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

by Grace Callaway

  “… his bad blood would taint the line forever,” Acton was saying. “I had to stop that from happening. So I found out as much as I could about you, his unexpected bride, and I learned about a wager involving you and Brockhurst.”

  She stared at him, pieces falling into place. “You were behind Brockhurst’s behavior at the ball?”

  “Brockhurst has a tendre for you, my dear; he was merely too spineless to act upon it when you were a wallflower. Now that you are the fashionable Countess of Revelstoke…” The duke shrugged. “All I did was have a chance conversation with him at the club. I mentioned that my rakehell son was persisting in his philandering ways after marriage, leaving his new bride unhappy and in need of consolation. Brockhurst took the bait. I had hoped for a scandal, a rift to separate you and Sinjin—but Sinjin gave me so much more.” A smile of satisfaction stretched over the duke’s lips. “He gave me another opportunity to petition for a lunacy inquisition.”

  “Why are you so convinced of Sinjin’s madness?” Polly whispered. “He is your own son. Your blood runs in his veins.”

  “Not only mine.” The duke straightened in his chair, his blue eyes, so like Sinjin’s, shifting eerily side to side, as if he sensed some ghostly presence. “You must understand, I didn’t do it purely to gain control of his inheritance or to rid the line of his taint. From the moment he flaunted that damned locket in front of me, I knew he had the power to bring the entire duchy crashing down. I had no other choice.”

  Did he mean that trifle that Sinjin had tried to charm her with?

  “What is so special about the locket?” she said, puzzled.

  “No more talking.” Acton’s expression grew crafty. He rose, pistol in hand. “Now we execute the next part of my plan.”

  She shrank back against the cushions as he advanced toward her. “N-next part?”

  “You’re going to write a letter to Sinjin.” The duke grabbed her arm, shoving her toward a desk where paper and ink had been laid out. “Tell him that you want him to comply fully with the lunacy inquisition—that your very life depends upon it. When he is declared incompetent, then I will release you, even provide you with a settlement for the trouble of having your marriage annulled. If he fails to obey my wishes—”

  A sudden commotion sounded outside. Shouts, the sound of gunfire.

  After an instant’s paralysis, Polly regained her wits, made a dash for the door—only to be yanked back, her arm twisted painfully behind her. The duke held her immobile, the gun pressed against her temple. The door flung open, and her heart leapt at the sight of Sinjin, Ambrose and his men just behind.

  Sinjin’s gaze met hers. A thousand unspoken words passed between them. Her pulse raced… and not just because there was a gun pointed to her head.

  Sinjin shifted his focus to his father, his aura afire with fury. “Release her.”

  The duke’s grip on her tightened.

  “The game is up, Acton,” Ambrose said. “We have a signed confession from Grundell; we know you tried to frame your son. That you murdered Nicoletta French. And, outside, my men have in their custody the pair of cutthroats you hired to abduct my sister.”

  “It’s over, Father,” Sinjin said, his voice low, “and if you cannot relinquish your hate of me, then at least take me for Polly. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Drop your weapons, then. All of you.” Acton ground the muzzle of the gun into Polly’s temple, causing her to wince. “Do it now.”

  Slowly, Sinjin bent, setting his pistol on the ground. Even as Polly gasped, “No,” he pushed it away, leaving himself unarmed.

  Ambrose and the others followed suit.

  “I do not hate you, Sinjin,” the duke said calmly. “I could have had you killed, but you are, after all, my son. My family. And that, I suppose, has always been my Achilles heel.” He removed the pistol from her temple.

  To Polly’s horror, he leveled it at Sinjin.

  “I’m sorry, son. This is the only choice I have left,” he said.

  Fear spurred Polly to act. On instinct, she jabbed her elbow back as hard as she could. Acton grunted, releasing her, the weapon still within his grasp. She made a grab for it, even as she heard someone shouting her name, but she couldn’t let go, couldn’t let Sinjin come to harm. She grappled desperately with the duke before he flung her bodily aside. A blast sounded as she flew through the air, her head catching the corner of a table, blackness claiming her once more.

  ~~~

  “Open your eyes, love.”

  It took effort, but Polly managed to lift her eyelids.

  The first thing she saw was Sinjin. A dream? But he didn’t fade when she blinked, love and worry etched over his beautiful features. When she realized that he was truly there and she was cradled on his lap, she threw her arms around him in joyous relief.

  “Y-you’re here,” she sobbed into his neck.

  “Yes, love, yes.” His hand moved soothingly over her back, his warmth and scent so comforting and right. “You’re safe now.”

  It all came crashing back. She took in her surroundings: the place where the Duke of Acton had held her captive. She jerked, but Sinjin held her against him.

  “Careful, sweeting, you’ve a bump on your head from hitting the table.”

  “What happened? Your father—Ambrose,” she said in sudden panic.

  “Your brother is fine. Acton got off a shot, but he missed.” Sinjin’s expression was grim. “His Grace is in your brother’s custody, and the constables should be arriving shortly.”

  Seeing the pain in his gaze, she whispered, “Oh, Sinjin, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, love, I’m the one who is sorry.” Taking her hands, he said hoarsely, “Can you forgive me for how I acted… how I treated you?”

  “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you when I’d agreed not to. And I should have told you the truth about my affliction…” The realization struck her like a thunderbolt, and she gasped, “Oh my goodness.”

  “What’s the matter? Is it your head? Does it hurt—”

  “No, no, it’s not that. Sinjin,” she said, her voice hushed, “you’re not glowing.”

  Ambrose strode into the room and stopped short. Worry radiated from his face… but only from his face, she saw in wonder.

  “Are you all right, Polly?” her brother said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “That’s just it,” she said in astonishment. “I don’t see anything extraordinary. The auras… they’re gone!”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  It was nearing midnight by the time Sinjin and Polly arrived home. Despite his wife’s sleepy protests, Sinjin carried her in, and after assuring a worried Harvey that both master and mistress were perfectly well, he continued with his precious cargo up the stairs. He called for a bath but dismissed the maid, preferring to tend to Polly himself.

  His throat tightened at the picture she made reclining in the steamy bath. Over the past dark days, he’d feared that this would never be his again: the privilege of being husband to this earthly goddess, the sum of all his desires. Yet somehow, despite everything, she was there with him. And not even the blue devil still hovering at the edge of his consciousness could make him willingly part from her again.

  She was dozing by the time he finished his ministrations. He tucked her cozily in bed before bathing himself. After he finished, he came to join her and was surprised to see that her eyes were open.

  Shucking his towel, he got beneath the covers with her. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was tired, but now I’m not.” Her gaze was shadowed, her voice quivering. “I can’t stop thinking… I could have lost you tonight.”

  “I’m right here.” He tucked her firmly against him. “It’s over, and we’ll never be parted again.”

  “Sinjin… we need to talk.”

  Hearing the hesitancy in her voice and knowing that he’d put it there, he felt his gut clench with self-loathing. But she was right: they did need to t
alk. With reluctance, he released her, and they faced each other curled on their sides.

  “Whatever you want to discuss, we will,” he said simply.

  Her clear eyes searched his face. “What about the rule against intimacy?”

  “Gone, kitten. At least for me.” Tucking a damp tress behind her ear, he said gruffly, “I insisted upon limits because I was afraid that if you saw me in one of my moods, you would want nothing to do with me. I thought that if I could distance myself when things went to hell, then maybe I could protect you from me. That maybe I had a shot at being a halfway decent husband to you.”

  “Oh, Sinjin, you are far more than halfway decent,” she said tremulously.

  “How can you say that after the way I acted toward you?” Anger at himself burned like acid in his throat. “I humiliated you, acted like a goddamned animal—that’s what I am when the black mood overtakes me. And when the blue one does...” He let out a harsh breath. “Polly, you’ve seen my aura. I’m a disaster.”

  “You’re not a disaster.” She touched his cheek. “You’re just you. And I love you.”

  His chest tightened. “How can you?”

  “How can you love me? I mean, you do,” she said, biting her lip, “don’t you?”

  Her uncertainty was so absurd that it drew a hoarse laugh from him. “God, Polly, of course I love you. More than life. Forever and beyond.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Now does it change your love to know that I could see auras, that I was what many considered a freak?”

  “No. And don’t call yourself that.”

  “Back in the village, they called me Peculiar Polly. I was an outcast there, and here in London as well,” she said solemnly. “In some people’s eyes, I was so unworthy that they made me the object of a nasty wager.”

  “Those people are bastards. None of that matters,” he said fiercely. “I love you, Polly, and nothing could change that.”

  “And I love you the same way. For all that you are, Sinjin. For your strength and resilience. The way you live life fully and with no apologies. For the passion you’ve taught me, the way your love makes me feel—free and truly myself.”

  His chest ached at her words, but it was a beautiful ache.

  He framed her face with his palms. “I never felt right until I met you. And now I do… as right as I can feel, at any rate.” Swallowing, he forced himself to say, “You can’t see auras any longer, but my moods—they’re here to stay. Are you certain you can handle them… handle me?”

  “I’m not afraid of your moods, Sinjin. I’m only afraid of distance between us. If I’ve learned anything, it is that hiding who we are creates more problems than it solves.” Her gaze was earnest, so full of love and acceptance that his eyes stung. “As long as we face all that life brings together, I know we can handle anything.”

  The only proper answer to her sweetness was a kiss. In the past, his blue devil had dampened his ardor, but the warmth of Polly’s lips dissolved the lingering darkness. The knowledge that he was no longer alone sent a hot, joyful rush through him, and before long he needed more than the mating of their mouths.

  Laying her against the pillows, he worshipped her. He petted and kissed every inch of his countess and didn’t stop until she came, her magnificent breasts heaving, her pussy dripping ambrosia into his greedy mouth. Only then did he position both of them on their sides, tucking her against him, her supple spine aligning perfectly against his front.

  Hooking her top leg over his hip, he notched himself to her ready passage and drove home.

  ~~~

  Polly moaned at the filling thrust. In this sideways position, Sinjin invaded her completely, his hand trapping her leg over his, holding her steady and open as he plowed her. Nestled against his hard chest, feeling those muscles flex against her back as he worked his big, long cock inside her, she felt utterly surrounded by his strength and power. Utterly right.

  His lips found her earlobe, flicking and suckling it, the erotic sensation making her clench in helpless delight.

  “I love the way you take me,” he rasped in her ear. “You’re squeezing my cock as if you don’t want to let me go. As if you can’t get enough of me.”

  “I’ll never get enough of you.”

  “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” He drove in deeply. “Everything that I am.”

  “Yes, yes,” she panted.

  He surged, another heavy thrust. “And you’ll give me yourself in return?”

  “Everything that I am,” she breathed. “Always.”

  He pounded into her, his stones smacking her folds. Reaching in front of her, he searched out her pearl, strumming out a melody of delirious pleasure. Soon the sensations became too much, pushing her over the edge, sending her soaring once again. Groaning, he buried his face in her neck, his hips pistoning against her, the scorching blasts of his seed saturating her womb.

  He cuddled her against him, their bodies still connected, the sounds of their breaths mingling with the crackling of the fire. As spent as she was, sleep eluded her… and apparently her husband as well, for his words rumbled against her ear.

  “Tonight would have unraveled me if I didn’t have you by my side. Discovering my father’s plot...” His voice roughened. “I’ll never understand why he hates me so.”

  His words stirred a memory. Something the duke had said… about why he’d initiated the vile scheme…

  “The locket!” She bolted upright. “We have to look at it!”

  Sinjin’s brows drew together. “Why?”

  “Before you and Ambrose arrived, your father mentioned the locket,” she explained. “Something about it having the power to destroy the duchy.”

  Throwing on her robe, she went to her armoire and returned with the locket. She sat on the bed, Sinjin beside her, both of them studying the oval silver charm. It was pretty with its filigree design, but there was nothing remarkable about it.

  “What could this locket possibly signify?” Sinjin took the piece from her, pressing on the latch to reveal the empty hollow inside. “Why would Acton care about it?”

  Peering closely, Polly said, “See how the inside doesn’t fill the entire depth of the locket? Do you think there could be a hidden compartment behind the inner wall?”

  “Hmm. Look here at the rim,” he said. “It’s got a slight dent…”

  “Someone might have pried it open there,” she said with burgeoning excitement. “Let’s try a penknife.”

  They took the locket to her desk. She lit a lamp, and Sinjin carefully plied the tip of the blade to the edge of the open locket. The interior wall popped off… and Polly’s heart thudded as she saw the tiny portrait within: a beautiful raven-haired lady.

  Nestled against it was a lock of mahogany hair.

  “That is my mama,” Sinjin said hoarsely. “And the hair…”

  “It could be yours.” Polly’s voice was hushed. “Open the other side.”

  When the concave divider separated, he found a slip of paper.

  It contained an address.

  Chapter Forty

  Two months later

  Hand in hand with her husband, Polly trudged up the grassy knoll of a churchyard. It was a sunny late afternoon, autumn crispness in the breeze. In a village near Weymouth, close to the coast of Dorset, they were following their guide, a stout and kindly lady by the name of Mrs. Wakefield.

  “… I was surprised when I received your letter,” the good lady was chattering. “I never knew my poor Catherine had any relatives—except her brother, of course, who paid for her board and care in my home.”

  Sinjin’s grip tightened on her fingers, and Polly gave a reassuring squeeze back.

  After discovering the contents of the locket, Polly had gone with Sinjin to confront his father. The duke had been placed under house arrest pending his trial for murder and kidnapping; all charges of lunacy against Sinjin had been dropped. Perhaps given the evidence of the portrait and the address, or perh
aps because Acton knew his time to face the ultimate judge would soon be upon him, he had confessed everything.

  Sinjin’s mama had indeed run away with her lover, but she had somehow survived the storm that took the ship down. When Acton had arrived in Weymouth, he’d found her in a local hospital—alive but clearly damaged from the near-drowning. She hadn’t recognized him or herself. And he, embittered by her betrayals and wild, uncontrollable moods, had seen a way out.

  He’d found Mrs. Wakefield’s private home for lunatics just outside the port town. Claiming to be her brother, he’d given his wife’s name as “Catherine Smith,” and left her there, paying for her upkeep but never visiting again. He’d continued on with his life as if she’d truly died and, in doing so, had become a bigamist.

  For twenty-one years, the true Duchess of Acton had lived without knowledge of who she truly was. Then, in a lucid moment right before her death, she’d remembered. She’d sent her only memento of her previous life—the locket that Acton hadn’t known she’d kept in her possession—to Sinjin.

  A week later, she was dead.

  “I was separated from my mama when I was young.” Sinjin responded to Mrs. Wakefield’s unspoken question. “I believed she was dead and was not told of her fate until recently.”

  “That story is not an unusual one, I’m afraid,” the lady said with a sigh. “So many families deal with their afflicted kin in that fashion. And, the truth is, I suspected Catherine might have children.”

  “Why is that?” Beneath the brim of his hat, Sinjin’s eyes were vivid and alert.

  “There was a lullaby she liked to sing.” Mrs. Wakefield hummed a few bars of Bye, Baby Bunting. “When she was singing, her face would grow tender. Sentiment returned to her even if the memories themselves didn’t.”

  Feeling the quiver that ran through Sinjin, Polly clasped his hand tighter.

  “Well, here we are.” Mrs. Wakefield came to a stop in front of a modest but tidy grave marker sheltered by the bowers of a silver birch. The epitaph read simply, Catherine Smith, Home with the Angels. “I’ll leave you to your visit, then.”