The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

So what the hell was bothering him?

Puzzled, he walked toward his phaeton, trying to analyze the unsettled feeling he had deep in his gut. On the verge of climbing into the driver's seat, he paused, turning once again to study the manor, intent on determining the reason for his restlessness.

Everything looked calm, the household settled in for the night.

He pivoted slowly, peering across the grounds, scrutinizing the shadows of trees, the thin layer of fog that was unfolding to hide the moon from view.

AH was still.

Still frowning, Royce swung into his seat, unable to explain or shake free of his uneasiness.

Maybe it wasn't Ryder's case at all. Maybe it was worry over Breanna that was plaguing him.

Accepting that as a very real prospect, Royce slapped the reins, guided his carriage onto the road. Anything was possible, he mused, especially when it came to Breanna. It went without question that he wouldn't feel totally at ease until he was back at Med­ford Manor, overseeing her safety himself.

And catching the bastard who was after her.

He had a feeling sleep wouldn't be forthcoming— not for hours, if at all.

He steered his phaeton toward the village inn.

He waited until the last distant echo of hoofbeats had faded, and the road leading to Pearson Manor was silent.

Chadwick was gone.

The fool should have listened to his instincts, checked out the grounds to see who was lurking about. Not that it would have mattered. He wouldn't have found him.

Well, it was a moot point now. Chadwick had left. Only until morning, judging from the snippets of con­versation he'd overheard when the front door opened. Tomorrow morning, he'd be back to take the girl to her father.

Or so he thought.

Slipping his gloved hand into his pocket, the assas­sin closed his four good fingers around the pistol. His other arm tightened around the horse blanket he car­ried—one that would serve two purposes tonight

He'd have to strike swiftly abandon some of his fi­nesse in lieu of speed and skill. Ah, well. One had to be adaptable, especially when one's attack was spon­taneous, one's tactical planning limited to a few brief minutes.

His timetable was excitingly tight—and not only in terms of his invasion of Pearson Manor.

After leaving here, he had to ride to London, make last-minute arrangements with his crew, then rush off to collect the final piece of his cargo.

He also had a package to send off to Medford Manor, the contents of which would ensure Lady Bre­anna's terror remained at a peak during his two-day absence.

All of this had to be done by daybreak, when his ship would be sailing for Calais. An almost insurmountable challenge. One he'd relish—and master. Soundlessly, he moved toward the manor.

Glynnis Martin stood by the window, listening to her daughter shove a few final items into her bag then snap it shut, having readied herself for the trip.

Emma was going to her father.

The thought felt more strange than it did upsetting. Perhaps that was because so many years had passed, taking much of the hurt and anger with it. Or perhaps it was because whatever fervent emotion she'd once possessed had long since drained away, given freely and lovingly to her daughter and the dowager.

Eighteen years had passed. Emma had grown to be a secure and level-headed young woman. The dowa­ger had grown to be a trusted mentor and to depend upon Glynnis for friendship, for companionship, for strength.

But now, Her Grace's life was ending. Emma's, on the other hand, was beginning. And she?

Most of the time, the only thing she felt was tired. So many years had passed, taking with them her vi­tality and her hope, leaving behind only a sort of pas­sive acceptance and prayer that Emma's life would be better.

Maybe that prayer was about to be answered.

Emma was young. She could find the energy and the will to forgive—both of which Glynnis lacked. As for the viscount, he'd be captivated by his daughter. Now that he'd taken this important step, decided to acknowledge Emma as his own, Glynnis was certain of that. He wasn't an evil man, only a weak one. And once he met Emma, saw his own charm, sharp mind, and melting smile reflected in her—he couldn't help but love her.