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The light thud of Ashford's shoes striking the cobblestone obliterated that notion.
Noelle's hands knotted into fists, and she waited, half-expecting the blanket to be yanked off her and Ashford to be looming over her, demanding to know what she was doing here.
Neither occurred.
In a muted flurry, Ashford's footsteps moved away from the phaeton and disappeared.
Silence hung heavy in the air—for taut, prolonged minutes.
At last, Noelle dared take her chances. Shifting the blanket ever so slowly, she paused when the night air struck her face, took a preliminary glance about before emerging fully.
It was eerily dark, the area around her utterly still.
Inhaling sharply, Noelle took the plunge, popping her head out and assessing her surroundings.
The phaeton was nestled against a remote street corner, an overhang of trees nearly concealing it from view. The nearest streetlamp was at least half a block away, throwing the phaeton into complete darkness.
Obviously, Ashford wanted his coming and going to remain undetected.
The question was, coming and going from where?
Growing bolder, Noelle crept to the edge of her seat, staring intently in the direction of the streetlamp.
From what she could make out from the silhouettes cast by the light, there were several houses down the way; large, splendid houses like her father's or Ashford's. She was right about one thing: they were definitely still in the West End of Town.
So what in God's name was Ashford doing here?
She'd better figure it out quickly. He'd already been gone at least a quarter hour, and she had no idea how long this segment of his mission—whatever that might be—would take.
Scarcely had Noelle made that determination when, out of nowhere, a figure in black emerged from the shadows down the street, racing towards the phaeton.
Jolting with shock, Noelle bit back her scream of fear, watching the man draw closer, a burlap sack in his hand, a hood covering his face.
That powerful build,
those lithe movements—dear God, it was Ashford.
Acting on pure instinct, Noelle ducked down, slid onto the carriage floor, and yanked the blanket over her head. She was almost certain he hadn't seen her. Her hair and mantle were black, and it was virtually pitch dark where he'd left the phaeton. The position of the streetlamp had been in her favor, providing enough light for her to see his approach.
His approach … from where?
She had no time to contemplate the ramifications of what had just occurred. Seconds later, Ashford reached the carriage, his shallow breaths evidence that he'd been running. Without delay, he leaned over the rumble seat—mere feet above where Noelle lay—and shoved the burlap sack beneath the blanket covering her. She could feel it press against the top of her head and, in response, she tensed, resisting her natural instinct to ease away from the pressure. She was afraid to make the slightest move, to do anything that would catch Ashford's eye. All she could do was lie utterly still and pray he wouldn't notice the additional baggage beneath his concealing blanket.
He was either too confident or in too much of a hurry to search the backseat for intruders. A heartbeat later, he leaped into the driver's seat, slapped the reins, and sped off.
This time they were definitely headed for the East End.
Noelle drew that conclusion about a quarter of an hour later. She could tell, not only by the length of the drive, but by the change in the road condition—altering from well maintained to broken and rutted.
Gingerly, she reached out her hand, touched the edge of the sack. Her curiosity would never permit her to share a hiding place with a mysterious object without knowing what that object was. And her time to explore was limited.
She lifted the open edge of the sack and tried to peer inside.
It was too bloody dark to make out anything. So she relied upon her sense of touch. Reaching inside, she explored the shape and texture, found the hard, defined rectangular edges, the angular contours, and the smooth, flat…
Noelle had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
The object in the sack was a painting.
