Poppy’s breath quickened as she met Finn’s calm, assessing gaze.
A moment ago, when she’d lashed out at Evangeline, every shred of her attention was locked on Soren and Evangeline—she hadn’t spared a thought for anyone else nearby.
She had no idea when Finn had appeared, or if his story was even true.
She couldn’t admit she’d nearly drowned Evangeline, but if she denied it, and Finn actually had proof, Soren’s trust in her would crumble even further.
Damn it.
Who exactly was this Finn, anyway?
Why did he care about Evangeline?
Poppy clenched her jaw.
After a few seconds, she hid her anxiety behind a smile, ignoring Finn’s question. Her gaze flicked lazily between the two of them before she drawled, “Evangeline certainly has her admirers. I had no idea so many people were eager to help her.”
“But really, whether I touched her or not—isn’t it a bit too convenient for someone to have evidence right at that moment?”
Evangeline understood at once.
Poppy was accusing her of making things up—her favorite trick, one she used without tiring.
Evangeline felt someone’s eyes on her. She glanced up and caught Soren watching her, his dark gaze shifting from Finn back to her.
His expression was icy, unreadable in the night’s shadows.
She didn’t need to guess—he was doubting her, just as he always had.
A bitter, silent laugh twisted inside her. She was about to speak when Finn beat her to it.
“Miss Yates, let’s not change the subject,” Finn said, his tone light but implacable. “The Lockridges have always marched to the beat of their own drum. We don’t take orders from anyone.”
“I only stepped in tonight because I can’t stand seeing a lady treated unfairly.”
“But you, Miss Yates—you’re dodging the question. Is that because you can’t own up to what you did?”
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