The Silver Coin (31 page)

It might be nothing more than a coincidence. On the other hand, it might lead to the kidnapped women.

The problem was, it wouldn’t lead to the assassin— not fast enough to stop him.

Time was running out.

By the time Royce reached Medford Manor, he’d made a decision. Someone had to go to Calais. Armed with a description of the missing women, this someone had to be subtle enough and shrewd enough to ask the right questions, investigate this matter from the receiving end in the hopes of finding the buyer, which, in turn, could lead to the assassin.

Unfortunately, that someone couldn’t be him.

Because the hunt would take several days at least, especially since it meant following leads from the port of Calais to wherever those women had been taken. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t, leave Breanna for that amount of time.

Hibbert, however could.

Royce drew his carriage up to Medford’s iron gates.

Rather than just waving him on, Mahoney approached the carriage, simultaneously gesturing for his men to begin opening the gates.

“There was another delivery late this morning,” he told Royce. “I left it with Hibbert. I thought you should know.”

Nodding tersely, Royce waited only until Mahoney had backed away. Then, he slapped the reins and sent his carriage racing down the drive.

He mounted the front steps two at a time.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Wells greeted Royce, flinging open the door at once.

“Mahoney told me about the package,” Royce replied, his gaze darting about, searching for Breanna. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, my lord.” Wells didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Lady Breanna and Lady Anastasia are in the library playing cards with Hibbert and Lord Sheldrake. I felt more comfortable guarding the door. But now that you’re back …” He made a sweep with his arm. “I’ll join you.”

Royce strode down the hall, veered sharply into the library, Wells only three paces behind him.

Breanna looked up, and Royce nearly sagged with relief at the sight of her, unharmed, outwardly composed as she played her game of whist.

“Did you learn anything?” she asked softly, laying down her cards.

“Nothing concrete. I’d rather discuss the package first.”

“As would I.” Hibbert rose, abandoning the game to cross over, hand Royce the box they’d received hours ago. “I’d like your opinion.”

Royce read the note through twice, his frown deepening as he did. Then, he turned to the bottle, looking it over quickly before opening the stopper, sniffing the fragrance. Replacing the stopper, he studied the bottle more closely.

“This will narrow down the search,” he muttered. “The women are not only in France, they’re in Paris. Or not far from it.”

“So you agree that’s where you’ll find the jeweler who designed this bottle.”

“No. That’s whereyou’llfind the jeweler who designed this bottle.” Royce’s stare bore into Hibbert’s. “I need you to do this for me. I’m not leaving—not now. The situation here is far more immediate, and more dangerous, than the one at the receiving end.”

Damen jumped to his feet before Hibbert could reply. “You’re saying he’s about to—”

“Damen, stay calm,” Royce interrupted quietly. “I don’t think it’s a matter of hours, although he wants us to believe it is. But I do think he’s losing patience.”

“Then what’s stopping him from shooting?”

“I am.” Royce lowered his head, reread the note. “Not actively, but by what I represent—the ultimate contradiction. On the one hand, my involvement is plaguing the hell out of him. He wants me to get scared, back away. On the other hand, he wants me to figure out what he’s about, and to confront him. That way, he gets to enjoy the challenge—and to win. Without that, I’m just another obstacle to eliminate, which would be a great disappointment. So he’ll wait a bit longer, see what I do.”

Royce looked up, his mind racing. “In the meantime, he has no idea we’ve linked him to Medford’s selling of women. If he sees me leave the country, hell assume I succumbed to his threats. He’ll feel momentary triumph, then great disappointment. That will lead to restlessness and then rage. All his anger will focus on the one person he blames for everything: Breanna.That ‘swhen he’ll act.That ‘swhen Anastasia’s— and then Breanna’s—lives will be at greatest risk.” A pause. “Andthat ‘swhy I’m staying right here.”

Anastasia took Damen’s hand in hers, interlaced their fingers. “That makes sense,” she said, addressing Royce but speaking to her husband. “And it makes me feel much more secure.”

Royce was studying the package wrapping. “This was dispatched from here in England?” he asked Hibbert.

“Yes.” Clearly, Hibbert realized his employer was thinking along the exact same lines as he had. “And it’s the first package Lady Breanna’s received since the doll and the sketch came, two days ago.”

“He went to Paris. He bought the perfume there.”

“Yes, and now he’s back in England.” Hibbert rubbed his palms together, making swift plans. “I’d intended to wait for your return, after which I was going to ride down to Dover, glance over the manifests of this morning’s arriving ships. I’ll follow through on that. After which, I’ll take the first packet to Calais, then ride on to Paris. I’ll find out everything I can.”

“I have a strategy to help you do that.” Royce’s gaze drifted back to Breanna. “Hibbert, go pack a bag,” he instructed his friend. “Include some formal clothing. I’ll explain the details later.”

“Fine.” Hibbert looked distinctly unsurprised by Royce’s abrupt dismissal. Rather, he glanced about, leveling a pointed gaze, first at Wells, then at Anastasia and Damen, before delicately clearing his throat and heading for the door.

“A subtle hint,” Stacie noted, coming to her feet. “I think my cousin and herbetrothed,”she emphasized the word, “would like a moment alone. Come, gentlemen,” she told Damen and Wells. “You may both escort me to the sitting room. We have wedding plans to continue making.” She paused as she walked by Royce, rose up to kiss his cheek. “You, my lord, are a very lucky man. You’re also perfect for Breanna, just the man I prayed she’d find. I wish you every happiness.” A tremor crept into Stacie’s voice, the only indication of her persisting fear “May your brilliant tactics prevail, so you can share a long and happy future.”

“Thank you, Anastasia.” Royce squeezed her shoulder gently. “And I agree—my luck is incredible. As for the future, itwillbe long and happy for us all. You have my word.” He turned to Damen. “As do you.”

Damen shook his friend’s hand.”Iecho Stacie’s sentiments—with one additional comment. Perhaps now you’ll begin to understand why I’m irrational when it comes to my wife.”

A corner of Royce’s mouth lifted. “I’ve already begun.”

“My congratulations as well, sir,” Wells said with an approving nod. “I was wrong about you. I should have listened to Miss Stacie’s instincts. You’re a fine man. I wish you and Miss Breanna great joy.”

“Thank you.” Royce was torn between gratitude and amusement.

He waited until the door had closed and he and Breanna were alone before asking, “What exactly was Wells wrong about?”

Breanna smiled as she walked toward him. “Oh, Wells thought you were a little too wild and daring to be suitable for me. I think he also feared you were a bit of a womanizer.”

“Did he?” Royce reached for her, pulled her against him. “The wild and daring I can’t argue with. As for being a womanizer…” He tilted up her chin with his forefinger. “The only woman I want is you.” He lowered his head, covered her mouth with his. “I’m consumed with you, Breanna Colby,” he murmured into her parted lips. “I think about you all day, burn for you all night. And I worry about you every minute I’m away.”

“Then don’t go.” She twined her arms around his neck. “Guard me personally. Especially at night. The closer you are to me, the safer I feel.”

A chuckle vibrated through him. “Is that so? Then we’ll have to see how close I can get.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he promised.

“Perfect. Because I just remembered we have something to celebrate.” Breanna brushed Royce’s lips with hers. “Today is New Year’s Day.”

“That’s right. It is.” Royce’s arms tightened around her, and he molded the contours of her body to his. “No wonder the docks were so quiet. I’d completely forgotten.”

“So didI.”She shivered, pressing closer. “But now that I’ve remembered, I must say I much prefer this method of celebrating to the line of gentlemen callers I originally intended to receive.”

“I’m relieved. Otherwise, I’d be calling out a lot of men.” He silenced her response with his mouth, kissing her until she was trembling in his arms. “I hope you got at least a little sleep last night. Because tonight you won’t be shutting an eye. And it won’t be fear keeping you awake. It will be me.”

“How enticing.” Breanna’s eyes glowed. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Ten minutes later, Hibbert packed his final article of clothing and snapped the bag shut.

“Do you think I should contact Girard as soon as I arrive in Paris?” he inquired.

“Definitely.” Royce was perched at the edge of a chair, his posture rigid as he issued Hibbert’s instructions. “You know how good Girard is. His instincts are exceptional.”

“Almost as good as yours,” Hibbert commented, a statement of fact rather than acclaim. “I agree. He’s our most valuable contact in the area. Very well. I’ll stop in and see him before I visit the jewelers. How much do you want him to know?”

“Whatever you can tell him in a half hour. Don’t waste your time or his. He already knows about the assassin. I’ve asked him to do some checking, to see if he can find the physician who treated that wounded hand.”

Hibbert pursed his lips. “I never thought of that. But it makes sense. He didn’t dare have an English doctor look at his wound. It would be too risky.”

“Not to mention that if the trigger finger’s as damaged as I suspect—enough to make him drop out of sight for months and then compel him to return just to kill Breanna—he’d need a physician of extraordinary skill. An expert.”

“Perhaps he first met his business contact while recuperating abroad,” Hibbert suggested. “Whether by chance or intent.”

“Most likely intent. Pose that notion to Girard. Then tell him, in addition to the doctor, to start digging for whoever’s been buying the women, whether it’s Rouge or someone else. In the meantime, you trace the perfume. Just let Girard know what you’re doing so he can watch your back.”

“You mean, Lord Hobson’s back,” Hibbert corrected dryly. He quirked a brow at his employer. “I think I’ll enjoy playing the part of a nobleman.”

“I’m sure you will.” Royce rose, thinking through the final steps of his plan. “You know what to say in those letters?”

“Of course.” Hibbert grasped his bag, swung it off the bed. “I’ll take care of things at my end. You just keep everyone here safe.” A penetrating look. “Including yourself.”

“I intend to.” Royce glanced restlessly toward the window. “He’s out there, Hibbert. I can feel it. If only I could force him to confrontme,to vent his rage atme,rather than Breanna.”

Hibbert studied Royce for a long, thoughtful moment. “You’ve taught me well. So let me give you some of your own advice. A bit of apprehension is healthy. It’s what keeps our wits sharp and our senses honed.” A profound pause. “However, this is more than mere apprehension. It’s fear. That’s because the stakes are personal. Very personal. The life of the woman you love is at risk. So you’re terrified—terrified and determined to protect her, even at the expense of your own life.”

Royce’s head came up. “And you take exception to that?”

“No. I admire it. But I’m not the issue here. The killer is. He’ll use your vulnerability to his advantage. If he so much as senses the intensity of your feelings for Lady Breanna, it will make things worse for her. Don’t let him know how much she means to you, my lord. Don’t.”

Hibbert’s words echoed in Royce’s head all evening. He knew his friend was right. The worst thing he could do was alert the killer to his feelings. Lord only knew what kind of leverage that would provide.

Which meant only one thing.

Royce had to keep his distance from Breanna. Not just when they ventured outside or stood near windows, in full view of the world, but inside, as well. The killer’s latest message had made it clear he had access to the house—a taunt that might or might not be true. Consequently, Royce couldn’t take chances. Moments such as the one he and Breanna had shared earlier had to cease.

Except in one place: her bedroom.

It was the only detail Royce was convinced the killer hadn’t yet discovered—that Breanna was sleeping in different quarters. He, Damen, and Wells had been careful to continue making her room look lived in, especially at night. Obviously, they’d been successful. The assassin’s actions, or lack thereof, told them that. If he’d been aware of the switch, his arrogance would have insisted he throw it in their faces. He’d either have invaded Breanna’s new quarters or at least made some terrifying reference to doing so in his notes.

He hadn’t.

Which meant he didn’t know. Andthatmeant that Royce and Breanna still had the nights. Starting with tonight.

Royce didn’t even bother dragging a chair into the hallway when he positioned himself outside Breanna’s door. He was far too restless, too fidgety, too rife with energy to sit still.

He was also frantic to hold Breanna in his arms.

He spent the first part of the night pacing outside her door. And the minute the house fell silent, he reached for the door handle, let himself in.

Breanna was sitting on the bed, sketching by the thin filaments of moonlight that drifted through the window. Other than that and the glow of a crackling fire, the room was unlit, cast in shadows.

For safety.

And for him.

She looked up when he entered, putting aside her sketchpad and rising to her feet. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Royce caught his breath. She was wearing only a thin nigh trail and robe, both of a sheer ivory silk, the lacy edges of the robe barely touching, loosely tied.

She smiled, reaching up to tug the first pin out of her upswept hair. “I left this task for you,” she added softly.