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During the Ladies of Opportunity meeting the other day, Aubriella mentioned her husband had recently seen Shelby.

That news startled Roxina.

She had believed no one in their inner circle had any contact with him.

Aubriella said Jack had been quite close-mouthed about the encounter, but Shelby continued to search for Mitchel while evading the moneylender pursuing him, a vile reptile of a man known as Merciless Morgan.

Giving Roxina an apologetic glance, Aubriella had lifted her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Zina. I know this must be hard for you.”

In truth, Roxina reserved her concern for Shelby, not Mitchel. She did not wish harm upon her brother, but he had made his choices and had to face the consequences and repercussions.

However, Mitchel had wronged Shelby unforgivably, and because of his skullduggery, Shelby now faced deadly risks—an offense beyond the pale.

Aubriella had also reiterated that she had not sent Roxina the mysterious money.

“You have asked me not to, and while I would without hesitation, I respect your wishes.” She met Claire and Georgine’s mystified gazes. “We are all curious who your secret benefactor is.”

No one more than Roxina, but she would not stay awake fretting about that conundrum too.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted one, two, three, four, five, willing sleep to encompass her once more.

The tick-tock of the small wooden bracket clock on the nightstand echoed loudly in the silent chamber. Squinting, she found it impossible to see the clock’s hands, but she refused to light the lamp simply to determine the hour.

Hoping that letting her mind wander might encourage drowsiness, she let her musings roam unhindered.

Several times now, she had taken Mrs. Beale freshly baked treats: Savoy biscuits, Rout cakes, and just yesterday, Sally Lunn Buns. To her surprise and delight, Mrs. Beale had transformed into a warm, welcoming lady and had invited her inside for tea after the first visit.

When Roxina had offered to let Mrs. Beale read Astrid’s gothic and mystery novels, the woman had positively beamed. It seemed Mrs. Beale had a penchant for sleuthing, which explained why she spent so much time watching her neighbors—or so she claimed.

Truthfully, Roxina had yet to decide if that was the case.

Regardless, she invited Mrs. Beale to come over anytime and select a volume or two. A friendship had blossomed between them, and Roxina now understood that loneliness had prompted Mrs. Beale’s harshness and gossipy nature.

Gradually, sleepiness overtook Roxina once more. As she drifted into slumber, Shelby’s handsome countenance, with his piercing gray eyes and dark blond hair, lingered in her mind.

Somewhere in the night, danger stirred, and she had the unsettling feeling it involved Shelby.

FIVE

The Falcon’s Talon coaching inn and pub

That same night–around one in the morning

The moment Shelby stepped into the stable’s shadows, a prickle of unease crawled up his spine—had he become the hunted?

Alert and cautious, he kept to the shadows, his breath steady, each step precise and silent as he followed Desmond deeper into the stable. A warm ember glowed at the tip of Desmond’s cigar, swelling and fading with each drag. The pungent scent of tobacco mixed with the musty aroma of hay, liniment, and horseflesh.

A flickering lantern barely held back the inky darkness, its flame guttering in the faint draft that seeped through the gaps in the wooden walls. Somewhere deeper in the gloom, horses scuffed their hooves against straw, and the occasional swish of a restless horse’s tail broke the heavy quiet. Wood creaked as a horse shifted in its stall.

Outside, distant coarse laughter drifted from the nearby tavern, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of coach wheels on the courtyard flagstone. Beyond the stable’s doors, the world remained unaware of the tension saturating the musty air.

Shelby slipped a hand beneath his coat, resting his fingertips lightly against the pistol concealed there. He firmed his grip around the handle.

“I would have a word.” He kept his tone low and controlled.

Desmond let out a soft, eerie chuckle, a slow, deliberate rumble, as if Shelby’s presence amused him.

“It’s about bloody time.” Smoke curled past his lips as he spoke. “Did you really think I did not notice you watching me in the pub?”