“As we speak, Lugo is heading the search for Revelstoke. There are around forty licensed private asylums in London, so it’s no simple task. Then there’s the business with Clive Grundell. McLeod says the man’s as slippery as an eel. There have been multiple sightings of him, but he remains one step ahead of us. Hopefully, with the mudlarks on the lookout, we’ll net that bounder soon.” Ambrose’s forehead lined. “My gut tells me that Grundell is the key to all of this.”
“We should focus our energies on finding Grundell, then,” Carlisle said. “I’ll be glad to help.”
Polly’s heart swelled with gratitude when her other brothers-in-law and Harry also voiced their willingness to help.
“It seems to me that speaking with the Duke of Acton is just as imperative,” Marianne put in. “Perhaps we ladies could try him again in the morning.”
“Excellent idea,” Emma agreed.
At that moment, a knock sounded, and when Em bade entry, the Strathavens’ aged butler shuffled in, a scruffy blond boy in tow.
Polly recognized the mudlark who’d accompanied Tim back to the academy.
“Patrick,” she said in surprise, “what are you doing here?”
“Brought news, Miss Kent.” He doffed his cap in a sprightly bow. “We larks ’ave found the cove you’re looking for.”
~~~
It was past ten in the evening when Polly arrived home.
As much as she’d wanted to be present for the capture of Grundell, she knew Ambrose was right: it would be too dangerous, and she’d only be in the way. Moreover, when she’d stood up to leave Em’s, she’d suddenly swayed. She was exhausted and needed a good night’s rest so that she could be fresh for the morrow—when surely Ambrose would have good news.
First thing in the morning, she and her sisters would be paying a call on the Actons. She vowed to herself that she would not leave without discovering where Sinjin had been taken and persuading the duke to pursue a better course of action.
She ached with worry for Sinjin. Why, oh why, hadn’t they trusted each other with the truth? The secrets they’d kept had led to the present calamity. In hindsight, she knew that they could get through anything—as long as they faced it together.
I won’t give up, my love,she thought fiercely.I’m going to bring you home.
She’d just sent Harvey to bed and was preparing to go up to her room when a knock sounded on the front door. Strange at this hour… could it be that Ambrose had sent news already? Excitement chased away fatigue. She dashed to the door, yanked it open.
And blinked at the pair of hulking strangers standing on the doorstep.
Before she could scream, a handkerchief was thrust into her face. Sickly fumes filled her nostrils and lungs, and darkness claimed her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Revelstoke, wake up!”
Sinjin surfaced sluggishly. The darkness sucked at him like a pit of tar, but someone was shaking him, refusing to let him return to the primordial sludge where he belonged. He was no better than the mud on the street, and now the world had seen the truth…
Pollyhad seen him for who he was.
Anguish crushed his chest like a boulder. He’d been the biggest fool to seek her out at the Shackleton ball. But those three days apart from her had felt like years; in forming his plan to protect his wife, he hadn’t taken into account how much he and his damned devils would miss her.
The black one hungered for her. It yearned to pet her silken hair, to feel the sweet clasp of her body holding his. During his self-imposed exile, he’d frigged himself endlessly to memories of their lovemaking—and when that wasn’t enough, he’d punched the stuffing out of the practice dummy he’d set up in his apartment.
Even the blue demon, who usually wanted nothing to do with people—who could barely tolerate even his own presence—yearned for Polly. To just have her close. To have her snuggled against him in silence, no need for words, her company a beacon in the gloom, reminding him that there was a reason to go on.
He’d missed her so much that he’d fooled himself into believing that he’d had his demons under control. He’d gone to find her, and seeing her in that bastard Brockhurst’s arms had brought his dark side roaring to life, leading to his disgrace—and hers.
She’d said that she loved him; he repaid her by exposing her secret to the world. Her tearful face flashed in his mind’s eye, and he wanted to die.
I’m sorry, kitten. Sorry that my love brought you low. Sorry that I couldn’t be the man you deserve…
Groaning, he curled onto his side. Now she was gone, and, without her, he had no reason to go on. He didn’t even care that he’d been dragged to a madhouse, locked up like an animal. Prison, lunatic asylum, what did it matter? Nothing mattered…
“Bloody hell, man—get up.”
