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Breanna raised her chin another notch, studied Royce's face. “It had to come down to this, didn't it?” she asked softly. “From the very beginning. It was going to end in a final battle between you and him. You'd have it no other way.”
“No, I wouldn't.” Royce met her gaze. “From the very beginning? Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. But from the day I fell in love with you? Definitely. So if you're asking if I'm arranging things this way so I can meet him face to face, personally pull the trigger to end his wretched life, the answer is yes. I wanted to wait until the odds were with me. They finally are. And Crompton is a dead man.”
“I understand,” Breanna said in a tremulous voice. “But, Royce, I love you.” She lay her palm against his jaw. “I can't lose you.”
“You won't.” He turned his lips to kiss her finger-tips. “Sweetheart, I'm not doing this out of arrogance.” His tone gentled as he gave voice to that which they already knew. “The truth is that you and Anastasia will never be safe as long as Crompton's alive.”
“I know.” Breanna wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, weighing her next words carefully. “Your letter has to be convincing. Maurelle's chemise, even doused in her scent, won't be enough. Remember, he sent me a bottle of that same perfume. We could be using that to fake Maurelle's capture.”
“True.” Royce nodded, eying Breanna speculatively as he realized she was leading him somewhere in particular. “I intended to include a lock of her hair. I'd parade her across the front lawn so he could see her for himself, if it weren't so risky. Given the frenzy he'll likely be in, he might go off like a loose cannon, firing blindly at everyone in sight. I won't take that chance.”
“You don't need to.” Breanna spoke calmly, her decision made. “Send the chemise and the lock of hair. Make the letter as provoking as you can. And when you do, mention the birthmark on her right breast. It's in a spot only a lover would know about.” She flushed. “I'll describe the exact location to you when you write the letter. But that should get you the response you're looking for.”
Royce stared at Breanna in amazement. “How did you have the presence of mind to—?”
“I didn't. It just so happens that Maurelle used undressing as a means to conceal the fact that she'd been looking through the files. She changed into a nightrobe while I was in the room. The birthmark is very conspicuous.”
“And you call me brilliant.” Royce kissed her triumphantly, unbothered by their audience. “This is almost over,” he said, raising his head to include Anastasia in his assessment. “Hold on a little longer.”
Royce strode into Maurelle's chambers and shut the door behind him. She smiled inwardly, seeing the victorious gleam in his eye. Her ruse had worked. Chadwick now believed that Arthur Landow was her noble assassin. Excellent.
“May I help you, monsieur?” she inquired, folding back the bedcovers. “I was just about to retire for the night.”
Royce glanced at his pocket watch. “It's not even dinnertime.”
“I'm fatigued.” Maurelle smoothed her hand over the sheets. “Your friend Lady Breanna exhausted me.”
His jaw tightened fractionally. “ I heard that Lady Breanna had been in to see you. And while I wish she hasn't subjected herself to that, I can't deny I'm pleased by the results.”
“I thought you would be.”
“Funny, you didn't seem to me to be the type one could reach through compassion.”
“People aren't always as they seem.”
“No, they're not.” Royce paused, rubbed his palms together. “In any case, I'm glad you relented. It will be easier on everyone.”
“Is that why you're here?” Maurelle inquired, gripping the bedpost. “To ease my fears?”
“No. Frankly, I don't give a damn about your fears.”
She smiled. “I appreciate your honesty, monsieur. So tell me, what can I do for you?”
“You can answer a few questions. I want as much evidence against Landow as I can get before I send Bow Street over to arrest him.”
Warning bells sounded in her head, and her gaze turned wary. “What kind of evidence?”
“His relationship with Cunnings—what do you know of it?”
Ah, that. Inwardly, she relaxed. Cunnings was dead. He couldn't deny Landow's guilt. Therefore, the closer she stuck to the truth, the better.
“Arthur knew John Cunnings for quite some time,” she replied.
“So Lady Breanna overheard Cunnings tell her fa ther. He said he'd seen the assassin's... Landow's,” Royce corrected himself, “accomplishments for years.”
“That's true. From what Arthur explained, he needed a contact to arrange the jobs he took on.”
“The executions, you mean.”
