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“Down—quiet.” Roxina spoke calmly despite the fear creeping up her spine. “Stay.”

The dog obeyed but remained alert, his nearly black eyes locked on the intruders.

“Well now, what do we have here?” A tall brute with a thin scar lashing his cheek stepped forward, his lewd grin revealing yellowed teeth. “A gathering of fine ladies?”

“What a pleasant surprise.” His stockier companion chuckled, a rough grating in his throat. “What a pity, we must interrupt.”

Roxina’s abductors.

She had prayed never to set eyes on either scoundrel again.

Terror washed over her, so overpowering, dizziness momentarily swept her.

She closed her eyes for half a dozen heartbeats and counted: one, two, three, four, five.

If these malefactors were here, what did that mean for Shelby and the others?

Had they walked straight into a trap?

Features pinched as if she held her breath, Georgine tilted her head, surveying the men as if they were offal or excrement. “I imagine it’s far less pleasant to go through life reeking of failure, body odor, and sour ale.”

The shorter man’s smirk faltered. He shifted his stance, shoulders tensing as if debating whether to take offense.

Folding her hands before her, Claire heaved in an exaggerated sigh while wrinkling her nose.

“Tragic, really,” she said, her tone bored. “Almost as tragic as the aroma clinging to you. Did you take a plunge into a tanner’s pit or merely roll about in a heap of decaying carcasses for sport?”

The brute’s face darkened, and he fisted his hands at his sides. “I would watch my tongue if I was you, miss.”

“It is missus.” Claire met his glower straight on.

Roxina barely heard their exchange, for another menacing figure stepped through the open gate.

Her pulse stilled.

She knew.

It was him.

Though she had never seen Desmond, she needed no introduction.

The moment his boots scraped against the stone pathway, his presence wound around her like a noose.

Rufus Desmond.

The fragrance of expensive cologne barely masked the sour tang of spirits emanating from him. His dark hair gleamed in the dim light, slicked back with precision, yet the faint creases at his collar hinted at a night spent in places where dignity dared not tread.

Roxina clasped her trembling fingers together.

Every muscle in her body screamed for her to run.

Chin up, shoulders squared, excoriating him with her glare, she stood her ground. “Why are you here?”

As if she didn’t already know.

Desmond bent his mouth into a slow, derisive smile.

“Hello, Miss Danforth.”