Page 85 of A Fragile Enchantment

You are a nothing girl from a nowhere town.

You cannot be so cold as to doom us all because of your foolish, romanticwhim.

The whole world would be set against them. And if only it were so simple tostop.Contentment was stagnation. It was surrender. It was death. What lay ahead of her was dark and uncertain. But behind her was a collapsing bridge, and underneath, a rising tide she could not outswim. The only thing to do was run blind.

In his eyes, she saw her every hope and her every fear reflected back in equal measure. “Don’t deny me only for the sake of denying yourself.”

Her breath caught. Desperate to lighten the mood, to keep herself from dwelling too much on that exhortation, she said, “It isn’t fair, when you look like this and you have addled me so tonight. Ask me again tomorrow so I have time to think.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his brows creased in a troubled frown. She ached to smooth it away. “Fine.”

He helped her redress, lacing her stays with surprising dexterity and fastening up all of the buttons on the back of her gown. She could hardly stand the heaviness of their silence.

“You know,” she said, “you are quite good at that. You could have another, more scandalous life as some sort of lady’s maid.”

He snorted. “And you, the world’s most unprofessional valet.”

Once she’d finished straightening his neckcloth and tucked the handkerchief back into his waistcoat, she stooped to retrieve his coat. A sheet of paper tumbled from the pocket. Her heart dropped.

Lovelace’s letter lay in the spill of moonlight at their feet.

Don’t.The word was halfway out of her mouth by the time Kit picked it up. It was there in his hands: her name written in thatelegant handwriting, the black wax seal on the envelope. His eyes flickered over it before he held it out to her.

She did not touch it. “Ah. My love letter.”

“I’d believe you if it wasn’t for the handwriting. It’s Sinclair’s.”

Her thoughts evaporated into nothing. Her head rang with a metallic whir as she tried to make sense of what he had just said. “What?”

Kit frowned. “What do you mean,what?”

Niamh leaned against the wall. The whole room was spinning now, and she could feel her heartbeat in about five different places. When she finally felt able to speak, her voice was painfully small. “You’re certain it’s Sinclair’s?”

He looked lost. “Yes. He’s written me hundreds of letters over the years.”

Sinclair was Lovelace.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Why Lovelace knew her name so quickly and where she was staying. How they knew so much about every event. Why they despised Jack. Why they were determined to expose the Crown for corruption and defend the Machlish.

Lovelace was Sinclair.

He wrote about her, after everything she’d confided in him, after all the time they’d spent together, after all the kindness he’d shown her. The betrayal carved open a hole within her. How could he do such a thing to her? How could he do such a thing toKit?

“Kit,” she said. “I have something to tell you. Perhaps it’s better to show you. But it will look very bad, and you will need to let me explain—”

“Slow down. You’re not making any sense.”

She could end this now. Take the letter from him and smile sweetly and pretend this never happened. Kiss him good night and let herself accept everything he’d offered her. Allow him to go through life, never knowing that his best friend conspired againsthim. Be happy. But if he was determined to have her, he should go into it with his eyes wide open. He should know all of the people who hurt him and kept secrets from him.

Including her.

She drew in a tremulous breath. “Open the letter.”

Although he still seemed confused, he did as she asked. She watched his face, and she saw the moment he realized what he was reading. Slowly, he leveled her with his stare. It felt like an iron gate slamming shut between them. There was nothing of the man who’d treated her so tenderly, nothing of the man who’d argued with her to accept his suit.

“If you find anything of substance.” His voice was hard and detached. “You’ve been an informant for him.”

“I swear, I told him nothing about you. Only that you supported the Machlish.”