Page 47

She moved with quiet strength and effortless grace, a presence that drew attention without demanding it. Something about her, inexpressible yet irrefutable, made her unlike any woman Shelby had ever known—a rare blend of fire and gentleness, wisdom, and untamed spirit.

He loosened the reins further and allowed the horses to set the pace toward the city.

To the north, beyond the mist-laden fields, the Thames slithered through the night, its dark waters reflecting the faint glow of lanterns strung along the docks. The river’s briny scent mixed with the pungent aroma of damp wood and tar, filtered inland, borne on the sluggish breeze.

The creak of mooring ropes and the occasional shout of a night watchman drifted across the stillness. Above the horizon, the silhouettes of ships’ masts pierced the haze, their towering forms swaying gently like skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky.

When would Neptune’s Providence make port?

Though the vessel had not arrived early, neither was it overdue. Any number of things could cause a delay—unfavorable winds, storms brewing in the Caribbean, a sluggish customs process, or worse—piracy. The West Indies trade routes had become treacherous, with privateers and rogue captains seizing shipments under the guise of war remnants.

Would he emerge a wealthy man—or a pauper?

If the latter, how could he provide for Roxina?

As if sensing his scrutiny, she stirred. Her thick lashes fluttered before her eyes opened slowly. A furrow creased her brow in momentary confusion until awareness returned, and she realized where they were.

She stifled a yawn behind her hand, then nudged Atherstone back into the seat’s corner, where he snored loudly, oblivious to everything.

“How much longer, Shelby?” She shifted, her thigh brushing his, sending a jolt of awareness through him—sharp, unwanted, and utterly inescapable.

“Not long, Roxina. We should arrive in about fifteen minutes. I’m taking a circuitous route. The fewer eyes on us, the better.”

The curricle’s plain black lacquer bore no embellishments, its unadorned lines speaking to function over finery, a vehicle meant for practicality rather than display. The wheels rattled over the uneven road, the iron-bound rims cutting through shallow puddles, sending up fine spray.

However, the horses—an exquisite pair, sleek and well-muscled, their glossy coats reflecting the lantern’s glow—would attract notice. Bred for speed and endurance, they carried on tirelessly despite the long journey.

She exhaled a soft sigh, nodding before resettling against his shoulder.

Shelby’s heart soared at the simple, intimate gesture.

Did she even realize how much she had thawed toward him?

Fifteen minutes.

If Desmond’s men weren’t already scouring the city, that might be enough time.

And if not?

Then Shelby must be ready.

If anyone spotted them, he planned to play the part of a weary driver bringing his drunken master home. He wished he could better conceal Roxina, but he could not ask her to crawl onto the floorboards and trade places with Dash.

As if reading his mind, Roxina smoothed a hand over Dash’s scruffy head, her fingers disappearing into the thick fur.

“I should hunch down in the front and let Dash take my place. No one will question two men returning from carousing, but a woman with them?” She shook her head, a wry smile ghosting her lips. “No one will believe that—unless they take me for a harlot.”

Before Shelby could object further, she stood, clutching the curricle’s side, and pointed to the seat, issuing a low command. “Up.”

Dash, ever obedient, leaped into the vacated space, sprawling across the seat as if he had been promoted to nobility. Even in the muted half-light, confusion flickered in his soulful eyes.

Roxina lowered herself to the floor, drew up her knees, and draped the cloak over her entire body, including her head. Her muffled voice floated up to Shelby.

“How do I look?”

“Like a very lumpy sack of grain,” he murmured, barely hiding his amusement.

A sharp pinch bit into his calf. He stiffened. “Ouch.”