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Roxina touched his arm, the warmth of her fingers burning through the fabric of his sleeve.

“Shelby, where are we going, and how do we get there?” Apprehension threaded her voice.

“We shall go to Greenwich and hide there until the mail coach to London arrives at six o’clock tomorrow morning.” The bag of supplies in one hand, he grasped her elbow with the other and guided her toward the door. “Once in the city, we have little choice but to impose upon our friends.”

Shelby loathed doing so.

At some point, someone would discover he had sold his house.

He did not want to answer the questions that would inevitably arise.

At once, Roxina said, “Georgine has invited me many times, as recently as last week, although I am not sure what she will think of Dash.”

They slipped into the night, closing the door behind them with a soft snick. Heavy with the scent of moist earth and honeysuckle, the nippy air wrapped around them.

Dash wasted no time marking a rosebush.

Shelby shook his head, then realized she could not see the motion. “No. I think we must impose upon my cousin, Robyn Fitzlloyd.”

Robyn’s house on London’s outskirts made the most sense. His estate sat far enough from the city that their arrival wouldn’t draw attention, unlike a townhouse in the heart of London. The large, well-appointed residence assured discreetness. Its many rooms and grounds near the Thames ensured they could come and go relatively unnoticed.

Robyn wouldn’t ask prying questions, and more importantly, he would keep their presence a secret.

Roxina touched Shelby’s forearm again, her fingers pressing lightly against his sleeve. “Give me a moment to hide the key. I told Mrs. Beale where to find it.”

“Make haste.” He sounded curter than he intended.

She scurried away, and the blasted frog croaked again.

Shelby scrutinized the garden, the hedgerows, and the flowerbeds, casting jagged silhouettes against the night.

A narrow footpath disappeared into the foliage, likely leading toward a back lane. If they avoided the main road, they could take the twisting alley near the stables, then cut through the smithy’s yard to avoid watchful eyes. Beyond that, another lane led toward the common, where the soft ground would absorb sound.

Until they reached London, they remained in danger.

Only the Good Lord knew what the rest of the night would bring. But at all costs, Roxina must not fall into Desmond’s hands again. The man’s ruthlessness knew no bounds, and Shelby shuddered to think what the blackguard would do to her in his attempts to extract information she did not have.

Curse Mitchel Danforth for a treacherous varlet who would sooner cheat a friend than lift a finger in honest work. A raw surge of fury burned through Shelby’s veins. If he ever got his hands on the villain—the wretched cur whose conscience had long since rotted away—he doubted his ability to resist throttling Mitchel within an inch of his miserable life.

It did not escape Shelby that he might have to sacrifice his life to save Roxina, and he would do so without hesitation.

Then what might happen to her?

At the street’s edge, he turned her to face him, his hands firm but gentle as he held her shoulders, committing every detail of her face to memory. The night obscured much, but he knew her features by heart—the elegant curve of her cheekbones, the delicate slope of her nose, the way her lips parted slightly as though she wished to speak but held herself back.

He had never met a woman so strong yet so heartbreakingly vulnerable all at once.

“Roxina, if we become separated, you must promise me you will get on the mail coach.”

“No.” Roxina gripped his upper arms with a ferocity he had not expected and shook him hard. She dug her fingers into his jacket, clutching the fabric as though sheer will alone could force her conviction into him.

“It was one thing when I did not know you had cared and provided for me.” Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with something raw, something unyielding. “When I thought you were nothing more than a vexing, insufferable man who delighted in making my life difficult.”

He caught the sharp, uneven rhythm of her breaths as she fought against the emotions surging within her. The air hung heavy, charged with something unspoken, but her gaze stayed locked on his—guilt, regret, and something deeper flickering in her eyes, as if she feared acknowledging it.

“I fought you at every turn,” she continued, gripping his arms tighter.

Heat radiated through the layers of his clothing, searing into Shelby’s skin.