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The dank night air clung to Roxina’s skin, carrying the faint, metallic tinge of rain-soaked earth. A drizzle misted down, cool and relentless, dampening her borrowed cloak, and errant droplets trickled down the brim of the poke bonnet.
She shivered but kept moving.
What choice did she have?
With each step, she expected Desmond or his men to appear, their shadowed forms emerging from the gloom like specters from hell. Her chest tightened with each breath, and anticipation prickled her skin. She hardly allowed herself to believe they had made good their escape, though a wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, a brief flicker of triumph.
Behind them, Mrs. Beal’s shrill screeches had faded, engulfed by the night, but the distant cries of angry crows still punctuated the quiet. A horse whinnied somewhere nearby, the sound eerie in the night, as if the beast, too, felt the darkness closing around him, cloying and inescapable.
A myriad of emotions—anger, betrayal, frustration, exhaustion, gratitude, and confusion—kept her silent. Shelby’s benevolence infuriated and pleased her, which made absolutely no sense.
When he had been her enemy, she had known where she stood.
But now…?
Now, she felt as if she stood on shifting sands, her footing and life constantly fluctuating.
It unnerved and discombobulated her.
And blast it all—this wretched poke bonnet did not help matters.
She jabbed the brim hard several times, dislodging a small stream of water.
The absurdly large rim jutted out so far that Roxina could scarcely see anything to either side, forcing her to turn her entire head like a bewildered pigeon whenever she wanted to glance at Shelby.
Though, in truth, that hadn’t been often.
When she looked at him, it forced her to examine herself.
Right now, she preferred not to because what would she do with what she might discover?
The rain had soaked the bonnet’s fabric, and the brim sagged, drooping into Roxina’s peripheral vision like a wilted flower.
Something brushed against her bonnet—a whisper of movement in the dark. Before she could react, Shelby gently gripped her arm, steering her aside with that infuriating mix of calm and confidence he exuded.
She exhaled sharply—not quite a huff, but close—more annoyed with herself than him. If not for the infernal bonnet, she might have noticed the tree branch herself. But she needed the disguise, so she endured the obnoxious bonnet, despite the accessory’s many miseries.
“I am impressed.’ Shelby must have noticed her frustration, for his voice carried an unmistakable note of amusement. “Not many people can simultaneously battle the elements and a bonnet that size.”
Roxina scowled but did not rise to the bait. “Since you find it so amusing, perhaps you would like to trade hats?”
“Tempting as your offer is, I must decline.” He chuckled low, entirely too pleased with himself. “I suspect it requires a certain… flair to carry off properly.”
“Coward,” Roxina muttered, but without annoyance.
Shelby made a sound that might have been a smothered laugh, but, mercifully, he said nothing more.
The thick clouds now smothered the sky, blotting out any hint of moonlight. The sounds of the night swirled around them—both comforting and unnerving. The distant glow of Greenwich guided them through the last stretch of their journey.
As they reached the township’s outskirts, Shelby lifted a hand, motioning for Roxina to stop. “I want you to wait here while I make certain Desmond’s men aren’t loitering about.”
Roxina shivered.
She had no desire to remain here in the dark with Dash, nor did she want Shelby to risk detection.
He set the bag down near her feet.
“Remember what I said, Roxina. If I do not return, get on the mail coach and go to my cousin, Robyn Fitzlloyd. He will help you.”
