“You were laughing at me all this time, weren’t you?” Anger and despair twisted like snakes around him. “All this time, you could see what a disaster I am.You could see my bloody moods.The black devil… the blue. You knew all along, and there I was, a fool trying to protect you from them.” He let out a pained howl of laughter. “Did it secretly amuse you, knowing what a pathetic wretch you married?”
In the midst of her soul’s darkest night, understanding flashed as bright and ephemeral as lightning. The walls he’d erected, his distant behavior… all because he was trying to hide who he was? To protect her from… what? Hisemotions?
There wasn’t time to puzzle it all out. Fear burgeoned—no longer for herself, but forhim. The guests were looking at him with raised brows, whispering behind fans, not bothering to hide their malicious delight. She could hear the word spreading like wildfire:mad.
She had to put a stop to this. Now.
“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, theidiot, 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, heisn’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 wasnothis 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?”
