The Silver Coin (46 page)

She was truly considering lunging for his gun, when he snapped back to attention. A sudden triumphant smile curved his lips, and his self-control reasserted itself, the wildness in his eyes dimming. His arm stiffened, his fingers gripping the pistol even more firmly than before.

“Very well,” he said silkily. “Let’s have it your way. I won’t waste a bullet. I’ll just designate a third—one per person. After all, there is a third person here to consider.” He lowered his pistol a notch, aiming for Breanna’s abdomen. “My first bullet will go to your child. Your unborn child.” He jerked his wrist sideways, shifting to aim at Stacie’s abdomen. “It will die before its mother. So bid it farewell.” His arm lurched back and forth, alternating between the two women.

It was Stacie who acted, instinctively leaning over to shield her unborn babe, covering her abdomen with both hands.

Crompton inclined his head in mock tribute. “A touching show of maternal protectiveness, Lady Sheldrake. And an ingenious approach on my part. Now Iamcertain.” He turned his gun on her, gestured for her to straighten. “Now that we’ve established my superiority and resolved this amusing deception, I can finish my business and be gone.”

He raised his arm a notch, aiming for her heart.

Without thinking, Breanna lurched to the left, planted herself in front of Stacie. “The only way you’re going to kill my cousin is through me,” she announced in a murderous tone that was totally foreign to her. She reached around behind her, held Stacie’s arm so she remained firmly in place. “I can’t stop you from killing us. But I won’t give you the satisfaction of doing it the way you planned. You’re going to fail, Lord Crompton. At least on some level. I’m going to die first. You won’t rectify last summer’s mistake beforehand. Nor will I watch Stacie die. So, once again, you’ll be bested.”

With a vile oath, Crompton strode over, grabbed Breanna by the throat, his fingers biting into her as he flung her aside. “No, you little bitch, I won’t.” He moved quickly, before she had an opportunity to catch her breath much less rise. He lowered his booted foot to her chest and pressed, pinning her painfully to the ground. “Say good-bye to your cousin,” he commanded, raising his pistol and pointing it at Anastasia. “She’s about to die. And then I’ll finally,
fi
nallyhave the ultimate pleasure of blasting away your life.”

“Think again, Crompton.”

Royce’s voice rumbled out of nowhere, and Crompton whipped around, pistol raised.

He was still in motion when Royce’s shot rang out.

The bullet pierced Crompton’s chest, sent him jerking backwards from the impact.

A look of utter disbelief crossed his face.

Then, he slumped to the ground, less than a foot away from Breanna.

Royce walked over, his pistol still aimed and ready. He bent over Crompton’s body to make sure he was indeed dead. Satisfied, he helped Breanna to her feet held her tightly against him as he stared down at the blood seeping through Crompton’s coat, soaking the fine wool.

“One bullet through the heart, you bastard,” he muttered. “Now rot in hell.”

Ro y ce’s bedcovers were a tangled, disheveled mess.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” he murmured, balancing himself lightly on his elbows and kissing Breanna’s flushed cheeks as she lay beneath him, limp and sated.

She sighed, a dreamlike smile her only reply.

They’d been making love for hours, ever since the guards had disposed of Crompton’s body and seized Maurelle as she tried to flee in Crompton’s carriage. The family had stumbled back into the manor, numb with relief, stared at each other in mutual understanding and bone-deep fatigue. Then, after a few emotional hugs between Breanna and Anastasia, everyone had retired for the night.

There would be time enough for discussion tomorrow.

For tonight, it was over. And it was time for recover y —recover yand renewal. Breanna suspected Stacie and Damen had much the e sort of remedy in mind as she and Royce did: each other. And not only out of desire. Out of a soul-deep need to reaffirm both their lives and their love.

Now, hours later, the need seemed no less pronounced.

“Would you like to sleep for a while?” Royce repeated, brushing her lips with his.

“Sleep?” Breanna echoed, as if the word were foreign to her.

“Um-hum. It’s almost dawn.”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Breanna whispered. Her lashes lifted, and she shifted to take Royce more deeply inside her, looped her arms around his neck. “Why? Have I tired you out?”

He chuckled. “Not a chance. Not now, not ever.”

“Ummm, I’m glad.” She leaned up, kissed the damp hollow at his throat. “Have I told you how heroic you were tonight?”

“Yes.” Royce frowned, despite the erotic pleasure shuddering through his body. “Have I told you how reckless you were tonight?”

“Repeatedly.” Breanna arched her hips, eliciting an involuntary groan from the man she loved. “Can we stop rehashing it now? It’s over. And thanks to you, I’m fine. We all are.”

With fervent intensity, Royce tangled his hands in her hair, lifted her face to meet his burning gaze. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he told her, his voice husky with emotion. “Or how terrified I was when I realized the danger you were in—the danger you’d put yourself in. God, Breanna…” He kissed her fiercely. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I won’t.” She caressed his spine, traced the damp planes of his back with her fingertips. “I’ll go back to being self-contained and conventional. Later.” Her eyes sparkled as she drew his mouth down to hers. “Much later.”

Much later turned into much,muchlater, and the sun was climbing the sky when Breanna finally gave in to the need to rest.

She curled quietly in Royce’s arms, watching the day unfold outside his window and thanking the heavens for the simple joy of knowing she could continue to do that, day after day, savoring each moment with the man she loved.

“Later this afternoon, we’ll go visit that church you told me about,” Royce announced, as if reading her mind. “I’ll have the license within a week. How much time do you need to prepare for the wedding?”

Breanna smiled. “A fortnight,” she decided abruptly. “Any invited guests who can’t change their plans to accommodate us, will simply have to miss the occasion. The loss will be theirs. The union,” she added softly, “and all the joy it promises to bring, will be ours.”

Royce drew a sharp breath, then tilted up her chin so he could see her face. “You know what I want,” he stated flatly. “I want you, as my wife, as soon as possible. ButIalso know what you want.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You want a formal wedding, something traditional and refined, something to make up for all you’ve been denied.”

“I already have that—and more. I have you. No wedding celebration, no matter how grand, could enhance that joy.”

A dubious look. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Breanna caressed his jaw. “I feel as if I’ve been given my life back. I want to begin it in the most perfect way imaginable—by becoming your wife. I want to be Mrs. Royce Chadwick the instant I can. As for guests, everyone I love is already under this roof, including Grandfather, who’s always with us. You and I will begin our life together surrounded by love. The rest is unimportant.”

“Just what I wanted to hear” Royce kissed her fingertips, the delicate pulse at her wrist. “Now that I consider it, a fortnight sounds like forever. Maybe we should make it ten days.”

Breanna laughed. “Stacie and Wells will be crushed if we give themnotime to prepare. Besides, I think the prospect of a wedding is just what everyone needs to raise their spirits. Let’s allow them a few weeks to savor it. Is a fortnight really that intolerable a waiting period?”

“Yes. But for your sake, I’ll try to withstand it.” Royce pressed her palm to his lips. “It won’t be easy. I need you to belong to me in every way possible.”

“I do. I will. And after that…” Breanna broke off, sobering as a sudden, worrisome thought intruded. “Royce, we haven’t discussed our living arrangements.”

He arched an amused brow. “We’ve certainly changed bedchambers often enough. Which room would you like to officially make ours?”

Breanna’s eyes widened. “You really don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Living here. At Medford Manor. I know your memories here haven’t exactly been pleasant ones. And you do have your house on Bond Street. I was afraid…”

Royce silenced her with a kiss. “Did you really think I’d take you away from your grandfather’s dream?” he breathed into her lips. “Never. We’ll use my house when we stay in Town. As for my memories of Medford—they’re more than pleasurable. They’re miraculous. This is where I met you, fell in love with you, made love to you for the first time. All that outweighs everything else, even Crompton. We’ll start over right here, pick a section of the house that’s new to us both. A private section, where we’re assured of exquisite, utter seclusion. We’ll wipe out all the ugly memories, keep only the spectacular ones. We’ll redecorate, order all new furniture.Y ou can provide brand-new sketches and needlepoints. And we’ll move your porcelain figures, one by one, to our new chambers, designating a place of honor on our nightstand for the statue holding your silver coin. How would that be?”

Tears glistened on Breanna’s lashes. “That would be wonderful.”

“Anastasia and Damen’s house will be ready by spring. Their babe will arrive not long after. And the family your grandfather prayed for will be well under way.” Royce’s midnight gaze darkened. “If I have my way, that family will be growing faster than even he expected.”

Breanna smiled through her tears. “Perhaps that wish is already under way.”

He started. “Breanna, are you saying—?”

“I don’t know.” She rolled over until she was lying atop him, her jade eyes filled with tender promise. “But given the dazing man I’m marrying, and the unconventional woman I’ve become, I suspect our child won’t comply with tradition. We’ve anticipated our wedding vows. Why wouldn’t our babe?” She lea over to kiss him, waves of auburn hair tumbling forward to encompass them in a shining cocoon. “Perhaps he or she was conceived this very night”

“Perhaps.” Royce could scarcely speak. The very idea of Breanna carrying his child was almost overwhelming to bear, and his body reacted instantly, hardening to almost painful proportions. He gripped Breanna’s hips, lifted them so he could lower her onto his rigid shaft. “How would you feel about increasing our chances of that happening?” he asked, his voice rough with passion.

“Now?” she managed, her own words unsteady.

“Right now.” He cupped her bottom, pushed deep inside her.

Breanna’s breath caught, and she nodded, sinking into Royce’s hypnotic spell. “Now would be ideal.”

Medford Manor

November 1824

Thetwo six-year-old girls peeked curiously into the dining room.

The table was set with froe china and silver, and pinpoints of light cast by the gilded chandelier danced off the crystal glasses as the seven adults raised them in a toast. Lord Ryder, the evening’s sole guest, beamed from ear to ear, thanking his hosts— the Lockewoods and the Chadwicks—for all they’d done to make this day possible. Then he rose, pivoting toward the sideboard, where Hibbert and Wells stood, and offered a special thanks to Hibbert,mur muring something about the fact that without Hibbe r t, his Emma would never have been restored to him.

Hibbert replied in his customarily gracious manner. Then he and Wells drank, actually abandoning what eversubject they’d been heatedly debating tonight, to join in the festivities. The footmen refilled everyone’s glasses, and the chattering resumed. Royce muttered something thatmade everyone laugh, and turned teasing eyes on Breanna, whose cheeks were tinged with color, but who looked more pleased than embarrassed by whatever her husband had said. Tenderly, Royce pressed her gloved hand to his lips.

“It’s not Christmas yet.” Holly Lockewood twisted an auburn curl around her forefinger, studying the adults with curious jade-green eyes. “Are our parents celebrating something?”

“They must be. They’re laughing.” Her cousin, Joanna Chadwick, followed her gaze, took in the scene before them. “So’s Lord Ryder. Even Wells and Hibbert are smiling between arguments. It must be an important celebration.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Our parents always laugh And they kiss, too. A lot more than most grown-ups do.” Holly gave her cousin a wise look. “Mama says it’s a special kind of magic.”

“Magic? What kind of magic?”

“I don’t know. She says I’ll understand when I’m older.” Holly made a face. “Why do we always have to weft to get older? That leaves nothing to do till then.”

“Maybe the magic comes from the coins great-grandfather gave our mamas,” Joanna suggested, still pondering what her Aunt Anastasia had told Holly. “Maybe the coins have special powers.”

“That makes sense.” Now Holly looked intrigued, her fanciful mind dancing through the possibilities. “Gold for laughing and silver for kisses.” Her brow furrowed. “We should test our idea on Cody, stick the gold coin in his fist when he’s waiting for Mama to feed him,” she muttered. “Maybe that will make him smile when he’s hungry. He cries so loud it hurts my ears.”

“That’s true,” Joanna agreed. “But you’re still luckier than I am. At least your brother’s too little to walk. Mine runs all over. And he scribbles on my drawings if Mama isn’t looking.”

Holly grinned. “Maybe we should wake up both Cody and Quinn and bring them down. Just to see what Lord Ryder would do with one squalling baby and one little boy tearing up the dining room.”

“Holly.” Joanna, the far more practical of the two, planted her hands on her hips, shook her head. “That would only get us in trouble.”

“Well, I’m bored. We’ve been listening to Lord Ryder talk about his new granddaughter for an hour. That can’t be what they’re celebrating. She’s a baby. And babies yell too much to celebrate. Besides, he already has two grandchildren. He visits them all the time in Paris.”

“Maybe his daughter and her family are coming here for Christmas!” Joanna’s face lit up. “I like when they come. Monsieur Girard and Papa tell exciting stories.”