The Silver Coin by Andrea Kane

assailant had more emotional torment in store for her before he acted. But mentally—had her nerve held out? And physically—had her stamina held out?
    He had a staunch feeling the answer to both questions was yes. Lady Breanna was a remarkably strong young woman.
    He’d seen that strength mirrored in those carefully guarded jade-green eyes when she’d stood beside Damen and Anastasia last week, on the morning he’d left her estate, and officially asked him to take on her case. Quietly, graciously, she’d voiced her understanding that this meant she agreed to adhere to his tactics, that she’d follow the procedure he’d outlined for her between then and the day of the party. She’d concluded by expressing her appreciation for his time and effort, then wished him a joyous holiday and sent him on his way.
    Royce had listened to her formal speech, watched her self-contained expression as she spoke. Once again, he’d been struck by the sure knowledge that there was far more to Breanna Colby than met the eye, far more that hovered beneath that exquisite, genteel veneer.
    He was more determined than ever to help her. Yet, so far, he’d accomplished next to nothing. After first leaving Medford Manor for London— prior to his visit to Searby—he’d not only called on
    numerous local shops in Town to ask about the dolls, but he’d dropped in at Bow Street, spoken to Marks about whatever information had been amassed on Cunnings’s murderer, his potential link to the Viscount Medford, and now his link to the threats being sent to Lady Breanna.
    As Royce suspected, Marks was more than willing to turn over his file, which contained details on the conversations he’d had with all those he’d questioned about Cunnings—both then and now. The Bow Street runner looked conscience-stricken and at the same time relieved to learn that Lady Breanna had hired Royce to follow up on the matter.
    Royce understood both reactions.
    Marks’s relief was because he was being pressured to devote all his energies toward solving the murders of the local noblemen. And his attack of consciencewas because he’d been unable to help LadyBreanna ,unable to find out the name of the predator who was stalking her.
    How could Royce fault him, either for his priorities or his regrets? He well understood that rueful expression on Marks’s face. He had the uncomfortable feeling he’d be wearing a similar one himself when he told Lady Breanna he’d uncovered nothing of importance as of yet. She seemed to have the same effect on everyone, inspiring a surge of respect and a rush of protectiveness that made people want to slay dragons for her. And if that reaction was unusual for Marks, it was unprecedented for Royce.
    That fact notwithstanding, Royce had left Bow Street armed with Marks’s reports—reports that were nothing more than routine chats with all Cunnings’s friends and colleagues. Fine. He’d pored over them during his evenings at Searby, then kept them close by for reference. And now, after having spoken with shopkeepers throughout London, he and Hibbert had covered six or seven shops in Kent. Those visits had, as he’d suspected, yielded no information on the purchase of the dolls. Wherever the killer had bought them, it hadn’t been in Town or in Kent.
    The bastard was too clever for that.
    “We’ll be arriving at Medford Manor in about ten minutes,” Hibbert announced, shooting Royce a sideways glance. “Would you care to discuss your somber mood?”
    Royce shifted in his seat, crossed one long leg over the other. “The truth? I’m not looking forward to looking Damen in the eye and telling him I’ve got no news on who’s trying to kill his wife.”
    “Did you think youwouldhave news—after doing only a few days of preliminary digging?”
    A scowl. “No. I didn’t.”
    Hibbert arched a brow. “Are you sure it’s Lord Sheldrake you’re uncomfortable facing? Or is it Lady Breanna?”
    Royce’s scowl deepened. “I