The sound of yet another approaching carriage split the quiet of night.
“I hope we haven't made the biggest mistake of our lives,” Damen muttered, retying his cravat for the third time. “There are over a hundred people downstairs already. The entranceway doors are opening and closing ten times an hour. The French doors in the ballroom are all slightly ajar to let in some air.”
“And there are dozens of guards marching around the estate with loaded pistols,” Anastasia reminded him, walking over to fix the cravat Damen's valet had long since abandoned. “Damen, you have to stop worrying. We all agreed Royce's plan was the right one. Even Wells couldn't convince us there was another way. Because there isn't. The fact is, Breanna and I are at risk. We're going to be at risk until this killer is found and stopped. And if s up to us to do that.” She smoothed her hand across her husband's jaw. “Besides, wasn't it you who sought out Royce Chadwick, brought him here to help?”
“Yes, God help me, it was.”
“And we all agree he was the right person for the job—extreme methods or not” She grew thoughtful.
“Actually, I think it's uncanny the way he understands this killer's mind. If he's right—”
“It's if he's wrong that worries me.” Damen threaded his fingers through his wife's hair, caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “It doesn't just worry me, it scares me to death.”
Anastasia's sharp jade eyes searched his face. “You don't think he's wrong. You trust him. You'd never be working with him if you didn't. What's more, I trust him. So does Breanna. We all believe in his abilities.” She let her hand slip down her bodice, placed her palm on her abdomen. “Believe me, I know what's at stake. That's why we've got to go through with this.”
Damen's eyes darkened. “Half of me keeps hoping that madman has vanished,” he muttered, laying his palm over Stacie's. “We haven't received a single communication from him in over a week.”
“According to Royce, he was waiting to see if Breanna went through with the party. Well, by now, he's seen guests flocking to Medford Manor. So he knows—or believes—she's brushed off any worries she might have had. He'll be reacting to that soon.”
“And that's supposed to appease me?”
“No. It's supposed to make you realize that the only way to catch this killer is to lure him out. This unnatural calm is more frightening than anything else. It's like knowing there's a terrible storm coming—one that's going to strike at any moment and destroy everyone you love. Only it hovers, gathers force, and circles like some kind of predatory hawk.” Anastasia shuddered. “This waiting, bracing for the assault—it's unbearable.”
Damen gathered her close, tucked her head beneath his chin. “I know.” His embrace tightened. “I'm not leaving your side tonight. I don't care how you explain it. Tell everyone I'm insanely worried about your condition. Say whatever you want to. But don't expect to eat, talk, or dance unless it's with me.”
His wife smiled against his waistcoat. “You've become very possessive, my lord. It's a good thing you're the best dancer and the most fascinating conversationalist in the room. Otherwise, I might be forced to protest.”
Damen didn't smile back. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “No one and nothing is going to hurt you.”
Despite her independent nature, Stacie felt a surge of welcome relief, and she gave silent thanks to the heavens for giving her this wonderful man as her husband. “I love you, too,” she breathed. “And I intend to keep myself and the babe perfectly safe. I promise.” She leaned back, gazed up at him. “Let's try to enjoy ourselves. This is a celebration.” Her lips twitched. “It's also the first opportunity I'll have to mingle with the businessmen I offended last summer when I asked them to finance my bank. I have quite a few fences to mend. Especially since most of those men are clients of yours.”
“It's they who should be apologizing to you,” Damen countered flatly. “Your idea was brilliant. Choosing to dismiss it simply because it was a woman who thought it up was their loss—and my gain. It gave me the opportunity to” become your business partner. Our American bank is thriving. Believe me, sweetheart, if those men are feeling anything, it's jealousy and regret. And if any of them makes the slightest disparaging remark, they'll have me to answer to.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Stacie returned tenderly. “Thank you for always believing in me, and for rescuing me when I need it.” A thoughtful expression flitted across her face. “That brings me to an interesting question. Damen, have you noticed anything ... distinctive about the way Royce treats Breanna?” “Distinctive?”
“Yes. Different from the way he treats the rest of us. Royce is a hard man, and a somewhat detached one. I suppose he has to be, given what he does. Yet with Breanna, he's gentler, more compassionate. It's not the words he uses with her, it's the tone. As if he's trying to cushion the ordeal she's going through. And the way he stares at her—like he's trying to absorb her, figure her out. I can't quite put my finger on it...” Stacie broke off, trying to find the right words to describe her perception.
“Are you suggesting Royce is interested in Breanna?” Damen asked with more than a trace of surprise
Anastasia lifted one shoulder in an ambivalent shrug. “I don't mink interested is the right choice of words. It's more like he's fascinated by her. Whether it's just a combination of attraction and protective-ness, or it's the prelude to something deeper—that I'm not sure. What's more, Breanna is drawn to him, too. I can sense it . She's thoroughly intrigued by him—on many levels. Not that she's said a word to me. She hasn't Probably because she's still sorting out whatever it is she's feeling—if she's even aware of those feelings at all. Still, there's definitely something different about her since Royce's first visit. I can sense it”
Damen's brows lifted fractionally. “Royce is hardly the kind of man Breanna's used to. He's—”
“He's what—worldly? Experienced? A risk-taker?” Stacie's lips curved. “I know. Maybe that's just what Breanna finds intriguing.” She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “If s just a thought. A fascinating one to consider, though.”
“In other words, you're going to be scrutinizing Breanna all night,” Damen concluded dryly.
His wife's grin was impish. “She deserves to be scrutinized a bit. She certainly did the same to me when you
and I first met and she was convinced we belonged together.” A pointed look. “As it turned out, she was right. Then again, she and I usually are when it comes to seeing inside each other's hearts.”
Damen rubbed one of his wife's auburn tresses between his fingers. “Indeed you are,” he murmured, his features tightening with emotion. “And yes, Breanna was right about us. You're my life. Which is why I'm far more concerned about your safety—and Breanna's, for that matter—than I am about her romantic interests.”
“All I meant was that maybe my instincts about her and Royce are also right and—”
“I know what you meant.” Damen silenced her by pressing his forefinger to her lips. “And if you want to keep a close eye on your cousin all night and speculate about the prospect—however unlikely—of a future between her and Royce, feel free to do so. So long as while you're watching her, you stay close enough to my side for me to watch you. As I said, my main concern tonight is safety—yours and Breanna's.”
Anastasia nodded. “I'll place my safety in your hands.” Another faraway look. “I have a funny feeling I know whose hands Breanna's will be in.”