“If,”Royce emphasized. “It’s a slim chance, not a likelihood. None of your guests is exactly a stranger. Most of them have done business with Colby and Sons for years, including a fair number who were dose acquaintances of your grandfather. Not to mention mat a good portion of them,I’macquainted with—well enough to doubt they’re killers.”
“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility that he’s here. So how can we either dismiss or confirm the notion? Should we begin questioning everyone?”
“Definitely not.” Royce shook his head. “If we do, and if it happens we’re on the right track, well only incite the killer in ways we’d be best off not doing. My reputation is not exactly a secret. If the assassin realizes I’m involved, that I’m actively looking for him, it would push him in a dangerous direction He needs to believe he’s in control. Let’s let him think that. We’ll find out what we want to know—subtly. Very subtly.”
Royce paused, his” mind racing. TU do some nosing around tomorrow before the first guests begin to leave,” he decided. “Better yet, I’ll have Hibbert do it for me He has a way of getting information out of people without their realizing they’ve revealed anything. I’ll concentrate on finding out where that statue was purchased. And the dolls, too. The killer won’t notice any of that. He’s too busy planning the next step in his scheme to terrorize you.” A muscle flexed in Royce’s jaw. “I’m going to beat this bastard at his own game.”
“You certainly understand his mind,” Breanna noted quietly.
Something cold and bitter flashed in Royce’s eyes. “I’ve known others like him,” he responded. “Predatory geniuses obsessed with their own superiority. Some call themselves assassins. Some don’t. And some don’t kill—at least not in the bodily sense, nor in ways one could describe as criminal. But their minds are twisted and their means destructive as hell—at least to those who are unfortunate enough to be their victims.”
Like you?Breanna almost blurted out.
Shebit her hp tosilencethe question, although she knew in her heart the victim Royce was alluding to was himself. And not in a professional capacity. Whoever had hurt him wasn’t among the military personnel he’d dealt with. It was someone else—someone closer to him. She, better than anyone, recognized the signs.
So where did that leave her? True, she didn’t want to pry. But, given her own life, was it possible she could help?
“I don’t know very much about you,” she ventured, broaching the subject cautiously, giving Royce as much or as little room as he chose to take. “I know only what Damen’s told me.”
“I’m not given to discussing myself,” Royce returned bluntly. He angled his head to study Breanna’s face. “Neither are you, I would imagine.”
“You’re right. I’m not.” She rushed on without allowing herself time to reconsider and change her mind. “I’m also not given to extreme shows of affection. Tonight proved to be an exception—at least for me. Maybe it should be for you, as well. If not physically, then verbally.”
A hint of a smile. “Maybe it should. All right, what would you like to know?”
“Only what you’re comfortable discussing.” Beneath the blankets, she drew up her legs, rested her chin atop her knees. “You said you spent Christmas with your brother and his family,” she tried carefully. “Are you and he close?”
A shrug. “Not particularly. Edmund is a good man. His wife Jane is a decent woman. They’re content in their roles as the Earl and Countess of Searby.”
“Content. In other words, dull,” Breanna surmised, her lips curving a bit. “Your brother sounds like most of the men I’m acquainted with. And now, having met you… I can’t imagine you’d have much in common with him.”
“I don’t,” Royce admitted. “But his sons are incredible—three bundles of energy. The hours with them are worth all the boredom. They’re even worth spending a few days in that house.On occasion,”he qualified. “Too often and I’m besieged by the ugliest damned memories…” Abruptly, he broke off.
Breanna recognized the bitterness in his voice, the pain and resentment in his eyes. She’d experienced those emotions all too often herself, incited by only one person.
That helped make her assessment of Royce easy.
It had to be his family. Not his brother, whom he talked about without anger. His parents. Most likely, his father—unless his mother was an unusually tyrannical woman. Yes, his father. That had to be who was behind Royce’s bitterness. Breanna would be willing to bet on it.
“These memories—were they of your father?” she tried quietly.
“One and the same,” was the sharp retort.
It was the only confirmation she needed.
“My guess is that he was much like mine,” Breanna ventured. “Domineering and cruel. Edmund is one result of such a father. He must have turned out as I did: malleable, self-contained. And you? You’re too dynamic for that. You veered off in the opposite direction. You’re the rebel, the one whose will was strong enough to fight back.”
Royce stared into the flames, and for a moment Breanna thought he didn’t intend to reply.
She was on the verge of apologizing for overstepping her bounds when he said, “For the record, you’re nothing like Edmund. Self-contained, maybe, but not malleable. And definitely not dull. As for me, I wasn’t always as strong as you implied. I was once a frightened child.Veryfrightened. You see, my father’s philosophy was to bludgeon us into what he called ‘being men.’”
“He beat you.”
“Oh, the beatings were the easy part. They were quick, they were predictable, and all they could hurt was my body. So I endured them. Edmund couldn’t— not that I blame him. His passive nature was no match for my father’s brutal resolve and vile temper. He crumpled by the time he was six, conformed to my father’s wishes. That, combined with the fact that he was the heir apparent, freed him from my father’sexe rcises in abuse. In my case, the exercises took a new form—a series of challenges my father provided for me to overcome.”
“Challenges?” Breanna felt an unpleasant sense of foreboding. “What kind of challenges?”
“The kind supposedly designed for me to prove myself, but which, in fact, were designed to prove my father’s dominance and to destroy my will. When I was five,Iwas ordered to ride a wild stallion who had a history of throwing and trampling his owners. My orders were never to fall. Each time I failed to stay in the saddle, I was whipped. And each time I cried, I was forced to endure an additional hour on the stallion’s back.
“When I was six,Iwas locked in a cramped closet and told to find my way out. If I dared fail or call out for help, the next spaceIwas locked in would be more cramped, harder to escape. And when I was seven, I was given books to read—in various languages—and told to memorize them. When reciting them back, I was denied one meal for each mistake I made. That usually meant going days without food. Shall I continue?”
“No.” Breanna shook her head, bile rising in her throat. “How did you get through it?”
“By becoming resourceful, learning never to fail. Every challenge my father hurled in my face, I mastered. Of course, that made him angrier. Which meant his challenges grew harder and his punishments more severe. He was determined to break me. It became his obsession. He was brilliant, vicious, and relentless. But, as you so astutely guessed, my will was stronger. I withstood his brutality for twelve long years. Then, I left for Eton. After that, I rarely came home. And once my mother died, I stopped coming altogether.”
“Your mother?” Breanna’s head came up. “Didn’t she intrude?”
“I wouldn’t let her. Do you know what he would have done if his wife defied him? He would have brutalized her.”
“But you were a little boy.”
“I was aresilientlittle boy,” Royce corrected. “She was a broken, defenseless woman. I did what I had to. If anything, it made me stronger.”
“Stronger, perhaps,” Breanna concurred softly. “But scarred. And I don’t mean physically. Your wounds are entrenched—permanently. I know that firsthand.”
“My wounds?” Royce shook his head. “I don’t regard them as such. Probably because I don’t regret what they made me. I suppose, in a way, my father did me a service.”
Something about Royce’s words touched something inside her. Perhaps it was the similarity of their upbringing, perhaps it was the conclusion he’d reached—one Breanna understood and shared with regard to herself. Perhaps it was respect for the man he’d become.
Or perhaps it just was.
On sheer impulse, Breanna squirmed out from beneath the blankets, lowered herself onto the rug beside him. “Now I understand what you meant by those who destroy without killing. I also see why you’re determined to outwit your enemies, even if it means taking risks—maybeespeciallyif it means taking risks. Your father provided a service, all right. But not for you. For the rest of us—the people you help.” She reached out, trailed her fingertips across his jaw. “Thank you for confiding in me. You’re a fascinating and complex man, Royce Chadwick.”
The impact of her touch was jarring. Undercurrents of sensation radiated through them both, jolting them from candid revelations to naked awareness.
Abruptly, the mood in the room altered.
Royce went taut, his gaze finding hers, delving inside her in way that made her breath catch.
“Iama complex man,” he said roughly. “I’m also a hard man. Despite how you perceive me, despite my concern for youandmy attraction to you, I’m not given to tenderness or sentiment. They’re not in my nature.”
“But compassion is.” Breanna’s heartbeat had begun to accelerate.
“Compassion, yes. Compassionandpassion” His reference was pointed, an intentional effort to assign a name to what he was feeling. Not for his sake. For hers.
He was trying to shock her into realizing they were alone in a bedchamber in the dead of night, where there was no one nearby to ensure they restrained themselves.
His efforts failed miserably.
“Passion—definitely. As I discovered earlier.” Breanna had no idea where her bravado was coming from. She only knew it was there. She also had no idea what she was striving for by flagrantly baiting him as she was. She only knew that she had to see where it led.
Her thumb just grazed his lips.
“Breanna, stop.”
Abandoning all subtlety, Royce caught her wrist, tiny sparks flaring in his midnight gaze. “You’re not foxed now. And you’re playing a dangerous game.”
“Yes, I recall. Fire, you said. And I said I wanted to get singed.”
“AndIsaid you were going to get burned.”
She swallowed, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Maybe it’s time I learned to take some risks.”
Royce’s eyes narrowed on her face. “Not these kind. Not with me. I don’t normally display the gallantry I did in that garden tonight.”
“Of course not. That would be a show of sentiment—something you’re not given to.”
He was losing and he knew it. Breanna could actually see him weaken.
“Stop provoking me,” he commanded. “Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
“What you mean is, trying to warn me about.” Breanna eased closer, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Yes, I understand.”
Royce sucked in his breath. He released her wrist, then rose to his knees, his fingers, of their own volition, gliding into the strands of her upswept hair. “This is a mistake.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. You’re unnerved by what happened tonight. You’re feeling vulnerable.”
“I’m feeling many things.” Breanna tilted back her head, studied the hard angles of his face in the firelight. “But right now, vulnerable isn’t one of them.”
“Damn,” Royce hissed. He leaned forward, sliding his palm around to cup the nape of her neck, and drew her closer, staring down at her with an expression that sent live flames licking through her. “This is a mistake. An unprincipled, reckless mistake.”
Breanna gripped his shirt, raising up until their lips were inches apart “I don’t care.”
With a harsh sound, Royce dragged her against him, crushing her mouth to his. There were no preliminaries this time. His lips devoured hers, parting them for the intimate invasion of his tongue. He delved deep, angling her head to give him greater access, taking her with heated, suggestive strokes of his tongue.
He twisted her around until he could lower her to the carpet. Then, he stretched out alongside her, half atop her as he continued his hot, drugging kisses. His tongue captured hers, caressed it in dizzying strokes, and his hand moved restlessly down to cover her breast.
Breanna was caught up in a vortex of physical awakening. When Royce’s hand found her breast, she whimpered—a soft sound that Royce caught with his mouth. His thumb found and teased her nipple, circling it until it hardened and throbbed beneath his touch. She wound her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair. She was lost in sensation, in the sheer excitement of discovery.
Royce tore his mouth from hers, moved down her neck, her throat, searing her with each hungry caress. His lips closed around her nipple, tugged at it through the silk of her gown, and Breanna’s eyes slid shut, her breath expelling in a rush. She clutched Royce’s head, held him against her to prolong the pleasure. Shuddering at her touch, he stopped, but only long enough to reach behind her, undo the tiny row of buttons down her back.
He tugged down her bodice, his fingers automatically shifting to the ribbons of her chemise. “Tell me to stop,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
“No.” Breanna shook her head from side to side, desperate to experience whatever magnificent sensations hovered just beyond her reach.
“Breanna.”
Her lids snapped open, and she met Royce’s molten gaze.
‘Tell me to stop,” he repeated, already tugging the first ribbon free.
T won’t,” she said breathlessly. “I can’t.”
With a stifled oath, Royce dispensed with the final barrier that separated him from his goal. He parted the sides of her chemise, and an awed expression tightened his features before he lowered his head, captured her taut nipple between his lips. “You’re so beautiful,’’ he muttered thickly, cupping her other breast as he sampled its mate. “And your taste… God, this is an even bigger mistake than I thought.”