Frank Tripp arrived as Christina was breakfasting. His grim expression caused her to instantly push away her eggs and toast.

“Please, sit down,” she said. “Have some coffee before you deliver your bad news.”

Frank selected a chair, placed his satchel on the floor, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He dragged a hand through his neatly combed hair. “Thank you. I have had quite a morning.”

“You saw Oliver?”

“Briefly, yes.” Frank took a sip of his coffee then shook his head. “He asked me not to tell you, but I think you should hear it. There was an altercation last night.”

Christina’s spine went straight as a pin, her heart lodged in her throat. “An altercation?”

“I could not receive a straight answer on what happened. The administration claims Oliver argued with another patient and fisticuffs broke out.”

“However . . . ?”

Frank rubbed his forehead as if trying to carefully select his words, and she knew then that Oliver’s condition was bad. “He is in the medical ward. His face . . . Well, it does not look to be the work of one patient. He cannot recall what happened but I think he was beaten by the guards.”

“Oh, my goodness.” All the breath left her chest in a rush and she sagged in her chair like a rag doll. Poor Oliver. How dare they hit him? Her eyes stung, tears gathering like a storm. “Is he all right?”

“He will be fine. Some cuts and bruising, sore ribs, and he is concussed.” She gasped and Frank reached to grab her hand. “I raised hell, Christina. Threatened them with every law I know as well as the newspapers. After leaving Wards I went to see the judge who is reviewing Oliver’s case and pressed for an answer. I have a resolution, though it might not exactly be what we were hoping for.”

“They are . . . Please tell me they are not leaving him in that place.” Her insides froze at the possibility. Concussed? Cuts and bruising? God above, they must release him now.

“The judge has agreed to a rehearing. He plans to call in some experts, however, to view these experiments Oliver’s been working on. Oliver will also be evaluated by two doctors and I insisted they possess experience with deaf patients.”

“Thank heavens.” She could sense from his expression there was more. “What are you not telling me?”

He sighed heavily. “The judge refuses to allow Oliver to demonstrate the invention. In fact, Oliver won’t be permitted to leave Wards at all. His evaluation will take place in another part of the asylum.”

“Then how will we know the examination is fair?”

“I have insisted on being present. That is not much comfort, I realize, but it is the best we can do at the moment.”

“May I come?”

“Yes. In fact, you shall demonstrate the invention on his behalf.”

“Me? Demonstrate Oliver’s invention?” The idea filled her with dread, her stomach churning at the idea of speaking in front of a room full of people, especially with Oliver’s life hanging in the balance. If she failed, he could be locked away forever.

No, she could absolutely not do it.

“I am the least qualified person to demonstrate the device—”

“That is not what Oliver tells me,” Frank said. “Have you watched him operate it?”

“Yes, but no doubt others have as well. Besides, I am a woman.”

Frank shrugged by way of answer, so she closed her eyes and struggled to remain calm as the walls began to close in on her. She could not take this on. How could she possibly stand in front of a room of experts and speak on Oliver’s behalf? Her lungs pressed in on themselves, the air turning thick as molasses.

“Breathe, Christina,” Frank said. “You shall be fine. We will work on what to say together. Then you’ll go into the demonstration feeling confident. I do it all the time before a trial.”

She started shaking her head before he stopped speaking. “I cannot. You must find someone else. Gill, perhaps. Or I could show you—”

“I am there as his lawyer. You must be there as well, speaking on his behalf. It cannot just be me coming to his defense. The more people who can stand up against Milton the better. I need you, Christina. Oliver needs you.”

She dug her nails into her palms. They needed her—Oliver needed her. Hadn’t she hated feeling helpless over his plight? Hadn’t she been anxious to do something else to free him? Her meeting with the mayor had failed. Well, this is your second opportunity. Do not waste it.

Yes, but why must she be called on for this particular service?

She was entirely ill-suited to give a presentation. She disliked standing in a room full of strangers, let alone having to speak in front of them . . . And with her husband’s fate resting on her performance? It was too much. She put a hand to her stomach and tried to draw in air.

“I will help you prepare,” Frank said again, his voice gentle. “You are able to do this. I believe in you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, the fear and frustration bubbling over until she could not contain it. “Do I have a choice? Is there anyone else? Gill? Or Dr. Jacobs, perhaps?”

“I am confident in your ability, not to mention that the presence of his wife will allay many of the rumors and fears over your marriage. We refute another of Milton’s claims with you being there, speaking on Oliver’s behalf.”

She let out a shaky breath. How could she refuse? Oliver was stuck in the asylum, suffering from a concussion and God knew what else. He must get released soon, before he endured any more violence. There was no time for her silly fears; she had to be strong for Oliver. He needed her.

There was no other choice. She would have to give the best dashed demonstration those men had ever seen . . . and then Oliver would come home.

“As terrifying as I find the idea, I cannot refuse.”

“Excellent. We shall start preparing after breakfast. However, there is one more unpleasant item of business I need to discuss with you.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly then folded his hands on the table. “Oliver has asked me to draw up divorce papers.”

She inhaled sharply, her body growing cold. “Divorce? He wishes to divorce me?”

“I told him not to do it. He is . . . There is no good way to say this. He is losing hope, Christina. If the rehearing fails, he believes you are better off on your own.”

She stared at the table as the linen tablecloth swam before her eyes. Divorce. Hadn’t he said he wanted a real marriage? That she was stuck with him forever? God above, she had actually believed him.

What a fool she was. Oliver wanted to divorce her, to get rid of her. Mercy, this hurt. It felt as if a band was pulling tight around her chest, squeezing the life out of her.

“This has nothing to do with you or how he feels about you, Christina. He loves you. This is about the rehearing and his attempt to protect you. He believes you will be happier if you are free of this union, should he not gain release from Wards.”

That sounded like something Oliver would believe. Her husband had a big heart but he was not always right. “That is ridiculous.”

“Yes, it is. I tried to reason with him but he was adamant. Be strong, Christina,” Frank said. “Oliver might believe he knows what is best for you, but we will prove him wrong. We mustn’t let him give up just yet.”

She blew out a long breath and tried to sift through the thoughts swirling through her brain. What did she want? She wanted to stay married to Oliver. She loved him and, asylum or not, she would stick by his side. He did not get to decide for both of them.

Besides, he would soon be released from Wards. She would not rest, would never give up, until he came home. “Tell him I refuse to sign anything until he comes home and asks me for a divorce himself.”

The asylum’s theater held far more people than Christina had imagined. As the crowd found their seats, her hands would not cease trembling.

She stood off to the side of the large space with Frank, watching as the legal experts and onlookers settled in chairs. Why were there so many people here? Three long rows of chairs were full of attendees, with even more men standing in the back. She had never addressed such a large crowd, let alone one so intimidating. All those intelligent eyes staring at her . . . The urge to run and hide lodged in her throat and dried out her mouth.

What if she failed?

The judge waited in the middle of the room as the crowd assembled. Christina had met him briefly and he had been kind. She sensed he sympathized with their case but was determined to fairly evaluate the facts of the case. While she understood that, Oliver was quite clearly sane and did not deserve the horrors happening somewhere inside these walls. It was torture to wait on the slow wheels of justice.

Eight days since Oliver had been taken. One hundred and ninety-two hours inside this hellish place. Today must go well. She let out a shaky breath.

“I will be in the front row,” Frank said quietly. “Keep your eyes on me, if it helps, and just pretend you and I are the only two people in the room.”

“All right,” she forced out, her voice husky and rough.

“You will be fine. We have practiced this.”

“Why are there so many men here? I expected only the judge and two or three experts.”

“Word went around, apparently. It is not every day that a deaf recluse’s electric hearing device is demonstrated in public. In fact, I recognize some of the men in the second row as from Edison’s laboratory.”

The butterflies in her stomach jumped, threatening to burst free. These men were not all onlookers; some were scientists.

“Ignore them. They do not matter,” Frank said. “The only people in the room right now are the three men in the front row. Those are the ones deciding Oliver’s fate.”

Deciding Oliver’s fate. Oh, heavens. She pressed a hand to her abdomen and fought the nausea in her belly.

Before she could again plead with Frank to take her place, the judge stepped forward. “Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. As you are aware, we are attempting today to fulfill an order by my court, which is to determine a man’s mental faculties. To that end we are now to witness a demonstration of what the accuser has referred to as a ‘dangerous and nonsensical’ experiment. It is our responsibility to determine whether that claim holds merit. Mrs. Oliver Hawkes shall lead this demonstration.” The judge turned to face her, sweeping his arm toward the cloth-covered box in the center of the room. “Mrs. Hawkes, if you please.”

Drawing in a deep breath for courage, she stepped forward. The judge took his seat in front, Frank giving her a bold wink as he settled as well.

You can do this, she told herself. Just as you practiced.

“I am Mrs. Oliver Hawkes. My husband is a kind and intelligent man—”

“And crazy as a loon,” she heard someone mutter.

“That is enough,” the judge snapped and shot to his feet. “There will be no talking from any members of the crowd or I shall clear the room. Your presence here is tolerated only through my benevolence over a request from the scientific community. Do not give me cause to regret it.”

Silence descended and the judge gestured at Christina. “Forgive me, Mrs. Hawkes. Proceed, please.”

Fingers shaking, she whipped off the cloth covering Oliver’s invention. “Here we have the hearing device, comprised of a battery—”

“Speak up!” a voice in the back shouted.

Frank gave her a reassuring nod. Clearing her throat, she started again. “Here we have the hearing device, comprised of a battery, an earpiece, and a microphone.” She paused and pointed to the microphone. “This is a carbon microphone, which has two metal plates inside separated by granules of carbon. When we add current from the battery, sound waves will strike the plates, vibrating them, and pressure builds in the granules to create resistance. This modulation of the current reproduces the sound waves in these wires.”

She took a breath. “At the end of the wires is a speaker one holds up to his or her ear.”

The men from Edison’s laboratory began to murmur amongst themselves. The judge turned around and must have given them a quelling glance because they quickly fell silent. When the room quieted, the judge asked Christina, “Yes, but does it work, Mrs. Hawkes?”

“Yes, it does.” Not only had Oliver shown her how it operated, she and Frank had also tested it together. “Would you care to listen?”

“I hardly see how that would be a fair test.” The judge rose and went over to an older woman in the front row. He helped her to her feet and then led her closer, until she stood next to Christina. “I have asked my neighbor’s aunt to come here for the purpose of a demonstration,” the judge said. “This is Mrs. Peterson and she has lost nearly all of the hearing in both ears. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to demonstrate the device on her.”

Christina had no choice. Besides, who better to demonstrate with than precisely the type of person who would benefit from such an invention? Frank dipped his chin as if he had read her mind and agreed with her. Heart pounding a riot in her chest, she met the judge’s keen gaze. “Of course.”

She faced the woman. “Mrs. Peterson, I shall repeat three numbers.” The woman watched Christina’s mouth carefully, as Oliver did, and Christina knew the woman was reading her lips. “If you are able to hear me then please call the numbers out. Do you understand?” The woman nodded and Christina moved a short distance away. She turned, giving Mrs. Peterson her back.

“Forty-five. Eighty-three. One hundred-and-two.”

She spun toward Mrs. Peterson. “What three numbers did you hear?”

The older woman’s face tightened, brows knitting as she concentrated. “Five. One. And . . . I don’t know. I could not make out the last number.”

Christina switched on the large battery and handed Mrs. Peterson the earpiece, instructing the woman to put it up to her ear. She presented her back once more, speaking near the microphone but not directly in it, and repeated the numbers. Mrs. Peterson gasped, her expression full of wonder. “I heard all of them. Forty-five. Eighty-three. And one hundred-and-two.” She put a hand over her mouth, eyes glistening as if she might cry. “I have not heard that well in over twenty-three years. That is remarkable.”

Christina swelled with pride for Oliver and his invention. He would have been so pleased to see Mrs. Peterson’s reaction.

The judge thanked Mrs. Peterson and then addressed Christina. “I see that the hearing device works, yet I understand your husband has not applied for a patent, nor has he tried to sell the device. Why?”

“He believes it is too expensive. In its current form, the device would cost around four hundred dollars.” A murmur went through the crowd at the large figure but she ignored it, keeping her focus only on the judge. “He has been trying to make a smaller, more portable battery for the last year. He hopes to bring the cost down and to ensure the device is easier to use in everyday life.”

The judge stroked his chin and concentrated on the device, while conversation broke out in earnest throughout the room. Now feeling awkward, Christina had no idea what to do with herself. She edged toward the side of the room, not sitting in case there were more questions, but ready to have the device replace her as the center of attention.

“Making a battery!” a loud voice scoffed in the rear. A man stood—and she inhaled sharply. Milton. He was actually here. She could not believe the worm had the gall to attend today’s demonstration. He sneered at the crowd. “Oliver Hawkes is no scientist or engineer. He never even graduated from a college and now resides in an asylum. And you want us to believe he has been able to produce this invention just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

The roots of her hair tingled with fury, anger washing over her like a giant wave. She could not believe he dared to influence the proceedings like this. Was this legal? “He has been working on this for years,” she shouted at him, raw emotion making her words sharp as knives. “He is intelligent and decent, someone interested in helping others. He wants to aid those with diminished hearing to better communicate. What have you ever done in your miserable life but live off his money and cause trouble?”

Her tirade did not gain her shock or censure from the crowd; rather, all heads swung toward Milton. A flush spread over his skin and he shook a fist at her. “How dare you speak of things you do not understand, you harpy? You are just as mad as your husband!”

“That is enough,” the judge said. “Mr. Hawkes, you were specifically prohibited from attending today. But seeing as how you did, let me be the first one to share the news. Based on the successful demonstration of this device, I have made my decision: Oliver Hawkes is not insane. I hereby order him to be released.”

Applause and chatter overtook the room, including Milton shouting from somewhere in the back, but Christina paid no attention. She sagged against the wall in relief, her knees nearly buckling. They had done it. Oliver would come home. Frank hurried toward the judge, papers and pen in hand. Oliver’s attorney had been ready with release papers all along.

When Frank finished with the judge, he came straight to her. “You were wonderful. I could not have done it better myself.”

“Thank you, but I never could have managed this without your help and encouragement.”

“You deserve the credit, Christina. I am quite grateful—and I know Oliver will feel the same.”

Her cheeks grew hot under his praise but she did not argue. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was stronger than she’d thought. “Let’s go fetch my husband.”

Oliver stared at the suit of clothes on his bed. What did this mean? Dare he hope?

He turned to ask but the guards had already left, so he began to dress slowly, his injured body still recovering from the attack four days ago. It felt strange to put on real clothes instead of the coarse outfit he had been issued at the asylum.

As he finished buttoning his vest, the doctor strolled into the room. Oliver tensed. This was the same man who’d ordered the plunging bath, the one who had not bothered to assess Oliver before committing him. Oliver shrugged into his coat and said nothing.

“Mr. Hawkes, you are looking well.” The doctor ensured that Oliver could see his mouth clearly as he spoke. “I wished to have a word, if you do not mind.”

Had he a choice? Within these walls, the doctor held all the power. No way would Oliver risk another trip to the cold bath or a beating. He gave one short nod.

The doctor clasped his hands behind his back, all smiles. “We see quite a number of patients admitted here and we do our best during the screening process. It is not a perfect system, however. I do hope you understand.”

Oliver did not understand. How could a doctor—someone sworn to heal his fellow man—condemn a patient to such a horrific fate without a proper evaluation? “Why are you telling me this?”

“I am pleased to say we have reevaluated the merits of your case and you are being released today.”

The relief nearly knocked Oliver over. He bent at the waist and braced his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths despite his aching ribs. Oh, thank Christ. He was leaving.

When he straightened, he saw the doctor was speaking. “. . . attorney is here, ready to take you home when you have collected yourself.”

“I am ready.” Oliver did not wish to spend one second longer here than absolutely necessary.

“Excellent. Shall we?” The doctor gestured to the door and the two started the trek down the long corridor.

It was bizarre to wear his clothes again and navigate the building on his own, without looking over his shoulder for a guard or another inmate. Part of him worried this was some kind of prank, that the guards would snatch him at the last minute and drag him back inside. His muscles remained ready, on edge, as he followed the doctor through the building.

When they rounded the last corner, Frank Tripp came into view, the lawyer pacing the length of the main entrance hall. At Oliver’s approach Frank visibly relaxed. “Oliver, thank God.”

The attorney strode right up to Oliver and did not hesitate before embracing him. Oliver’s ribs protested but he remained silent. “Good to see you, my friend,” Frank said when he stepped back.

“You, too. Shall we go?” The outer door was right there, the dying afternoon light a gray cloud through the glass. Still, the outside world had never looked so good to Oliver. The sooner they left, the better.

Frank started for the door, but the doctor put a palm up to stop Oliver’s escape. “I wish you well, Mr. Hawkes.” The doctor held out his hand. Desperate to get it over with, Oliver quickly shook the man’s hand.

The doctor studied Oliver’s face. “I trust we shall have no issues once you leave us?”

The other man’s motives were as obvious as daylight. He was worried Oliver would raise a ruckus about the treatment patients endured inside the facility. Oliver hadn’t a clue what he would do yet about that, but he knew better than to promise anything. “Good-bye, Doctor.”

Frank led the way outside where two broughams waited at the curb. Oliver could barely restrain himself from running toward the vehicles. Part of him was still worried this opportunity would be stripped away and he’d be sent back inside. Only once they were far from here would he actually believe he’d been granted his freedom.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. The door to the first brougham opened. Christina emerged, her foot on the top step as her gaze swept the length of him, and everything else ground to a halt. He became aware of every breath, every blink. The whisper of the cold breeze over his skin. Dash it, she was just as perfect as he remembered, and heat washed over him as he drank in the sight of her. She was his refuge, his light, and he needed to touch her, now.

He started toward her, not even bothering to look back at Frank. “Oliver,” her lips formed, relief and happiness in her eyes. He felt like falling at her feet in gratitude; perhaps he would once they were safely away from Wards Island.

Frank clapped him on the shoulder, gaining his attention. “That carriage is for you and your wife. I shall take this one. Enjoy your freedom, Oliver.”

Anxious to get to Christina, Oliver shook Frank’s hand. “Thank you for everything. I owe you.”

“You are welcome. And do not worry—I will bill you. Go, be with your wife.”

Wife. He never thought he would see her again. Spinning, he hurried to the other carriage and gingerly climbed inside. When he shut the door, Christina launched herself at him. He caught her before she crashed into him, his body aching. The carriage began moving as he took his wife’s face in his hands. “God, I have missed you.”

She pressed forward and joined her mouth to his. He needed a proper bath and to clean his teeth. A decent night’s sleep and a nourishing meal. None of that mattered right now, however, not when he had Christina in his arms for the first time in over a week. He kissed her hard, his mouth greedy, a starving man who had gone months without food.

The wheels bumped and shook, but neither of them noticed. As he often did with Christina, Oliver felt as though he were falling, his brain dizzy with want of this woman. He was not even worried about doing anything more than this; he simply needed the connection to her. She was the air he’d been missing for eight days.

Moisture gathered in his eyes, the terror finally subsiding to allow relief and happiness in, and he broke off to rest his forehead against hers. “I never thought I would see you again.”

She angled away so he could see her mouth, her fingertips lightly sweeping the bruises on his face. “Are you all right? I have been so worried about you, and then Frank said you had been attacked—”

Damn Frank for worrying her. “I am fine. A bit sore but healing quickly.”

“Will you tell me what happened to you in there?”

God, no. He did not wish to relive it and the truth would only upset her. However, if he decided to speak about his experience in the hopes of helping others, she would hear the details then. He would need to tell her privately, prepare her. “Yes, but not now. I would rather forget it for a little while. How is Sarah?”

“Missing her brother. I tried to distract her from your absence as much as possible. She is getting quite proficient at archery.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you for that. I am very grateful to have you in my life.”

“I am happy to hear it, considering you were planning to divorce me.”

Ah, yes. That. “Only if committed for life. You deserve better than a husband locked away in a madhouse.”

Her frown deepened. “I would prefer if you allowed me to decide my future and what I deserve. You told me you loved me, yet you tried to cast me aside the second circumstances grew difficult.”

“I do love you, which is why I would never force you to remain married to a lunatic.”

Her palm cradled his jaw. “You are not a lunatic. You are strong and intelligent, the best man I have ever encountered.”

His heart swelled with a rush of emotion so swift that it stole his breath. “I only want the best for you, even if that means letting you go. But I never wanted to let you go, Christina. I do not want to spend one moment apart for the rest of our lives if I am able to help it.”

“Nor do I, but you do not get to decide alone,” she said. “My parents did as much to me for years, Oliver. I never had a say in my own fate. In order for this to work between us you must allow me to participate in the decisions affecting my life.”

The words were a lance through his chest. How had he forgotten this? Of course she should have input into decisions affecting her, affecting them. She had been drowning for years under her parents’ care because she hadn’t been allowed to voice her thoughts and opinions. She had been made to feel as if she did not matter. Now he had done the exact same thing—twice. “I apologize. I should have known better and talked to you instead. Forgive me?”

Her lips curled. “Forgiven, as long as you never do it again.”

“I swear I will consult you on everything from now on, including what I promised myself if I was released.”

“And what was that?”

“The only way Milton succeeded in having me committed was because I had hidden away from the world for so long. You helped me see how isolated I had been, how cynical I had grown. I do not want to be that man any longer. I want to show you the city and take you to the ocean.” He kissed her lips swiftly then broke apart. “Shopping and walks in the park. I want to do everything with you.”

She squeezed his hand, her smile full of affection. “I would like that, Oliver.”

His lungs filled with happiness. As much as he longed to kiss her, however, he had to know what happened. “Was there a rehearing?”

She blinked a few times. “No one told you? Not Frank or the hospital staff?”

“No. They said I could leave and I did not exactly stand around to chat.”

“The judge insisted on a demonstration of your hearing device to ascertain whether it worked—”

“Of course it works.”

“Yes, we know that. However, the judge wanted the device demonstrated so there could be no doubt as to your mental faculties. A room full of people today saw your device applied . . . and it succeeded with flying colors.”

He could not complain—the demonstration had gained his release, after all—but he would have loved to have been there and seen the demonstration. “A room full of people? Who was there, exactly?”

“The judge, Frank, and myself. Also, the judge’s neighbor who has hearing loss was there as the test subject. The rest were onlookers and busybodies. Milton attended but the judge threw him out.”

“Good.” His cousin deserved a hell of a lot more, which Oliver would see to tomorrow. “Who were these onlookers and busybodies?”

“Men from Edison’s lab, Frank said. Not certain who else.”

Disappointment sank in his stomach. Dash it. No use worrying about a patent now. Edison’s men would take his ideas and run with them. He should not complain. As long as the hearing impaired received the invention, who cared who was responsible? “And who performed this demonstration?”

She bit her lip and looked at her feet. He could not see her lips. “Deaf, remember? Who performed the demonstration?”

She lifted her head and her expression turned sheepish. “I did.”

“Good.” He leaned in to kiss her, but her hand braced his shoulder, stopping him.

“Wait,” she said. “Are you not even a bit surprised that I was able to do it?”

“Am I surprised you secured my freedom with an undoubtedly brilliant application of my invention?” When she nodded, he dragged the back of his knuckles along her cheek. “Absolutely not. I am quite certain you impressed the hell out of every single man in the room.”

“How could you possibly be so certain?”

“Because I know you are stronger than you believe. You merely need the opportunities to prove it to yourself. Now, kiss me. I have eight days to catch up on.”

She angled away and placed a finger to his lips. “Wait a moment. Are you certain you feel better? I do not wish to hurt you.”

He leaned in to rub his nose alongside hers, nuzzling her. “Not kissing you is killing me at the moment. Please, rescue me, dear wife.”

And so they rescued each other all the way home.