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

by Grace Callaway

  “I love you, Sinjin.” Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow before speaking again. “I’m sorry I was not honest with you, but I will explain everything once we are away from here. Please take my hand, my love.”

  She saw him fighting the darkness that swamped him, blue flickering through black, and her heart swelled at his courage. Her breath held as his hand reached toward her outstretched one…

  He jerked back, grunting in pain—because Brockhurst, the idiot, had punched him from behind. An attack that reeked of cowardice.

  “Don’t you touch her, you bastard,” Brockhurst yelled.

  Sinjin spun around to face his attacker, growling, “You’re going to pay for that.”

  “No. Don’t—” Polly tried to grab his arm, but he was too quick for her.

  He stalked toward Brockhurst, who held his fists up, his stance belligerent. Sinjin went in, low and swift, dodging his opponent’s punch, and feigning to the right. Getting past the other’s guard, he delivered pummeling blows to the midsection. Brockhurst stumbled, falling backwards onto the graveled walk, groaning. Sinjin leapt atop him, plowing his fist into the other’s face.

  Bone crunched against bone. Brockhurst screamed.

  Sinjin didn’t stop.

  Even as Polly dashed forward to help, someone held her back. A trio of footmen rushed forward, pulling Sinjin away from Brockhurst. Sinjin fought wildly as two of them wrenched his arms behind his back, his face contorting.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting him!” Polly tried to get to him but was kept in a firm hold.

  At her cries, Sinjin’s head swung in her direction, his gaze honing in on the servant holding her captive. Primal possessiveness surged in his aura, feeding the black flames. With a roar, he flung the footmen off of him, surging toward her—only to be tackled from behind.

  He landed with an audible thud on his shoulder, tears springing to Polly’s eyes as he gave an agonized bellow. She shouted hoarsely for the footmen to desist, but two of them pinned Sinjin down, and the third delivered a punishing blow to the head that took the fight out of him and left him unmoving on the ground.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The next evening, Polly paced the length of Emma’s drawing room. Her entire family was there, putting their heads together to try to help Sinjin. After the disastrous incident last night, Brockhurst had insisted on pressing charges, and Sinjin had been hauled away by members of the Metropolitan Police. When Polly had rushed to the station house, the constables had refused to admit her, saying it was for her own good. She’d have to wait until Sinjin calmed.

  This morning, Polly had returned with Ambrose in tow—only to discover that sometime during the night, Sinjin had been moved yet again. All the constables could tell them was that two physicians had arrived, providing certification of lunacy that had allowed them to take custody of Sinjin. Their attendants had shuttled Sinjin off—to where the constables couldn’t say.

  “We’ve checked Bethlem Hospital and the obvious places, but there’s no record of Revelstoke’s arrival.” Ambrose provided the summary from where he stood, his arm braced on the mantel. “So it’s likely that he’s in one of the private licensed madhouses.”

  Perched on the settee, Rosie said, “But why was Revelstoke taken to a madhouse?”

  “My guess is that the Duke of Acton had a hand in this,” her father answered. “He tried the same strategy when Revelstoke was targeted by French and Grundell. But as Brockhurst has actually pressed assault charges, Acton will have to do more than just temporarily hide Revelstoke in an asylum. He’ll have to petition for a lunacy inquisition if he wants his son declared legally insane and, therefore, not liable for the assault. I don’t know what Acton plans to do, nor do I think this strategy is in Revelstoke’s best interests in the long run. When Polly and I went to speak to His Grace, however, we were told the family was not at home.”

  “Sinjin and his father are not on good terms.” Polly paused in her agitated stride to face her family. “In the past, His Grace’s brand of discipline has been severe, and although he may think he is helping Sinjin, he isn’t.” Her voice broke as she thought of how her husband might be suffering, the indignities he might be facing this very moment. “Sinjin doesn’t belong in a madhouse. He may have powerful emotions and a changeable temperament, but last night was not his fault. Brockhurst was the one who started it by making an unwanted advance on me. And then he attacked when Sinjin had his back turned!”

  “I’ve always thought Brockhurst was a cad,” Rosie said indignantly.

  “Doesn’t Polly have a say in Revelstoke’s future?” Emma asked from the divan she shared with her husband. “She is his wife after all. Can’t she have him released?”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Legally, the certification of the two physicians can keep Revelstoke detained until such time as an inquisition is carried out by the Lord Chancellor. If Revelstoke is declared mad by the commission, then his marriage to Polly could be declared null and void,” he concluded grimly.

  Polly saw the taut looks exchanged amongst her family members.

  “Don’t worry, Polly, we won’t let that happen,” Violet declared. “We’ll do whatever it takes to help Revelstoke—won’t we, Carlisle?”

  “Aye, lass.” Her husband, a rugged, dark-haired Scot whose aura glowed with steadfast devotion, engulfed her hand with his large one. To Ambrose, he said, “What is your plan, Kent?”

  “As we speak, Lugo is heading the search for Revelstoke. There are around forty licensed private asylums in London, so it’s no simple task. Then there’s the business with Clive Grundell. McLeod says the man’s as slippery as an eel. There have been multiple sightings of him, but he remains one step ahead of us. Hopefully, with the mudlarks on the lookout, we’ll net that bounder soon.” Ambrose’s forehead lined. “My gut tells me that Grundell is the key to all of this.”

  “We should focus our energies on finding Grundell, then,” Carlisle said. “I’ll be glad to help.”

  Polly’s heart swelled with gratitude when her other brothers-in-law and Harry also voiced their willingness to help.

  “It seems to me that speaking with the Duke of Acton is just as imperative,” Marianne put in. “Perhaps we ladies could try him again in the morning.”

  “Excellent idea,” Emma agreed.

  At that moment, a knock sounded, and when Em bade entry, the Strathavens’ aged butler shuffled in, a scruffy blond boy in tow.

  Polly recognized the mudlark who’d accompanied Tim back to the academy.

  “Patrick,” she said in surprise, “what are you doing here?”

  “Brought news, Miss Kent.” He doffed his cap in a sprightly bow. “We larks ’ave found the cove you’re looking for.”

  ~~~

  It was past ten in the evening when Polly arrived home.

  As much as she’d wanted to be present for the capture of Grundell, she knew Ambrose was right: it would be too dangerous, and she’d only be in the way. Moreover, when she’d stood up to leave Em’s, she’d suddenly swayed. She was exhausted and needed a good night’s rest so that she could be fresh for the morrow—when surely Ambrose would have good news.

  First thing in the morning, she and her sisters would be paying a call on the Actons. She vowed to herself that she would not leave without discovering where Sinjin had been taken and persuading the duke to pursue a better course of action.

  She ached with worry for Sinjin. Why, oh why, hadn’t they trusted each other with the truth? The secrets they’d kept had led to the present calamity. In hindsight, she knew that they could get through anything—as long as they faced it together.

  I won’t give up, my love, she thought fiercely. I’m going to bring you home.

  She’d just sent Harvey to bed and was preparing to go up to her room when a knock sounded on the front door. Strange at this hour… could it be that Ambrose had sent news already? Excitement chased away fatigue. She dashed to the door, yanked it open.

  And blinked
at the pair of hulking strangers standing on the doorstep.

  Before she could scream, a handkerchief was thrust into her face. Sickly fumes filled her nostrils and lungs, and darkness claimed her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Revelstoke, wake up!”

  Sinjin surfaced sluggishly. The darkness sucked at him like a pit of tar, but someone was shaking him, refusing to let him return to the primordial sludge where he belonged. He was no better than the mud on the street, and now the world had seen the truth…

  Polly had seen him for who he was.

  Anguish crushed his chest like a boulder. He’d been the biggest fool to seek her out at the Shackleton ball. But those three days apart from her had felt like years; in forming his plan to protect his wife, he hadn’t taken into account how much he and his damned devils would miss her.

  The black one hungered for her. It yearned to pet her silken hair, to feel the sweet clasp of her body holding his. During his self-imposed exile, he’d frigged himself endlessly to memories of their lovemaking—and when that wasn’t enough, he’d punched the stuffing out of the practice dummy he’d set up in his apartment.

  Even the blue demon, who usually wanted nothing to do with people—who could barely tolerate even his own presence—yearned for Polly. To just have her close. To have her snuggled against him in silence, no need for words, her company a beacon in the gloom, reminding him that there was a reason to go on.

  He’d missed her so much that he’d fooled himself into believing that he’d had his demons under control. He’d gone to find her, and seeing her in that bastard Brockhurst’s arms had brought his dark side roaring to life, leading to his disgrace—and hers.

  She’d said that she loved him; he repaid her by exposing her secret to the world. Her tearful face flashed in his mind’s eye, and he wanted to die.

  I’m sorry, kitten. Sorry that my love brought you low. Sorry that I couldn’t be the man you deserve…

  Groaning, he curled onto his side. Now she was gone, and, without her, he had no reason to go on. He didn’t even care that he’d been dragged to a madhouse, locked up like an animal. Prison, lunatic asylum, what did it matter? Nothing mattered…

  “Bloody hell, man—get up.”

  A frigid splash jolted him awake. He blinked blearily, swiping water from his face. The face hovering over him came into focus.

  “Kent?” he croaked. “How did you find me… what are you doing here?”

  “We’ve searched a dozen asylums looking for you, and I’m breaking you out,” Kent said tersely. “Your father has kidnapped Polly. I need your help to find them.”

  “Polly?” The mention of his beloved gave him a surge of energy. He sat up on the edge of the narrow cot, trying to focus through the fog in his head. “Why does my father—”

  “Acton is behind all of it. We’ve got Grundell, and he confessed that the duke paid him and Nicoletta to stage the assault at Corbett’s. To frame you. I’ll explain everything later, but right now, we have to find Polly. Do you know where he would take her?”

  Fear cleared Sinjin’s head, thoughts slowly crystallizing.

  Polly’s in danger. The duke has her. Where would he go?

  “I don’t know.” He got to his feet, stumbling across the cell-like room for his clothes. Yanking them on, he growled, “But I’m bloody well going to find out.”

  ~~~

  “That’s absurd, Revelstoke.” The Duchess of Acton sat upon the velvet wingchair in her drawing room as if it were a throne, her spine rigid as she faced Sinjin and Kent. “That you would even suggest that your father, one of the highest peers in the realm, would abduct that chit is beyond the pale. Even for you.” Her lips curled with scorn as she took in Sinjin’s disheveled state. “Clearly, you’re in one of your moods again.”

  It took all of Sinjin’s willpower to stay focused, to not give into the blue devil whispering in his ear. This is all your fault. You’re not right in the head. Polly’s in danger because of you.

  He evaded the tentacles of hopelessness and self-doubt. Stay in command, man.

  Polly’s life was at stake.

  “We have a written confession from Grundell, one of the villains hired by your husband,” Kent cut in. “According to Grundell, Acton paid him and his partner, Nicoletta French, five hundred pounds to make it appear as if Revelstoke had gone mad and assaulted French. But when playing with fire, one often gets burned. Grundell and French turned the tables on Acton, blackmailing him to keep his plot a secret. Acton put an end to the pair’s greed by shooting Nicoletta in cold blood and framing Grundell for the murder. Fearing that His Grace would go after him as well, Grundell has been in hiding all this time.”

  The duchess paled, but she clung to her righteous disbelief. “Why would I believe the word of an admitted criminal over that of my husband? And what possible motive could Acton have to see Revelstoke discredited?”

  “He wants control… over Sinjin’s inheritance.” Theodore stood in the doorway, looking stricken. Sinjin had no idea how long the other had been standing there.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Theodore,” his mama snapped. “Your father is a duke. He doesn’t need Sinjin’s funds.”

  Crossing over to her, Theodore said, “I am sorry, Mama, but that’s not true. I overheard Papa talking to his solicitor last week, making… final arrangements.” Swallowing, he went on, “Papa’s made some bad investments, and the duchy is floundering in debt. Papa has been keeping the fact a secret from us and the rest of the world.”

  “My God… we are ruined?” Her Grace sagged against the chair.

  Facing Sinjin, Theodore said painfully, “I didn’t know of Papa’s plan to discredit you. If I had known, I would have said something. Done something.”

  “I believe you. It is not your fault,” Sinjin said.

  Theo’s chin quivered, and he nodded.

  “Now do you have any idea where Papa might have taken Polly?”

  Theo’s eyes widened. “He took… you mean he abducted her?”

  “From her home last night,” Kent interrupted. “Where would he have gone? Think, my lord. It would likely be a place close by—a temporary place to hold Polly until he could figure out his next move. I don’t believe this was a premeditated act on his part; I think he panicked when he realized we had his accomplice in our custody, and it was only a matter of time before his villainy was revealed.”

  Looking ashen, Theo said, “He… he keeps a cottage in St. John’s Wood. I was looking for something in his desk once when I came upon the deed and keys. No one’s supposed to know about it; I think it’s where he, um,”—he slid a pained glance at his mama, who remained slumped in her chair—“kept his ladybirds over the years.”

  “We need the address,” Sinjin said urgently.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Polly’s eyelids fluttered open. Her head was pounding, her vision blurry. Where in heavens was she? She was lying on a sofa in a strange room—

  “You’re awake.”

  Her head whipped in the direction of the man’s voice. She bolted upward, swaying as a wave of wooziness hit her. She grabbed onto the arm of the sofa for support even as she kept her gaze on the stranger sitting in an adjacent chair. His features were harsh and gaunt, his vivid blue eyes startlingly familiar…

  “Your Grace?” she said, her voice rusty with shock.

  The Duke of Acton inclined his dark, silver-streaked head. His hawkish mien remained impassive, but fury and frustration seethed around him. Fed by underlying desperation, his aura was terrifying to behold: that of a man capable of anything.

  The pistol resting upon his thigh underscored his menace.

  “I regret the circumstances of our first formal introduction,” her father-in-law said, “but my troublesome son and your meddling brother left me no choice. Once I discovered that Kent’s men had Grundell in their custody, I knew I had to act.”

  Understanding struck her. “You… you are the one who tried to frame Si
njin?”

  “It was supposed to be simple. Convince Sinjin that he was mad—and what better way than having him believe he’d beaten a woman, committed an act that even he would find unforgivable? And it is not far from the truth. One need only look at his disgraceful behavior and his pathetic inability to control his own moods to see the madness in him. He’s not fit for the title, and it was my duty to purge his influence from the line.”

  “Sinjin is not mad,” she said hotly. “You are for concocting such a despicable plot!”

  The duke’s mouth thinned. “Believe what you will, but it was the only way to save the duchy and Sinjin as well. Everything would have been easy if he had only complied with my plan. If he were declared insane, he would no longer have the responsibilities he didn’t want anyway. Theodore could have taken guardianship over the money and properties; Sinjin could have lived a carefree life, upon his death leaving the title to my more suitable heir. I did it in the interests of both my sons.”

  The duke’s rational tone, paired with a crazed and feverish glow, made him a sick and dangerous man. Polly calculated the odds of making a run for it. As demented as her captor seemed, he held the firearm in a sure grip… one that conveyed his ability to use it.

  Keep him talking. Try to figure a way out.

  Humoring him, she said, “So you were, um, only looking out for Sinjin’s interests?”

  “Precisely.” The duke nodded, relief calming some of the agitation around him. “Unfortunately, Sinjin has always been an unruly and uncooperative child. After the plan with Nicoletta and Grundell backfired, and I was forced to… eliminate the problem,”—he paused thoughtfully, the hairs rising on Polly’s nape—“I had to reassess the situation. I might have let things go on for a while had Sinjin not married you. If he managed to sire an heir…”

  Acton shook his head while the possibility flashed in Polly’s head: she could, at that very moment, be carrying Sinjin’s child. Her determination to escape this madman’s clutches was renewed.