Page 35

Roxina squeezed Shelby’s hand, drawing him toward the garden. “Come, before someone sees us.”

She was right.

They had been bloody lucky so far.

Shelby let her lead him forward, her fingers curled into his, sending warmth spiraling through his chest. The menace had not lessened, but right now, with her touch grounding him, this connection felt like something else entirely—something he dared not name.

Once at the rear of the house, Shelby drew her to a halt. “You must make haste. It will not take long for Desmond’s men to realize this was a distraction.”

“I know.” She slipped the key into the lock. A slight grating click sounded as it gave way, and they slid inside.

Tense with leeriness, Dash brushed against Shelby’s legs.

Fragrant, warm air greeted Shelby, a welcome change from the clamminess outside. Darkness cloaked everything, blinding him in the unfamiliar space until his eyes adjusted.

Scents surrounded him—fresh bread, cloves, cinnamon, and something floral and pungent, likely drying herbs. The stronger tang of smoke clung to the air, the lingering remnant of a past fire.

What secrets did this cottage hold?

“I shall gather food, and you get the other items you need.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the cottage’s dark interior. “Make haste, Roxina.”

She hurried away, her footsteps light but certain.

Dash followed, his nails clicking on the wood floor and then muting as he probably walked across a carpet.

Gathering food was only a precaution should they be delayed in reaching London.

Standing still, Shelby waited until his ears adjusted to the room’s hush. The sounds of Roxina’s movements faded, leaving only his breathing and the faint creaks of the house disturbing the intimate silence.

Squinting into the darkness, Shelby tried to determine where Roxina stored the kitchen items. The scent of bread led him forward.

He reached out, brushing against a wooden surface—likely a table.

With measured steps, he moved cautiously, trying to avoid obstacles, though he stumbled into objects, their clangs and scrapes unnaturally loud in the heavy silence.

He came upon what seemed to be an empty flour sack draped over a hook. He grabbed it and continued reaching blindly, skimming his fingers along the wooden shelves.

Victory.

A round of bread and what he thought might be pasties.

He dropped the loaf into the sack and, after locating a towel and wrapping the pasties, added them too. Apples, a hunk of cheese, and two carrots swiftly followed. Not a king’s fare, to be certain, but sufficient to hold them over for a short while.

His inability to see beyond obscure shadows sharpened his other senses. The air shifted as he moved, the sleeves of his too-big borrowed greatcoat whispering against his sides. A slight draft came from somewhere, probably down the chimney, stirring the scent of rosemary.

After securing the sack with a string, he stepped to the multi-paned window. He lifted the curtain edge a couple of inches, just enough to inspect the garden.

Shadows stretched across the space, still and undisturbed.

They would exit the same route.

He patted his chest, reassured by the hard coldness of coins hidden inside his jacket.

Roxina rushed back into the kitchen, her breathing uneven. “Sorry it took me so long. My yellow gown was a beacon, so I changed, rather than collect a gown to take with me.”

Smart thinking.

He could not fault her for the extra time.