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“No.” Royce refuted the latter. Walking over, he pressed her cold hands between his. “He had no intention of killing you. He came for the chemise. He also wanted to familiarize himself with you—your tastes, your weaknesses. He was searching for the best ways to terrorize you.”
“He found them.” Breanna curled her fingers in Royce's—and felt her core of inner strength waver. “I can't stay in this room tonight,” she blurted, unable to keep the words from rumbling out. “I just can't.”
“That’s not an option.” Royce saw the terror flash in her eyes, and he shook his head, negating her fear. “What I mean is, you're not staying here. Not only tonight, but any night Not until we find this animal.”
Breanna started, her insides lurching again. “You think he'll be back?”
“Eventually,” Royce said honestly. “But not to kill you. He has more to accomplish first He's not finished tormenting you. And we're not going to give him the opportunity to do that to the point where he's ready to move on to the next stage of his plan” The phrase to kill Anastasia and you hung between them, echoing as clearly as if Royce had spoken it aloud. “Breanna,” he added fervently, his grip tightening as he watched the expression on her face. “We're going to hunt him down. I'm going to hunt him down. I promise you that.”
“How?” Breanna heard herself ask.
“He bought that statue somewhere. Just like he bought those dolls somewhere. I'm going to find out where. I have contacts all over England. I'll send them to every shire, every bloody town if I have to. But I will find this killer. You've got to trust me.” A shaky nod. “I do.”
“In the meantime,” Royce continued, “if he does manage to get back inside the house, he won't find you in your chambers. I'm moving you into the room next to mine. Hibbert and I will take turns guarding your door. You'll never be unprotected.”
“Stacie.” Breanna's thoughts were racing. “What about Stacie? She's in danger, too.”
“Anastasia is safe. Damen's with her. The assassin would never enter their room and take the chance of alerting her husband.”
“But if he shot her before Damen awakened, or if he decided to shoot Damen, too ...”
Again, Royce shook his head. “That's not his plan. He's only after you and Anastasia. To close in on her, knowing full well her husband would be at her side and would, therefore, have to be eliminated, would be unacceptable. This man only kills those he means to— unless an unexpected victim like Knox gets in his way In that case, killing is unavoidable. But to plan his strategy—his ultimate strategy—knowing the stage wasn't set precisely as he wanted it to be; to burst in with the foreknowledge that someone other than his intended victim would be there? That would be amateurish.
“Besides which, he'd never shoot Anastasia from inside the manor. He knows he'd be caught—if not by Damen, then by someone else who heard the shot. He'd want you and Anastasia isolated, away from prying eyes and alert ears. Remember, demonstrating his cunning is as much a part of this bastard's thrill as demonstrating his skill. No. I'm convinced that if he went to your chambers again, it would either be to leave something else to terrorize you or, at the very worst, to watch you when you're unaware.”
“To... watch... me?” Breanna managed. She shuddered. “Y ou mean while I sleep?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Breanna recognized she was on the verge of totally breaking down and, desperately, she struggled to bring herself under control. Royce was offering her an alternative, a means to remain safe. She wouldn't reward him by sobbing like a child.
That thought prompted another.
“Y ou said you and Hibbert would alternate standing outside my door,” she said, her voice stronger, steadier. “That won't be necessary. The killer won't find me if I'm in a different wing of the house. Besides, I refuse to impose on y ou. Y ou weren't hired as guards.”
Royce raised her chin with his forefinger, those midnight blue eyes delving deep inside her. “That’ s my choice to make. Not yours.” He released her. “Now collect your nightclothes and whatever else you need. We're getting you out of this room.”
13
Breanna's temporary quarters were bare, void of personal touches and bedding.
Royce took care of that problem quickly and efficiently, carrying in a few blankets and pillows from his chambers to her new one, then building a healthy fire to warm away the winter chill.
Breanna couldn't seem to stop shaking, no matter how high the flames were fanned. She hugged herself tightly, trying to conceal the severity of her tremors, clenching her teeth to disguise their chattering.
“That'll do for tonight,” Royce announced a half hour later. He stepped back from the fireplace, setting down the iron poker. The room was still barren, unlived in. But, barren or not, it was far safer than Breanna's.
His gaze flickered to Breanna, then to the window. “It'll be light in a few hours. You'd better get some sleep.”
Sleep?
That word brought Breanna's head up, and her stomach twisted into knots as she realized the implications of Royce's suggestion.
He wanted her to lie down, to close her eyes, to rest.
And he intended to leave her alone so she could do that. Impossible.
Before she could stop herself, she'd reached out, clutched Royce's sleeve with her fingers. “No.”
