The Silver Coin (14 page)

“I’m impressed.” Royce was studying her from beneath hooded lids.

“Now all I need are these.” Breanna stooped, picked up her gloves, and gracefully tugged them on. “There. As good as new.”

“Just like before,” he said in an odd tone.

“No,” she replied quietly, meeting his probing stare. “Not just like before.” Silence.

Breanna gazed up at him, taking in the warring emotions crossing his face as he struggled with whatever internal demons were plaguing him. She wouldn’t ask him what they were—that wasn’t her right. She, better than anyone, knew the need to keep one’s thoughts, one’s conflicts, even one’s memories private. Memories like the ones they’d just made. Dimly, she wondered why she didn’t feel the shame she knew she should. She had, after all, behaved like a total wanton. Yet she felt more alive, more exhilarated, than she’d ever felt in her life. Was that because the full extent of what she’d done hadn’t had time to sink in yet, or was it because what she’d done had felt so incredibly right? So magnificently, incredibly right. “Stop looking at me like that,” Royce commanded roughly. “Or you’ll be back in my arms before you’ve caught your breath.”

“What makes you think I don’t want that?” She heard him inhale sharply.

“Breanna, you’re playing with fire.” A weighted pause. “We both are.”

“Fire.” Her gaze remained steady on his. “Yes, that’s what it felt like.”

“Idon’twant you to get burned.”

“All right,” she whispered. “Just singed then.”

“Damn.” He gripped her waist, pulled her closer and took her mouth in one long, blazing kiss. “You should be slapping me,” he muttered, his thumbs just grazing the underside of her breasts. “Pulling away, calling me a bastard, and slapping me.”

“Is that what I should be doing?” She shivered, totally focused on the tantalizing motion of his fingertips.

“Yes.” The kiss deepened, his tongue moving slowly, seductively against hers. “You should.” His thumbs shifted, brushed her hardened nipples once, then stroked them in slow, teasing circles.

“Oh, God.” Breanna’s knees were shaking, pinpoints of almost unendurable sensation shooting from her breasts to her loins. She shrugged Royce’s coat off her shoulders, let it drop, then stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his neck.

Royce shuddered, his entire body going rigid as he shaped and caressed her breasts. Each caress grew hotter, more urgent, more intimate.

His trembling hands reached for the top of her bodice.

“Breanna.” He lifted his head slightly, his eyes molten with desire. “If I touch you, I’ll take you. Right here. Right now. On this bench. With the entireton carousing just inside those walls.” His hands made the return journey to her waist. “I’ve got to stop.”

“I know.” Her eyes slid shut, a shivering sigh escaping her. “I know.”

Royce caught her chin between his fingers, and her lashes lifted to see him studying her face for a long, searching moment “Are you going to remember this later?” he demanded. “When the Regent’s punch has worn off?”

A soft smile touched Breanna’s lips. “I’ll remember it,” she assured him. “And the punch wore off long

Stacie glanced over at the French doors for the tenth t i mei n the last half hour, nearly sagging with relief when she saw her cousin stroll in onL ord Royce’s arm.

F i nally. Breanna was back. Back and safe.

Thank God. No one had hurt her.

Then again, her protector had been by her side.

Besieged by a rush of curiosity, Stacie met Breanna’s eyes, spied a definite sparkle that hadn’t been there before, and had to fight the urge to rush over and ask what had happened during that stroll in the glittering winter moonlight.

Winter. And Breanna had stayed outside for thirty minutes without her mantle.

Interesting. She didn’t look atallcold.

“Stacie?” Damen’s voice was tender, but his grip, tightening ever so fractionally about her waist, was telling her in no uncertain terms that she’d better stay put.

Damn, the man knew her so well.

“Yes?” She gave him a sweet, innocent look, turning her attention back to the small group surrounding them—a group that had, in the short minutes while her mind had wandered, expanded from Lord and Lady Dutton and the Earl and Countess of Geldrick to include the Viscount Crompton and Lord Arthur Landow.

“The viscount was just commenting on how radiant you look,” Damen prompted.

Anastasia felt a twinge of guilt when she saw the concern furrowing Lord Crompton’s brow—and Lord Landow’s, for that matter. Like Dutton and Geldrick, both these men had strong monetary ties to the House of Lockewood and both were uneasy about offending Damen. True, they’d rejected her request for financial backing last summer—as had every other businessman she’d approached. Still, that did nothing to shed doubt on their integrity, only on their open-mindedness. Like all Damen’s clients, these were honorable men—the viscount a retired military general who’d served in the Napoleonic Wars, and Lord Landow a wealthy manufacturer whose products were sold both here and abroad.

By nature, Stacie wasn’t cruel. Needling these men for missing out on a superb business opportunity was one thing. Forcing«them to humble themselves, as they had been doing since the party began, was quite another. Enough was enough. The last thing she wanted was to add insult to injury by making Lord Crompton think he was being snubbed.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she told him, relieved to see the intense consternation on his face ease a bit. “I appreciate your gracious compliment.” Her mind raced, and she quickly came up with the ideal explanation for her rudenessandfor Damen’s constant presence at her side—a reason they’d like far better than their current belief: namely, that he was looming over them to retaliate, to make them squirm for offending his wife.

Sometimes the truth came in handy. Now was one of those times.

She shot Lord Crompton a grateful look. “Your kind words couldn’t have come at a better time—especially when I know I look anything but radiant. I haven’t slept in weeks, nor have I kept down a meal. That’s actually why I missed hearing what you said. I was feeling light-headed.”

Crompton now looked concerned. “Have you seen a physician?”

“Every day on the ship home,” she replied with a smile. “Much to his dismay.” She inclined her head, turned her smile up at Damen, whose twinkle told her he knew exactly what she was doing—and that he approved. “My illness is for the most wonderful of reasons. Damen and I are expecting a child.”

“That’s splendid.” The viscount relaxed, raised his glass. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Yes, congratulations,” Landow echoed, as pleased by the congeniality of her tone as he was by her news. “What a delightful announcement.” His good wishes—and his gaze—were clearly directed at Damen

“I agree,” Damen responded, drawing Stacie closer to his side. “I’m elated.”

“He’s also exceedingly anxious and protective,” Stacie confided, tossing a you-understand glance at Lady Geldrick,in the hopes of eliciting the countess’s support. It was well know nthat she and the earl were very muchin love, and that she had gifted her husband with their second son just five months ago.

“That poor doctor couldn’t wait to see the last of us,” Stacie added, still speaking to Lady Geldrick. “Damen paid him three visits a day to verify that the symptoms I was experiencing were normal. And, as you can see, he refuses to budge from my side.”

“Well, of course he does.” It was Lord Geldrick who chimed in first, nodding vigorously and giving Damen a look of genuine sympathy. “It’s your first child. I don’t blame you a bit for your concern, Sheldrake.”

“You shouldn’t,” his wife teased, her eyes twinkling. “You acted the same way when I was with child—especially the first time.” She leaned forward, touched Stacie’s arm. “Best wishes to you both. And don’t worry about feeling ill. The sensation will pass in a few months. After that, you’ll be hungry enough to eat three banquets a day.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” As she said it, Stacie realized it was true. She also realized how good it felt to speak with another woman about her condition-something she hadn’t yet done. In fact, she’d been so worried over the killer stalking her and Breanna that she hadn’t stopped to give much thought to the more normal concerns surrounding pregnancy.

As if on cue, a wave of light-headedness accosted her, made her teeter on her feet.

“Stacie?” Damen felt the motion, whipped about to face her. “What’s wrong?” Lines of worry tightened his face. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine—really.” She blinked to clear her head. “Just a bit dizzy.”

“We’re sitting down.” He was already guiding her away from the group. “If you’ll all excuse us.”

“Certainly,” Lord Crompton said, backing away to let them pass. “Tend to your wife, Sheldrake.”

Damen intended to do just that. He drew Stacie over to an airy corner of the room, then eased her into a chair. Turning toward the hallway, he signaled Wells with his eyes.

The butler was beside them in an instant.

“Miss Stacie? Are you ill?” he demanded.

“No, Wells, just dizzy.” Stacie wished the room would right itself.

“You’ve eaten almost as little as Miss Breanna did today,” Wells admonished with a frown. “Andyou’reeating for two. I’ll bring you a plate of food.”

“Good idea,” Damen answered for her. “And something cool to drink.Notladen with spirits.”

“Of course not, my lord.” Wells sniffed. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Forgive me, Wells.” Damen raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m more unnerved than I realized.”

“I understand. No apology is necessary.”

“Would you both stop staring at me as if I’m on the verge of death?” Stacie demanded, looking from one man to the other. “The guests will start thinking I have some rare disease.”

“I’ll be very discreet,” Wells assured her. He glanced about the room, took in the merrymaking. “Believe me, no one has even noticed us. They haven’t any idea what we’re talking about.”

Even as he spoke, Lady Dutton was passing the news of Stacie’s pregnancy on to the Marchioness of Radebrook.

By the time Wells arrived back from the refreshment table, there wasn’t a guest in the room who didn’t know that the Marquess and Marchioness of Sheldrake’s first child was on its way.

“I’m so glad we’re being discreet,” Stacie said in amusement, after the twelfth person had congratulated her. “Wells, you should know by now there’s no keeping a secret in theton.““Maybe it’s better this way,” Damen muttered purposefully to his wife, simultaneously smiling his thanks at the retreating Duke of Maywood, who’d comeover to offerhis best wishes. “At least the guests re keeping you so busy you can’t dash off to interrogate Breanna. That wa swhere you were headed when you nearly collapsed at my feet, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Anastasia knew better than to insult her husband by lying. “Or rather, I wasconsidering in ching my way over to Breanna.” Her curious gaze returned to where her cousin was still chatting with Royce. Breanna was obviously unaware that Stacie was feeling light-headed, or that the room was abuzz with news of her near-swoon. In fact, Breanna was unaware that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. Odd, considering how attuned to each other she and Staciewere.It would take a major distraction to preoccupy Breanna to the point where she wouldn’t sense that an event involving Stacie had taken place. Evidently, Royce Chadwick was such a distraction. “Damen, surely you noticed—” “I noticed.” Damen followed his wife’s stare. “But I think you’re reading’ far too much into it. Royce is keeping an eye on Breanna—a practical idea under he circumstances. He knows I’m attached to your side for the night. You need no further protection. Breanna, on the other hand, is alone. So, he’s serving as her sentry.”

“Indeed,” Wells agreed with a sniff. “There could be no other explanation for it”

“A sentry.” Stacie rolled her eyes at the two men. “I see. And as hersentry,Royce took her for a half-hour walk on a night that’s so cold no one else would dare venture out and he’d therefore be assured of complete privacy.”

“No,” Damen countered. “Knowing Royce, he probably took her for a walk to try to keep her mind off her anxiety. Breanna’s coping with an enormous emotional burden. Not only is she grappling with her own fears, she’s terrified for you and the babe.”

“That’s true.” A pained expression crossed Wells’s lined face. “Miss Breanna feels responsible—unfounded though her guilt might be—for jeopardizing you all. She feels that if she’d never taken that shot—”

“I’d be dead right now,” Stacie stated flatly. “Breanna saved my life. I’ve told her over and over again that she’s not responsible for the threats of a madman. But she won’t be appeased until he’s found and stopped. Nevertheless…” Stacie broke off, still studying Breanna pensively. “None of this has any bearing on what’s happening here tonight. After all, worry wouldn’t bring a glow to Breanna’s cheeks, nor would her overly acute sense of responsibility cause tendrils of her hair to topple.”

Wells frowned, puzzled. He polished his spectacles, then shoved them back on, peering worriedly toward Breanna. “Miss Breanna’s hair looks fine to me.”

“Fine?Wells, you know Breanna. Her hair is never fine. It’s perfect. Except now. Even from this distance, I can distinctly see a few curls sagging at her nape.” Stacie arched a brow, first at Wells, then at Damen. “What shall we attribute it to?” She paused for effect, then snapped her fingers in mock deduction. “I know—the wind!”

Damen’s lips twitched, as much at Wells’s vigilant lower as at Stacie’s observation. “You made your point. Fine, maybe there is something going on between those two. But whatever it is, you’re not going to find out about it until you’ve eaten and drunk very drop of that.” He gestured toward her plate and glass.

“Whatever you say, my lord.” She gave him a beatific smile and returned to her refreshment. “Stop glaring, Wells,” she berated gently, sipping at her punch. “Breanna’s a grown woman. She’s entitled to share a chaste embrace with an enigmatic man:—especially when that man is one we’ve entrusted to safeguard her life. Besides, aren’t you the one who wanted Breanna to find someone special?” “I didn’t have a reckless womanizer in mind.” “If Royce is a womanizer, he’s abandoned that trait tonight.” Stacie took a small bite of her lemon tart. “He hasn’t so much as danced with anotherwoman .Only Breanna. As for reckless …” Another bite. “I wouldn’t describe personal, fun-time guard service as reckless behavior, would you?” She shot Wells a look “I know you worry about Breanna. But give Royce a chance. He might surprise you.” With that, she polished off her tart, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.