Ashlyn watched as a footman opened the carriage door for Carlos, helping the drunken lord. As they were both occupied, Ashlyn moved. She kept to the absolute blackness of the alley's shadow, circling around to the other side of the carriage, the side facing the street, away from the footman. Her heart was in her throat. She was exposed for just a second. But the street was empty.
With a speed she didn't know she possessed, she yanked the heavy carriage door open, scrambled inside, and pulled it shut without a sound.
The carriage was dark, smelling of old leather and, now, faintly of wine and cheap perfume. She pressed herself into the far corner, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to vanish into the shadows, her breath held so tightly it burned her lungs.
