Anastasia forced a smile, however strained. “This pregnancy of mine is becoming more than a blessing. It’s becoming quite useful in manipulating people to suit our purposes.”
Royce didn’t smile back. “We’ll use whatever we have, do whatever it takes. I want to rob the killerofevery opportunity he might seize to get through those gates.” He rubbed his palms together. “Which reminds me, the construction is set to resume after New Year’s Day. That will have to be delayed. Blame the cold weather.”
“Consider it done,” Damen agreed at once.
“I’m leaving for Berkshire within the hour,” Royce continued. “The sooner I dispose of the Ryder matter, the sooner I’ll be back. I’d rather stay. But if I do, and if the killer discovers my change of plans, he’ll start drawing his own conclusions. If he should figure out I’m hunting him down, he might lash out.” A harsh edge laced Royce’s tone. “That would be fine, if I were the one he was lashing out at. It would be more than fine. I’d welcome the chance to meet him head-on. But it’s not me he’d vent his rage at.”
“It’s me,” Breanna said quietly.
“Yes.” Royce’s gaze held hers. “He’d find another way to terrorize you. Right now he’s appeased. He thinks he’s winning. I’d rather he keep thinking that, until I get back. Then, we’ll show him otherwise. But not until then.”
“Thetonthinks Hart’s shooter was the killer Bow Street is looking for,” Damen muttered.
“Our assassin wanted them to think that. He’s shrewd as hell. This way, he terrified Breanna without arousing a shred of suspicion. Hopefully, his victory today will ensure us a short lull as he waits to assess Breanna’s reaction. She’s got to keep him wondering.”
“How do I do that?” Breanna asked.
Royce’s stare delved deep inside her. “Stay in the manor. Don’t even let him see you, much less gauge how you’re holding up. It will buy us time.” A pause. “May I see you alone before I leave?”
“Of course.” Breanna rose, smoothing the folds of her gown as she did. “We can talk in the green salon.”
“I don’t think it would be proper to—” Wells began.
“Oh, dear.” At that exact moment, Anastasia jerked upright, looking like a rabbit about to bolt. “My stomach is beginning to lurch. It’s my own fault. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and when I’m empty,I…”She clamped her lips together, as if stifling a wave of nausea.
Wells was already in motion. “I’ll bring you some food. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He was gone in a heartbeat.
“Well done,” Damen commended dryly. “You accomplished just what you wanted to.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Stacie returned with a self-satisfied nod. She shot Royce a beatific smile. “You see? I told you my pregnancy was becoming useful. Now go. Before Wells comes to his senses and figures out what I’ve done—and why. And hewillfigure it out. He always does, as Breanna will attest.”
A hint of amusement lurked in Royce’s eyes. “I’m sure. Thank you for your warning, and your clever diversion.”
He guided Breanna into the hallway, led her across to the green salon, and closed the door with a firm click.
All humor vanished, leaving only the raw emotions of fear, gloom—and something quite the opposite of both.
“Breanna,” Royce said quietly, leaning back against the door and studying her beautiful, composed features. “I know you’re terrified. But I promise you, this won’t last much longer. I’ll find rum. You have my word.”
Breanna drew a shaky breath. “I can cope with the terror. But this is the second man who’s died because of me.ThatI can’t endure.”
“Sweetheart.” Unaware he’d even uttered the endearment, Royce walked over, framed her face between his palms. “You didn’t kill them.Hedid.”
“I know. But his hatred for me prompted him to do so. That makes me responsible, even if indirectly.”
Royce felt his insides tug—with compassion, with understanding, with something more.
Gently, he drew her against him, pressed her cheek to his coat. There was something about this woman, a beauty that was unique by its very design, its very extent, that made him wonder if perhaps he did have a heart after all.
“Hibbert has instructions to watch you like a hawk. You’ll never be alone. No one except he, Wells—and, of course, Damen, Anastasia, and I—know you’ve changed rooms. Oh, and your lady’s maid. I told her your chambers were being redecorated. I showed her your temporary quarters, and instructed her to tell no one of their location.”
That brought Breanna’s head up. “What possible reason could you give her for making that request?”
“Discretion.” A corner of Royce’s mouth lifted. “I told her you’d chosen that particular room because you wanted to be near me.”
Breanna stared at him for a moment, a pink tinge spreading up from her neck to her throat. Then, she began to laugh. “You’re the most outrageous man I’ve ever met.”
“I know.” His thumbs caressed her cheekbones. “And you’re the most extraordinary womanI’veever met.” He lowered his head, brushed her lips with his—and broached a subject he’d vowed to himself to avoid. “I’m sorry if my actions last night hurt you. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Which part are you sorry for?” Breanna murmured, making no attempt to pull away from his embrace. “Are you sorry for what we did? Or for the way you behaved afterward?”
“That depends on when you ask me.”
Breanna lay her palm against his jaw. “I’m asking you now.”
“Now?” Royce savored the pleasure of her touch,fought the urge to drag her against him. “Right now my conscience is warring with my instincts. My conscience is sorry I let things go so far. And my instinct are sorry I stopped when I did, thatIdidn’t make you mine as I’ve wanted to do from the moment we met” A teasing smile. “I prefer your instincts to your conscience.”
“So do I.” He kissed her again, a slow, dizzying exploration of her mouth. “We’ll talk about this when I return. In the meantime, be careful. Stay inside. I’ll be back by the morning after next, at the latest.”
Slowly, Breanna nodded, her fists clenching in the folds of his coat. “I will. But Royce?”
“Hmm?”
“Hurry.”
He lurked in the brush, waiting until Chadwick’s carriage had pulled away.
It wasnosurprise that H i bbert wasn’ti ni t. As he’d suspected, Chadwick had left his faithful manservant behind,nodoubt instructing him to safeguard LadyB reanna’s life.
Hownoble.
The ragehe’dhoped to assuage boiledupinsidehimonce again, stronger, more relentless, than it had been beforehepulled the trigger, ending Hart’s life.
Andthatrage was aggravated by Royce Chadwick.
Themanwas an unwelcome complication. He was too inferiortobe a threat, but not too inferior to be a nuisance.Hewas delaying the inevitable, helping to ease Lady Breanna’s terror.
He was involving himself in a war he’d never win.
Clearly,hethought himself clever—leaving MedfordManor asscheduled, heading off to Berkshire to tr yfinding Ryder’s daughter. He believed it would convince his adversary that he wasn’t acting as Lady
Breanna’s protector. But the fact that he’d left Hibbert behind said otherwise. It said that Chadwick was corning back.
So the fool hoped to match wits with him.
He was doomed to failure.
It was time to demonstrate that fact.
His mind racing, he massaged his hand, which throbbed beneath his glove after all the hours spent outdoors in the cold. The pain was worsening. He needed to warm it away, to soak his hand beneath some hot compresses in order to ease the knuckle that supported his wooden replica of a finger.
Not yet. Not until he resolved this issue.
But how?
In a flash of insight, he had his answer. Not just any answer, but a brilliant one—one worthy of great genius—its ramifications as exhilarating as its goal.
What a splendid way of putting Chadwick in his place, and furthering his own ends in the process. It would send Chadwick a message and, at the same time, divert the fellow’s energies elsewhere—probably straight to Bow Street. Of course, that would mean a greater risk of discovery. Then again, greater risk meant greater excitement. No battle was worth pursuing if the opponent was totally unworthy or the odds of losing nil By giving Chadwick this demonstration, leading him to a whole different set of answers, it would even the score-It would also enhance the next shipment by one. And why not deliver that shipment himself? Instantly, rage was transformed to anticipation, the thrill of battle mingling with another, equally enticing thrill.
Maurelle.Shecould ease the demons raging inside him, make him forget the agonizing pain in his hand.
And he could bring her the excitement she craved, satisfy her in ways no other man ever could.
Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It was just what they both needed—a profitable cargo and each other.
Not wasting a minute, he crept back to his phaeton, slapped the reins, and rode off.
He was careful to keep a mile span between his carriage and Chadwick’s. He knew where he was headed—to Ascot, where, if his exceptional memory served him correctly, Pearson Manor was situated. He didn’t recall the precise location, but he’d attended a ball or two there when the dowager’s husband was still alive. If need be, he’d stop at some local pub where the ale was cheap, and the patrons poor enough, greedy enough, to sell him a bit of harmless information, such as directions—for the right price, of course—after which they’d forget his visitandhim. Either way, he’d find the dowager’s home.
The easier method, of course, would be to keep Chadwick in sight, let him lead the way.
But Chadwick’s instincts were too good.
And it wouldn’t do for him to know he was being followed.
An honk smile lifted his lips, interesting. The pursuer being pursued. More than interesting. Ingenious.
The elderly, white-haired Dowager Duchess of Pearson listened attentively as Royce presented his facts. Her thin hands folded in her lap, her pale blue eyes unreadable, she set, straight-backed, in the library chair, waiting until the entire story had been told.
Then, she sighed, her already-lined face creasing further with uncertainty.
“I’ve protected Glynnis for eighteen years now,” she murmured, her tone weary with age and pain. “There’s a part of me that would like to keep on doing so. I’d like to send you away, to tell you to advise Lord Ryder that he’s lost any right to speak with the mother of his child, much less the child herself. But Glynnis is a grown woman, and a mother. In addition, my own circumstances have changed drastically in the last few months. So I’ll let her decide for herself what she wants to do.”
Tactfully, Royce refrained from prying, although he did wonder what circumstances the dowager was referring to. “You’ll let me speak with her?”
“Yes. I will.” Her posture stiffened and her pale eyes narrowed on Royce’s face. “But let me warn you, Lord Chadwick. Glynnis’s feelings for your client have long since changed from love to resentment, maybe even to hatred. I wouldn’t expect a warm reception,”
Royce had to admire the woman’s loyalty. Moreover, he had to agree with her assessment of Ryder’s actions. He’d been a selfish, arrogant fool. The difference was thatnowhe knew it. Age had granted him its unique wisdom, opening corridors of his mind that had, at one time, been shut. And one thing that wisdom had afforded him was the realization that blood ties did matter, and that human emotions transcended the bounds of class or monetary status.
In short, he was sorry. Deeply sorry. And while it was much too late to make amends with Glynnis, perhaps it wasn’t too late to form a bond, however tenuous, with his daughter.
“I appreciate your honesty, Your Grace,” Royce said respectfully. “I have no illusions, nor false hope. I want only a chance to speak with Miss Martin, to explain to her where things stand.”
“So be it.” The dowager summoned her butler, who came directly to the library
“Yes, madam?”
“Please ask Glynnis to join me.”
“Of course.” The butler withdrew, looking not the least bit surprised by the request.
“Glynnis has been my companion since she came to live here,” Lady Pearson explained to Royce. “She reads to me, walks with me in the garden and, as of late, keeps me company when I’m confined to my quarters—which is more often than not. It’s rare that she’s not by my side.”
Royce leaned forward on the settee, studied the emotion on the dowager’s face. “You care a great deal for Miss Martin.”
“She’s like a daughter to me,” was the shaky reply. “If this were a year ago I would have refused to let you see her. But now … I’m in failing health, Lord Royce. According to my physician, I haven’t much time. I also have limited funds to bequeath to Glynnis. My poor late husband made some bad investments before he died and what little he left me went to running the estate. So, if there’s a future for Glynnis—a good future—somewhere else, I won’t stand in the way of her pursuing it. If it’s what she wants.”
A knock interrupted them.
“Come in.”
“You sent for me, Your Grace?” Glynnis caught sight of Royce, and halted, looking hesitantly at her employer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
“Come in, Glynnis.” The dowager beckoned to her. “I’d like you to meet Lord Royce Chadwick. The matter that brings him to Pearson Manor concerns you.”
A startled blink. “Very well.” Glynnis Martin entered the library, approaching the settee with a shy yet curious demeanor. “My lord.” She dropped a curtsy.
Having risen to his feet, Royce bowed. “Miss Martin. A pleasure.” He straightened, eyeing her closely and seeing a woman who had once undoubtedly been quite lovely, with thick pale hair and wide gray eyes. But time and experience had taken their toll, and she now looked worn, resigned, her luster faded, her beauty diminished into plainness.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she inquired politely.
For an instant, Royce considered asking to speak with Glynnis alone, then abandoned the notion. To begin with, the dowager would never agree. Further, he sensed the elderly matron might turn out to be an ally, rather than an obstacle.
“Please, sit down,” he began, gesturing toward the chair beside the dowager’s. “As it happens, I’ve been searching for you for weeks now. Actually, for you and your daughter.”