Cora reached forward and made sure the hood of Bronwyn’s cloak was over her head and the buttons were tightly fastened before they descended into the station. It was newly constructed by the looks of it. The hour was late, though the platform still bustled with activity. No one paid them any attention as another man approached, said something to Cora to which she nodded, and handed her a pouch. The coachman took his leave, and the maid gestured for them to follow the second man who carried their bags with him.

“This way,” Cora said in a low voice.

A knot in her throat, Bronwyn nodded. Her skin itched. She didn’t like not being in control. Normally, when she was doing any of her message deliveries, she knew exactly what had to happen, who the players were, how to extract herself from possible danger. She’d trusted Thornbury in Philadelphia, but that had been instinctive. Now, she had to trust that Rawley had her best interests at heart.

Head down, they weaved between people and walked past the cars until they came to one that was lit by a single gas lamp. Cora thanked the man when he deposited their belongings inside and vanished into the darkness with a bob of his head. They entered the empty railcar, and Bronwyn let out a sigh of relief that they were alone. She didn’t know if she could handle being with others, as on edge as she was.

“A private car?” she guessed.

Cora gave a nod. “The Duke of Ashvale cabled a friend to arrange it.”

Bronwyn was grateful for her brother’s help, but she knew it would not come without a price. She could appeal to her sister-in-law, Ravenna, for support and leniency, but Courtland took his family, which included both his half sisters, very seriously. She’d worry about him being overprotective later.

Right now, she was intent on escaping the man who would soon be on her heels. Thornbury would not let her go so easily; she felt it in her gut.

Paris was a big city, and she had friends there. Family too.

“What’s in the packet?” she asked Cora, letting out a breath and attempting to gather her scattered wits. Taking control and regaining her sense of power was the first step in not feeling so untethered.

“Money and an address.”

The maid handed her the pouch, and Bronwyn’s eyes widened at the blue-printed French banknotes and francs inside. “We should go to my aunt. She lives near the Bois de Boulogne and will naturally be in town for the Parisian season.”

Cora frowned. “Noel said to go to this specific place.”