“Fearing reprisal for reporting the matter to the authorities,” Ambrose went on, “Miss French instead sent a message to your father, the Duke of Acton, to come collect you. This was against the wishes of the club’s owner, Corbett, who wanted to have you hauled off to the nearest gaol. But Miss French refused to testify against you, and thus he has no case to bring before the magistrates. That, my lord, is the summary of our interview.”
A heavy silence ensued, during which Polly was acutely aware of the ringing in her ears. Was it possible, what Ambrose said? she thought dazedly. Could Revelstoke be abrute?
Her gut balked at the possibility. Despite the antipathy between her and the earl, she couldn’t fathom him abusing a woman. She knew first-hand that he could lash out with scathing words and sarcasm, yet he had not, in any of their interactions, showed any propensity toward violence. His words returned to her.
I did say there’s no sport in seducing a wallflower because it is a damned dishonorable activity. There’s no pride to be had in taking advantage of a female—of anyone who is vulnerable. That is the despicable act of a coward.
His aura had burned with angry veracity; he’d meant what he said.
Further, with an embarrassed twinge, she had to admit that when they’d kissed in the stillroom, he’d been the one to put a stop to it. She’d been so lost in passion that, if he’d chosen to, he could have progressed things much further. Taken advantage of her, if he wished. But he hadn’t. He’d apologized for his actions not once but twice—owning up for his “mistake.”
There was also the fact that he’d rescued Rosie from the patient at Mrs. Barlow’s.
“I didn’t do this.” Revelstoke’s hoarse words poured into her ear, the listening device magnifying his pain and frustration. “I cannot explain how it happened or why Nicoletta would lie. But I am certain the voice I heard was no dream. There was a man in the room—her accomplice is my guess. Why else would he say,Hurry, we must act before he awakens?”
“So you are saying this is some elaborate set-up?” The wall didn’t filter out the skepticism in Mr. McLeod’s voice.
“I am saying I believe I was drugged. Believe me, it takes more than three drinks for me to reach oblivion. There are people who have an axe to grind with me. I could give you a list of suspects—”
“There is no indication of a ruse. The victim points her finger at you.” Mr. McLeod’s brogue underscored his blunt words. “You ken why we canna go interrogating these so-called suspects without any evidence? We’ll be laughed out of their homes—or thrown out, as we’d well deserve.”
“That’s a circular argument.” Polly could picture Revelstoke dragging his hands through his hair. “Because you have no evidence, you cannot go searching for the truth?”
“What my partner is saying is that perhaps you are better off doing as your father says. Miss French stated that she has reached an agreement with the duke. She does not intend to press charges.” Ambrose’s tone was cool. “If we look into the matter for you, you risk scandal, perhaps worse. We are of the professional opinion that you stand to lose less by allowing His Grace to handle the situation for you.”
“I refuse to hide behind my father’s name. And I’d rather die than go back to that bloody madhouse,” Revelstoke said, his voice gritty.
“Mr. Kent told me of your fears that you are being followed,” Mr. Lugo’s baritone cut in. “The law protects sane men from being detained against their will. No one can force you back to Mrs. Barlow’s—or any asylum—without the certification of physicians. So you see, my lord, you are quite safe.”
“Damnit, I amnotsafe. Someone is out to get me.”
“I’m afraid there’s little we can do to help,” Ambrose said.
After a terse pause, the earl bit out, “Then I’ll find someone else who can.”
“Oh no, he’sleaving,” Rosie whispered.
Before Polly could react, the other grabbed the listening devices, stuffing them behind a chair. She dashed to the door, wrenching it open just as Revelstoke strode by.
“My lord?” Rosie called. “You’re not leaving already?”
The earl halted, pivoting. Polly’s breath caught at the frustration, helplessness, and pain roiling around him. Not the emotions of a man who was lying… but of one fighting to be believed.
Revelstoke believes in his own innocence—even if no one else does.
“I’m afraid so. Thank you both for your hospitality.” His bow was stiff.
When he lifted his head, his gaze met Polly’s. The intense blue flames seemed to suck the air out of her lungs. Energy pulsed between them: unspoken words, feelings too complicated to disentangle.
“If I have caused any inconvenience, you have my most sincere regrets,” he said.
Somehow she knew that the gruff apology was intended for her.
“Your presence was anhonor, my lord,” Rosie said, sounding rather desperate. “I do hope you’ll call again soon?”
Polly felt Revelstoke’s gaze on her. She knew she ought to say something, but her tongue was a lead weight in her mouth. Thoughts swarmed in her head.How can Revelstoke believe one thing—and the victim say another? Why do I believe him? How can the God of Revelry be so… friendless?
Because she saw his loneliness, oozing from him like tar.
