The Silver Coin (38 page)

Noiselessly, he twisted the door handle and walked in.

It took him ten seconds to realize something wasn’t right. The room looked far more barren than before, a sense of abandonment hovering in the air.

He scanned the room swiftly, realizing at once that the porcelain figures were gone, as were the other personal touches.

Lady Breanna had been moved elsewhere.

Rage boiled up inside him.

The little bitch had changed rooms, and she’d done so successfully, without alerting him. She’d obviously staged her regular evening routine so he’d think all was as usual.

She’d pay for this victory. Pay dearly.

Where were her new chambers?

He didn’t have to rack his brain for an answer.

Chadwick. He’d moved her closer to his room, put her somewhere he could keep an eye on her.

A triumphant glint flashed in his eyes. Their little deception had just ended. Now, it was his turn to gloat.

Breanna burst into the house.

She gathered up her skirts, dashing up the stairs and down the hall to Stacie’s room.

The two guards looked startled by the commotion. But, seeing who was causing it, they relaxed, very relieved to see Lady Breanna home, unhurt.

“Is my cousin all right?” she demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” one guard replied. “We’ve been posted outside her room for over two hours now.”

“And no one’s tried to get in?”

He gave an adamant shake of his head. “No one.”

At that instant, the door was flung open, and Stacie bypassed Damen and Wells, stepping into the hallway and giving Breanna a fierce hug. “I heard your voice. Thank God, you’re all right.”

Breanna nearly wept with relief. “My sentiments exactly. I had the most awful feeling. I thought that…” She broke off, drew a steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re safe.”

“I’msafe?” Stacie asked in amazement.”You’rethe one who went out in the open, left Medford Manor to ride to Maidstone. Why? Who was in Maidstone?”

Before Breanna could reply, Royce came up behind her. “I’ll answer your questions, Anastasia,” he said quietly. “I think Breanna needs to lie down.”

Even as he spoke, Breanna realized her knees were shaking. She felt weak and wobbly, the aftermath of discovering a murdered man’s body, then fearing for her cousin’s life, more severe than she’d realized.

“I… Yes, I think I should he down—for a few minutes,” she added, seeing the concern on Stacie’s face.”I’mfroe. Just spent.”

Royce gestured to one of the guards. “Walk Lady Breanna down to her room. Stay outside the door until I get there.”

“Of course, m’lord.”

Breanna shot Royce a grateful look, then turned, headed toward her new chambers, the guard by her side. All she needed was a few minutes to herself— time to lie down, put a cool compress on her pounding head. Then she’d be froe, ready to go back and discuss where things stood now that the gunsmith was unable to tell them anything.

She nodded politely at the guard, opened the door to her room, and shut it behind her. She was relieved to know he was out there. Still, she loathed this need for confinement. She couldn’t wait for the day she could come and go again as she pleased.

If that day ever came.

Unbidden, the image of Wilkens’s lifeless body flashed in her mind, and she fought back the sickness that rose in her throat.

How many more people would die before this nightmare ended? How much longer would this assassin’s rampage continue?

Distraught, she crossed over, turned up the lamp on her nightstand to offset the effects of the intensifying dusk.

A horrified scream hedged in her throat, and for a moment, she actually stopped breathing.

In the center of the bed lay a white glove. The glove had been impaled by a sword, which was now imbedded deeply in the mattress. It had been driven all the way through the glove’s index finger. Three-quarters of that finger had been sliced off. Red paint was splattered everywhere, staining the bedcovers and trickling onto the carpet. On either side of the glove sat a statue—both from the same set as the previous statues. Once again, the women had been disfigured, their right index fingers lopped off, their right hands and the front of their gowns covered with bright crimson stains.

On the pillow, lay a note. It read:

Your strategy was a mistake. You changed quarters to outsmart me. Instead, you enraged me. I’m an expert tracker. And you’re a fool. Your evasive tactics have now guaranteed Lady Anastasia a more agonizing death. Listen to her screams, as her life drains away. Your cousin’s time is up. Her blood is on your hands. My satisfaction will come when I see yours flow. The invasion is about to commence.

Die, Lady Breanna.

For a long moment, Breanna just stood there, paralyzed, besieged by a sort of white shock. She stared at the note, the glove, the crimson splotches that looked so much like blood.

Hysteria bubbled up inside her.

Then, the dam burst, and she shattered letting out a low cry of pain, she covered her face with her hands, tears coursing down her cheeks. Her entire body shook with the impact of her sobs, everything converging in an unendurable knot of anguish that tore her entire soul apart.

She couldn’t take anymore.

She sank down on her knees on the rug, fear and agony converging, slashing through her in clawing talons. Her sobs tore at her, emerging in low, wrenching gasps as she rocked back and forth, emotionally surrendering to that which she could no longer fight

As if from far away she heard the door open.

“Breanna, my God, what is it?” Royce crossed over, then stopped. A muffled oath escaped him as he saw what had occurred.

He lowered himself to his knees, enfolded Breanna in his arms. “Shh,” he murmured, cradling her to him, feeling her tears drench his shirt.”I’m here, sweetheart.I’m here.”

“I’m s-sorry,” she sobbed. “I j-just can’t be strong anymore.”

“You don’t have to be.” Royce’s grip tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, aching for what this was doing to her. This incredibly strong, resilient woman, this woman he loved to the core of his being, had been pushed beyond human limits.

At that moment, Royce loathed the assassin with a murderous hatred so powerful, he could have torn him apart limb from limb, killed him with his bare hands.

“I’m weaker than you b-believed me to be,” Breanna whispered, in a broken voice that tore at Royce’s heart. “
I-I
didn’t mean to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me,” he returned fiercely. “You’re every bit as strong as I believed. And as brave. Everyone has a breaking point, Breanna. Everyone. Most would have readied theirs long ago.” Royce’s furious gaze raked the bed, darkening as it settled on the mutilated glove. “There’s no one alive who wouldn’t crumple after walking in and seeing that.”

Breanna nodded, her sobs beginning to lessen from the sound of Royce’s soothing voice, the feel of his arms around her. “I was right about his being in the house,” she managed, her muscles relaxing as Royce stroked her back in slow, soothing circles. “Seeing the guards must have stopped him from going after Stacie. Instead, he went to leave me those…” a shudder, “things. And he found out I’d changed rooms.”

“The guards weren’t his only deterrent. You kept him from going after Anastasia.”

She leaned back, gave him a teary, quizzical look. “I?”

“Yes. Your not being here.” Royce brushed his lips across her cheeks, taking her tears with him. God, how he wanted to comfort her, give her his strength. “Remember, the bastard wants you present when he takes aim at Anastasia. He knew you were in Maidstone. So shooting your cousin was out. That wasn’t the reason for his breaking in here today.”

“Leaving me his most hideous gift was.”

“Yes.” Wisely, Royce omitted telling her his theory about the statues, that he believed the assassin was delivering the remaining three figures, then striking.

Two of those remaining figures were now sitting on Breanna’s bed.

Which left one.

“Royce…” Breanna pressed her wet face against his shoulder. “I can’t stay in this room another night.Idon’t know where to go, what to do.”

“Stay with me.” He rose, gently easing her to her feet. “Not just tonight, but every night until this ordeal is over. I don’t give a damn what protocol dictates. You’re sleeping in my bed, by my side. What’s more, not only will Wells agree, he’ll hand-pick the guards who stand outside our door. But sweetheart,” he added, trying to give her a measure of peace. “I don’t trunk he means to break into your room again. This was his final appearance.”

Rather than relieved, Breanna looked more unnerved, fear darkening her eyes. “That’s what terrifies me. It’s like this was a culmination of sorts. And, if so, he’s about to shoot Stacie.”

“To try to shoot her,” Royce corrected. “He won’t succeed.” He walked over to the bed, picked up the note, and reread it carefully “Something about these notes keeps nagging at me,” he muttered. “I’m going to line up the whole lot of them and read them together.” He turned his attention back to Breanna.”Afterwe get you settled.” He went back, tilted up her chin. “Better?” he asked softly.

A slow nod. “I’ve never lost control so totally,” she murmured self-consciously, her hand fluttering over her hair. “You must have thought I’d gone insane when you walked in and saw me on the floor, weeping like that.”

“Stop it.” Royce caught her hand, tugged it away from her hair, and brought her palm to his lips.Ithought we’d broken down that ludicrous wall of self-restraint by now.”

Her lashes lowered. “We have.”

“Breanna, do you trust me?”

Her head shot up. “You know I do—with my life.”

“Then trust me with your vulnerabilities, as well.I promise, I’ll protect them.”

Breanna’s eyes .misted. “You’re such a wonderful man,” she whispered.

“I’m a man in love.” Royce kissed her tenderly. “And, by the way,” he added with a twinkle. “Youhavelost control so totally. You do so every night in my arms.”

She flushed, his teasing comment having the desired effect, melting away a bit of the past hour’s horror. “You’re right.”

“And have you ever regretted it?”

“Never.”

“T hen don’t regret this either.” He enfolded her against him for one brief, intense moment. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he said in a raw voice. “Not physically or emotionally. You have my word.” He released her, guided her toward the door. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

Outside, the assassin watched the room go dark. Chadwick was taking her out of there, hiding her elsewhere. It didn’t matter.

T here was no need to invade her bedchamberagain .

He’d selected a different battlefield for her death.

Royce made Breanna drink an entire glass Madeira, then ordered dinner for two to be served his chambers.

Instructing two guards to remain outside his door, he left Breanna only long enough to tell Anastasia, Damen, and Wells what had happened, as well as what provisions he’d made.

He’d dealt with their distress as expediently as possible, answered their questions with terse directness. Then, he informed them they’d discuss this tomorrow, after Breanna had gotten some sleep.

“Royce, is she all right?” Anastasia had asked anxiously.

“She’s badly shaken. But you know how bloody strong she is.” Royce had frowned. “How strong sheinsistson being. I’d let you see her, but I want you to stay put. I’m going to go over those letters the killer sent. Maybe there’s something there that will point me in the right direction. We’ll discuss it at breakfast.

With that, he’d left them. Wells, as he’d suspected, was more relieved than shocked to learn where Breanna would be sleeping. The safety of his beloved charges was more important than his adherence to protocol. After quietly thanking Royce for caring for Miss Breanna, he’d summoned two footmen, ordered them to clean up the violated bedchamber immediately; removing all traces of the break-in, but saving the defaced items for Lord Royce’s later inspection.

Royce had returned to his room, expecting to find Breanna huddled by the fire. Instead, she was sitting at the desk, scrutinizing the assassin’s notes.

She looked up when he entered, her composure fully restored, her brows knit speculatively. “I was paralyzed when I first read tonight’s message,” she murmured “But now that I examine it with a clear head, one of the killer’s phrases triggered a memory—a memory of something Mr. Cunnings said to my father at their meeting in the tavern.”

“The meeting you eavesdropped on.”

“Yes. The one at which they made arrangements for the assassin to execute Stacie.”

“Go on,” Royce urged.

“I remember Father asking about the assassin’s credentials, and Mr. Cunnings assuring him there was no one better at tracking people down and killing them—no matter where they were hiding. Cunnings’s exact words were that the assassin was an expert tracker and an even better shot”

“‘An expert tracker’—the very words the assassin uses here.” Royce walked over, reexamined the notes with that in mind. “Interesting. And maybe not as straightforward as I originally thought”

“What do you mean?”

“I realized from the start that every one of these messages sounded like a battle call. But I just assumed it was this arrogant bastard’s way of making you feel like he was the hunter, and you the prey. But looking at it in light of what Cunnings said—maybe there’s more to it than that.”

Breanna twisted around to gaze up at him. “Like what?”

Royce’s eyes narrowed, a flash of insight illuminating their midnight blue color. “Maybe that’s what’s been bothering me. These notes are all full of military jargon: retreat, flank, reconnaissance, strategy; and phrases like ‘evasive tactics’ and ‘the invasion is about to commence.’”

“True,” Breanna concurred. “I wouldn’t have recognized the ones you just mentioned, having never served in the military, as you did. But even I know that words like battle, warrior and ranks are combat terms.”

“So maybe we’re overlooking the obvious,” Royce concluded. “Maybe this isn’t just an arbitrary choice of analogies. Maybe it’s based on the killer’s personal experience.”