Page 12 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

TWELVE

A couple of seconds later

A small sigh escaped her. “Of course, you are right. I’m sorry to be so mulish.”

A moment later, a chair scraped across the floor, overly loud in the cottage’s silence. She sat down, swiftly removed her half-boot, tucked the money inside, then slipped her foot into the boot again. The soft rustle of leather and the faint creak of the laces tightening filled the space.

As she secured the ties, she murmured, “I certainly never imagined you and I would ever be conspirators.”

Taking advantage of the dark to hide his expression, Shelby dared bathe her with a loving gaze. A fool’s indulgence, but one he could not resist.

In another time and another place, mayhap they might have been much more to each other.

For now, he appreciated that she no longer challenged him or hurled insults at every turn.

Roxina touched his arm, the warmth of her fingers burning through the fabric of his sleeve.

“Shelby, where are we going, and how do we get there?” Apprehension threaded her voice.

“We shall go to Greenwich and hide there until the mail coach to London arrives at six o’clock tomorrow morning.” The bag of supplies in one hand, he grasped her elbow with the other and guided her toward the door. “Once in the city, we have little choice but to impose upon our friends.”

Shelby loathed doing so.

At some point, someone would discover he had sold his house.

He did not want to answer the questions that would inevitably arise.

At once, Roxina said, “Georgine has invited me many times, as recently as last week, although I am not sure what she will think of Dash.”

They slipped into the night, closing the door behind them with a soft snick. Heavy with the scent of moist earth and honeysuckle, the nippy air wrapped around them.

Dash wasted no time marking a rosebush.

Shelby shook his head, then realized she could not see the motion. “No. I think we must impose upon my cousin, Robyn Fitzlloyd.”

Robyn’s house on London’s outskirts made the most sense. His estate sat far enough from the city that their arrival wouldn’t draw attention, unlike a townhouse in the heart of London. The large, well-appointed residence assured discreetness. Its many rooms and grounds near the Thames ensured they could come and go relatively unnoticed.

Robyn wouldn’t ask prying questions, and more importantly, he would keep their presence a secret.

Roxina touched Shelby’s forearm again, her fingers pressing lightly against his sleeve. “Give me a moment to hide the key. I told Mrs. Beale where to find it.”

“Make haste.” He sounded curter than he intended.

She scurried away, and the blasted frog croaked again.

Shelby scrutinized the garden, the hedgerows, and the flowerbeds, casting jagged silhouettes against the night.

A narrow footpath disappeared into the foliage, likely leading toward a back lane. If they avoided the main road, they could take the twisting alley near the stables, then cut through the smithy’s yard to avoid watchful eyes. Beyond that, another lane led toward the common, where the soft ground would absorb sound.

Until they reached London, they remained in danger.

Only the Good Lord knew what the rest of the night would bring. But at all costs, Roxina must not fall into Desmond’s hands again. The man’s ruthlessness knew no bounds, and Shelby shuddered to think what the blackguard would do to her in his attempts to extract information she did not have.

Curse Mitchel Danforth for a treacherous varlet who would sooner cheat a friend than lift a finger in honest work. A raw surge of fury burned through Shelby’s veins. If he ever got his hands on the villain—the wretched cur whose conscience had long since rotted away—he doubted his ability to resist throttling Mitchel within an inch of his miserable life.

It did not escape Shelby that he might have to sacrifice his life to save Roxina, and he would do so without hesitation.

Then what might happen to her?

At the street’s edge, he turned her to face him, his hands firm but gentle as he held her shoulders, committing every detail of her face to memory. The night obscured much, but he knew her features by heart—the elegant curve of her cheekbones, the delicate slope of her nose, the way her lips parted slightly as though she wished to speak but held herself back.

He had never met a woman so strong yet so heartbreakingly vulnerable all at once.

“Roxina, if we become separated, you must promise me you will get on the mail coach.”

“No.” Roxina gripped his upper arms with a ferocity he had not expected and shook him hard. She dug her fingers into his jacket, clutching the fabric as though sheer will alone could force her conviction into him.

“It was one thing when I did not know you had cared and provided for me.” Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with something raw, something unyielding. “When I thought you were nothing more than a vexing, insufferable man who delighted in making my life difficult.”

He caught the sharp, uneven rhythm of her breaths as she fought against the emotions surging within her. The air hung heavy, charged with something unspoken, but her gaze stayed locked on his—guilt, regret, and something deeper flickering in her eyes, as if she feared acknowledging it.

“I fought you at every turn,” she continued, gripping his arms tighter.

Heat radiated through the layers of his clothing, searing into Shelby’s skin.

“I was ungrateful. I was cruel. And all this time, you—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Shelby stood motionless, stunned by the vehemence of her confession, by the sheer weight of her emotions crashing down upon them both.

“I owe you a debt I can never repay,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. “And now that I know—now that I understand all you have done for me—I shall not let you make any more sacrifices for me. I can only hope that, while I do not expect we can ever be friends, you can, at least, forgive me for how I treated you.”

Her breaths came fast and uneven, each exhale ragged.

A restless energy hummed between them.

Shelby swallowed hard, no reply, flippant or taciturn, coming to mind.

Because, in truth, he had nothing to forgive.

Roxina might rail against herself, cursing her past transgressions, but she did not seem to understand—he had done nothing to earn her gratitude. He had never intended for her to discover what he had done for her over the years, nor could he have predicted she would care so much.

And yet—she did. Passionately.

The air between them crackled with an unspoken, undeniable energy, as if the night itself held its breath, waiting. They stood together, tethered by something inescapable—whether fate, chance, or something far more elusive or dangerous.

Jaw sagging, Roxina pointed a shaky finger toward him. “ You .”

Her whisper struck him harder than a cudgel.

Shelby’s pulse pounded, each beat slamming through his veins. He tensed, bracing for the inevitable.

“Mrs. Beale was right.” Roxina retreated a few paces, her shocked gaze locked on Shelby. Beneath her cloak, her chest rose and fell in quick succession, reminding him of a cornered mouse. The space between them widened, yet tension crushed him like a vise.

She knows .

Somehow, he had given himself away.

Brow furrowed, Roxina clenched her hands at her sides.

Her accusing look skewered him as the bastions he had erected of secrecy, deception, and protection crumbled, stripping him of any remaining defenses he possessed against her claiming his heart irrevocably.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she parted her lips as if she struggled to force the words from her throat. She licked her lower lip at once a vulnerable maiden and a fierce Amazonian warrior.

“You are the anonymous source who sent me money all these months.” Jagged with incredulity, hoarse with betrayal, her words rang harshly in the night.

“I am.” He gave a sharp nod, the vice tightening around his ribs, so unforgiving he could barely draw a breath.

The truth stood between them now, exposed and irreversible.

She blinked hard; the battle waging inside her was clear in the rigid set of her shoulders, wide-accusing eyes, stubborn set of her delicate jaw, and timorous lines of her mouth. Her focus remained locked on him—her eyes, pools of anger, shock, wonder, and something else which sent heat sluicing through him.

Her silence crashed into him, devastating and inescapable.

Deserved.

Shelby waited, slowing his breath to keep himself calm, though every instinct screamed for him to do something.

What ?

Apologize ?

What the hell for?

If not for him, she might well have found herself on the streets in unthinkable circumstances.

Ask her for forgiveness?

Again, why?

Until today, she had only ever shown him contempt and loathing.

By God, he would never be numpty enough to declare himself.

Not when she leveled him with a murderous glance that might have incinerated another man, but Shelby had built up years of resistance to her scorching scorn.

“Well?” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Have you nothing to say?”

I love you.

I have only ever loved you.

How could I watch you suffer and do nothing ?

I would rather carve out my eyes and go through life blind than ignore your plight.

Shelby removed his hat and plowed a hand through his hair.

Her accusing gaze probed him, as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time.

Perhaps, in a way, she was.

“This is not the time to speak of it, Roxina.”

Shelby deliberately kept his tone neutral, his pitch subdued.

They were not safe.

Even now, Desmond and his men might bear down upon them. “We must make our escape, but I give you my word, we will both have our say once at my cousin’s.”

Dash nuzzled her hand, and she dropped her attention to him. “I do not intend to stay at your cousin’s beyond tonight.”

Shelby firmed his mouth against the irritated retort that sprang to his lips. Because truthfully, Roxina had no choice. He would lock her in a chamber if it meant keeping her safe.