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He glanced down at her hand, his own expression unreadable. “No?”
“I can't sleep. Not yet. Not alone. No, that’s not what I meant,” she amended hastily, hot color flooding her cheeks.
She sucked in her breath, tried again. “What I meant is, could you stay awhile? Just to talk,” she added in a rush. “It's just that... that is...” This was even harder than she'd expected. Turning to someone for help— someone other than Stacie or Wells—it didn't come easily to hen “I'm not quite ready to be alone with my thoughts,” she admitted at last. “Not after tonight's incident.”
Royce smiled faintly, plucked her fingers from his sleeve, and brought her palm to his lips. “Was that really so difficult?” he murmured.
“Yes.”
His smile faded, and his gaze intensified. Tersely, he nodded, as if in understanding. “I suppose it was.” He guided her over to a chair, eased her into it. Then, he gathered up the blankets, spread them out over her, one by one, until she was totally enveloped. “I’ll stay. We'll talk. Under one condition. You curl up under those blankets. We've got to warm away that chill of yours. You're shaking like a leaf.”
Breanna looked sheepish. “You noticed.”
“Noticed?” He leaned over her, his hands gripping the chair arms on either side of her. “Your teeth were clenched so tightly, I was afraid your jaw would snap. And your fingers were biting so deeply into your gown sleeves, I was afraid the material would wear away. Does that answer your question?”
Her lips twitched. “I suppose it does.”
Royce's knuckles caressed her cheek ever so slightly. “You're an astonishing woman, Lady Breanna Colby. Tell me, does that inner strength of yours never falter?”
Breanna swallowed. “I'm not certain how to answer that.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Royce studied her intently. “You're not even aware of how extraordinary you are. Every woman I know would be close to hysteria by now—crying clinging fainting dead away. But not you. You do none of those things. No matter how terrified you are, how dire things get, you stay strong.”
“That's not strength,” Breanna replied honestly. “It's self-control. I was raised to always exhibit it. After all these years of reinforcement, I suppose it's part of me.”
An odd look crossed Royce's face. ?
?I understand that reality only too well.” He straightened, turned his attention back to the fire.
He might have been referring to her reality, to his knowledge of her father's crimes.
Somehow Breanna sensed otherwise.
The reality he was referring to was his.
And the self-control was one he understood firsthand.
Watching the stiffness of his posture, Breanna once again resisted the urge to pry. “I appreciate all you've done tonight, all you're still doing. I needed your assistance;—badly. Regardless of how you perceive me, I'm not really all that strong. My blood ran cold when I saw that chemise.”
Royce relaxed, lowered himself to the rug by the fire. He stretched out his long legs, propped himself up on one elbow. “You're every bit as strong as I believe. If you weren't frightened by what happened here tonight, you'd be a fool. Don't confuse intelligence with cowardice.”
“All right. I won't.” Breanna tucked the blankets beneath her chin. “How do you think he got in?”
“That's a good question.” Royce frowned, the light of the flames reflecting off his face, illuminating the hard angles and accentuating his pensive expression. “He could have slipped past the guards by climbing into one of the arriving guest's carriages and riding all the way to the manor. If he was dressed in black, he could have scaled his way to the second floor after that without being seen. Or, he could have smuggled himself into one of the delivery vehicles and ridden to the rear of the house, then crept up the rear staircase while the ball was under way. No one would have noticed him. All the activity was taking place in the front sections of the manor. Or...” Royce broke off, midnight sparks glinting in his eyes.
“Or?” Breanna prompted.
He raised his gaze to meet hers. “Or he could have simply presented his invitation at the door and walked in.”
Breanna stared, her eyes growing wide as saucers. “You're suggesting this killer might be one of my guests? Someone we knowingly invited to this party?”
“I'm not suggesting it. I'm simply not ruling it out. After all what do we know about this person? Only that he's a master at his craft and that he has a twisted, albeit brilliant, mind. That description could apply to anyone, in any walk of life.”
“Including the ton.” Breanna gripped the blanket with icy fingers. “If he is one of our guests, then he's still in the manor. He's here right now, sleeping under my roof, planning to do Lord knows what.”
“If,” Royce emphasized. “It's a slim chance, not a likelihood. None of your guests is exactly a stranger. Most of them have done business with Colby and Sons for years, including a fair number who were dose acquaintances of your grandfather. Not to mention mat a good portion of them, I'm acquainted with—well enough to doubt they're killers.”
“That doesn't eliminate the possibility that he's here. So how can we either dismiss or confirm the notion? Should we begin questioning everyone?”
