The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

“My congratulations as well, sir,” Wells said with an approving nod. “I was wrong about you. I should have listened to Miss Stacie's instincts. You're a fine man. I wish you and Miss Breanna great joy.”

“Thank you.” Royce was torn between gratitude and amusement.

He waited until the door had closed and he and Breanna were alone before asking, “What exactly was Wells wrong about?”

Breanna smiled as she walked toward him. “Oh, Wells thought you were a little too wild and daring to be suitable for me. I think he also feared you were a bit of a womanizer.”

“Did he?” Royce reached for her, pulled her against him. “The wild and daring I can't argue with. As for being a womanizer...” He tilted up her chin with his forefinger. “The only woman I want is you.” He low­ered his head, covered her mouth with his. “I'm con­sumed with you, Breanna Colby,” he murmured into her parted lips. “I think about you all day, burn for you all night. And I worry about you every minute I'm away.”

“Then don't go.” She twined her arms around his neck. “Guard me personally. Especially at night. The closer you are to me, the safer I feel.”

A chuckle vibrated through him. “Is that so? Then we'll have to see how close I can get.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he promised.

“Perfect. Because I just remembered we have some­thing to celebrate.” Breanna brushed Royce's lips with hers. “Today is New Year's Day.”

“That's right. It is.” Royce's arms tightened around her, and he molded the contours of her body to his. “No wonder the docks were so quiet. I'd completely forgotten.”

“So did I.” She shivered, pressing closer. “But now that I've remembered, I must say I much prefer this method of celebrating to the line of gentlemen callers I originally intended to receive.”

“I'm relieved. Otherwise, I'd be calling out a lot of men.” He silenced her response with his mouth, kiss­ing her until she was trembling in his arms. “I hope you got at least a little sleep last night. Because tonight you won't be shutting an eye. And it won't be fear keeping you awake. It will be me.”

“How enticing.” Breanna's eyes glowed. “I'll leave the door unlocked.”

Ten minutes later, Hibbert packed his final article of clothing and snapped the bag shut.

“Do you think I should contact Girard as soon as I arrive in Paris?” he inquired.

“Definitely.” Royce was perched at the edge of a chair, his posture rigid as he issued Hibbert's instruc­tions. “You know how good Girard is. His instincts are exceptional.”

“Almost as good as yours,” Hibbert commented, a statement of fact rather than acclaim. “I agree. He's our most valuable contact in the area. Very well. I'll stop in and see him bef

ore I visit the jewelers. How much do you want him to know?”

“Whatever you can tell him in a half hour. Don't waste your time or his. He already knows about the assassin. I've asked him to do some checking, to see if he can find the physician who treated that wounded hand.”

Hibbert pursed his lips. “I never thought of that. But it makes sense. He didn't dare have an English doctor look at his wound. It would be too risky.”

“Not to mention that if the trigger finger's as dam­aged as I suspect—enough to make him drop out of sight for months and then compel him to return just to kill Breanna—he'd need a physician of extraordi­nary skill. An expert.”

“Perhaps he first met his business contact while re­cuperating abroad,” Hibbert suggested. “Whether by chance or intent.”

“Most likely intent. Pose that notion to Girard. Then tell him, in addition to the doctor, to start dig­ging for whoever’s been buying the women, whether it's Rouge or someone else. In the meantime, you trace the perfume. Just let Girard know what you're doing so he can watch your back.”

“You mean, Lord Hobson's back,” Hibbert correct­ed dryly. He quirked a brow at his employer. “I think I'll enjoy playing the part of a nobleman.”

“I'm sure you will.” Royce rose, thinking through the final steps of his plan. “You know what to say in those letters?”

“Of course.” Hibbert grasped his bag, swung it off the bed. “I'll take care of things at my end. You just keep everyone here safe.” A penetrating look. “In­cluding yourself.”

“I intend to.” Royce glanced restlessly toward the window. “He's out there, Hibbert. I can feel it. If only I could force him to confront me, to vent his rage at me, rather than Breanna.”

Hibbert studied Royce for a long, thoughtful mo­ment. “You've taught me well. So let me give you some of your own advice. A bit of apprehension is healthy. It's what keeps our wits sharp and our senses honed.” A profound pause. “However, this is more than mere apprehension. It's fear. That's because the stakes are personal. Very personal. The life of the woman you love is at risk. So you're terrified—terri­fied and determined to protect her, even at the ex­pense of your own life.”

Royce's head came up. “And you take exception to that?”