The Silver Coin

by Andrea Kane

  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.”

  30

  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 y and 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, much later, 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. But I also 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 them no time 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.”

  Epilogue

  Me d for d Manor

  November 18 24

  The two 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 ever subject they'd been heatedly debating tonight, to join in the festivities. The footmen refilled everyone's glasses, and the chattering resumed. Royce muttered something that made 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.”

  “Especially the one about when Monsieur Girard rescued his wife from that bad witch.” Holly's eyes sparkled with her typical romantic excitement. “And then they got married and she found her papa, Lord Ryder. It's like a fairy tale.”

  “We can go in and ask if the Girards are coming.”

  “We could. But even if they are, we'll still be bored now.” Holly's shoulders slumped. She paced around the hallway, her mind searching for something unique to do.

  “There you are.” Miss Carter, the Chadwick gov­erness, appeared at their sides. “Joanna, it's bed time. You, too, Holly,” she added, turning to face the other child, who happened not to be Holly, but Joanna. “Your parents said you could sleep here tonight since it's so late. Unless you'd rather go across the way and deep in your own bed? I could ask Wells to walk you home.”

  Holly sighed, tugging at the governess's sleeve. “I'm Holly, Miss Carter,” she informed her. “And I'd rather stay here. But Joanna and I aren't tired. We wanted to be with the grown-ups for a while.”

  “Oh.” Miss Carter gazed from one child to the other, exasperated by the mistake she seemed perpet­ually to make. Then again, the entire staff made it— with the exception of Wells and Hibbert. It was virtually impossible to tell Joanna and Holly apart. With only four months separating them, the two girls could pass for twins, just as their mothers could.

  With regard to Holly's request, Miss Carter knew that neither set of parents would object to having their children stay up later than usual. In fact, they enjoyed hazing them about. It was a pleasure seeing the gen­uine affection that existed between the Chadwicks and Lockewoods and their children.

  “Well, perhaps a few more minutes then,” she re­lented. “But only a few.”

  “Thank you, Miss Carter,” Joanna agreed. “We'll come up in a little while.” She sighed as the governess headed off. “She still mixes us up.”

  “Everyone does,” Holly said with a shrug.

  “Except Hibbert and Wells. They always know who's who. So do our parents.”

  Holly's entire face lit up. “That's it!”

  “What's it?”

  “What we can do for fun. Remember what Mama told us about the game she and Aunt Breanna used to play? Let's change dresses. Then let's go into the din­ing room and try to fool everyone. You be me and I'll be you. Just like our mamas used to.”

  “They even fooled Wells.”

  “We will, too. We'll fool everyone.”

  The girls rushed down the heft to the blue salon, where they quickly changed frocks, slippers, even hair ribbons.

  “Make your hair messier,” Holly instructed. “Mine never stays as neat as yours.”

  Joanna nodded, tying her ribbon, then tugging out a few strands of burnished heft, letting them topple to her cheeks. “How's that?”

  “Perfect.” Holly's eyes glowed. “Now let's go in there. Remember to keep twisting those loose strands of hair around your finger. Papa says I do that all the time.”

  “And you bring in that new sketch I made,” Joanna urged. “The one of the pond. I promised Mama I'd show it to her tomorrow. But tonight would be even better.”

  Holly's nod was filled with enthusiasm. “You left it in the library for the ink to dry. We'll get it on our way to the dining room. C'mon.”

  Five minutes later, Joanna and Holly poked then-heads into the dining room—a far different dining room than the one their mothers had crept into more than twenty years ago when they'd been desperate to protect Breanna from her father's wrath. Oh, the fur­nishings hadn't changed much from when Stacie and Breanna's grandfather had celebrated his sixtieth birthday. But the occupants had. So had the aura they exuded. Tonight there was no tension, no arguing, no resentment permeating the room.

  Tonight, there was only love and laughter and con­tentment.

  “May we come in and listen for a while before we say good-night?” Joanna asked.

  Sipping at his coffee, Damen chuckled. “For a while? You've already been listening for an hour, only outside the door.”

  Across the table, Anastasia laughed, beckoned the girls in. “Of course. Come in and hear all about Lord Ryder's new granddaughter. She's only a few months old.”
r />   Joanna wrinkled her nose, remembering she was supposed to be Holly. “Is that what you're celebrat­ing?”

  Anastasia nodded, although she knew what was corning.

  “Does that mean she yells as loud as Cody?” Joanna demanded, rather enjoying her role as her more out­spoken cousin.

  Lord Ryder coughed—a cough that sounded suspi­ciously like a smothered chuckle. “From what I expe­rienced during my visit there last week, yes, I must say she does yell. But not often, and not terribly loud.”

  “Then that's different.” Joanna gave Lord Ryder a reassuring look. “I don't think you should worry. She'll probably be okay. Cody's a boy. They're worse.”

  “Not always,” Royce inserted dryly. “The entire staff was jolted out of sleep whenever Joanna bel­lowed.”

  “Funny, it was the same with Holly,” Damen con­curred. “I guess too many years have passed for our daughters to recall the din they created as infants.”

  The girls exchanged disbelieving glances.

  Ryder's lips twitched, and he nodded his white head at the girl he thought to be Holly. ''Thank you. I'm relieved to hear that the shouting will be minimal. I'm sure my Emma will be, too.”

  “Are they coming here for Christmas?” the real Holly inquired.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Ryder beamed. “The whole family will be arriving in three weeks.”

  “And we'll have them over for a long visit,” Brean­na inserted, anticipating her daughter's request. “I'm sure Monsieur Girard and your father will keep you both up until the wee hours of the morning, telling stories.” She rolled her eyes. “And now that Quinn is almost three, he'll probably want to stay up, too, along with Emma's two older ones. It should be quite a gathering.”

  “Don't forget Damen and Wells,” Anastasia added, grinning wryly at Breanna. “They hang on to every word, just like the children. And Hibbert's worse. He adds his own personal touches to each story.”

  She and Breanna laughed.

  In the process of pouring himself and Hibbert a brandy, Wells gave a dignified sniff. “I thought you two had gone to bed,” he questioned Joanna and Holly, striving for a measure of discipline. “Where is Miss Carter?”