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the type who’s easily moved or manipulated. So I’m asking you, what is Lady Breanna like? Particularly now, when she’s under duress?”
    “She’s a remarkable young woman,” Damen replied honestly. “She’s been through a lot, particularly these past few months. Finding out what her father was capable of, weathering the scandal that followed his arrest—she’s been astonishingly strong. I don’t think you have to worry about her weeping or swooning. She’s not inclined to do either.”
    “Good.” That determined, Royce rose to his feet in one fluid motion. “I’ll ride to Kent with you, attempt to make some sense out of this—at least enough to keep your wife and Lady Breanna safe while we figure out who this killer is and when he’s going to strike.” “How long can you stay?”
    “Just overnight. I’ve got to get back here by tomorrow, tie up some loose ends. I promised Edmund I’d spend Christmas with him and his family. Then, if necessary, I’ll return to Lady Breanna’s estate. I take it you’re staying there rather than here in Town?”
    “Yes.” A terse nod. “Christmas. I’d almost forgotten about it.” Damen frowned, speaking half to himself. “Breanna wants to cancel her party.”
    “What party?”
    “She and Anastasia both just turned twenty-one. They planned a party to celebrate that and the holidays.”
    Royce grew thoughtful. “Canceling it might be unwise.” “Why?”
    “Let me read that note. Then I’ll answer your question.” Royce inclined his head. “When is this party scheduled to be held?”
    “On the twenty-eighth and the twenty-ninth of December. But now, with Jamie Knox being murdered—”
    “As I said, let me read the note. After that, we’ll make a decision about the party.” Royce gestured toward the door. “Go home to your wife. I’ll fill Hibbert in, then follow in my own carriage.”
    “Fine.” Damen stood as well, giving Royce a grateful look. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”
    “Not yet you’re not. If we figure out who this killer is, stop him from hurting anyone else— thenyou’ll be in my debt.”

7
    The guard held up a commanding hand.
    Royce reined his horses to a stop, waiting patiently at the gates of Medford Manor for the expected interrogation.
    Two uniformed sentries approached his phaeton slowly, carefully, each of them keeping one hand inside his pocket, doubtless clutching his pistol lest it be needed. The first guard held up a lantern, using its light to better make out Royce’s features in the growing darkness of the evening.
    “Can I help you, sir?” he inquired, reaching Royce and staring him down with a hard, no-nonsense look.
    Who could blame him, given that one of his men had been killed that very day?
    “My name is Royce Chadwick. The Marquess of Sheldrake is expecting me.”
    The guard studied Royce for another moment-presumably matching his physical appearance to the description Damen had provided. Clearly satisfied with what he saw, he relaxed. “Yes, my lord, he is. Goright through.” He gestured for the other guard to open the gates.
    A minute later, the gates made a grating sound, and swung wide to admit Royce’s phaeton.
    Nodding politely, Royce led his horses on, guiding them down the long drive leading to the manor. He took the opportunity to look around, taking in as much of the scenery as twilight would permit.
    He could make out the construction site, a broad area that would soon house what appeared to be an imposing dwelling. That would be Damen’s new home, Royce reflected. Hibbert had reported to him that the marquess planned to move to his wife’s family estate once their new manor had been completed. Evidently, the construction was corning along nicely. But it was far from finished.
    Which meant that workmen would be coming and going from the grounds at an alarming rate. And that, in turn, meant the assassin could more easily find his way onto the estate, lose himself in a crowd of