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“No.” It was Breanna who answered, walking forward to join the men. “It was just as you said. The three of us went about our business, Wells checked the mail every day, and—other than the responses to our party invitations that continued to pour in—we received nothing from that... that... man.”
Royce turned toward her, his midnight blue eyes sweeping her briefly from head to toe, as if to assess her true state of mind. “Good,” was all he said. Without averting his gaze, he gestured toward the older gentleman beside him. “My lady, this is Hibbert, my most trusted associate.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hibbert,” Breanna replied with a curtsy. “And since no one can tell my cousin and I apart, I 'll spare Lord Royce the embarrassment by introducing myself. I 'm—”
“Lady Breanna Colby,” Royce finished fo r her. “I beg to differ with you. I have no trouble telling you apart.''
There was something about his tone that made hot color tinge Breanna's cheeks. “My apologies. It seems I've underestimated you.”
“It would seem so.” A corner of Royce's mouth lifted. “However, it would also seem that I 've embarrassed you. So I, too, must apologize. Your apology, by the way, is accepted.”
Unexpected amusement danced in Breanna 's eyes. “Then I'd be a boor not to accept yours—which is just what I suspect you, were counting on me to say. You're quite a maneuverer, my lord. It's no wonder you're successful at getting what you want. Very well. Consider your apology accepted.”
Royce continued to gaze steadily at her. “Thank you. You're very gracious.”
/> Hibbert cleared his throat. “Lady Breanna,” he said with a bow, his pale stare assessing her in one swift motion. “It's a pleasure.”
“Thank you. And welcome to Medford Manor.” Catching her up between her teeth, Breanna grew serious, mulling over Lord Royce's blunt announcement that they'd learned nothing new. “So the dolls weren't bought in London. I'm not surprised.”
“Neither am I.” Royce glanced curiously about. “Where is the marchioness? I got the distinct impression your cousin never missed out on anything.”
Breanna's forehead creased in concern. “She doesn't Unfortunately, she hasn't been sleeping well. She's upstairs, resting.''
Royce frowned. “Is it anxiety that's keeping her awake?”
“No, my lord.” Anastasia descended the stairs, shaking her head as she did. “It's not anxiety. It's pregnancy.” She smiled, an illuminating gesture that drew attention away from her pallor, the dark circles beneath her eyes. “In fact, I've thought of a new and practical way to barricade our door to unwanted guests. Line the entranceway with chamber pots. They'll seal off the house, and I promise they won't go to waste.”
“A novel idea,” Royce chuckled. “I'll give it thought.” He repeated his introductions, this time presenting Anastasia to Hibbert.
The older man looked intently from Anastasia to Breanna and back again. “Astonishing,” he murmured, having properly acknowledged Damen's wife. “And you're not twins?”
“We're not even sisters—at least not by blood,” Anastasia explained. “Our fathers were twins. Our mothers were sisters, and they, too, looked a great deal alike. The resemblance between Breanna and me is unusual, but not impossible. And as far as being twins ...” She tossed Breanna an affectionate smile. “In our hearts, we are.” “I see.”
“When will your guests start to arrive?” Royce asked.
“Tomorrow morning.” Breanna glanced at Wells, who nodded his agreement. “Anything you want to know about the guest list, see Wells. He arranged the entire party without mentioning a word to me.”
“The decorating, the arrangements, all the finishing touches are Miss Breanna's gift,” Wells refuted proudly. “She brings beauty to everything she touches.”
“I'm not surprised.” Royce's head came up, and he inspected the festive greenery more closely—the boughs of holly and sprigs of mistletoe that decorated the entranceway and halls, the freshly arranged vases of snowdrops and ivy that sat atop every table.
“Everything looks lovely,” he murmured. “Warm, inviting, and incredibly beautiful.” He meant it, too. Each carefully placed adornment, each colorful wreath emanated the elegant taste and grace that was Lady Breanna.
The notion of anything threatening such beauty was unthinkable.
Brow furrowed, Royce turned to Wells. “I'll need to see the guest list. I'm sure most of the names will be familiar to me. You've hired extra guards?”
“They're stationed all around the perimeter of the estate and near every door to the manor,” Wells replied.
“Good. Then if it's all right with you, I'll have a word with the head guard—Mahoney, I believe it was—after I review the guest list. I want everything in place when the guests start to arrive. Most especial ly, I want the guards poised and ready tomorrow when darkness starts to fall. The big ball is tomorrow night. I don't want any surprises.”
Damen shot him a worried look. “You think that's when the killer might strike?”
“I don't think he'll strike at all. What he might do is visit. If he does, I'll be prepared.”
“I hope to God you know what you're doing, Royce.”
Royce's gaze remained steady. “I do.”
