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“No. At least not yet. We don't want to take away every opportunity this assassin has to creep onto the grounds, and to blend in, undetected. The more rope we give him, the more likely he is to hang himself.”
Damen started, swearing under his breath. “That's insane. Now you're tempti
ng fate to an absurd degree, Royce. I don't like it.”
“I didn't expect you would,” Royce replied calmly. “But that's how I'd handle things— if I end up handling things.” He offered no further explanation. But it was clear that, unspoken or not, he'd demand absolute control if he were running this investigation, and that he wouldn't diverge from his rash tactics, despite Damen's objections. “In the meantime,” he continued, “what my role would be over the next few days would be to check out as many local shops as possible, see if I can determine where those dolls were bought. And who bought them.” A frown. “Although I don't hold out much hope. At least not initially. The assassin probably bought them far enough away so they couldn't be easily traced.”
“What about extending your search?” Anastasia demanded.
“I will. After the holidays. Christmas is next week. It makes no sense to travel to shops that will be closed. And speaking of Christmas,” Royce added, “the three of you should share a private family celebration.” He paused, turned to meet Breanna's gaze. “And after your private celebration, you must hold your party, as planned.”
Breanna's eyes widened, and she sucked in her breath. “You want “the party to take place, in spite of the killer? Or maybe J should say because of him. You really do believe in taking risks, don't you, my lord?”
“I believe in outwitting my enemies. That involves taking risks.”
“Risks?” Damen bit out. “You're not only inviting the bastard onto Breanna's grounds, now you're inviting him into her house.”
“Maybe.” Royce weighed that possibility carefully. “I suppose he could use the opportunity to slip by the guards and into the manor. But it's a hazardous step for him to take. He might sneak in to leave another of his gifts. But he wouldn't use the occasion to hurt Lady Breanna or your wife. Not with so many potential witnesses around. Such extreme carelessness would, in his mind, be unacceptable, beneath his level of genius.” A defiant glint lit Royce's eyes. “Still, if he does slink into the ballroom or gaming rooms, I'll be ready for him.”
“You will?” Breanna exclaimed, her delicate brows arching.
“Um-hum.” Royce was as surprised as Breanna by the offer he'd just extended. He hated large house parties. They bored him. He hadn't attended one in years. An occasional ball or two during the Season, gambling at White's and at the more lucrative horse races—those were the extent of his social appearances. Yet, suddenly, he knew he'd made the right decision by opting to attend Breanna's party. It was the only way to keep things looking normal, while at the same time shielding Breanna and Anastasia from unwarranted danger.
“You've got to hold that party,” he stated flatly. “Otherwise, the entire ton will be abuzz and the assassin will catch wind of the fact that he's unnerved you. Still, I'm not completely reckless. I realize you'll need protection. So consider that protection granted. I'll delay checking out the more remote shops about those dolls until after all your guests have left. Instead, I'll ride to Medford Manor in time for the festivities. If the assassin should show up—he'll be properly greeted.”
“By you?”
A corner of Royce's mouth lifted. “I know it's boorish to arrive at a holiday gatheri ng without an invitation. But, should you decide to retain my services that's exactly what I intend to do.”
“I see.” Lady Breanna acknowledged his statement and for the first time Royce saw a trace of humor light her far-too-serious eyes, warming them to a rich shimmering jade. “Well, thank you for warning me”'
He nodded slowly, feeling a keen surge of anticipation at the prospect of bringing down this ki ller and putting that luminous glow back in L ady Breanna 's eyes. “Y ou're welcome.”
8
Christmas morning—the perfect time to arrange a shipment.
A n uncommon quiet settled over the L ondon docks, the normal rush of activity suspended as workers joi ned their families to attend mass. Hoists and w inches were silent, ships swayed lazily in the chilly waters with few crewmen aboard to attend them. Tiny snowflakes sprinkled about, covering the docks in a d i aphanous veil of white and adding to the unnatural sense of stillness hovering over the Thames.
The assass in's footsteps echoed as he crossed the alley d i vid ing the cluster of warehouses. He glanced about, smiling as he took in the deserted buildings and path, contemplated all the sailors and workmen now gathered in Church.
What a pity that they were ignorant of the brilliant strategy taking place just beyond.
He 'd done a thorough job. Organized just the right crew to convey his cargo. Selected excellent merchandise. Readied the choice assortment without leaving a mark— any mark that might detract from their worth.
And made all the arrangements right out in the open, while the residents of L ondon were deep in prayer.
The instructions to his men hadn't taken long This was his regular crew—a crew that had worked for him in the past, and were far more afraid of him than they were of the authorities. Fear was a splendid motivator. It ensured loyalty in a way that even money could not. Because if there was one thing stronger than greed, it was the drive for self-preservation.
Everything was in place—at least for this crop of merchandise.
What a lovely New Year's gift his cargo would make for three fortunate gentlemen.
There would be another delivery sent on its heels. Plans were already in motion.
Yes, the week ahead looked promising indeed. Another target to hit, another shipment to begin arrangements for, and—most exhilarating of all—in four days a trip to Medford Manor.
A trip he'd counted on making with the utmost discretion. After all, there wasn't a prayer Lady Breanna would throw open her gates to hundreds of guests. Not now. Not after the dolls, the note, the guard. The party would, of course, be canceled.
