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“It's just that I'm a total stranger and you're uncomfortable with me.”
Surprise flashed in her pale green eyes, and she gave a self-conscious nod. “Exactly.”
“I understand your reluctance. But, I assure you, I know what I'm doing. How I do it, now that's a different story. You might not care for my methods, especially since they can get a bit risky. What I suggest is this: let me take a look at the package and note you received, ask you a few questions. After dinner, we'll discuss my strategy. If you don't care for it, I'll leave.”
“And we'll be right back where we started,” Damen put in tersely.
Breanna gave a resigned sigh. “That's certainly true. Very well, my lord. We'll try it your way.” She crossed over, retrieved a box from the end table, and brought it to Royce, shuddering with distaste as she handed it to him. “This is what he sent.”
Royce opened the box, carefully examining each doll before replacing them, turning his attention to the note.
He read it through three times before lifting his head, meeting Breanna's anxious stare.
“Sit down,” he advised, gesturing toward the settee. “I want to hear everything you remember about what happened the night your father was arrested. Beginning after Bow Street led him away.”
Breanna inclined her head, frowning a bit. “Aren't you going to react to the dolls and the note?”
“Yes. After I've gotten all the facts. Now have a seat and tell me about your confrontation with this assassin.” Royce glanced up, speaking to Anastasia and Damen as Breanna settled herself on the settee. “I want to hear the entire story from Lady Breanna's point of view. No interruptions. Once I've finished, I'll ask each of you if you remember anything different from or in addition to what she's said.”
“In other words, keep quiet,” Anastasia supplied.
Royce perched on the arm of the settee, folding his arms across his chest and turning his full attention to Lady Breanna. “Go ahead.”
She wet her lips, lowering her lashes and staring at the rug as she mentally traveled back to the night in question. “The Bow Street runners led Father off. Damen, Stacie, and I stayed behind on the docks for a moment. I suppose we needed reality to sink in, to convince ourselves that the whole nightmare was truly over. I was weak-kneed with relief that Stacie was safe. She'd taken a terrible risk dragging that confession out of my father. Finally, we started to leave. Stacie walked first. Damen and I were right behind her. I got the oddest feeling...” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “I can't explain it. I just sensed a pair of eyes boring into me. I whirled around—and reached for the pistol I'd been carrying. That's when I sew him.”
“You saw him,” Royce repeated. “How clearly?”
“Not clearly at all. He was some distance away. It was late at night, and the fog was fairly thick. What I saw was the silhouette of a man, and the glint of his pistol. I saw him raise the pistol, aim in Stacie's direction. I knew exactly who he was, and what he intended to do. I had to stop him. So I shot. I scarcely remember that moment. All I remember is knowing I had to do something or he'd kill Stacie. There wasn't time to call out and warn her. There was only time to act. So I did.” “Then what happened?”
“He screamed. His pistol struck the ground. I heard it. He clutched at his hand. Then, he bent, groped for his gun. That was when Damen drew his own weapon. The killer turned, stumbled away. After that, the night literally swallowed him up.”
“He never said anything? Never shouted anything at you?”
“No. I never heard his voice—other than the scream of pain.”
“And his appearance? What can you remember about that?”
“Only that he was tall. And somewhat lean, in terms of his build. I couldn't make out his features, or even his hair color.”
Royce stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And the only one who knew this killer's identity was John Cun?
?nings. Unless...” A penetrating look. “You're sure your father couldn't shed any light on this? I understand that visiting him in Newgate would be unpleasant for you, but...”
To Royce's surprise, Breanna's chin came up, and she negated his statement with an adamant shake of her head. “No, my lord, you don't understand. And I don't mean how unpleasant it would be to brave Newgate. I mean how unthinkable it would be to face Father. However, that's irrelevant. Because I'd do precisely that—anguish or not—if I thought it would help. But it wouldn't. Father can't tell us anything. I know that firsthand. You see, Wells and I were in the pub when my father met with Mr. Cunnings, instructed him to hire that killer.”
“Were you?” Royce could feel his interest peak “You overheard their conversation?”
“Every word. My father pressed Cunnings about meeting this associate of his. Cunnings refused. He insisted on being the sole contact. He said his associate preferred it that way. No name was ever mentioned Whoever this gunman is, only Cunnings knew his identity. Which is why Mr. Cunnings himself is now dead.”
“The assassin had to eliminate him. I agree.” Royce's fingers stilled against his jaw. “Let's get back to this meeting between your father and Cunnings-the one you overheard. Tell me what else Cunnings said, besides refusing to divulge the killer's name. What other specifics about him did he mention?”
Breanna knotted her hands in her lap. “Cunnings said he'd known him for quite some time. He implied that the man's accomplishments were impressive Cunnings assured Father that no matter where Stacie was hiding, his associate would find her and kill he. He described him as an expert tracker and an even better shot. Oh—and he added that he was expensive Very expensive. The implication was that he was worth it, that he was accomplished in his line of work Does that answer your question, my lord?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” Royce glanced down at the note he still held, reread its message. Then, he rose, lowering the piece of paper and leveling a grave stare at Breanna. “This man is dead serious about his threats, my lady. You were right to be afraid.”
She flinched, but didn't look away. “I suspected as much.”
“I’m sure you did.” Royce frowned, wishing he had a different evaluation to relay. He didn't normally experience personal feelings when it came to the people involved in his investigations. But in this case ... hell, in this case, it was more than money or finding missing relatives that was at stake—it was lives. What's more, he couldn't help but admire the way Lady Breanna was holding herself together, especially since he'd just confirmed her worst fear: that she was the ultimate target of a killer. Her inner strength was remarkable. Yet, at the same time, there was something about her—something disturbingly vulnerable—that made Royce wish there were a way to spare her this ordeal.
