The Silver Coin (17 page)

Royce went ahead, examining the chemise and porcelain figure in the glow of lamplight. His expression was intense, never changing as he inspected the tainted objects more closely. ‘This chemise—is it yours?”

“Yes. I recognize the buttons. It’s mine.”

A nod. “The color is only paint. Not blood.”

“I realize that. And the women are only porcelain, not human. But the message is clear nonetheless.”

Royce’s mouth thinned into a grim line. “It certainly is.” He straightened, scanning the rest of the quarters. “Was anything else disturbed?”

Breanna studied the room as closely as her dazed mind would allow. She slid open each bureau drawer, cheeked inside her wardrobe and nightstand, even scrutinized each and every one of her porcelain figures. “Nothing else was touched—nothing I can detect.”

“And nothing’s missing?”

“No.” Breanna crossed over to her desk, picked up the sketch pad and flipped through it. None of the drawings of Stacie’s house had been tainted, no pages torn away. Beside the pad, her pile of unrelated sketches was stacked neatly, just as it had been earlier.

She eased open the desk drawers. Each one was precisely as she’d left it, all her quills and pencils intact. “It looks as if he only took the chemise.”

“What about the statue? Was it originally on your nightstand? Or did he remove it from the bureau or fireplace mantel in order to place it beside the chemise?”

“Neither. It isn’t mine. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

That detail seemed to disturb Royce more than anything else. His dark brows drew together, and his eyes narrowed in troubled concentration.

“What is it?” Breanna asked. “Why does that upset you so much?”

Royce opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated, reluctance written all over his face.

“Please, Royce,” she requested quietly. “Don’t hide things from me. I don’t want to be protected. I want to know. I need to know. Why are you bothered by the fact that that porcelain figure isn’t mine?”

His sober gaze met hers. “Because the fact that he chose to bring such a statue here, to use it to make his point, is too perfect to be a coincidence. He obviously knew you collect porcelain figures.”

“How would he know … ?” All the color drained from Breanna’s face. “You think he was here before this? That he’d invaded my room before tonight?”

An unwilling nod. “My guess is, yes. It would explain the appearance of this statue. It would also explain how he found the time to deface your chemise. He wouldn’t want to carry paint with him, nor would he want to linger an instant longer than necessary. So he didn’t. He probably slipped into your room at an earlier date—most likely before the additional guards were assigned—took the chemise, and left. He did his handiwork on it at home, bought and defiled the statue, then placed both things on your nightstand tonight. He wouldn’t need more than five minutes to accomplish that.”

Breanna could feel her insides lurch, and for one horrible moment she was afraid she was going to be sick. “Hewashere,” she whispered. Awareness dawned, crept through her like some odious insect. That feeling she’d had—that nagging perception that had plagued her all week—it hadn’t been groundless.

It had been accurate.

“I sensed it.” Her panicked gaze darted about theroom. “Ever sincethe day Mr.Knoxwas killed. I thought I was overreacting. But I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that came over me every time I was in my room. I tried to attribute it to nerves, but after what you just said…” She broke off, pressing her palms together as if the very action could hold her emotions in check. “I know he was here.”

“The day Knox was killed?” Royce jumped on her words, contemplated them thoroughly before giving a hard nod. “That makes sense. Alotof sense. The killer could have slipped in here that afternoon, taken the chemise, and been in the process of leaving the grounds when Knox came upon him. It would explain why Knox got shot.”

“But why did the killer come here?” Breanna felt cold, so very cold—a chill that radiated from the inside out. “Just to take something that belonged to me? Or did he come to shoot me and, when my being out strolling the grounds made that impossible, settled for stealing my chemise to torture me instead?”

“No.” Royce refuted the latter. Walking over, he pressed her cold hands between his. “He had no intention of killing you. He came for the chemise. He also wanted to familiarize himself with you—your tastes, your weaknesses. He was searching for the best ways to terrorize you.”

“He found them.” Breanna curled her fingers in Royce’s—and felt her core of inner strength waver. “I can’t stay in this room tonight,” she blurted, unable to keep the words from rumbling out. “I just can’t.”

“That’s not an option.” Royce saw the terror flash in her eyes, and he shook his head, negating her fear. “What I mean is, you’renotstaying here. Not only tonight, but any night Not until we find this animal.”

Breanna started, her insides lurching again. “You think he’ll be back?”

“Eventually,” Royce said honestly. “But not to kill you. He has more to accomplish first He’s not finished tormenting you. And we’re not going to give him the opportunity to do that to the point where he’s ready to move on to the next stage of his plan” The phraseto kill Anastasia and youhung between them, echoing as clearly as if Royce had spoken it aloud. “Breanna,” he added fervently, his grip tightening as he watched the expression on her face. “We’re going to hunt him down.I’mgoing to hunt him down. I promise you that.”

“How?” Breanna heard herself ask.

“He bought that statue somewhere. Just like he bought those dolls somewhere. I’m going to find out where. I have contacts all over England. I’ll send them to every shire, every bloody town if I have to. But Iwillfind this killer. You’ve got to trust me.” A shaky nod. “I do.”

“In the meantime,” Royce continued, “if he does manage to get back inside the house, he won’t find you in your chambers. I’m moving you into the room next to mine. Hibbert and I will take turns guarding your door. You’ll never be unprotected.”

“Stacie.” Breanna’s thoughts were racing. “What about Stacie? She’s in danger, too.”

“Anastasia is safe. Damen’s with her. The assassin would never enter their room and take the chance of alerting her husband.”

“But if he shot her before Damen awakened, or if he decided to shoot Damen, too …”

Again, Royce shook his head. “That’s not his plan. He’s only after you and Anastasia. To close in on her, knowing full well her husband would be at her side and would, therefore, have to be eliminated, would be unacceptable. This man only kills those he means to— unless an unexpected victim like Knox gets in his way In that case, killing is unavoidable. But to plan his strategy—hisultimatestrategy—knowing the stage wasn’t set precisely as he wanted it to be; to burst in with the foreknowledge that someone other than his intended victim would be there? That would be amateurish.

“Besides which, he’d never shoot Anastasia from inside the manor. He knows he’d be caught—if notbyDamen, then by someone else who heard the shot. He’d want you and Anastasia isolated, away from prying eyes and alert ears. Remember, demonstrating his cunning is as much a part of this bastard’s thrill as demonstrating his skill. No. I’m convinced that if he went to your chambers again, it would either be to leave something else to terrorize you or, at the very worst, to watch you when you’re unaware.”

“To… watch… me?” Breanna managed. She shuddered.”Y ou mean while I sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Breanna recognized she was on the verge of totally breaking down and, desperately, she struggled to bring herself under control. Royce was offering her an alternative, a means to remain safe. She wouldn’t reward him by sobbing like a child.

That thought prompted another.

“Y ou said you and Hibbert would alternate standing outside my door,” she said, her voice stronger, steadier. “That won’t be necessary. The killer won’t find me if I’m in a different wing of the house. Besides, I refuse to impose on y ou. Y ou weren’t hired as guards.”

Royce raised her chin with his forefinger, those midnight blue eyes delving deep inside her. “That’ smy choice to make. Not yours.” He released her. “Now collect your nightclothes and whatever else you need. We’re getting you out of this room.”

Breanna’s temporary quarters were bare, void of personal touches and bedding.

Royce took care of that problem quickly and efficiently, carrying in a few blankets and pillows from his chambers to her new one, then building a healthy fire to warm away the winter chill.

Breanna couldn’t seem to stop shaking, no matter how high the flames were fanned. She hugged herself tightly, trying to conceal the severity of her tremors, clenching her teeth to disguise their chattering.

“That’ll do for tonight,” Royce announced a half hour later. He stepped back from the fireplace, setting down the iron poker. The room was still barren, unlived in. But, barren or not, it was far safer than Breanna’s.

His gaze flickered to Breanna, then to the window. “It’ll be light in a few hours. You’d better get some sleep.”

Sleep?

That word brought Breanna’s head up, and her stomach twisted into knots as she realized the implications of Royce’s suggestion.

He wanted her to lie down, to close her eyes, to rest.

And he intended to leave her alone so she could do that. Impossible.

Before she could stop herself, she’d reached out, clutched Royce’s sleeve with her fingers. “No.”

He glanced down at her hand, his own expression unreadable. “No?”

“I can’t sleep. Not yet. Not alone. No, that’s not what I meant,” she amended hastily, hot color flooding her cheeks.

She sucked in her breath, tried again. “What I meant is, could you stay awhile? Just to talk,” she added in a rush. “It’s just that… that is…” This was even harder than she’d expected. Turning to someone for help— someone other than Stacie or Wells—it didn’t come easily to hen “I’m not quite ready to be alone with my thoughts,” she admitted at last. “Not after tonight’s incident.”

Royce smiled faintly, plucked her fingers from his sleeve, and brought her palm to his lips. “Was that really so difficult?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

His smile faded, and his gaze intensified. Tersely, he nodded, as if in understanding. “I suppose it was.” He guided her over to a chair, eased her into it. Then, he gathered up the blankets, spread them out over her, one by one, until she was totally enveloped. “I’ll stay. We’ll talk. Under one condition. You curl up under those blankets. We’ve got to warm away that chill of yours. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Breanna looked sheepish. “You noticed.”

“Noticed?” He leaned over her, his hands gripping the chair arms on either side of her. “Your teeth were clenched so tightly, I was afraid your jaw would snap. And your fingers were biting so deeply into your gown sleeves, I was afraid the material would wear away. Does that answer your question?”

Her lips twitched. “I suppose it does.”

Royce’s knuckles caressed her cheek ever so slightly. “You’re an astonishing woman, Lady Breanna Colby. Tell me, does that inner strength of yours never falter?”

Breanna swallowed. “I’m not certain how to answer that.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Royce studied her intently. “You’re not even aware of how extraordinary you are. Every woman I know would be close to hysteria by now—crying clinging fainting dead away. But not you. You do none of those things. No matter how terrified you are, how dire things get, you stay strong.”

“That’s not strength,” Breanna replied honestly. “It’s self-control. I was raised to always exhibit it. After all these years of reinforcement, I suppose it’s part of me.”

An odd look crossed Royce’s face. “I understand that reality only too well.” He straightened, turned his attention back to the fire.

He might have been referring to her reality, to his knowledge of her father’s crimes.

Somehow Breanna sensed otherwise.

The reality he was referring to was his.

And the self-control was one he understood firsthand.

Watching the stiffness of his posture, Breanna once again resisted the urge to pry. “I appreciate all you’ve done tonight, all you’re still doing. I needed your assistance;—badly. Regardless of how you perceive me, I’m not really all that strong. My blood ran cold when I saw that chemise.”

Royce relaxed, lowered himself to the rug by the fire. He stretched out his long legs, propped himself up on one elbow. “You’re every bit as strong as I believe. If you weren’t frightened by what happened here tonight, you’d be a fool. Don’t confuse intelligence with cowardice.”

“All right. I won’t.” Breanna tucked the blankets beneath her chin. “How do you think he got in?”

“That’s a good question.” Royce frowned, the light of the flames reflecting off his face, illuminating the hard angles and accentuating his pensive expression. “He could have slipped past the guards by climbing into one of the arriving guest’s carriages and riding all the way to the manor. If he was dressed in black, he could have scaled his way to the second floor after that without being seen. Or, he could have smuggled himself into one of the delivery vehicles and ridden to the rear of the house, then crept up the rear staircase while the ball was under way. No one would have noticed him. All the activity was taking place in the front sections of the manor. Or…” Royce broke off, midnight sparks glinting in his eyes.

“Or?” Breanna prompted.

He raised his gaze to meet hers. “Or he could have simply presented his invitation at the door and walked in.”

Breanna stared, her eyes growing wide as saucers. “You’re suggesting this killer might be one of my guests? Someone we knowingly invited to this party?”

“I’m not suggesting it. I’m simply not ruling it out. After all what do we know about this person? Only that he’s a master at his craft and that he has a twisted, albeit brilliant, mind. That description could apply to anyone, in any walk of life.”

“Including theton.”Breanna gripped the blanket with icy fingers. “If heisone of our guests, then he’s still in the manor. He’s here right now, sleeping under my roof, planning to do Lord knows what.”