Page 16 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

SIXTEEN

Fernleigh House study

Half a dozen tense seconds later

At Roxina’s question, Shelby jerked his head up and spun around.

Bloody maggoty hell.

The last thing he needed was for her to overhear him.

Asleep near the hearth, Dash leaped to his feet when he heard her voice, his ears flicking forward as he stretched before trotting to her side, nails clicking against the polished wood floor.

“I wondered where you disappeared to.” Roxina scratched behind his ears, and the mongrel gave her an adoring doggy smile, his tail thumping against her skirts.

Profoundly fetching in a cheerful coral-colored gown, the fabric flowing as she moved, she’d never been lovelier. She must have borrowed the gown from Matilda Fitzlloyd. The hue deepened the rich brown of Roxina’s eyes, brought out the healthy glow of her skin, and revealed the merest hint of copper in her sable hair.

Shelby had not noticed the subtle change in her hair before; the time she spent in the sun in Blackheath had added burnished streaks to her tresses. He liked the auburn ribbons. It meant she had adjusted to her peaceful life there and had been content.

Until that pitiless, black-souled jackanapes who would steal the pennies off a corpse’s eyes and complain they weren’t sovereigns, Rufus Desmond shattered her serenity, tossing her tranquil life head over heels. And as usual, when one dug around in the muck, Mitchel Danforth emerged as the root of the problem.

She swept into the study, her gaze roving the room for a moment before settling back on Shelby, sharp and expectant. “Well? What is it you do not want me to know?”

Shelby clenched his jaw.

He certainly would not tell her the truth—that Mitchel had been spotted in London, looking far worse for wear. At least not until he verified the information himself.

A mocking grin tilting his mouth, Robyn rested a shoulder against the carved walnut fireplace mantel, idly tracing the intricate scrollwork as if he had not a care in the world.

The dying fire in the grate cast faint, flickering shadows along the mahogany-paneled walls lined with bookshelves. The familiar scent of aged parchment, leather-bound tomes, and lingering ash settled around Shelby—the scents so ingrained in the study he barely noticed them anymore.

Awaiting Shelby’s response, Roxina took in the dark wood furniture, the towering shelves, and the thick green drapes drawn open to let in the afternoon light.

The study had always been Robyn’s retreat, a space untouched by the frivolities of the rest of the house, and Shelby had spent enough time in here over the years that he no longer paid much attention to the furnishings.

A large, well-worn pedestal desk of rich mahogany stood to one side, its broad surface stacked with correspondence and an ornate brass horse-shaped inkwell. Though slightly dated in style, with deep drawers lining both sides and a central kneehole, the desk remained in excellent condition, its polished surface bearing the faint marks of years of use.

Behind it sat a nut-brown buttoned leather chair with a high, gently curved back and sturdy, carved wooden legs, its supple leather softened by time. A decanter of brandy and cut crystal glasses rested atop a nearby sideboard, the scent of aged spirits mingling with the faint aroma of tobacco lingering in the air.

The room reflected Robyn’s personality exactly.

“I’d say you’re in rather a pickle, cousin,” Robyn chuckled, enjoying Shelby’s discomfort. “Neck deep in molasses, if you ask me. A very fine fettle, indeed.”

Shelby leveled his cousin with a cease-your-blathering scowl , but Robyn only grinned wider. Leave it to Robyn to find amusement in the situation.

“A proper mull, a fine kettle of fish.” Pulling his left earlobe, Robyn cast his gaze ceilingward as if searching for more ridiculous idioms. “A right tight spot and a dashed rum situation—all wrapped up with a pretty bow, I daresay.”

“Enough, Robyn,” Shelby fairly growled.

The tiniest smile played around the corners of Roxina’s pretty mouth.

Robyn wasn’t the only one enjoying himself at Shelby’s expense. But while Robyn’s teasing rankled, Roxina’s mirth didn’t bother Shelby a jot. In truth, it lifted his spirits to see her happy.

Scrambling for a plausible response, Shelby hesitated in replying to her question. Roxina would not easily be put off or fooled.

His excuse must be believable.

“I’m waiting, Shelby.” Arms folded akimbo, she tapped her toe—clear signs that Shelby had nearly exhausted her patience. It seemed Roxina’s jollity didn’t extend to releasing him from answering her inquiry.

“Oh, very well.” He threw his hands up in mock resignation. “I did not want you to know that I asked Matilda to help me order new clothes for you.” He waved a hand toward her. “I knew you would balk.”

Robyn made a strangled sound in his throat, but Shelby’s glare silenced whatever his irritating cousin might have said.

Rather impressed with his quick thinking, Shelby nearly believed his lie.

Of course, it was a colossal fabrication.

In truth, Roxina would need clothing. She could hardly rely on borrowing from Matilda for the entirety of their visit, though Matilda, with her generous heart, would not object. However, he dared not risk sending one of Robyn’s servants to retrieve garments for Roxina.

She released a snort worthy of a winded racehorse. “Balderdash and rubbish. What need is there to keep that a secret? Besides, you know I shan’t accept such a magnanimous offer from you. It would be highly improper.”

As had all the money he had sent over the years, but Shelby kept that retort to himself.

She strode farther into the room, trailing her fingers along the polished surface of a sturdy oak table stacked with neatly rolled maps and papers. Light streamed through the tall, mullioned windows, catching the golden edges of a globe perched atop a stand in the corner. Despite himself, Shelby couldn’t help but admire her beauty as the sunlight cast a warm glow around her.

Robyn chuckled outright, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I do believe she’s got you there. It would certainly hint at impropriety, and can you imagine what the rumormongers would do with such a juicy tidbit?”

“Don’t you have something useful to do? Other than vexing me?” Shelby leveled his cousin with another scorching glare.

“Probably.” Robyn nodded. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Roxina sent Robyn a droll look. “Normally, I enjoy you tormenting Shelby, but I have something important to discuss with him. I would appreciate some privacy.”

This didn’t bode well.

“As you wish.” Robyn gave a mocking bow. “We shall see you in the dining room for the midday meal when you are finished. I believe Cook made lemon syllabub for dessert.” As he turned to leave, he tossed Shelby a knowing grin over his shoulder. “I do hope your tête-à-tête goes well.”

Oh, do put a pipe in your gob .

Shelby bit his tongue from speaking aloud.

He considered the open door.

Should he shut it to ensure no one eavesdropped?

After a moment’s hesitation, he decided against it.

No.

A closed door might give the appearance of indiscretion, though if anyone wanted to push the point, being alone with Roxina for hours upon hours yesterday would send tongues flapping harder and faster than a northeasterly gale—neither Dash nor Atherstone counted as a chaperone.

Roxina shook her head, the corner of her mouth quirking.

“Your cousin is a rapscallion, Shelby.”

Not the word Shelby would have used.

A single lock of hair slipped free of its pins, brushing against her cheek before she tucked it behind her ear. She moved to the far window and edged the heavy velvet drapery farther aside. “I presume Mr. Atherstone made it home without mishap?”

“According to Robyn, his driver deposited Atherstone at his London residence, where a remarkably tolerant manservant escorted him inside.” Shelby joined her at the window, clasping his hands behind his back. The study’s quiet dignity drew a stark contrast to the tension curling between him and Roxina. He swallowed, acutely aware of her nearness, the way her lashes trembled slightly before she looked at him, as if bracing herself.

She furrowed her eyebrows into a faint frown. The soft light from the windows cast a shimmer in her irises, turning them a shade richer, deeper. “How did Robyn’s driver get home?”

“I’m not sure.” Shelby shrugged. “Perhaps he walked. It’s not so very far.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It bristled, charged with a dozen unspoken words. He was almost afraid to ask what was so important that Roxina hadn’t wanted to discuss it in Robyn’s presence. On the other hand, a small thrill surged through him—she had sought his company unchaperoned. There was a time when she would have done anything to avoid being alone with him.

She turned away from the window, her expression momentarily uncertain. The hesitance lasted only a blink before vanishing behind a familiar steel of resolve. Straightening her spine, she lifted her chin but curled her fingers at her sides, betraying an unease she likely wished to conceal.

A robin landed in the purple lilac bush just outside the window. Tilting its little orangey-red faced head back and forth, it peered into the study, its tiny black-button eyes filled with equal parts curiosity and wariness.

Roxina firmed her mouth, then spoke in a rush.

“There’s no reason to mince matters. I know you wish for me to stay here, Shelby, but I do not think it is at all practical or appropriate. Matilda is hardly a suitable chaperone. I plan to write to a couple of my friends today and inquire if I might stay with them temporarily.”

Shelby released the air from his lungs with measured control, forcing his stance to remain casual even as tension knotted at the base of his skull. He had hoped she had put that annoying notion out of her mind. The thought of her leaving tightened something in his chest, an irrational frustration he had no right to feel.

You know it’s more than that.

Stubble it, he told his irritatingly honest conscience.

“Matilda could act as a chaperone.” Curving his mouth into a smile, he sought to reassure her without seeming argumentative. “I know it’s not quite the thing, but since no one is supposed to know we’re here—other than Robyn, Matilda, and their servants—it might suit.”

She parted her lips slightly but said nothing.

The amber-gold sunlight shone against her skin, accentuating the delicate line of her throat as she swallowed.

Dash, curled on the rug near the hearth, growled softly in his sleep, his tail twitching idly, but Shelby barely registered the dog’s dreaming. His world had shrunk to the woman before him, to the way she studied his face, searching, weighing his words with that astute mind of hers.

Roxina had always been remarkable.

Stubborn, sharp-witted, and more capable than most men he knew, but beneath that was something rarer still—courage tempered by kindness, strength wrapped in an elegance that had nothing to do with gowns or etiquette.

And, damn him, he cared for her.

Much, much more than he ought.

Hoping to encourage her further, he said, “I know you don’t give a fig about what Society thinks of you, even if some chinwag should learn the truth of it.”

Bristling like an affronted hen, Roxina jutted her stubborn chin out at a mulish angle.

In an instant, Shelby knew he had said the wrong thing—although which part had been the wrong thing, he couldn’t be certain.

“I am aware you have little consideration for my reputation, Shelby, and I am aware that, as a spinster with little prospect of marriage, people might believe I should not care.” Her voice quavered, but she pressed on. “But I do care. Because what I do reflects upon those who care for me.”

“I did not mean to insult you, Roxina.”

“Well, you did.” She took a step forward, her gaze burning into his. “What would happen to Aubriella if rumors circulated that I was engaging in illicit affairs or had been compromised? She has been gracious enough to let me live in her cottage, and I would not have whispers about me tarnish her reputation.”

The camaraderie of the day before seemed to have vanished.

Roxina regarded Shelby with the same mistrust and wariness she had held toward him for years.

He stepped away, then turned so he could face her directly.

“Roxina, I made a vow to myself that I would look after you.”

She opened her mouth, no doubt ready with an eviscerating retort, but he lifted a hand. “No, please. Let me finish.”

Mutiny sparked in her dark brown eyes, but she snapped her mouth shut.

He vowed he heard her teeth collide.

“First, you must know I would never do anything to tarnish your reputation. If I have done so in the past, I sincerely apologize.” He softened his voice to a coaxing timbre. “I brought you to Robyn’s because I know it is safe. I’m also certain Desmond won’t look for you here. However, because he has been watching your house and has seen Aubriella, Georgine, and Claire visiting weekly, he would likely suspect you fled to one of them.”

Roxina hesitated, absorbing his words. “How could you know that unless you also watched the cottage?”

“I concede, I did a few times.” Heaving a sigh, he cupped his nape. “Just what do you ladies have to talk about that you must meet every week? Don’t you socialize enough already?”

“As you are not my keeper,” that stubborn chin inched higher, and her expression grew as shuttered as a nunnery during a blizzard, “that is none of your business.”

It wasn’t.

“We are the Ladies of Opportunity . That is all you need to know.”

“Still, I do not think you understand precisely how dangerous or determined Desmond is, Roxina.”

Just remembering what the cur had done to Roxina made Shelby’s blood boil, and knowing Desmond was capable of far worse instantly turned his skin clammy and cold.

A glimmer of understanding dawned on her features.

“That’s what you didn’t want me to know, isn’t it, Shelby?” She twisted her fingers in the coral skirt. “You’re going after him, and you mean to leave me here. Thrust me upon Robyn and Matilda like an orphaned kitten or stray dog.”

Dash’s ears flickered, and he cracked an eye open.

“But as kind as your cousins have been, we are not intimate acquaintances. I refuse to be a burden to them.” Spine poker-stiff, she retreated a few paces, her delicate features etched with tension before she presented her back. “Any more than I shall continue to burden you .”

“Roxina, you are not a burden to me.” Conviction and truth made his voice firm and unwavering. “Everything I have done and continue to do for you is because I want to.”

“ Why ? Why ?” Throwing her hands up, she swirled around to face him, the fabric of her dress swishing against her boots. “I don’t understand why you keep intruding into my life, taking care of me, providing for me, protecting me when I have never asked you to.”

“Haven’t you guessed?” He tenderly grasped her shoulders, staring into those pools of liquid chocolate. “Haven’t you suspected in the least?”

She searched his face, her gaze rolling over his features slowly, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. Her eyes softened, and she formed a little ‘O’ with her mouth.

“Shelby, you… You care for me?”

Shelby’s breath hitched.

Yes. Yes. Yes .

His heart swelled, so full of love for her that it was a wonder it didn’t burst. Knowing the moment he had equally dreaded and longed for was finally at hand, he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, meeting her gaze once more.

“Roxina. I love you.”

Gasping, she stumbled backward two paces.

She stared in wide-eyed astonishment and disbelief, and then an undefinable emotion shadowed her features.

“ How can you?” she asked barely above a whisper, her voice raspy and raw. “I have treated you abominably for years.”

“Love keeps no record of wrongs.” Shelby offered a rueful smile, a dry chuckle escaping as he gave a slight shrug. “Love exists whether one wants it to or not. It does not ask permission, nor does it abide by reason or practicality. It takes root where it will, growing despite reluctance and the odds, defying every logical argument against it.”

She stood in stunned and awkward silence that stretched on interminably.

Shelby dropped his focus to his boots.

Idiot .

He hadn’t expected a declaration of love in return, but her wariness?

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.

It very well might be the last time he ever held her in his arms.