Page 56

Her obvious discomfort?

Now that he had voiced his feelings, had he utterly destroyed the fragile thread of friendship that had sparked between them yesterday?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Shelby.” Roxina puffed out a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “Until December, I thought you were a monster—a man as untrustworthy and depraved as my brother. I kept my guard up for protection and never allowed myself a single warm sentiment toward you.”

Somehow, Shelby marshaled a smile, though it barely masked the heartbreak inside. “I don’t expect you to say anything, nor do I expect anything from you.”

Was there anything as bitter as unrequited love?

It haunted the heart and lingered in every space where hope once lived.

“I’m sorry, Shelby. Truly, I am. But I’ve never considered you in that light.” Roxina closed her eyes briefly, as if looking upon him proved too painful. She opened them a half-second later. “I know that is not what you want to hear.”

“I understand.” He gave a curt nod, attempting a smile, but it barely surfaced—just a small twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Silence stretched between them, awkward and charged, as he grappled with unspoken words, and Roxina likely did the same.

Things would never be the same between them now.

It was almost better when she hated him because the pity in her glance now excoriated Shelby.

Before either spoke, Matilda burst into the room, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, her sage green gown whipping around her ankles in her haste.

Had she run headlong through the house?

“Shelby,” she gasped. “Robyn requests you join him in the mews—immediately.”

She shot a frantic glance toward Roxina.

“Quentin Honeybrook just arrived.” She swallowed, wringing her hands. “He claims he has a source who has seen Mitchel in Seven Dials.”

God’s blood.

Roxina paled but, as always, remained stoic and composed.

Panic and histrionics weren’t in her repertoire.

“And he said,” Matilda’s throat bobbed as she forced out a few more words, “so does someone named Desmond.”

“Oh, no,” Roxina breathed.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Mitchel didn’t deserve rescuing.

In truth, this coincidence was too smoky by far and held the stench of a trap.

Shelby swiveled toward Roxina. He cupped her shoulders, gripping them firmly. “Roxina, whatever you do, do not leave this house. Your life may depend on it. I would have your word.”

She hesitated before her eyes filled with trust, and she dipped her chin.

“You have it, Shelby.”

He shot Matilda a hurried glance. “Matilda, stay with her.”

“Of course.” Pale as milk, Matilda clasped her hands. “Robyn said to hurry, Shelby.”

Before he could regret his actions, Shelby kissed Roxina’s forehead.