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Mitchel.

Her brother’s name seared Roxina’s mind like molten iron, his thoughtless recklessness leaving ruin in its wake. He had slithered away without consequence, while those left behind suffered for his reprobate choices.

Shelby had suffered too.

Roxina pressed her lips together, a warmth rising in her throat that had nothing to do with anger.

If not for Shelby…

She swallowed hard, not wishing to think of what could have happened yesterday or what could happen today, for that matter.

Shelby had been a steady force when her world spun out of control.

Unshakable. Unrelenting.

And now, because of her, he had set off into the unknown, chasing a man who had no regard for the lives he dismantled.

“With any luck, the lead regarding Mitchel will prove productive, and Shelby, Robyn, and Quentin Honeybrook will track him down.” Roxina tried to convey confidence, though doubts assailed her.

“Ahem.” Matilda, ever practical, cleared her throat. “I do not mean to intrude, as I am not a member, but the Ladies of Opportunity are welcome to meet here. You could use the drawing room. I’m positive Robyn would not object.”

Aubriella’s face brightened despite the pregnant tension in the air.

“This may not be the best time for formalities, but we all agree, Mittie.” Aubriella met Roxina’s, Claire’s, and Georgine’s gazes in succession. “We would like to invite you to join the Ladies of Opportunity.”

“Yes!” Eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, Matilda clapped gaily and nodded, her red curls bouncing with the movement. “I would love to.”

“And we would love to have you.” Claire gave her hand a firm but affectionate squeeze. She turned back to Roxina, keen intelligence gleaming in her brown eyes. “Do you truly believe this Desmond fellow presents a threat to us?”

“I fear so.” Removing her bonnet, Roxina nodded, her expression darkening. “The wretch is the very embodiment of wickedness, a soul so blackened and depraved that even the devil himself would recoil. I’ve seen the depths of his villainy firsthand—there’s not a shred of decency left in him. I’ve never met⁠—”

The gate latch clicked sharply, interrupting their earnest conversation.

As one, Roxina and the other women pivoted, staring mesmerized as the shaded gateway creaked open.

Matilda’s breath caught as the color drained from her face. “Only Robyn and the footmen ever use that gate.”

Robyn?

Or Shelby?

The stableboy?

Please, let it be one of them.

Please, please, please.

A cool breeze wafted through the opening, carrying the mew’s pungent odors: horseflesh, manure, hay… And then, more acrid aromas—unwashed bodies and stale tobacco. Shadows stretched long across the pathway as two ominous figures slipped inside, their movements too smooth, too practiced.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Aubriella murmured, her voice tight. Freckles stark against her pale skin, she half-turned toward Matilda. “I presume you do not know these men?”

“No,” she whispered, eyes round with alarm.

But Roxina did, God help them.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, the frantic rhythm echoing through her chest like a drumbeat against her ribs. She pushed to her feet, her skirts rustling against the wrought-iron bench. Claire and Georgine rose beside her, their movements slow and deliberate.

Teeth bared, Dash released a menacing growl, his posture bristled with barely contained energy—a hound scenting danger.