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“You trunk he's hiding at the manor?” Stacie gasped.
“No. Either he slipped out the same way he slipped in, or he's here at your invitation.”
A stunned silence filled the room.
“You believe he's one of our guests?” Damen demanded.
Royce shrugged. “What I believe isn't important. What I do, is. I have to investigate every possibility. It would be foolish to overlook anything, however remote.” He picked up the disfigured statue he'd brought to show them, and turned it over in his hands. “Whoever and wherever he is, our killer's message is clean. But each time he delivers that message, he leaves clues along with it. The chemise is Breanna's. But this porcelain figure isn't. He bought it somewhere, just as he did those dolls. I intend to find out where. Someone will remember who bought these items.”
“I assume you'll be- leaving Medford Manor then,” Anastasia concluded. “When, tonight? Or sooner, before the party ends?”
Royce scowled. “I'm not going anywhere until every guest is gone. After that—” He hesitated, visibly troubled. “I must go to Berkshire, check into the whereabouts of Ryder's daughter. I'm not happy about it, not in light of what's happened. But I have an obligation ...” Unconsciously, his gaze flickered to Breanna.
“Royce, go to Berkshire,” she said, her voice steady, rife with conviction. “If Lord Ryder's daughter is alive, he deserves to meet her. Family is a gift. If my grandfather taught Stacie and me anything, it's that. We'll be fine. Besides, you have to start somewhere checking into shops. Why not start in Berkshire? Maybe that monster bought the statue there.”
Royce nodded, and Breanna could feel Stacie's scrutiny as she stared curiously from her cousin to Royce and back.
“All right,” Royce conceded. “But I'm only covering the shires right around London. The rest I'll have my men take care of. I'll ride out to Pearson Manor tonight, get my answers on Glynnis Martin. Tomorrow at dawn I'll travel down to Ryder's home in Sussex. Along the way, I'll check out the shops. I'll be back here by tomorrow night, or the next morning at the latest. Also, I've decided that Hibbert will stay behind. I want him here, guarding your door. That will ease my mind considerably.”
“Yours, maybe, but not Wells's.” Breanna attempted a smile. “He and Hibbert are both rather territorial. It should be interesting to see them living under the same roof and sharing responsibilities.”
> “They'll work it out.” Royce didn't smile. He set down the statue, turned to face the three of them. “Listen to me, all of you. I can't stress enough how important it is for you to act normally. What that means is, I want no one playing detective, interrogating our guests.” He shot a meaningful look at Anastasia. “Leave the questioning to Hibbert and me. We have a whole day to probe. Don't impede us and endanger yourselves by doing anything stupid.”
“Stacie?” Damen prodded, giving his wife's shoulder a gentle tap. “Do you understand what Royce just said?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'm neither deaf nor dense. I heard. And I'll do what Royce said.”
“Breanna?” Royce pressed.
“I've already assured you, I won't interfere.”
“Good. Then let's go downstairs. Your guests should be arising any time now. Damen, find a way to stay with Anastasia and Breanna. Use the excuse you conjured up last night—that you're a nervous father-to-be. No one will question it.”
“And no one will try to kill either of the women if I'm there, since my presence isn't part of his plan,” Damen finished for him.
“Exactly.” Royce's nod was terse.
“Fine. Then ifs needlepoint and tea for me.” Damen placed a protective hand on each of the women's shoulders. “I'll leave the riding and shooting contests, and the gaming tables to you and Hibbert.”
A fine layer of snow prohibited the men from holding their more ambitious races on horseback.
That suited the assassin just fine. It gave him a better opportunity to study Royce Chadwick.
Something wasn't right.
First of all, the man was too damned relaxed, something Chadwick never was. Which led him to believe it was all an act, being put on for someone's benefit. But whose? Lady Breanna's? And if so, why? Was it because he was trying to seduce her or because he was acting as her knight in shining armor? Did he know about what she'd found in her bedchamber last night? Had she told him? If so, was he coming to her rescue, helping her find out who her tormenter was?
It was the only thing that made sense.
Added to that was the fact that Hibbert had made three appearances among the men today. That unto itself wasn't unusual, given how unorthodox Chadwick was about his manservant. Still, there was something about Hibbert's demeanor—a fine tension only the sharpest eye could discern—as if the elderly butler was delving for something.
Or someone.
Hibbert was subtle, nondescript. He, on the other hand, was more. He was brilliant. Nothing got by him. Certainly not the casual inspection of an elderly manservant.
Then there was Lady Breanna.
She hadn't slept a wink. The dark circles beneath her eyes told him that. Still, she was up and about, fresh and lovely in her yellow morning dress, her hair perfectly coiffed, as always, and her smile intact.
