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Drawing her cloak over her shoulders to ward off the encroaching chill, she planted herself on a little stool before the fire and waited, unwilling to lie on the bed for fear of making a noise—or of sleep overtaking her. Despite her fright, she felt exhausted enough to nod off.
All around her, the inn quieted. The fire died down until all that was left were the dim embers at its very heart. When she felt she could stay awake no longer, she rose, shook off her drowsiness, stretched, and padded over to the window once more.
The courtyard was dark and empty. The dim light from the windows only reached out a short distance before being swallowed by total blackness. Sabrina gazed up in dismay. The moon would provide little, if any, light through the thick clouds that had moved in over the past few hours.
Under her breath, Sabrina let out a stream of invective. There was nothing for it. If she did not get out now, she’d have to try and pretend ignorance until another opportunity presented itself, if indeed one did. Could she manage to hide her terror well enough?
Then, too, there was the danger that Fairford or Grimsby might hear her moving about through the wall in the morning and wonder if she’d heard anything she oughtn’t the night before. Even if she managed to fool them both, escape would be impossible once the vows were spoken.
It was now or never.
Stuffing her boots and cloak into the satchel, she tossed it out the window as far as possible, praying no one heard it land. After a moment of reassuring silence, she hiked up her cloak and gown and eased a leg over the sill.
HENRY GRIMACED AS he made his way toward the inn, its dim windows a blaze of brightness against the pitch backdrop of a moonless night.
For a little over three years, there had been whispers about town, rumors of girls going missing from Covent Garden. And bodies had been washing up along the banks of the river every six or seven months, bodies so horribly mutilated as to be unidentifiable, save for the fact that they were female. No one had so much as an inkling who the murderer might be.
Until now.
Fairford had moved to London a little over three years ago. Coupled with what he’d learned through his investigation of the man, Henry had little doubt he’d discovered the killer’s identity. And Sabrina was with him.
He’d ridden all day and all night, stopping at this or that village to verify whether Fairford’s carriage had passed through. Thankfully, the man’s desire for haste had driven him to take the most direct route from London.
He had also used his own carriage rather than a hired affair.
If the bastard wished to announce his presence to the whole English countryside, so much the better.
He walked his horse as near as he dared before loosely tying the reins to a branch and creeping up behind the stables.
There it is. Adrenaline rushed through his veins at the sight of Fairford’s coat of arms emblazoned upon the door of a carriage in the courtyard.
She was here. Somewhere in this shabby building, Sabrina lay sleeping—alone, God willing. He prayed she had made Fairford wait for the ceremony.
The front door was locked. He moved around the sides, looking for another means of entry. The door to the kitchen was propped open, allowing for some relief from the heat within.
Drawing his pistol and loosening the hilt of his sword, he made his way to the innkeeper’s quarters.
A floorboard creaked softly outs
ide her door, and Sabrina froze, one leg out on the ledge outside her window, the other still inside the room. Grimsby must have come to check on her!
The latch rattled once, and then there was quiet.
She breathed again, just as the door shuddered from a heavy impact. A muffled outcry of discontent came through the wall from Fairford’s room, even as her door banged against the trunk. Whoever it was trying to get in, it was not her fiancé! Panicking, she made haste to pull herself the rest of the way out.
With a muffled grunt, her uninvited guest shoved the offending obstacle out of his way and leaped into the room. “Sabrina?”
She nearly lost her grip on the sill, so startled was she to hear that voice. “Henry?” she called back, unbelieving.
He rushed in and plucked her from the opening.
“Henry!” Never in all her life had she been so glad to see another human being! Hysterical sobs erupted as she clung to him with all her might. Now that he was here, the full terror of this night held her in its grip.
“Has he hurt you?” he inquired, prying her loose to examine her face in the hearth’s glow.
“No, he has not touched me.” She was shaking so hard she thought her bones must be rattling against one another. “I refused him my bed until after the wedding.”
Doors had begun opening down the hall, and angry voices could be heard inquiring about the hubbub.
