The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

Royce and Breanna exchanged glances. “Tell Hib­bert to come directly to my chambers,” Royce instructed the guard. “Yes, sir.”

Three minutes later, Hibbert walked in, looking rumpled and tired, but rife with purpose. “I have some crucial information and even more crucial cargo...” He broke off, spying Breanna leaning against the desk. “My lady,” he acknowledged. His forehead creased with worry as he saw the frightened state she was in. “What's happened?”

“A great deal,” Royce answered for her. “But all that can wait. Something obviously took place in Paris. Were you able to learn who bought that per­fume?”

“Bought not only the perfume, but the women, as well,” Hibbert corrected. Breanna gasped. “What?”

r /> Hibbert swiftly relayed the details of what he'd dis­covered: Maurelle's identity, her relationship to the assassin, her part in the sale of the women. He told them about Emma, how he'd bought her from Mau­relle, and how she'd assisted him and Girard in rescu­ing the others.

“Is she all right?” Breanna asked. “And the other kidnapped women—are they unharmed?”

“Other than being badly shaken, yes. Fortunately, we got there before any real damage had been done. The first thing I did was to grab Mademoiselle Le Joyau. Then, I questioned her employees, only to find out that none of them had any more information on the killer than Emma did. Their description of hint matched hers, as did the fact that they knew him only as the noble assassin.”

“My God,” Breanna managed.

Hibbert rubbed his palms together. “I escorted Mademoiselle Le Joyau out of her establishment and into a carriage headed for Calais—at gunpoint. We bearded the first ship to Dover. As for the kidnapped women, Girard is keeping them in Paris until it's safe for them to return. And Maurelle Le Joyau,” he con­cluded with a tight smile, “is downstairs in the ser­vants' quarters, being looked after by three guards. I'll take you to her whenever you wish.”

Royce rubbed the back of his neck pensively. “So the assassin's partner is a woman. Tell me about this Maurelle Le Joyau.”

“Obviously, she's French. She's also exquisitely beautiful and equally cunning. She was more than charming to Lord Hobson. Especially when she saw how wealthy he was. To Hibbert...” A mocking smile. “She's refused to speak a word since we left Paris. Girard is running a check on her background and history to see what he can find out. He said he'll dispatch his findings posthaste. Oh, he also said to tell you that the physician who treated the assassin's finger was a doctor named Helmett. He's German-born, extreme ly wealthy and successful. He's a genius at re-constructing limbs. He's also on an extended holiday. But it seems no one knows where he's gone or when he'll be returning.”

“Convenient. Hopefully, we won't need to hunt him down. Not with Mademoiselle Le Joyau at our disposal. She'll lead us to the killer more quickly than his physician.” Royce's features tightened into fierce lines, his predatory stance making him look like a wolf about to close in on a sheep.

“Stay with Breanna,” Royce instructed Hibbert. “Keep her in this room—with you by her side, and the guards outside the door. As for Mademoiselle Le Joyau, I want to see her. Immediatement.”

Hibbert nodded. “I thought you might.”

Royce took a step, then halted, as a troublesome prospect struck home. “Did you and Mademoiselle Le Joyau arrive in an open carriage?”

“No.” Hibbert had obviously anticipated this ques­tion. “I lured a closed carriage. And when we neared Medford Manor, I insisted that Mademoiselle Le Joyau he down beneath the opposite seat, covered by some blankets. She wasn't pleased. Nevertheless, my pistol ensured her cooperation. I smuggled her in the rear entrance, the blanket over her head. Believe me, my lord, no one sew her arrive.”

“Excellent.” Anticipation glinted in Royce's eyes. “That means her presence at Medford is our little se­cret. Fine work, Hibbert. That resolved, it's time for me to pay mademoiselle a little visit. Where in the servants' quarters can I find her?”

“In the vacant room next to Wells's quarters.” An ironic lift of Hibbert's brows. “I hate to admit it, but Wells has proven himself to have stamina, a quick mind, and fine instincts. All of which,” he added, with a quick sideways look at Breanna, “I will deny having said, should anyone feel compelled to tell him.” A hint of a smile. “In any case, given Wells's abilities, I thought it best we restrict Mademoiselle Le Joyau to an area he can oversee—when he isn't guard­ing Lady Sheldrake's door.”

“I agree.” Royce paused only long enough to go to Breanna, frame her face between his palms. “Will you be all right?” he asked tenderly “I won't be gone long.”

“I'll be fine,” she assured him, actually able to force a smile, thanks to Hibbert's light banter. “Hibbert will take excellent care of me. And I'll fill him in on what happened here since he left. Now, go. I'm itching to hear what this Maurelle Le Joyau has to say. If she'll say anything, that is.”

Royce's jaw clenched. “Oh, she'll say plenty—^be­ginning with that bastard's name. Because if she doesn't...” He sucked in his breath. “Let's just say she won't like the consequences.”

Royce stalked into the tiny room in the servants' wing firmly intending to intimidate Maurelle Le Joyau into telling him everything, even if he had to choke the information out of her.

Two things stopped him.

One, was his immediate assessment that this was no ordinary woman.

Despite her fragile appearance, Maurelle was im­pervious as steel, her chin held high, her dark eyes mocking him and any attempt he'd make to extract information from her. She wouldn't relent, his in­stincts proclaimed, not even if he thrashed her. Vio­lence didn't frighten her. Knowing her relationship to the killer, she was probably accustomed to it—wit­nessing it and, quite possibly, enduring it. So, threats would be wasted.

And then, there was the second thing.

Royce had seen this woman before.

He wasn't quite sure where. But the instant he laid eyes on Maurelle Le Joyau, he was certain of it.

She didn't know him.

There wasn't a flicker of recognition on her face, not even before she had time to school her features. She simply sat at the edge of the chair, her hands folded primly in her lap, her taunting stare daring him to do his worst.