Amethyst (34 page)

MORNING SUN FOUGHT
to illuminate the room through a small dirt-streaked window. Blinking in the dimness, Amy struggled toward consciousness. Although she was alone and ungagged, her hands were still bound together. Beneath the dirty, threadbare blanket, her feet were tied to the bedposts.

She lay still, taking stock of herself. Her head ached, her knees and elbows burned, her body felt stiff and sore, bruised all over. She needed a chamber pot, but that would have to wait.

Diminished but still whole, she was determined to fight Robert to her last breath.

Her scraped elbows were roughly crusted over with new scabs that cracked and opened when she moved. She licked her dry lips, tasting coppery blood in the corners where the gag had rubbed them raw. She tested the bonds on her wrists, twisting them experimentally. They chafed horribly, the skin red and abraded. But, with patience and her teeth, she was sure she could untie the cloth strips. This time, however, she'd have a plan before she did anything.

The room gave no clue to her location. The window was so obliterated with dirt that she had no view of the outside. Dark shadows against the panes told her it was barred, anyway. The plain chamber contained nothing more than her flea-ridden bed, a rough table, and two chairs on a filthy, bare wooden floor. A paltry fire gave off little warmth and a fair amount of smoke, laid as it was in a blackened fireplace that had long been in need of cleaning.

She had no memory of her arrival here. She thought she'd been in Whitechapel when she made the aborted attempt at freedom, but she could be a day's ride from there for all she was aware of the lapse of time. She would have to wait for Robert's return before she could begin to plot her escape.

Closing her eyes, she prayed for the oblivion of sleep.

COLIN LEANED LOW
over the saddle, his hands clenched on the reins, the paper crumpled in one fist. It wasn't possible to read it while Ebony's pounding hooves ate up the miles of rutted road, but Ford's scribbled words were burned into his brain.

Amy is missing. Come immediately.

His heart had been hammering since he'd set eyes on the cryptic note. He'd wasted no time setting out for London, his fevered imagination conjuring up scenes featuring every possibility, from Amy deciding to leave on her own, to Amy lying dead in a ditch, a pistol wound in her chest.

The wind whipped past as he barreled along, praying to a God he rarely addressed, save in the questionable form of a favorite curse or two. He made the most outlandish promises, bargaining with the Almighty for Amy to be returned unharmed. He would attend church every Sunday (no one did). He would give all his riches to the needy (what riches?). He would somehow persuade Priscilla to marry him immediately, and never spare a single thought for Amethyst Goldsmith again.

This last promise was the most unlikely of all.

He'd been fighting with himself for months now. It was a losing battle. As he shot through the City gates, one spurred boot nicked a vegetable barrow. He turned in the saddle, watched lemons and artichokes plop to the muddy street, yelled an apology to the vendor…and finally admitted to himself that he couldn't be happy living without Amy.

The truth was it mattered little whether they were parted by his own choice or the actions of a faceless criminal. The thought of whiling away his years at Greystone without her—whether she was growing old with her aunt, married to another man, or cold in her grave—made him sick in his gut. She was meant to be his.

He loved her.

Bloody hell, when had that happened? The admission was wrenched from a realm beyond reason or logic. His head reeling, he fought for breath, swearing to God and himself that he would personally see to her safe return. After that, they would come to some kind of arrangement. Priscilla would have to understand.

Understand
what
, he wasn't sure…

Ebony was lathered long before Colin reached Lincoln's Inn Fields, but he merely tossed the reins to a groom instead of rubbing the horse down himself as he normally would after a hard ride. He threw open the front door of the town house and raced into the marble entry, heedless of the mud on his boots.

"Jason! Ford! Kendra!"

"Colin, thank God you're here." Kendra appeared from around the corner and threw herself at him. "We've been beside ourselves with worry."

"Jason isn't home." Ford bounded down the stairs. "He left early this morning, before we discovered—"

"Discovered what?" Colin pulled Kendra's arms from around his neck and set her away. "Tell me what you know,
now
," he demanded.

She bit her lip. "Yesterday Amy and I visited Madame Beaumont. When we came out—"

"—Amy ran into a man named Robert, and they had a huge row," her twin finished for her.

Colin held up a hand. "Robert Stanley?"

"I cannot remember his surname," Kendra said, "but he was her father's apprentice, and he was betrothed to Amy."

"Robert Stanley," Colin forced through clenched teeth. "Go on."

Kendra took a deep breath and beckoned him up the stairs. "When she told him she'd no wish to marry him, he lost control. He seized her and threatened her—"

"—and Kendra punched him in the jaw." Ford paused on the landing. "Can't you just picture it?"

Kendra's eyes flashed green fire. "This is
serious
, Ford! And it was clearly a half-witted move on my part. Amy is gone."

"What happened then?" Colin snapped.

She turned down the corridor. "He was shocked—and gravely injured, I'm hoping. In any case, he let go of Amy, and we jumped into the carriage and rode away."

"But not"—Ford stopped, his hand on the latch to Amy's door—"before he claimed he would have Amy's jewelry and Amy as well. It looks like he meant it." He pushed open the door.

Colin was struck by a blast of cold air.

Momentarily dazed, he walked to the open window and peered outside. Below, a ladder rested against the house. He swung back around. The fire had long since burned out, and judging by the frigid temperature of the chamber, the window had been open for some time. Bedclothes littered the floor, and the blanket was missing.

"We left it as we found it," Kendra whispered. "Look."

Colin followed her gesture to the bed. Spots of blood dotted the sheets.

He dropped to sit on the mattress. A rose scent—Amy's scent—wafted into the air. "You think he's made off with her?"

Kendra knelt at his feet and rested her head against his knee. "It's the only explanation. Amy would never leave without telling us. And the blood…she might be dead. Oh, Colin."

One hand absently rubbed her bright curls while his other fingers traced the dark red spots on the sheet. Blood. Amy's blood. His stomach knotted, and he couldn't seem to think straight.

Ford paced the room. "As usual, Kendra, you're jumping to conclusions. There are but a few drops of blood here, and none trailing toward the window—I doubt she was seriously injured, let alone murdered. Why would this fellow want to kill her, anyway? You said he wanted to marry her."

"But she wasn't agreeable," Kendra wailed. "I'm telling you, he was furious."

"Look here." Ford pointed to Amy's trunk in the corner of the room. "He hasn't taken the jewelry, has he?"

"No…"

"Perhaps he means only to persuade her to marry him."

"By wounding her? For God's sake, Ford,
think
. He's taken her. If she's not dead, he obviously intends to ransom her, for her own jewelry or our money."

With a violent shake of his head, Colin regained his senses. He rose and went to the window, shutting it with a resounding
bang
. "I doubt he intends to ransom her. He cannot be at all certain we'd pay—we're not even related." Colin's mind raced. In truth, he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or alarmed that Amy's abductor seemed to be her ex-betrothed, rather than some crazed criminal. "Are you sure he knows where the jewelry is?"

"No." Kendra stood up slowly. "No. She didn't actually admit to having it."

"I assumed as much." Ford shot a meaningful look at the trunk. "Otherwise, he wouldn't have left it here."

Kendra stamped her foot. "All right, we bow to your scientific logic. What do
you
think this is about, then?"

"My guess is, he plans to compromise her, figuring she'll agree to wed him once the deed is done. Then he'll own her fortune outright."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Grow up, Kendra. It happens all the time."

"She cannot be compromised; she's not even a vir—"

"This Robert doesn't know that, does he?" Ford tilted his head, slanting her a condescending look.

Her face reddened. "But—"

"Ford is right." Colin's voice was a command.

The twins turned and stared at him.

Under the circumstances, his imagined scenarios of violent death seemed improbable. On the other hand, Ford's conclusion of rape followed by coerced marriage seemed chillingly possible.

Colin took deep breaths to keep from retching at the thought. Hands fisted at his sides, he strode to the door, then whirled to face his brother and sister. "Stay here, in case we're wrong and a ransom note arrives. I'll be back. With Amy."

THE SCREECH OF A KEY
working a rusty lock brought Amy instantly alert.

Finally
.

Robert slunk in and shut the door behind him, taking pains to lock it before he turned to face her. His pale blue eyes impaled her as he slowly slipped the key into the pocket of his loose breeches. If only she could reach that key, she'd be halfway out of here. But it was impossible at the moment.

Patience, she reminded herself, forcing herself to breathe in a slow, measured rhythm.

He looked much the worse for wear. His shirt was torn, his fawn-colored breeches wrinkled and filthy. His hair hung in lanky strings, and the freckles on his face were obscured by a thin coat of grime. Then again, she thought wryly, she was hardly in a position to pass judgment. Clad in nothing but a ripped nightgown, bruised and bloody, it wasn't likely she presented an appealing picture herself.

"How are you?" he finally asked.

Her answer was a scornful roll of her eyes. Regardless of her firm decision not to agitate him, she couldn't bring herself to engage in conversation as though her situation were ordinary.

"Very well, then. Are you ill?"

"No."

"Are you injured?"

"Not mortally."

"Good," he said, striding over to the fireplace. He tossed another log inside, then wiped his hands on his dirty breeches. "I've got some errands to run. I just wanted to see that you were all right before I left." He headed for the door.

She couldn't let him go so fast. She knew nothing that could help her make plans. "Where am I?" she blurted out.

He hesitated, then turned back. "At an inn," he answered slowly.

"But where?"

"It doesn't signify. You'll be here only until tomorrow."

"And then?"

"I'll let you know later. When I'm prepared."

For what?
The words stuck in her throat; she knew it would be useless to ask. "Wait!" she called when he turned to leave again. "I have to…you know…use the chamber pot."

His lips puckered, but he strode to the bed and reached underneath, retrieving a dusty, chipped pot. When he lifted the edge of the blanket, Amy moved her bound wrists to press down on it.

"Robert, no!" She'd rather lie in a wet bed than have him assist her in this matter.

"Did you honestly think I would untie you?"

"Just my hands, please. I promise I won't try anything."

He stared at her, the sound of his heavy breathing filling her ears while she shifted on the bed. "Very well," he said at last. "But only your hands."

He newly abraded her wrists as he unbound them, but she gritted her teeth and held her tongue. He slipped the chamber pot under the blanket and stepped away, turned his back and waited expectantly.

Mortified, Amy gasped. "You have to leave."