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She lay in what appeared to be an abandoned tavern or inn.

The countryside boasted several such deserted and dilapidated buildings.

At one time, Blackheath had been quite a den for nefarious characters. This sagging building might once have been a haunt for highwaymen or a smugglers’ storehouse.

The stains marring her new gown and gloves would never wash out, but that didn’t matter. A movement in the corner caught her attention—a rat, its beady eyes glowing in the dim light, paused mid-scuttle, as if surprised to see a human in its domain.

The hairs stood up on her nape and arms.

She sensed someone else nearby.

Ever so slowly, she turned her head.

“Are you hurt?” A scraggly, unkempt figure loomed across her vision. A patch over one eye, a scruffy beard, and his hat pulled low over his face hid his features.

She gasped and threw her hand up in protection.

“Shh. I’m not going to harm you, Roxina. It’s me, Shelby,” he whispered, his voice edged with urgency.

“Shelby?” Cautiously lowering her arm, Roxina peered at him.

He offered a sideways, boyish smile and lifted the patch from his eye for a moment before lowering it again. Familiar gray eyes twinkled at her.

My God, it is him.

Unexpected joy ripped through her at seeing him.

“Why are you here?” Roxina sat up, wincing as pain flooded her head. “Wait, I’ve seen you in Blackheath. Have you been watching me?”

“I do not want them to hear us talking.” Casting a harried glance toward the lopsided door, Shelby held a finger up to his lips. “We can discuss that later. Right now, we need to concentrate on escaping.”

She couldn’t argue with his wisdom.

“Who are they?” Her attention riveted on the rickety door, Roxina licked her lower lip.

“The ringleader is a man your brother cheated at cards.” Turning his firm mouth down, Shelby slanted his sandy eyebrows together. “He is also the mastermind of a cutthroat band of highwaymen known as the Bloodoak Brotherhood.”

Roxina could not prevent her dismayed gasp as her hands went clammy with fear. No one needed to tell her that men like that did not leave witnesses.

Shelby shoved his hat off his forehead. “I’m afraid he is convinced you know where Mitchel is.”

“I don’t.” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling nauseous. “I have not seen or heard from him since before Christmas.”

Shelby nodded, as if he had suspected as much. “I did not think you had, but they will not be dissuaded.”

The door latch rattled, announcing an imminent interruption.

“Hurry, lie down. Pretend you are unconscious still.” Shelby slid several feet away, slouching into the shadows.

At once, Roxina curled onto her side again, her back to the door, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard, surely her captives could hear each beat.

Its hinges protesting the movement, the door creaked open. Light filtered into the small room but failed to reach the farthest corners.

A rough-voiced man asked, “She awake yet?”

“Does she look awake?” Shelby’s icy tenor sent a shiver rippling down Roxina’s spine.

She had only heard him use that tone of voice once before—the night he had rescued her from a seedy inn during a snowstorm.