Page 24

He traced the curve of her wrist with his thumb, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the feel of her, even as he bathed her face with a tender expression.

When had he ever been anything but kind to her?

Only once—at the Christmastide house party, after he learned Mitchel had deceived him and left him to face the incensed moneylender. But other than that night, Roxina could not recall a single time Shelby had not been considerate toward her.

She, on the other hand, had constantly eviscerated him verbally, excoriated him in her thoughts, and sent murderous visual daggers his way—never once considering she might be wrong in her assessment of him.

Swallowing hard, Roxina blinked back the unexpected sting of tears.

“Are you ready?” His voice softened, coaxing her back to the moment.

With a deep breath, Roxina grasped his hand, squeezing tighter than necessary, as if afraid he might vanish. His firm grip steadied her as much as it guided her. For a fleeting moment, despite the dire circumstances, she felt something deeper—something unspoken—bloom between them.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He gave a firm nod. “Stay close.”

He needn’t tell her twice.

Nudging aside the loose boards, he allowed Roxina to slip outside.

Shelby promptly followed.

“We’ll hide there until nightfall,” he whispered in her ear as he pointed toward dense woods in the distance.

Oxleas Wood.

“Run, Roxina. And don’t stop.” Shelby gripped her hand and urged her into a sprint. “Our lives depend on reaching those trees.”

EIGHT

Oxleas Wood

Near Shooters Hill

Several terrifying minutes later

As Shelby sprinted toward safety, he listened for the gunfire and waited for the scorching sting of a lead ball tearing into his flesh.

Neither came, thank God.

Sucking in a ragged breath, he dragged a gasping Roxina deeper into the woodland. Their survival depended upon hiding until nightfall.

After that?

Well, he hadn’t decided on his next move just yet.

As they fled from what had once likely been a smuggler’s tavern, he expected shouts of alarm to tear through the woodlands. Aside from Roxina’s heavy breathing and the crunch of leaves and snapping twigs beneath their boots, nothing more ominous than a crow’s occasional caw met his ears.

As the distance between them and their abductors increased, he allowed himself to hope they had escaped undetected. Nevertheless, Shelby knew better than to believe Desmond and his brutes would stop pursuing them.

For they would not.

“In here, Roxina.” Shelby urged her into an opening between tangled hawthorn and blackthorn shrubs growing near exposed tree roots, providing them with a perfect nook to hide in. The undergrowth acted as natural camouflage and would conceal them as long as they didn’t move.

“Take care that you don’t get scratched,” he whispered, yanking off his coat and extending it to Roxina. “Your gown is too bright. Put my coat on.”

After doing so, but wrinkling her nose in distaste at the stiff garment’s odor, she plopped down, tucking her legs up like a child.