“It’s a third-rate place near Drury Lane. The players’ skills in bed are more of a draw than their abilities on stage.”
“And how would you know that?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Dash it all, they weren’t even engaged, and she already sounded like a jealous fishwife.
His lips curved in a lazy grin. “Sheath your claws, puss. I have no interest in third-rate wares—especially now that I’ve found myself a prime article.”
She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered. Apparently, he found her reaction amusing, his smile deepening.
With a huff, she said, “As I was saying, I found this in one of her books—a rather ribald play, actually. Now we have a ticket from this theatre.” She recalled how Miss French’s aura hadn’t matched the emotion she’d supposedly been feeling… which was what one might expect of a third-rate actress. “Put that together with the fact that Miss French was lying, as if she were playing a role, and I think we may have a lead.”
“You think Nicoletta is an actress? That she staged the scene that night?” As Sinjin spoke, excitement blazed around him. “By Jove, that makes sense.”
Polly nodded. “And that mysterious man whose voice you recalled had to be her accomplice. Perhaps he was the one who gave her the injuries, not you.”
“Yes,” Sinjin said hoarsely.
Seeing the relief percolating through his glow, Polly placed her hand on his. “The Cytherea is a clue, a place to start. We’ll bring this new evidence to my brother. I know he’ll help.”
“Because you believe in me.” His fingers engulfed hers in a tight grip. “Let’s go speak to him now.”
She bit her lip. “Can we wait until tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I have to talk to my sister first,” she whispered.
Her chest constricted at the thought of what she had to do. Of the only right course of action now. And she prayed for a miracle.
Chapter Seventeen
“You kissed the earl—myearl—twice?” Rosie said.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how… it just happened,” Polly said helplessly.
The two of them were sitting beneath the damask canopy of Rosie’s bed. After supper, Polly had gone to her sister’s bedchamber. The short distance had felt like a walk to the gallows, and, once there, she’d confessed everything, sparing only the most intimate of details.
She now waited, her heart thudding, for Rosie’s response.
“How could you do that to me? You’ve beenlyingto me this entire time.” Rosie jumped up, the ribbons on her nightrail fluttering, her stare accusatory. “Why, you’ve been acting no better than a strumpet behind my back!”
Riddled with guilt and shame, Polly rose as well, held out a beseeching hand. “I know what I did was wrong. Please believe I never meant to hurt you. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness—”
“Give him up.”
Polly’s throat convulsed. Her hand fell slowly to her side. “I… can’t.”
“You mean youwon’t,” Rosie said icily.
“I don’t know if he and I will have a future together, but I have to give the possibility a chance.” She tried to think of an explanation that wouldn’t alienate her sister further. Some way to explain how, despite the differences between her and Sinjin, they were like iron and lodestone, drawn together by some irresistible, elemental force. “He wants the same thing as I do, Rosie. A marriage in which we would each have privacy. I’d be able to keep my affliction to myself and—”
“So you’re lying to him like you’ve lied to me.”
Rosie’s words sliced into her, but she shook her head. “I’m not lying to him. Sinjin wishes to have a marriage free of entanglements. He neither expects, nor wants, us to share emotional intimacies.”
She’d sensed that he had his own secrets he wanted to keep, but that was fine by her. Indeed, in this regard, they were an ideal match.
“Sinjin?”
At the fury behind Rosie’s whisper, Polly knew her mistake immediately. Her pulse skittering, she said, “I know I deserve your anger—”
