Every instinct inside of her, born of reading outcomes and considering scenarios over the past year, told her not to go to the address. Not that she didn’t trust Rawley. It was Thornbury she was worried about. Going into hiding meant she was guilty, and Bronwyn would not back herself into a corner like a mouse for a cat to find. She would not cower. She was the blasted Kestrel.

“We will go to my aunt Esther. We’ll hide in plain sight.”

The maid blinked. “Do you think that is wise, my lady?”

“I do,” she said, feeling less panicky already as her nerves started to settle with the resolution of a plan that worked for her.

“There’s food here,” Cora said. “You should eat, use the water closet once the train starts moving, and get some rest. It won’t be long before we arrive in Paris, about six hours with stops.”

“Good.” She glanced at her loyal maid, who was preparing her a small plate of food from the basket on the table. “Thank you for doing this, Cora.”

She shook her head. “I’ll say one thing for you, my lady. You do keep life interesting.”

***

“What do you mean, she’s not here?”

Attempting unsuccessfully to curb his mounting temper, Valentine scowled at the hapless servant hovering in the doorway.

He’d spent a restless night, tossing and turning and unable to sleep, a deeply unsettling sensation crawling under his skin that something wasn’t quite right. Lord Daley had brayed all evening about the love of his life’s being so dreadfully ill, and when Valentine had gone to check, unlocking the door to the darkened room with a special set of instruments that opened any lock, he’d been satisfied.

Yes, he knew it was untoward to let himself into a lady’s room without her permission, but it’d been for his own peace of mind. Besides, she was his prisoner. He’d caught a whiff of her sweet, distinctive scent, seen the provocative bright yellow dress she’d worn draped untidily over the edge of the chair as if she’d undressed in a hurry.

He had frowned, wondering why her lady’s maid hadn’t done her job and put away the obviously expensive gown, but maybe she’d been more concerned with her sick mistress. To that end, the Bronwyn-shaped lump in the middle of the mattress had satisfied him enough to creep back outside and take himself off to his own quarters.

Now, however, he frowned, rubbing his gritty, sleep-deprived eyes.

“Begging your pardon, milord. I came to clean this morning as I always do, and no one was here. I thought milady was still asleep, but there were only pillows beneath the sheets.” She shook her head with rounded eyes. “Very strange.”