozy conversation about his feelings. “Now I really must—”

  “I never told anyone about your secret,” he whispered.

  Her heart thudded. She caught a rustling sound, and her panicked gaze swept over the dense, towering hedges. No one there. It must have been the breeze she heard or the blood rushing in her ears.

  “You must have wondered why I didn’t tell a soul,” Brockhurst went on, “why I never revealed what you shared with me. I’ll admit I was shocked when you told me that you could, well, see people’s emotions. You know, their auras,”—his hand drew an orbit around his head—“glowing around them. You must understand I’d never heard of such a thing before, and it confused me. I panicked because even though I started courting you because of the wager, I was developing feelings for you.”

  She stared at him, stupefied. What in heaven’s name was he blathering on about? More importantly, how could she get him to promise never to reveal her secret?

  “I was afraid to act on my feelings because you were so… different. I waited too long, and Revelstoke snapped you up. But now that I see how unhappy you are, I can’t hold the truth back any longer. I love you, Polly,” he declared. “I always have.”

  Before she could react, he yanked her into his arms, his mouth landing on hers. She struggled, trying to get away, shoving her palms against his shoulders—and he went hurtling backwards through the air.

  Did I do that? she thought, disoriented.

  A large, familiar figure stepped into her line of vision. Sinjin. Her joy at seeing him fizzled at the sight of his aura: a bonfire of fury so intense that her heart shot into her throat.

  He faced Brockhurst, his hands balled into fists.

  “I’m going to kill you for touching my wife,” he snarled.

  Brockhurst scrambled to his feet, his clothes disheveled, his palms held out in a placating manner. “Revelstoke, we can talk about this—”

  Sinjin’s swift punch landed in the other’s gut, Brockhurst doubling over with a loud groan. The sound snapped Polly out of her paralysis, and she dashed over, grabbing Sinjin’s arm before he swung again. His bulging muscles leapt beneath her touch.

  “Stop this,” she said urgently. “Nothing happened. He—”

>   “Touched you. Kissed you. My. Wife.” In the moonlight, Sinjin’s eyes were pitch black. “No one touches you but me.”

  His vehemence sent a bolt of alarm through her. She held on, insisting, “It was nothing.”

  “If it was nothing, then why did you lie to me?” he said savagely.

  “I didn’t lie—”

  “You told that fop your secret. You confided in him—but you didn’t tell me, your own husband!”

  Even as Polly’s heart drummed in her chest, gasps and whispers made her head swing around. Her panic escalated as she saw the gathering guests, all of them drawn to the unfolding drama. She turned desperately back to Sinjin.

  “Let’s not do this here,” she pleaded. “I’ll explain everything once we are in private—”

  “What will you explain? That you can see emotions? Bloody auras glowing around people?” he exploded.

  The heat of stares burned into her. Whispers turned into excited titters. Always said that chit was peculiar… Don’t matter how pretty the belfry is if bats are loose in it… The pyre of social disgrace burst into flame. Heat licked behind her eyes, and she drew a choking breath.

  But Sinjin wasn’t done.

  “You were laughing at me all this time, weren’t you?” Anger and despair twisted like snakes around him. “All this time, you could see what a disaster I am. You could see my bloody moods. The black devil… the blue. You knew all along, and there I was, a fool trying to protect you from them.” He let out a pained howl of laughter. “Did it secretly amuse you, knowing what a pathetic wretch you married?”

  In the midst of her soul’s darkest night, understanding flashed as bright and ephemeral as lightning. The walls he’d erected, his distant behavior… all because he was trying to hide who he was? To protect her from… what? His emotions?

  There wasn’t time to puzzle it all out. Fear burgeoned—no longer for herself, but for him. The guests were looking at him with raised brows, whispering behind fans, not bothering to hide their malicious delight. She could hear the word spreading like wildfire: mad.

  She had to put a stop to this. Now.