The Silver Coin (7 page)

“Surely you’ve met men who enjoy killing. All those years in the military—there must have been some soldiers who actually enjoyed pulling the trigger.”

In response, Royce’s jaw set, his dark eyes guttering harshly. “I’ve met men who enjoy killing others and men who thrive on destroying others without actually killing them. And not just in the military. So, do I understand a mind-Eke this assassin’s? Yes. But you know the way I work, Damen. My tactics involve taking risks—big risks. I won’t jeopardize your wife’s life.”

“Stacie’s life is already in jeopardy.”

Silence.

Damen slammed his glass to the desk. “Does this mean you refuse to help me?” Royce studied the naked pain on his friend’s face, swore quietly under his breath—and relented. “No. I’ll help you. I’ll do as much as I can. As much as you’ll let me,” he amended. “You might not like my ideas,ormy methods. Not when it comes to a matter this close to your heart.” “I’ll take that chance.”

Nodding, Royce rifled through some pages on his desk. “The other problem I have is that I’m in the middle of another case—one I took on weeks ago. I can’t walk away from that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Handle both cases at once. Set up an office at Medford if you need to. Bring Hibbert. I don’t care. Just find this lunatic before he…” Damen bit off the rest of his sentence, too sickened to utter it.

“He’s not a lunatic,” Royce countered quietly. “Let’s begin with that. At least not in the way you mean. He’s unbalanced, yes, but he’s very controlled, very methodical, very intelligent. He couldn’t be a professional assassin unless he was. He’s got to be thorough, well-organized, and have excellent timing. Which means his mind is quick, maybe even as quick as his pistol. To relegate him to the role of madman would be a grave error in judgment—one that could cost you dearly.” Royce’s lips pursed in thought. “I want to see that letter. And the dolls. I also want to talk to Lady Breanna, hear everything she remembers about the night her father was arrested, or rather,afterhe was arrested and the assassin showed up.” A wary stare. “Tell me about her.”

“Who? Breanna?”

“Yes. Is she fragile? Will I have an hysterical female on my hands? Is she a swooner, one who’ll collapse each time I ask a question that triggers a memory? Or is she a wailer, one who will drench three handkerchiefs before I find out everything I need to?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Damen couldn’t stifle a smile. “You don’t have a very high opinion of women, do you? Odd, considering, from what I’ve seen over the years, they have averyhigh opinion of you. They gravitate to you like flies to honey—until you tire of them and move on.”

“On the contrary, I have a very high opinion of women. They’re ideal companions—both in bed and out—splendid conversationalists and, before you berate me for not giving your wife the credit she’s due, occasionally fine business partners. In fact, I often suspect that women are smarter than men—smart enough to know that it’s best to hide that fact from our easily shattered self-esteem. But when it comes to emotions, all that wisdom goes straight to hell. They whine, they weep, they cajole, they pout. When that happens, I become exasperated and walk away I’m not the comforting type. Nor the type who’s easily moved or manipulated. So I’m asking you, what is Lady Breanna like? Particularly now, when she’s under duress?”

“She’s a remarkable young woman,” Damen replied honestly. “She’s been through a lot, particularly these past few months. Finding out what her father was capable of, weathering the scandal that followed his arrest—she’s been astonishingly strong. I don’t think you have to worry about her weeping or swooning. She’s not inclined to do either.”

“Good.” That determined, Royce rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “I’ll ride to Kent with you, attempt to make some sense out of this—at least enough to keep your wife and Lady Breanna safe while we figure out who this killer is and when he’s going to strike.” “How long can you stay?”

“Just overnight. I’ve got to get back here by tomorrow, tie up some loose ends. I promised Edmund I’d spend Christmas with him and his family. Then, if necessary, I’ll return to Lady Breanna’s estate. I take it you’re staying there rather than here in Town?”

“Yes.” A terse nod. “Christmas. I’d almost forgotten about it.” Damen frowned, speaking half to himself. “Breanna wants to cancel her party.”

“What party?”

“She and Anastasia both just turned twenty-one. They planned a party to celebrate that and the holidays.”

Royce grew thoughtful. “Canceling it might be unwise.” “Why?”

“Let me read that note. Then I’ll answer your question.” Royce inclined his head. “When is this party scheduled to be held?”

“On the twenty-eighth and the twenty-ninth of December. But now, with Jamie Knox being murdered—”

“As I said, let me read the note. After that, we’ll make a decision about the party.” Royce gestured toward the door. “Go home to your wife. I’ll fill Hibbert in, then follow in my own carriage.”

“Fine.” Damen stood as well, giving Royce a grateful look. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“Not yet you’re not. If we figure out who this killer is, stop him from hurting anyone else— thenyou’ll be in my debt.”

The guard held up a commanding hand.

Royce reined his horses to a stop, waiting patiently at the gates of Medford Manor for the expected interrogation.

Two uniformed sentries approached his phaeton slowly, carefully, each of them keeping one hand inside his pocket, doubtless clutching his pistol lest it be needed. The first guard held up a lantern, using its light to better make out Royce’s features in the growing darkness of the evening.

“Can I help you, sir?” he inquired, reaching Royce and staring him down with a hard, no-nonsense look.

Who could blame him, given that one of his men had been killed that very day?

“My name is Royce Chadwick. The Marquess of Sheldrake is expecting me.”

The guard studied Royce for another moment-presumably matching his physical appearance to the description Damen had provided. Clearly satisfied with what he saw, he relaxed. “Yes, my lord, he is. Goright through.” He gestured for the other guard to open the gates.

A minute later, the gates made a grating sound, and swung wide to admit Royce’s phaeton.

Nodding politely, Royce led his horses on, guiding them down the long drive leading to the manor. He took the opportunity to look around, taking in as much of the scenery as twilight would permit.

He could make out the construction site, a broad area that would soon house what appeared to be an imposing dwelling. That would be Damen’s new home, Royce reflected. Hibbert had reported to him that the marquess planned to move to his wife’s family estate once their new manor had been completed. Evidently, the construction was corning along nicely. But it was far from finished.

Which meant that workmen would be coming and going from the grounds at an alarming rate. And that, in turn, meant the assassin could more easily find his way onto the estate, lose himself in a crowd of people.

The most logical thing for Royce to do was to shut down the construction—at least for now. On the other hand, he might be able to use that accessibility to Medford Manor to his advantage. He wasn’t sure yet. But he wasn’t ready to close any doors—not until he had every shred of information in his possessionandthe time to evaluate it.

Rounding the drive, Royce brought his phaeton to a stop, and swung down to his feet. He’d reviewed the details of the case with Hibbert before leaving London. Then, he’d mulled them over during his two-hour ride to Kent. The package Lady Breanna had received, the too-coincidental murder of the guard— the whole situation had a very unpleasant taste to it.

Instinct told Royce that Damen’s worries were well-founded. The question was, could they find this animal, stop him in time?

Mounting the front steps, he knocked.

A distinguished older man with spectacles answered the door, and a look of consummate relief swept across his face as he scrutinized their visitor, determined who he was. “Lord Royce,” he stated.

“Yes.”

“Come in.” The butler stepped aside. “Myname is Wells. Lord Sheldrake’s been expecting you. According to him … that is, I’m praying… truthfully, we’reallpraying that you can help keep Miss Breannaand Miss Stacie safe.” Wells cleared his throat, abruptly remembering his place—and his composure.” Your room is already made up. I’ll have a footman carryin your bags.” He extended his hand to take Royce ‘stopcoat.

“Thank you.” Royce shrugged out of the thickwool coat, handing it over. He assessed the butler quickly although little insight was needed to see that thisman was loyal to the core, and deeply attached to thetwo grown women he still considered to be hisyoung charges.

That would be an asset and a liability.

It meant that Wells could be counted uponfor any and every form of assistance. He could also, however, be counted upon to let his feelings interferewith his objectivity.

Andthatcould be a problem.

Then again, Damen suffered from the sameaffli c tion. He was so bloody in love with his wife,not to mention doubly protective of her now that shewas pregnant, that it was dubious whether or not hecouldbe counted upon to act with his customary pragmatism.

Which left the women.

Royce frowned. Lord help him if Damen’s wife wasn’t every bit as bold and strong-willed as he’d described her. And as for Lady Breanna, well, she’d better be more than remarkable. She’d better have the internal strength of a soldier about to march into battle.

“I’ll show you to the sitting room,” Wells was saying. “The family is gathered there. Lord Sheldrake thought you’d want to speak with them before you freshened up for dinner.”

“He’s right. I would.”

Royce followed Wells down the hall, glancing about as he did.

Medford Manor was spacious and warm, an appealing combination of aged beauty and modern freshness. Twin staircases with curving, mahogany banisters, divided by a rich Oriental carpet, were accented with low tables filled with vases of holly sprigs and snowdrops and, hanging on the walls, intricate needlepoints depicting sunsets, children playing in the snow, and colorful gardens.

Interesting. It was as if several generations had had a hand in fashioning this place, each adding its own strokes to the canvas, yet together creating a painting that blended together as naturally as dawn and day.

He was growing more and more curious about the cousins he was about to meet. He knew little about them, other than the fact that they strongly resembled each other, and that Anastasia had been raised in the States—Philadelphia, if he correctly recalled. She must be extraordinary for Damen to have fallen so hard, so fast, not to mention brilliant for him to have entered into a business partnership with her—a partnership that, according to Damen, had been forged on his respect for Anastasia’s business acumen rather than his personal feelings for her.

Where did Lady Breanna fit into all this? Royce mused. Shehadn’tbeen raised in America. She’d been raised right here, by a father who’d effectively sealed her off from the world, relegated her to the manor while he tried to manipulate her future in order to cling to his own. A father who’d turned out to be, not only a felon and a scoundrel, but a cold-hearted bastard who’d resort to murder to achieve his ends.

What effect had that had on her?

He was about to find out.

“Lord Royce has arrived,” Wells announced in the sitting room doorway.

All three of the room’s occupants rose.

“Royce, come in.” Damen moved forward, his arm wrapped around the waist of a beautiful young woman with delicate features, jade green eyes, and auburn hair that tumbled, unbound, about her shoulders. “This is my wife, Anastasia.”

Boldly, Anastasia Lockewood appraised Royce as he approached, kissed her hand.

“Lady Sheldrake. It’s a pleasure.”

“I’m happy to .meet you, my lord,” she replied, still studying his face. “I didn’t even know of your existence until today. .But, based on Damen’s description of the investigations you conduct for him, I have the feeling you helped fit together the pieces to a very ugly puzzle several months ago that ended up saving my life. For that, I thank you.”

Royce inclined his head with interest. A straightforward, candid woman—nowthatwas refreshing.

“You’re welcome,” he responded with a hint of a smile. “But I’m afraid I can’t take credit for the investigation you’re describing. I was in India when Damen sought me out. My associate is the one who did the probing.”

Damen’s wife smiled, an open, infectious grin. “Then please thank him for me.Asfor you—your associate’s skill speaks just as highly of you. After all, you chose him. And only the cleverest of businessmen are shrewd enough to ally themselves with equally clever partners. Just look at Damen.”

A chuckle. “I see what you mean.” Royce’s gaze shifted, as a flash of color and movement from beside the settee caught his eye, drew his attention to the room’s final occupant.

He found himself gazing at a woman who appeared, at first glance, to be a very close replica of Anastasia .

At second glance, he realized she was no replica, but an original.

Breanna Colby was a portrait come to life, all flawless lines and subtle hues—and yet, decidedly inaccessible.

She was nothing short of exquisite—a graceful, delicate, punch-in-the-gut beauty. True, her features were seemingly identical to her cousin’s. Still, they were somehow different. Or perhaps it was the personality he could sense hovering behind the vivid coloring and fine features that made it so.

To begin with, Breanna’s eyes, the same jade green as Anastasia’s, were softer, more remote than her cousin’s—as if she were guarding a part of herself she was reluctant to share, reserving judgment while letting you know you had to earn the right to be allowed in. Her expression was thoughtful, speculative, but carefully schooled. And her hair, that same glorious auburn color as Anastasia’s, was upswept, perfectly arranged atop her head without a single str and mussed or out of place. She was lovely, proper, self-contained—a lady through and through.