The Silver Coin (27 page)

Some of those notes applied to the assassin who’d killed four noblemen. Some applied to the assassin who intended to kill Breanna.

Being that those men were one and the same, there had to be a link.

But what?

He was convinced the killer had been a guest at Breanna’s party.

That certainty had come after repeatedly reviewing the names of the workmen and delivery companies that Wells had provided, then speaking with Mahoney and each of the guards—and eliminating them all as suspects.

So the guest list was the key. Royce scanned it again, wishing some name would jump out at him as the logical choice. It didn’t.

He leaned his head back against the wall, temporarily abandoning his notes to contemplate what he knew about the assassin.

He was educated. He was well-bred, a member of either the gentry or theton.

Which meant that financial status factored heavily into his life. Andthatmeant that, if his own financial status were threatened, and he could somehow gain access to all the victims’ funds, it might provide a motive for murder.

That avenue, Royce had already explored. Farfetched or not, he’d pursued it throughout a good portion of the evening. He realized the question of accessto the victims’ funds would have to wait until Hibbert returned with whatever information he uncovered. But, in the interim, Royce had set out to learn who might be experiencing financial trouble.

He hadn’t far to go for his answers. No one knew more about the status of people’s finances than Damen. Not only was he at the heart of England’s banking community, virtually every one of the guests had funds at the House of Lockewood.

Damen had spent two full hours reviewing all the names on the guest list. He’d compared them with his personal sources as well as his banking records.

Not one of the partygoers fit the bill.

Not that Royce was surprised. Instinct told him that greed had little to do with this. This was showmanship in its truest form. A show of power, superiority, and control, coupled with the vindictiveness and rage of a twisted mind.

He knew the type well. He’d dealt with it many times, and could spot it in a heartbeat.

But it had never been this brilliantly concealed.

Which brought him back to his notes.

He leaned over the page, staring at the words he’d jotted down.

A man paid to kill. Yet one who was willing, noeager,to kill for reasons other than money, at least in the case of Breanna.

If the assassin’s nature was as Royce suspected, it wasn’t money that drove him. It was power. Which explained why he’d killed four other victims to taunt Breanna and hone his skills for her demise. But theparticularvictims he’d chosen—now that was another matter.

Why had he selected those specific noblemen? What the hell did they have in common?

Royce’s eyes narrowed on the page. He had the distinct feeling he was overlooking something that was staring him right in the face.

Dammit.

He was just about to start poring over the facts anew when Breanna’s door opened a crack. “Royce?”

He pivoted in his chair. Breanna hovered in the doorway, looking a trifle uncertain. She was still fully dressed despite the fact that it was nearly3 A.M.

“I thought you were asleep.” Royce frowned, rising to his feet and taking an inadvertent step toward hen “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” She wet her lips with the hp of her tongue, then blurted out, “You told me to ask for help when I need it, not to take on the world alone. I’m having trouble settling down. My mind is racing. I’d like someone to talk to.” A dignified pause. “If you don’t mind.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, reminding himself that this was the second night he hadn’t slept, that his reserves and his self-restraint were severely worn. He had long hours of work ahead of him, and being alone with her was a terrible idea, especially in light of the fact that he was still grappling with his raw, unresolved feelings for her.

He was about to say no, to point out all the reasons why he couldn’t do as she asked. Then, he met her gaze, saw how much this expression of need had cost her. To turn her away would be like a harsh slap in the face.

To her, and perhaps to himself.

“I don’t mind,” he replied, garnering up his notes and stepping into the room. “I’m hitting my head against a brick wall right now anyway.”

Breanna nodded, smoothing her hair in that proper way she had—a way that belied the astonishing sensuality he knew hovered just beyond reach.

Beyond everyone’s reach but his.

He squelched that particular line of thought, determined to give her whatever comfort she sought.

“I built up the fife,” she told him, shutting the door and rubbing her arms for warmth. She crossed over, indicating the two armchairs she’d pulled over to the hearth. “Is this all right?”

“Perfect.” Royce waited politely until she was seated, then followed suit. “The fire feels wonderful,” he murmured, realizing even as he said it that it was true. “Just what I needed.”

A flash of guilt flickered across her face.”Y ou’re cold and you’re exhausted. You haven’t slept in days. I feel terrible—and responsible.”

“You’re not responsible; the killer is. And you’ve tried sending me away three times already. It’s not going to work. I’m not leaving you alone. So let’s drop that particular subject.”

“Very well.” Her back was rigid, her palms pressed tightly together as she stared into the flames.

Clearly, she was distraught, whether or not she chose to admit it.

“Breanna…” Royce leaned forward, gently touched her arm. “I’m on the verge of figuring out something important. I’m just not certain what it is— yet. But I will be. Hibbert will be back tomorrow, and between the two of us…”

To his surprise, Breanna rose abruptly, shaking her head and waving away his explanation. “That’s not it. That’s not what I wanted to discuss.” She whirled about to face him, her fingers knotting in her gown as she spoke, her chin coming up in a purposeful gesture that seemed to contradict her nervousness.

“The next few days are going to be an emotional nightmare,” she proclaimed, her words frank and deliberate. “I don’t want to have this discussion then, not when the assassin is closing in and you might misinterpret my feelings to be something less than they are, or worse, to try unduly to protect those feelingsandme. I want to have this conversation now, when I’m still strong and in control and you realize I mean what I’m saying, and that you also realize I won’t fall apart from the conversation’s outcome.”

She gave Royce no chance to respond.

“Having said that, I have to add I’m a novice at this,” she confessed, never averting her gaze, although twin spots of red stained her cheeks. “But then, so are you—not at the physical aspect, since I know you’re quite seasoned at that. I’m referring to the emotional aspect. That part’s as new to you as it is to me. Well, neither of us has much experience at speaking our hearts. And since one of us has to have the courage to go first, and since your scars are apparently more extensive than mine, I decided that someone should be me.”

This time she did pause, but only to draw a slow, unsteady breath. “I’m falling in love with you, Royce. And whether you laugh in my face or bolt from the room, I have to tell you so. What’s more, I believe you have feelings for me, too—deeper feelings than you choose to. If I’m right, tell me so. Then, take whatever time you need to decide what you want to do about it. If I’m wrong, or if what you’re feeling is simply lust and not love, just say so. I’ve endured a great deal in my life. I won’t shatter. But having lived amid secrets, I know I’d much rather face the truth than cling to a lie. So tell me what you’re flunking, and what you’re feeling. Not about the assassin. About me.”

She broke off, watching his reaction, a flushed but expectant look on her face.

Royce just stared, wondering if he’d ever been rendered so off-balance. This was Breanna, casting aside propriety and self-restraint, not in the threes of passion, but to speak her mind. She was relaying her feelings with all the dignity she possessed and a directness that came with great effort.

His first coherent thought was how incredibly proud of her he was. What she’d just done had taken an amazing measure of courage—a measure of courage he was a stranger to.

ironic, he was reckless, daring, downright formidable when it came to his enemies. He was also the consummate risk-taker. Yet, when it came down to it, she was far braver than he.

His second thought wasn’t a thought at all. It was a surge of feeling so strong it nearly felled him—as did the realization that accompanied it.

She might be falling in love with him, but his fall was already complete.

All that was left was to acknowledge it, to her and to himself.

Slowly, he rose, watching the firelight turn her hair to an auburn blaze as he reached out, framed her face between his palms. “You’ve given me candor. Let me give you the same in return.” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. “I thought about you every minute I was away. I told myself I wouldn’t hurt you, that if I couldn’t be everything you needed, I’d walk away But I won’t. I can’t. Because, whether or not I believed myself capable, whether I can give you every fragment of emotion you deserve, whether it happened so fast I never sew it corning, I love you. I love you in a way I never imagined, much less experienced.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “Does that answer your question?”

“One of them, yes.” Breanna gave a shaky nod. “The next question is harder. What do you want to do about it?”

“What do I want to do about it?” Royce’s reply emerged with a will all its own, having formed somewhere inside him that required no conscious awareness. Yet even as he spoke the words, he knew they were true. “I want to protect your life with my own. I want to immerse myself in your beauty every moment for the rest of our days. I want to drag youoff tothe nearest church and make you my wife.”

Two tears slid down Breanna’s cheeks. “I didn ‘texpect …” She brought herself under control. “I didn’t expect an answer. Not right away. I told youtothink about it.”

“I don’t need to. My answer won’t change.”He captured her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t cry. Just consider my proposal. I know I’m not the staid, conventional man you expected to marry. But—”

“I don’t need to consider it. I accept.” Breanna stood on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers. “I love you. I want nothing more than to marry you. As for the last…” Her eyes sparkled through her tears. “Since I met you I discovered something about myself. I loathe convention. It bores me to death.”

“Does it?” Royce was still reeling with the impact of what had happened, all he’d just discovered about himself. Feeling almost giddy, he caressed Breanna’s nape, continuing to let his impulses guide him. “May I test that claim in a way I’ve wanted to since the first instant I laid eyes on you?”

“By all means.”

His fingers glided into her hair, caressing the satiny crown before—in slow, exacting motions—he began tugging out the pins, tossing them randomly about until her auburn tresses tumbled free.

He threaded his fingers through them, draping them around her, then capturing her shoulders, pulling her to him. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now come here.”

She stepped closer, and his arms encircled her, brought her up against him. “No one’s ever seen your hair this way—free, uninhibited—have they?”

Breanna’s breathing was unsteady. “No. Not my hair, and not me.”

“Good.” He lowered his head, covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was slow and hot and deep, and Breanna’s soft sound of pleasure vibrated through them both. Royce gathered her more closely to him, savored her taste, the softness of her lips, the exquisite feel of her tongue as he possessed it with his own. She leaned into him, molding the contours of her body to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and wordlessly showing him how much she loved him.

Royce responded with a hard tremor, lifting her up and into him until there was nothing separating them but the impeding layers of their clothing.

The kiss went on and on, ending only to begin anew, generating fiery currents that flowed between them, intensified more and more with each passing second.

It was Breanna who eased away, leaning back a fraction, and staring up at him with jade eyes that were smoky with passion. “Royce?” His name was a wisp of sensation against his tips.

“Mmm?” He could barely speak.

“I really wanted to give you time to think about our future.”

“I know. I didn’t need it.”

“That’s not what I’m getting at.” Her fingers trailed across his jaw, drifted down the side of his neck. “When I asked what you wanted to do about the fact that you love me, I meant it in the more immediate sense.” A suggestive pause. “As in, what do you want to do about your feelingsnow?”Her lips traced the path her fingers had taken, feathering kisses along his heated skin. “Right now.”

Royce’s eyes slid shut, her vivid invitation making hot need explode in his loins. “Breanna…” His fingers tangled in her hair, intending to move her away from him but never quite doing so. “I promised myself I wouldn’t—”

“Break that promise,” she whispered.

All Royce’s good intentions crumpled. “You want to know what I want to do about my feelings?” he rasped, his palm moving down to cup her breast, his thumb teasing her already hardened nipple. “I want to lay you down by the fire and bury myself inside you.”

She shivered, stifling a cry as she shifted herself more fully into his hand. “Follow your instincts. They’ve always served you well.” Blindly, she pushed open his coat, slid her palms up the front of his waistcoat.

“Breanna—”

“Don’t be noble, not this time.” She unfastened his buttons one by one—first his waistcoat, then his shirt. “It took all my courage to bare my heart to you. Please don’t shield yours from me now.” She slipped her fingers inside his shirt, caressed him tentatively. “Protect me when I need it. Not when I don’t.”

He felt her delicate touch on his skin, and the last of his resolve disintegrated into dust. “Sweetheart…’’ He forced out the words, determined to say them before it was too late. “This time I won’t be able to stop.”