The Silver Coin (10 page)

Vanishing into anonymity.

Just like the assassin threatening Lady Breanna.

This new case bothered Royce even more than Ryder’s did, no doubt because of the longstanding friendship and respect that existed between him and Damen. Royce felt doubly compelled to find a solution, to protect Damen’s wife.

And to protect her cousin.

Both investigations were plaguing him, beating relentlessly at his brain.

Dashing about in the snow with three energetic nephews did wonders toward alleviating that.

It didn’t, however, make being at Searby any easier.

Then again, that house held nothing but dark memories for him—memories that no amount of revelry could erase.

So, it was with a great deal of relief that, on the day after Christmas, he bid Edmund and his family goodbye and took his leave.

He and Hibbert—who traveled with him to Searby—stopped in London overnight; long enough to gather up the Ryder file and cheek out the few remaining shops in Town he had yet to investigate that stocked dolls as part of their merchandise and might or might not have sold two red-haired ones in the past fortnight. 

None of them had.

The following morning found the two men packed, settled in Royce’s carriage, and on their way to Kent—first to check out a half-dozen shops in that shire, then to proceed on to Medford Manor.

The final lap of the journey was silent, as Royce contemplated his unsuccessful attempts to learn who’d sold the killer thosedolls,much less the identity of the man who’d bought them. He’d gotten nowhere fast. And his initial time had run out, as the Colby party was scheduled to begin tomorrow.

Unbidden, he found himself wondering how Lady Breanna had fared during his absence. Not bodily, for he felt confident she was safe—for the time being. Instinct told rum her assailant had more emotional torment in store for her before he acted. But mentally—had her nerve held out? And physically—had her stamina held out?

He had a staunch feeling the answer to both questions was yes. Lady Breanna was a remarkably strong young woman.

He’d seen that strength mirrored in those carefully guarded jade-green eyes when she’d stood beside Damen and Anastasia last week, on the morning he’d left her estate, and officially asked him to take on her case. Quietly, graciously, she’d voiced her understanding that this meant she agreed to adhere to his tactics, that she’d follow the procedure he’d outlined for her between then and the day of the party. She’d concluded by expressing her appreciation for his time and effort, then wished him a joyous holiday and sent him on his way.

Royce had listened to her formal speech, watched her self-contained expression as she spoke. Once again, he’d been struck by the sure knowledge that there was far more to Breanna Colby than met the eye, far more that hovered beneath that exquisite, genteel veneer.

He was more determined than ever to help her. Yet, so far, he’d accomplished next to nothing. After first leaving Medford Manor for London— prior to his visit to Searby—he’d not only called on

numerous local shops in Town to ask about the dolls, but he’d dropped in at Bow Street, spoken to Marks about whatever information had been amassed on Cunnings’s murderer, his potential link to the Viscount Medford, and now his link to the threats being sent to Lady Breanna.

As Royce suspected, Marks was more than willing to turn over his file, which contained details on the conversations he’d had with all those he’d questioned about Cunnings—both then and now. The Bow Street runner looked conscience-stricken and at the same time relieved to learn that Lady Breanna had hired Royce to follow up on the matter.

Royce understood both reactions.

Marks’s relief was because he was being pressured to devote all his energies toward solving the murders of the local noblemen. And his attack of consciencewas because he’d been unable to help LadyBreanna ,unable to find out the name of the predator who was stalking her.

How could Royce fault him, either for his priorities or his regrets? He well understood that rueful expression on Marks’s face. He had the uncomfortable feeling he’d be wearing a similar one himself when he told Lady Breanna he’d uncovered nothing of importance as of yet. She seemed to have the same effect on everyone, inspiring a surge of respect and a rush of protectiveness that made people want to slay dragons for her. And if that reaction was unusual for Marks, it was unprecedented for Royce.

That fact notwithstanding, Royce had left Bow Street armed with Marks’s reports—reports that were nothing more than routine chats with all Cunnings’s friends and colleagues. Fine. He’d pored over them during his evenings at Searby, then kept them close by for reference. And now, after having spoken with shopkeepers throughout London, he and Hibbert had covered six or seven shops in Kent. Those visits had, as he’d suspected, yielded no information on the purchase of the dolls. Wherever the killer had bought them, it hadn’t been in Town or in Kent.

The bastard was too clever for that.

“We’ll be arriving at Medford Manor in about ten minutes,” Hibbert announced, shooting Royce a sideways glance. “Would you care to discuss your somber mood?”

Royce shifted in his seat, crossed one long leg over the other. “The truth? I’m not looking forward to looking Damen in the eye and telling him I’ve got no news on who’s trying to kill his wife.”

“Did you think youwouldhave news—after doing only a few days of preliminary digging?”

A scowl. “No. I didn’t.”

Hibbert arched a brow. “Are you sure it’s Lord Sheldrake you’re uncomfortable facing? Or is it Lady Breanna?”

Royce’s scowl deepened. “I don’t appreciate having my mind read, Hibbert. Not even by you. But if you must know, no, I don’t like telling a twenty-one-year-old woman that a professional killer—one with a brilliant mind and a burning desire to terrorize and kill her—is closing in and I’ve done nothing to outmaneuver him or find out who he is.” Staring broodingly at his portfolio, Royce added, “I’ve been unusually slow at turning up answers to young women’s dilemmas these days.”

Hibbert sniffed. “Ryder’s daughter is like the proverbial needle in a haystack. We’re not only searching for an eighteen-year-old girl who could be anywhere, we’re searching for one whose father has never laid eyes on her. We have no description, no point at which to begin. The viscount hasn’t so much as contacted Glynnis Martin since he impregnated her and discharged her nineteen years ago. He even destroyed the letter she sent him announcing their daughter’s birth. Why, for all we know, Emma Martin doesn’t even know her father’s name, much less that he’s alive and searching for her.”

“That’s irrelevant. It’swewho are searching for her, not the other way around. We knowhername and that her mother dropped out of sight immediately after having her.”

“Glynnis Martin could have left England.”

“With what money?”

“Fine. Then, she could have moved to another shire, changed her name.”

“That shouldn’t stop us from finding her— orhe; daughter.”

“It won’t stop us. But it might slow us down. Our men are exploring all the avenues you defined. We’re waiting to hear back from them. We’re also waiting for word on whatever death records they can get their hands on. Not that I hold out much hope. We have almost two decades and an entire country to cover, with only a name and a description of Glynnis Martin to go on. She’s had eighteen years in which to die. So, for that matter, has her daughter.”

“Damn.” Royce pressed his fist into the seat cushion, leaving a deep imprint in the soft cloth. “I don’t like being thwarted—not even for a few weeks. I don’t intend to allow it. By New Year’s Day we’re going to have information leading us to Ryder’s daughter.”

“I see.” Hibbert leaned back in his seat, eyeing his employer speculatively “And Lady Breanna? Are your plans for our progress on her situation equally ambitious?”

“Yes.” Royce’s jaw set, his tone as unyielding as his claim “We’re going to find that bastard who’s after her, Hibbert. We’re going to find him soon.”

“For Lord Sheldrake’s sake,” Hibbert supplied helpfully

“Don’t bait me. Yes, for Damen’s sake. Also for his wife’s sake, and Lady Breanna’s sake. Hell, formysake. I’m not going to lose. Not this time.”

“This time?” A wry grin twisted Hibbert’s lips. “As I recall, you haven’t lost atany time.”

“No,” Royce concurred, staring out the window as the iron gates of Medford Manor sprang into view. “I haven’t.”

From thesitting-room window, Breanna watched Lord Royce’s carriage round the drive, feeling a surprising sense of relief and an even more surprising sense of excitement at the realization that he was back.

But then, why should she be surprised at the relief that seeing him evoked? Royce Chadwick represented her only hope of finding and eliminating the assassin who was hell-bent on inflicting his vengeance on her and Stacie.

She’d been living a walking nightmare ever since that package had arrived, her entire body taut with fear every time she and Stacie left the house. Even with Damen perpetually by their sides, it was terrifying to know that- somewhere—doubtless within scrutinizing distance—a brilliant marksman waited, gauging the right time to end their lives.

Yet he didn’t strike—just as Lord Royce had predicted.

Damen’s friend certainly knew what he was talking about.

True, his methods were risky, leaving both her and Stacie susceptible to attack. Still, the tactics he’d outlined were unarguably logical—the result of an astute mind that understood its adversary.

Perhaps that was the part she found exciting. Dangerous or not, Lord Royce’s reasoning was fascinating and listening to him detail his strategy had strengthened her conviction that he was the right person for the job. He possessed all the awareness and creativity Bow Street lacked—and the courage to see it all through-She was curious to hear what he’d found out during his absence.

Letting the curtain fall back into place, she gathered up her skirts and made her way across the sitting room. She was halfway down the hall when Wells opened the front door, and Lord Royce and an elderly, silver-haired man walked in.

Damen’s footsteps echoed from the second floor landing, and he strode down the stairs, reached the main level, and cut across Breanna’s path, never even noticing her as he headed toward the doorway.

“Royce. Hibbert.” He greeted both men tersely. “What did you find out?”

“We spoke to numerous shopkeepers,” Hibbert began. “And Lord Royce paid a visit to Bow Street. After our initial inquiries—”

“Nothing,” Royce interrupted with an adamant sweep of his arm. “We found out nothing.” His chin came up and he met Damen’s anguished gaze. “But we will.” He handed Wells his overcoat with a nod of thanks. “Have there been further incidents?”

“No.” It was Breanna who answered, walking forward to join the men. “It was just as you said. The three of us went about our business, Wells checked the mail every day, and—other than the responses to our party invitations that continued to pour in—we received nothing from that… that… man.”

Royce turned toward her, his midnight blueeyessweeping her briefly from head to toe, asifto assess her true state of mind. “Good,” was all he said. Without averting his gaze, he gestured toward the older gentleman beside him. “My lady, this is Hibbert, my most trusted associate.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hibbert,” Breanna replied with a curtsy. “And since no one can tell my cousin and I apart,I ‘ll spare Lord Royce the embarrassment by introducing myself.I ‘m—”

“Lady Breanna Colby,” Royce finishedfo r her.”I begto differ with you.Ihave no trouble telling you apart.’’

There was something about his tone that made hot color tinge Breanna’s cheeks. “My apologies.It seemsI’ve underestimated you.”

“It would seem so.” A corner of Royce’s mouth lifted. “However, it would also seem thatI ‘ve embarrassed you. SoI,too, must apologize. Your apology, by the way, is accepted.”

Unexpected amusement danced in Breanna ‘s eyes.”Then I’d be a boor not to accept yours—which is just whatIsuspect you, were counting on meto say.You’re quiteamaneuverer, my lord.It’s no wonderyou’re successful at getting what you want. Verywell.Consider your apology accepted.”

Royce continued to gaze steadily at her.”Thankyou. You’re very gracious.”

Hibbert cleared his throat. “Lady Breanna,” hesaidwith a bow, his pale stare assessing her inoneswift motion. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Thank you. And welcome to Medford Manor.” Catching her up between her teeth, Breanna grew serious, mulling over Lord Royce’s blunt announcement that they’d learned nothing new. “So the dolls weren’t bought in London. I’m not surprised.”

“Neither am I.” Royce glanced curiously about. “Where is the marchioness? I got the distinct impression your cousin never missed out on anything.”

Breanna’s forehead creased in concern. “She doesn’t Unfortunately, she hasn’t been sleeping well. She’s upstairs, resting.’’

Royce frowned. “Is it anxiety that’s keeping her awake?”

“No, my lord.” Anastasia descended the stairs, shaking her head as she did. “It’s not anxiety. It’s pregnancy.” She smiled, an illuminating gesture that drew attention away from her pallor, the dark circles beneath her eyes. “In fact, I’ve thought of a new and practical way to barricade our door to unwanted guests. Line the entranceway with chamber pots. They’ll seal off the house, and I promise they won’t go to waste.”

“A novel idea,” Royce chuckled. “I’ll give it thought.” He repeated his introductions, this time presenting Anastasia to Hibbert.

The older man looked intently from Anastasia to Breanna and back again. “Astonishing,” he murmured, havingproperlyacknowledged Damen’s wife. “And you’re not twins?”

“We’re not even sisters—at least not by blood,” Anastasia explained. “Our fathers were twins. Our mothers were sisters, and they, too, looked a great deal alike. The resemblance between Breanna and me is unusual, but not impossible. And as far as being twins …” She tossed Breanna an affectionate smile. “In our hearts, we are.” “I see.”

“When will your guests start to arrive?” Royce asked.

“Tomorrow morning.” Breanna glanced at Wells, who nodded his agreement. “Anything you want to know about the guest list, see Wells. He arranged the entire party without mentioning a word to me.”