“Crooke,” Patrick said, his voice quavering.
“Look, fellows, we found ourselves some vermin,” Crooke said with a sneer, “and they’re about to scurry away with our goods.”
“Give us the word, master, and we’ll exterminate ’em,” one of his men boomed.
Patrick cowered. Pushing the boy behind him, Sinjin bit out, “I invite you to try.”
“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.”
