“No, you’re not.” A lifetime of disappointment dripped from the syllables, but His Grace had more insult to add. “We both know who you take after.”
She who was never mentioned by name. Catherine Pelham, his mother and disgrace to the Acton name. The woman who’d cuckolded her husband and abandoned her sons before meeting her end in the cold depths of the English Channel. As always, the thought of her caused a knife to twist in Sinjin’s gut.
“I make my own choices,” he gritted out, “and I don’t give a damn if you don’t like them.”
“Your reckless behavior is a choice? What about these delusions that someone else is to blame for your actions? You haven’t changed one whit. You’ve always lacked self-discipline and moral fiber. You’ve been given everything, yet you make nothing of yourself—”
“What have I been given, precisely?” Inside him, the black devil pounded its chest in sudden rage. “The years of hell at Creavey Hall?”
“That was your own fault. You setfireto the Headmaster’s office at Eton, by God. No other school would take you after that. Creavey had a fine reputation for training boys of a high-strung nature—”
“By beating them into submission.” Sinjin’s hands balled. “You knew what was happening, and you kept me there. Wouldn’t even let me come home for the sodding holidays.”
“The school recommended pupils remain in a disciplined environment.” Straightening his lapels, the duke said stiffly, “That is in the past. I will not stand here now and listen to you blame me and everyone else for your problems. I see now that the truth is your only hope of salvation.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’ve consulted with Mrs. Barlow. She believes that you would benefit from the treatments here.”
Blood rushed in Sinjin’s ears. “Fuck what Mrs. Barlow believes. I’m not staying.”
“If an affliction caused you to beat that whore, to behave as you’ve been behaving, treatment will help you.” The duke’s judgement fell like a gavel. “Once I’ve dealt with the Corbett problem, we’ll revisit the issue. Hopefully, by that time, you’ll have come to your senses.”
“You’re the one who needs to come to his senses. There’s no way inhellI’m staying in this madhouse. And I told you:I didn’t hurt Nicoletta.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve never hurt a woman and never will!”
“You’re out of control. Who knows what you’re capable of? The fact that you want to blame some figment of your imagination—some nameless, faceless man whom no one else saw…” His Grace broke off, murmuring, “No, this is the only way. You need help, Sinjin, and perhaps all this was a blessing in disguise. You’ll thank me for this one day.”
He turned to leave.
Fear spurred Sinjin to grab the other’s shoulder. “Papa, no—don’t leave me here.” He hated the pleading in his voice, the hoarseness he couldn’t control. “I know I’m not perfect like Stephan, not good like him, but I can get better. I’ll do better. Just… just believe me. I didn’t do this. I know I didn’t.”
His father’s eyes met his. They engaged in a silent tug-of-war, resolve pitted against desperation. The duke raised his fist and rapped on the door.
It opened, and two attendants appeared. One had a strait-waistcoat in hand.
“Get away from me.” Sinjin backed away, shouting, “I will not be detained!”
“It’s only temporary. For your own good.”
With one last resigned look, the duke walked out.
Chapter Six
A fortnight later, Polly was sitting in the well-appointed drawing room of her brother Ambrose’s Mayfair home. She alternated between staying with her various older siblings, but for the past year, at Rosie’s behest, she’d stayed on at Ambrose’s to keep the other girl company. Tonight, Emma and Thea had brought their families over to celebrate Polly’s birthday, and they were all enjoying a cozy visit before supper.
On Polly’s lap rested the small blond head of Thea’s girl, Francesca. The two-year-old had spent the last half-hour chasing her twin brother Samuel and her cousin Christopher around the zebrawood coffee table when she’d decided to stop for a break. She’d promptly passed out on the Aubusson, and Polly had scooped up the sleeping tot for a cuddle.
The cushions sank on Polly’s other side, and she turned to see that Olivia, Emma’s firstborn, had joined them.
“Aunt Polly,” the pretty brown-haired cherub said, “what do you think of Christopher?”
“I like your younger brother very much.”
“Would you like to have him for your birthday present?” Livy offered.
