The Silver Coin (42 page)

“Bon.”Maurelle folded her arms across her breasts, studying the woman she knew to be her lover’s ultimate execution target. She was clutching some folders tightly to her body—folders she seemed unaware of holding.

Interesting.

“Lady Breanna Colby,Oui?”Maurelle inquired.

” Oui .”Breanna hefted to lean back into the hallway. She glanced about furtively, searching the area in a most thorough fashion. Then, she gestured to that wretched butler of hers, who magically appeared out of nowhere and proceeded to hover just outside the door. “Stand guard,” she instructed him in a fierce whisper—one Maurelle managed to overhear “Don’t let Lord Royce know I’m in here. He thinks I’m behaving irrationally, letting my emotions rule my head. But he doesn’t understand. I must try this my way. I must.” She inhaled sharply. “Knock twice if you see him approaching.”

Waiting only for her butler’s assent, Lady Breanna shut the door and faced Maurelle.

“I had to see you,” she announced in a small, shaky voice. “No matter what Lord Royce says, I refuse to believe any woman could remain immune to another woman’s anguish. Not in this case. Not if she fully understood it.”

Maurelle kept her features carefully schooled, although her gaze flickered to the folders clutched Breanna’s arms. What was in them? Was this some kind of ploy?

Doubtful. The insipid girl’s state of mind was far too precarious for Chadwick to entrust her with his work. Still, those folders had to contain something. But what?

She had to find out—forhissake.

“Go ahead,” she replied carefully.”I’m willing to listen.”

Breanna swallowed, clearly fighting for control. “I won’t denounce you for loving this man. I can only guess you’ve never seen the side of him I have. I’ve come here to share that side of him with you, in me hopes that you’ll realize what he’s capable of, and that you’ll help me stop him.” Tears glistened on her lashes. “I don’t want to die, Maurelle. I’m twenty one years old. My life is just beginning. Please, help me.”

“What is it you intend to share with me that will plead your case—your words, your fears?”

“No. My proof.” Breanna began crossing over toward the desk.

Halfway there, she paused, becoming aware of the five files she still gripped. With a shudder of revulsion, she tossed them down on the table alongside the wardrobe, keeping only some loose papers in ha hand as she made her way to the desk.

“Proof?” Maurelle followed her automatically, her dark gaze focusing on the pages Breanna was spreading out on the desk top.

“Yes. His letters to me. The ones that describe what he intends to do to me, and to my cousin. My cousin is with child, Maurelle. And he knows it. He means to kill her unborn babe. He specifically says so.”

“Does he?” Maurelle controlled her amusement, her glance shifting from the letters she already knew of to the files Breanna had abandoned near the wardrobe. “Those files—are they also proof?”

Breanna looked up, followed Maurelle’s gaze, and shuddered again. “Those are whatLord Roycecalls proof. They’re facts, dates, and worst of all, drawings, for me to go over.” Her voice trembled. “I can’t do that. It’s too painful. Especially seeing his face again. I realize Lord Royce has narrowed the search down to five men, and that I’m the only person who can identify the killer—other than Emma, who’s too dazed to speak, much less confront the man who killed her mother.”

“You’ve actually seen him?” Maurelle asked, keeping the fear out of her voice.

“Twice.” Breanna lowered her lashes, her entire body trembling as she spoke. “The night I shot him, and several days ago, when I left the estate. The first time it was dark, so all I could make out was his build. But the other day, I sew his face, his features, the coldness in his eyes. I can’t brave that again. I’ve described him to Lord Royce. I can’t help it if my description could apply to any of those five noblemen. I just can’t bear looking at him again.”

“I find it odd that you’d need to,” Maurelle said carefully “If you really saw him in such great detail, why didn’t you recognize him? Surely you’ve met him at one social gathering or another.”

“Lord Royce said the same thing—a dozen times. But, as I told him, my father kept me isolated. I never attended a full London Season. So, I wasn’t formallyintroduced to anyone. The gentlemen are all a jumble of faces.”

“I see.” Maurelle’s mind was racing, trying to findaway to use that to her advantage.

Slowly, she began backing toward the wardrobe.

Lost in her own pain, Breanna buried her face in her hands, weeping softly as she spoke. “I’m begging you, Maurelle. Read these letters. Tell us his name. Don’t make me go through any more than I already have. Please … spare me. Spare my cousin. And most of all, spare her unborn child, who’s innocent and deserves a chance at life. Please.”

Maurelle halted beside the files. “Read me the letters,” she ordered. “Let me hear this firsthand. I can’t believe the man I love would kill an unborn child.”

Eagerly, Breanna complied, drying her eyes witha handkerchief, and composing herself enough to pick up the first note, read its contents aloud.

By the time she’d reached the final, dooming letter, Maurelle had completed her perusal, and her work-silently, rapidly, and as thoroughly as time would permit.

The information she had the chance to skim was equally damning to all five men. Any of them could be her noble assassin.

The drawings were another matter entirely.

Fear had prickled up her spine as she realized how accurate the visual depictions were, how easy it would be for Lady Breanna to identify her stalker by looking at his likeness.

Destroying the drawing was unthinkable. So was defacing it enough to disguise his features. Either of those steps would alert Chadwick to the fact that she’d tampered with the file, not to mention leadinghim to precisely the man she was determined to protect.

So how could she save him, buy him enough time to kill this interfering bitch and vanish?

There was only one way. It was risky, but it was a chance she had to take. After all, the chit had said she wouldn’t know one man from the other.

In one swift motion, Maurelle had opened his file, plucked out his picture, and slipped it into the file behind it. Then, she’d stepped away from the reports.

Lady Breanna was reading the final phrase of the last letter. That alerted Maurelle to the fact that she hadn’t time to get back over to the desk, where she was supposedly still standing, without calling attention to herself. Even an overwrought fool like Lady Breanna might become suspicious if she saw her enemy standing so close to a report that would condemn her lover. And the last thing Maurelle wanted was to arouse her ladyship’s suspicions.

She acted on impulse.

Reaching for the wardrobe, she grabbed at the first item of clothing she could find. A night robe. Fine. She’d feign distress, make it look as if what she’d just heard had upset her so greatly, she couldn’t stay still and bear it. She had to busy herself to keep from breaking down.

And what more logical outlet for her anguish than donning her nightclothes, retiring to bed to bury her pain?

Breanna was staring at the page in her hands, her breathing unsteady as she fought back tears. When she finally looked up, Maurelle was unbuttoning her gown in dazed, jerky motions, watching her with a shocked expression.

“Now do you understand?” Breanna beseeched her.

“Oui.”Maurelle kept her voice low, shaken. “How could I not?” She stepped out of her gown, untiedtheribbons of her chemise”Inever imagined. ..” Shefinished undressing, then, with trembling hands, shrugged on the absurdly pristine night robethathad been left for her. “I don’t know what to do,”sheconfessed. “To betray him… It’s not only love.I’mafraid.”

“We’ll protect you,” Breanna assured her quickly “We’ll keep you safe until he’s caught. Please, help me. If not for my sake, for the sake of Anastasia’s babe.”

That, ostensibly, clinched it.

Maurelle nodded, pain twisting her lovely features “I will.” She pressed her palms together, summoning up all her courage. “No unborn child should be killed without ever tasting life.” A heartbeat of a pause.” His name is Arthur,” she whispered, forcing out the words. “Arthur Landow.”

She watched relief sweep Breanna’s face.

Slowly, she counted to ten.

It was time for her seemingly virtuous move.

“Lord Royce will want your verification,” she informed Breanna, dabbing at her eyes. “He’s a man, and will never understand your qualms about viewing the drawings. But I’m a woman. I do. So, while I know you must confirm what I’ve told you, I don’t think you should subject yourself to doing so—not alone.” She crossed over, picked up Landow’s file, holding it so Breanna could see his name penned in bold letters across the front. “Here. Do it now. With another woman beside you for comfort. Then, you’ll never have to do it again.” She tugged out the sketch she’d placed atop Landow’s, flourished it before Breanna’s horrified eyes. “Is this not he?”

Breanna stared at the drawing. Her gaze shifted to Maurelle’s compassionate expression, and she shuddered, biting her up to stifle a sob. “Yes. It’s he.” She turned away from the sketch. “Put it away. I never want to see him again.”

“Mais oui.I understand.” Maurelle hurried back to the stack of files, slipping her noble assassin’s sketch back in its proper place before laying Landow’s file atop it.

Maurelle picked up the entire stack of reports. “Why don’t you give these to your butler right now? He can turn them straight over to Lord Royce, and you need never see Arthur’s face again.” A shaky pause. “Just as I won’t.”

Breanna stood, gathering up the letters and walking over to Maurelle. “Thank you, Maurelle,” she said fervently, taking the files from her. “I know how difficult this was for you. But you did the right thing. Just as I knew you would.” She opened the door, gestured for Wells to approach. “Take these,” she directed him. “Give them to Lord Royce. Tell him I have his answers. I won’t need to see these sketches again.”

Ever yone was gathered in the sitting room when Breanna and Wells walked in.

Breanna’s ashen expression was no longer feigned, but very real.

“It’s done,” she stated simply, her voice more hot low than shaken. “We finally know who he is.” Ha gaze flickered from one beloved face to the next, finally settling on Royce. “Viscount Crompton,” she supplied. “He’s the assassin.”

“You’re certain.” Royce’s words were more statement than query.

“Yes.” Breanna nodded, inte r lacing her fingers tightly in front of he r.”Maurelle went first to his file. She looked at it twice, once before and once after she skimmed the others. Then, she removed my sketch of Crompton from his file and slipped it into Arthur Landow’s. She brought Landow’s file over to me, made sure I saw his name on it, and flourished the drawing of Crompton, admitting to me that Arthur Landow was indeed the man we sought. Once I  acknowledged recognizing his face, she put the sketch back where it belonged and told me I need never look at it again.” Breanna exhaled slowly. “It’s Crompton.”

Royce crossed over, enfolded Breanna in his arms. “You’re astonishing,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.” He tilted up her chin. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “A bit numb, but fine.”

“Crompton,” Damen repeated. “I never would have believed he had the presence of mind, much less the coldheartedness, to do this.”

“I told you,” Royce responded. “This killer is a master at deception. Crompton assumed you’d think turn too eccentric to be the culprit. He was right. None of us guessed.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without his gloves,” Anastasia commented. “Not before or after Breanna shot him. Then again, I’d have no reason to. The only times I’ve seen him have been at formal or sporting events.”

“Shooting,” Breanna clarified.

“Yes, shooting… no, wait. That’s not true.” Anastasia sat up abruptly.

“You’ve seen him without his gloves?”

“No, but I’ve seen him outside Medford. It was right around the time Damen and I were about to expose Uncle George. Crompton was at the House of Lockewood…” She turned to gaze at her husband. “Meeting with John Cunnings. I remember because Cunnings came to your office looking for the viscount’s portfolio.”

“He met with John often,” Damen concurred. “In fact, most of the time. He sought me out for large investment decisions, but on a day-to-day basis, he dealt with Cunnings.”

“Obviously, discussing more than finances,” Royce modified caustically.

“So what do we do now?” Damen demanded. “We know who the killer is. Why don’t we just ride overto his estate and grab him?”

“That would be the worst thing we could do,” Royce refuted. “First of all, Crompton isn’t spending much time at his estate these days. He’s here, watching Breanna. And if he knew we were on our wayto seize him, he’d simply vanish, the way he did last time.” Royce paused, his worried gaze shifting from Breanna to Anastasia and back.

“Only to resurface Lord knows when to finish what he started.” Breanna completed Royce’s unvoiced thought aloud.

“Yes.”

“I see your point.” Damen swallowed. “Then, how do we stop him?”

“We lurehim to us. We taunt him, anger him, and turn this little cat and mouse game around.”

Stacie looked intrigued. “How?”

Royce’s jaw set, that purposeful gleam returningto his eyes. “I’ll have one more chat with Maurelle. Who knows? Maybe I can even unearth a few more details while her tongue is loose—which it will be, as long as it’s Landow she, thinks she’s betraying. At the endof that time, I’ll let her know just how badly she underestimated Breanna. I’ll toss out Crompton’s name, and let her choke on it. Then, I’ll help myself to an article of her clothing—preferably something intimate—and I’ll leave her in the guards’ capable hands.”

“You’re going to send the clothing to Crompton,” Breanna murmured. “Let him know we have Maurelle.”

“You’re damned right I am. I’m going to flaunt that fact as crudely as I can. Let him think I’m bedding his precious Maurelle, violating the one thing he cares about. He’ll react. I guarantee it. He’ll go berserk. All his precision, his brilliant strategy, will be cast to the wind. Gut emotion will take over. Even his hatred for you will be temporarily forsaken. He’ll want to froe Maurelle, slit my throat for having her. And I’ll be ready for him when he tries.”