The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

“I see.”

“I might learn enough to strike a few additional names from the guest list. At the same time, I'm going to send a deluge of letters out to my contacts-as many as I can write tonight and tomorrow. That will keep messengers rushing on and off the estate, which, in turn, will keep the assassin wondering what the hell is going on. It might also interfere with his ability to get close to the manor. I'm buying time, Breanna. Just a day or two. By then, I'll have what I need.”

“Unless the last statue arrives first. In which case, our time has run out.”

Royce's jaw clenched. “In which case, so has his.”

26

The next day passed in a frenzy of activity and a knot of tension.

By nightfall, two dozen messages had gone out, five had arrived, and no packages had been delivered.

T he distraction had done its job.

As for Maurelle, she was as unyielding as ever. She staunchly refused to discuss her lover, other than to hail him as a genius and declare her commitment to him .

Still, Royce chipped away at her reserve, finding out tidbits of information about their relationship— enough for him to realize this was a longstanding liaison, formed over many years, and that it centered around a sick preoccupation with each other that Maurelle viewed as love.

Love between a murderer and a heartless bitch who sold women.

The whole notion made Royce sick.

It was late at night when he finished interrogating Maurelle. After that he began amassing the initial in­ formation that his contacts had provided. It was sketchy, but it did enable him to eliminate ten names, men who definitely hadn't served in the military. That still left twelve.

He could hardly weft to get his hands on the thor­ough background checks of the possible suspects. With a modicum of luck, those reports would arrive at Medford Manor by late tomorrow.

It was half after three when he finally crawled into bed.

Breanna was awake, her nigh trail tangled from tossing about, trying to sleep.

Royce reached for her, gathered her against him, and held her tightly.

“I wonder if I'll ever shut my eyes again,” she whis­pered. “Or if he'll haunt me forever.”

“He won't. It's almost over.” Royce pressed his lips to her shining crown of hair, feeling that now-familiar surge of protectiveness and need. “And the instant it is, I'm dragging you off somewhere and marrying you.”

She smiled against his chest. “You won't have to drag me. I'm as eager as you.” She continued talking, desperate to forget the present, to cling to the hope of their future. “There's a little church about a mile from here. I used to walk there a lot when my father was away. Actually, discovered it as a child, with Grand­father. He took me there for the first time when I was eight. My father and I were visiting Medford, and fa­ther had flown into one of his rages. I was desperate to get away from him. The church is so peaceful and lovely; it has a sort of quiet dignity about it that re­minds me of Grandfather. It conjures up special mem­ories of him for me. I'd love to get married there.”

“Then we will.” Royce tilted up her chin, brushed her lips with his. “We'll ride there the day this night­mare ends, speak to the vicar. I'll get a special license, if need be. We'll be married as soon as Wells and Anastasia are finished organizing the kind of wed­ding you deserve.”

Breanna swallowed. “Do you think I'm foolish for wanting something traditional?”

“I never trunk you're foolish. I think you're beauti­ful. And I think you're entitled to the most perfect wedding day any bride ever dreamed of.”

The raw emotions of the past few days converged, welled up inside her, and Breanna felt a sharp need to relieve them, to lose herself in a way only Royce could ensure. “Royce,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “Make love to me. Please.”

She felt his sharp intake of breath, sensed her own urgency come alive in him. He unbuttoned her night-rail, pushed it down and off, and tossed it to the car­pet. Then, he pulled her against him, kissing her fiercely as he rolled her beneath him.

“Forget everything,” he muttered thickly. “Every­thing but how much I love you, and how right it feels when I'm inside you.”

Breanna complied, wrapping her arms around him and opening her body to his.

The rest of the night was theirs.

The reports began arriving after lunch.

Four more names were eliminated by the time late afternoon tea had been served.