Miss French gave a weak wave of her handkerchief. “If you must.”
“Why are you trying to frame Revelstoke?”
Alarm slashed through the woman’s aura, but her expression didn’t alter. Instead she said tearfully, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who is paying you to smear the earl’s reputation?” Polly said evenly. “My brother is London’s best investigator, and hewilltrack down the other man who was in the room that night. It’ll go better for you if you confess now.”
Before Polly’s focused gaze, the woman’s alarm gave way to anger… and then her aura took on the hard, superficial glitter of paste jewels as smug confidence reasserted itself.
Nicoletta French stood, her bottom lip quivering, freshly manufactured tears—for Polly was certain that they weren’t genuine—leaking from her eyes. “How dare you come and make such horrid accusations. I want you to leave!”
Before Polly could reply, a commotion sounded beyond the room. Pounding footsteps, the maid’s raised voice, “Ye can’t go in there—”
The door flung open, and the air whooshed from Polly’s lungs.
Revelstoke stood in the doorway. He strode forward, his anger filling the room. A second later, his hand closed like a manacle around Polly’s arm.
“Let’s go,” he clipped out.
“You.”
At the gasped word, Polly’s gaze swung from Revelstoke’s livid face to Nicoletta’s pale one. The woman’s eyes were wide, her lips visibly trembling, her hands clasped to her breast. Despite those dramatic gestures, the woman’s aura shone not with fear, but…
Avarice. Thrill. Triumph.
This is a performance for her. In that moment, Polly knew it for certain.
“Why can’t you leave me be?” Nicoletta cowered against the settee although Revelstoke made no move toward her. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Polly saw a flash of real pain. Not from Miss French—but from Revelstoke. He still had a hold on Polly’s arm, and she felt him flinch, anguish and uncertainty ripping through his aura. Yet he didn’t respond to the accusation, instead hauling her out of the room.
“Have a care, Miss Kent,”—Nicoletta’s sobs followed them down the corridor—“or the devil will have his way with you, too!”
Revelstoke stiffened as if he’d been shot, but he didn’t halt, dragging Polly out the front door, down the steps, and tossing her into the waiting carriage.
“Drive and don’t stop until I tell you to,” he barked to the driver before vaulting inside, slamming the door behind him. As the carriage swayed into motion, he planted his hands on either side of her. Caged by his body, his engulfing rage, she stared at him.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he thundered.
Chapter Fifteen
Polly’s heart pounded in her ears. If she thought she’d provoked Revelstoke before, she now knew she’d been mistaken. His emotions whipped around him like a primal storm, the colors wild, dazzlingly intense.
“H-how did you find me?” she stammered.
“Answer my bloody question.” His pupils expanded, black crowding out blue. “Why inblazesdid you go to see Nicoletta French?”
She searched for a plausible explanation… but there was none. None but the truth. Besides, her sense of self-preservation warned her not to risk more of Revelstoke’s wrath by lying.
In a small voice, she said, “I was questioning her.”
“Thedevilyou say.”
Unnerved by his unrelenting stare, she rushed on, “I, um, overheard your discussion with Ambrose and his partners. I know about your… situation, and I wanted to help.”
“You know about my situation and wanted tohelp?”
His incredulous repetition of her words ramped up her unease. That and the fact that he still had her pinned against the carriage cushions. In truth, she might have been terrified had she not been able to see his aura. Beneath the anger was vivid, pulsing worry.
