Page 7 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)

SEVEN

An abandoned tavern

The outskirts of Blackheath, England

That same morning—perhaps an hour later…

“ Wake up . You must wake up.”

Gentle but persistent shaking roused Roxina, and groaning, she forced her eyelids open. Confusion muddled her mind as she tried to remember what had happened.

She had been walking to church with Dash.

A coach lurched to a stop beside her.

Two thugs dragged her inside, and one cuffed her across the cheek.

Then nothing.

Until now.

She swallowed against the fear tightening her throat.

God above, she had been abducted.

Abducted!

Why?

Her cheek burned hotly where the clod had struck her. She had no doubt a bruise had already begun to form. The throbbing pain in her skull only added to her disorientation.

What of Dash?

Had the curs injured him?

Renewed fear and fury tunneled through Roxina’s veins.

She forced herself to count: one, two, three, four, five .

Histrionics and rage would get her nowhere.

She must stay calm and focused.

Muted light filtered inside between the wide cracks in the irregular boards that made up the uneven walls.

Roxina blinked, trying to focus her gaze.

Where was she?

Dust motes floated in the golden rays crisscrossing the shadowy interior. The scent of mildew, urine, and sour ale clung to the air as the damp walls exhaled decades of neglect. Every surface bore the weight of dust and decay. The cobweb-covered wooden planks above her creaked, whispering secrets of past transgressions.

A broken pierced-tin lantern dangled from a rusted nail, its smoke-stained, cracked glass splintering the golden light that slipped through the gaps in the walls, casting eerie patterns across the dirt floor. Crates, umber-colored rum bottles, barrels, and other rubbish lay scattered about haphazardly, as if long ago, someone had tossed them aside and forgotten them.

She lay in what appeared to be an abandoned tavern or inn.

The countryside boasted several such deserted and dilapidated buildings.

At one time, Blackheath had been quite a den for nefarious characters. This sagging building might once have been a haunt for highwaymen or a smugglers’ storehouse.

The stains marring her new gown and gloves would never wash out, but that didn’t matter. A movement in the corner caught her attention—a rat, its beady eyes glowing in the dim light, paused mid-scuttle, as if surprised to see a human in its domain.

The hairs stood up on her nape and arms.

She sensed someone else nearby.

Ever so slowly, she turned her head.

“Are you hurt?” A scraggly, unkempt figure loomed across her vision. A patch over one eye, a scruffy beard, and his hat pulled low over his face hid his features.

She gasped and threw her hand up in protection.

“ Shh . I’m not going to harm you, Roxina. It’s me, Shelby,” he whispered, his voice edged with urgency.

“ Shelby ?” Cautiously lowering her arm, Roxina peered at him.

He offered a sideways, boyish smile and lifted the patch from his eye for a moment before lowering it again. Familiar gray eyes twinkled at her.

My God, it is him .

Unexpected joy ripped through her at seeing him.

“Why are you here?” Roxina sat up, wincing as pain flooded her head. “Wait, I’ve seen you in Blackheath. Have you been watching me?”

“I do not want them to hear us talking.” Casting a harried glance toward the lopsided door, Shelby held a finger up to his lips. “We can discuss that later. Right now, we need to concentrate on escaping.”

She couldn’t argue with his wisdom.

“Who are they?” Her attention riveted on the rickety door, Roxina licked her lower lip.

“The ringleader is a man your brother cheated at cards.” Turning his firm mouth down, Shelby slanted his sandy eyebrows together. “He is also the mastermind of a cutthroat band of highwaymen known as the Bloodoak Brotherhood.”

Roxina could not prevent her dismayed gasp as her hands went clammy with fear. No one needed to tell her that men like that did not leave witnesses.

Shelby shoved his hat off his forehead. “I’m afraid he is convinced you know where Mitchel is.”

“I don’t.” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling nauseous. “I have not seen or heard from him since before Christmas.”

Shelby nodded, as if he had suspected as much. “I did not think you had, but they will not be dissuaded.”

The door latch rattled, announcing an imminent interruption.

“Hurry, lie down. Pretend you are unconscious still.” Shelby slid several feet away, slouching into the shadows.

At once, Roxina curled onto her side again, her back to the door, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard, surely her captives could hear each beat.

Its hinges protesting the movement, the door creaked open. Light filtered into the small room but failed to reach the farthest corners.

A rough-voiced man asked, “She awake yet?”

“Does she look awake?” Shelby’s icy tenor sent a shiver rippling down Roxina’s spine.

She had only heard him use that tone of voice once before—the night he had rescued her from a seedy inn during a snowstorm.

“Just how hard did you hit her?” Shelby hissed.

“Hard ’nough to teach the chit a lesson.” The fiend chuckled before slamming the door behind him.

The moment his footsteps receded, Shelby crouched beside her.

Roxina rolled over to face him.

“What are we going to do, Shelby?”

It didn’t escape her that none of the familiar animosity she usually felt in his presence troubled her. But then, her life had never been at stake before, forcing her to rely upon him.

“I’ve loosened several boards with a knife I carry in my boot.” He smiled in satisfaction. “They took my pistol, but surprisingly, they didn’t search me. They are not the brightest lot.”

“Then we can escape?” A spark of hope flickered to life within her.

He nodded. “If we time it right. But we have to be quick and quiet. They will be back to check on you soon.”

A twinge of dread curled in Roxina’s stomach.

She glanced toward the door.

The men were dangerous, but she would rather take her chances of escaping than remain a prisoner—or worse.

Shelby hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. He brushed his calloused fingertips against the back of her hand, a gentle reassurance amid their peril.

“I shan’t let anything happen to you, Roxina. I swear it.”

Her breath caught at the earnestness in his voice, the warmth in his touch chasing away the icy fear that had settled in her bones. How long had it been since she had felt this kind of security—this kind of trust?

Never.

And something more stirred—something foreign, new, infinitely wonderful, and wholly unexpected.

Without forethought, she raised her face, offering a silent invitation.

Doubt flickered in Shelby’s uncovered eye before he very slowly lowered his head and brushed his mouth across hers.

Tentative. Sweet.

Blissful.

Every thought flew from her mind, and only sensation remained.

An instant later, he lifted his head.

“You are a wonder, Roxina Danforth.”

Her exact thought about him.

What was wrong with her?

How could she let him kiss her?

No, not let him.

Practically beg him to by presenting her mouth like a Saturday night trollop.

Chagrin heated Roxina’s cheeks, but though she wanted to avert her face to hide her mortification, Shelby’s gaze held her prisoner, making her incapable of looking away.

He traced the curve of her wrist with his thumb, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the feel of her, even as he bathed her face with a tender expression.

When had he ever been anything but kind to her?

Only once—at the Christmastide house party, after he learned Mitchel had deceived him and left him to face the incensed moneylender. But other than that night, Roxina could not recall a single time Shelby had not been considerate toward her.

She, on the other hand, had constantly eviscerated him verbally, excoriated him in her thoughts, and sent murderous visual daggers his way—never once considering she might be wrong in her assessment of him.

Swallowing hard, Roxina blinked back the unexpected sting of tears.

“Are you ready?” His voice softened, coaxing her back to the moment.

With a deep breath, Roxina grasped his hand, squeezing tighter than necessary, as if afraid he might vanish. His firm grip steadied her as much as it guided her. For a fleeting moment, despite the dire circumstances, she felt something deeper—something unspoken—bloom between them.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He gave a firm nod. “Stay close.”

He needn’t tell her twice.

Nudging aside the loose boards, he allowed Roxina to slip outside.

Shelby promptly followed.

“We’ll hide there until nightfall,” he whispered in her ear as he pointed toward dense woods in the distance.

Oxleas Wood.

“Run, Roxina. And don’t stop.” Shelby gripped her hand and urged her into a sprint. “Our lives depend on reaching those trees.”