Amethyst (35 page)

He swung back around. "Oh, no…no, I don't."

"
Please
. You cannot do this to me, Robert." She thought quickly. "I'm sorry we quarreled yesterday," she lied. "I—I'm sure we can work something out. And—and we cannot really start this way if we're going to be happy together."

His eyes bore into hers. She met his gaze, willing him to believe her.

The fire crackled on the hearth.

"I'll wait outside, but for only two minutes," he said at last and unlocked the door. "Then I'm coming back in, whether you're ready or not."

When he pulled out a pocket watch, Amy recognized the ruby-encrusted case that he'd labored hours over, back in the days when life was normal. With a meaningful glance in her direction, he flipped open the lid and stepped out into the corridor, banging the door closed behind him.

Inspired by his threat, she finished in record time. Leaning halfway off the bed to set the chamber pot on the floor, she was contemplating whether she had enough time left to untie her ankles, when he barged in. She bolted upright.

"Finished?"

She nodded mutely. He retied her wrists, yanking the knot tight in a silent show of domination, then peeked beneath the blanket near her feet.

Her heart pounded at the thought that he might have discovered her duplicity.

When he reached the door, he turned back to face her. "You know, I'm not nearly the simpleton you think I am. But you'll learn that over time."

And he turned and left, locking the door behind him.

COLIN STRODE OUT
the door of the town house, his stomach churning with anxiety and frustration.
Amy-Amy-Amy-Amy-Amy
, repeated over and over in his brain, accomplishing nothing but the beginnings of a massive headache.

He had to find her, but how? London was bursting at the seams with buildings and humanity, and Robert could have taken her anywhere.

Assuming it was Robert who had taken her. And assuming they were still in London. The sheer number of possibilities was overwhelming.

Leaning against the stable wall while his horse was resaddled, Colin forced his pulse to steady and his head to clear. He took slow, deep breaths, rubbing the white star on Ebony's forehead in a soothing rhythm.

Robert
. How could he find Robert?

The man must have family somewhere. And that family would be jewelers, no doubt. Robert had been Hugh Goldsmith's apprentice, and if Colin understood how the guild system worked, apprenticeships were arranged between families well nigh at birth. He would lay odds that Robert's father was in the same business.

He just had to find the elder Mr. Stanley.

ROBERT RETURNED SEVERAL
hours later, his freckled face scrubbed clean, his damp orange hair slightly curling at the ends. He was dressed in an immaculate brown suit, the jacket's wide cuffs trimmed in icy blue, the loose breeches beribboned with poufs of blue loops. As he entered, he unfastened his knee-length cloak and folded it over the back of a chair, revealing a starched white, lace-bordered cravat tied neatly at his throat and secured with a diamond brooch. His wide-brimmed hat boasted a blue ostrich plume and a jeweled hatband. He swept it off his head and tossed it on the battered wooden table with a flourish.

"I'm ready," he announced.

Amy eyed him dubiously. Clearly he was decked out for an important occasion—he almost looked handsome in his finery. She lifted her head to inspect him more closely. "Ready for what?"

"Our wedding."

Nonplussed, she dropped her head back to the dirty pillow. A puff of dust whooshed out, clogging her nostrils and making her cough. How could he think she would agree to marry him now, after a forcible abduction? It was beyond her comprehension.

This was hardly her idea of courtship.

When she offered no comment, he continued, his cheerfulness unabated. "Of course, today's Sunday, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow. But I decided to ready myself now, since I don't plan to leave you again beforehand. It makes me nervous."

So now she was stuck with him. This turn of events was unlikely to facilitate her escape, which she was more determined than ever to achieve. In the course of the past twenty-four hours, she'd decided that besides harboring an unforetold capacity for violence, Robert was quite obviously insane.

A shadow of discomfort crossed his face. He flexed his shoulders restlessly before dropping into a chair. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I'm not marrying you," she said bluntly.

In answer, he rose from the chair and reached behind his back, drew a pistol from the waistband of his breeches, and set it on the table. Softly, but she heard the metallic thud. "Yes, you are marrying me."

Amy was fairly certain he'd never use the gun on her—or anyone else, for that matter. She doubted he knew how to load it, let alone shoot it. But apparently she wasn't able to hide her apprehension, because Robert reseated himself with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"We've an appointment at St. Trinity tomorrow morning," he explained. "I have two witnesses meeting us here. We'll tie you up and cover you with my cloak. The proprietor here already believes you're ill; he'll think naught when we carry you out and over toward the church."

St. Trinity was in the Minories. If he planned on carrying her there, they must still be in the City, or at least somewhere in greater London. That was welcome news.

Robert would have to leave sometime, at least to order some food, and perhaps she could untie herself, knock him senseless upon his return, steal the key and escape, losing herself in the rabbit warren of streets that made up London. She'd take his cloak to cover her nightgown…

"…gown and slippers will be delivered for you within the hour," Robert was saying. So she'd have something to wear. Things were looking up. "I've arranged for food to be delivered."
Damn
. There went his reason for leaving. "Are you hungry?"

"It doesn't signify. I wouldn't sit at table with you in either case."

"You're right. You're staying in that bed."

They glared at each other. Robert looked away first.

Amy kept her gaze on him. "No banns have been posted."

"No matter. It's a privileged church. You've heard of them, I presume?"

She nodded curtly. "I won't say 'I will.'"

"Oh, you'll say it." He picked up the pistol and hefted it as emphasis to his words. "I doubt the curate cares what you say, anyway. So long as he gets his blunt."

He had an answer for every protest. Nonetheless, from somewhere deep inside, Amy was confident she'd find a way out.

The alternative was too ghastly to consider.

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE
he is, my lord. I'm sorry."

"Think, Mr. Stanley.
Please
," Colin begged. "I must find her. I—I love her."

There. He'd said it. Out loud, to another human being.

Sadly, his confession, however difficult, didn't seem to make any profound impression on Robert's father. "I'm sure Robert loves her too, my lord," James Stanley said warily.

He was an older, much fatter version of Robert, exhibiting the likely result of an inactive life seated at a jeweler's bench. He looked affable enough, in much the same way Robert did. Still, the sheer resemblance of the two men led to Colin's instant resentment.

Was this jealousy? If so, it was a deucedly intolerable emotion.

"She's been promised to him since they were children," Mr. Stanley continued in a reasonable tone of voice. "They come from similar backgrounds. They can build a life together. What can you offer her?"

"That is none of your damn business."

James Stanley's face shut down, the straight line of his mouth indicating his unwillingness to cooperate.

Colin sighed, dropping his head. He stared down through the glass of the empty jewelry case. The little shop was closed, it being Sunday, but Colin had pounded on the door until Mr. Stanley came downstairs.

Confident until now, Colin had been on his quest for half a day already. Cheapside was still in ashes; no one near the ruins of Goldsmith & Sons had known of Robert Stanley. But on the Strand, home to more than fifty jewelers for the past two centuries, he'd hit gold: the elder Stanley's name and location.

Weaving Ebony across town through London's afternoon traffic, Colin's spirits had remained high. He was counting on a potent combination of ingenuity and sheer determination to help him locate Amy in this city of over a quarter million inhabitants, and he'd convinced himself James Stanley would know his son's plans.

But apparently Mr. Stanley either didn't know or wouldn't tell. And now Colin had alienated him with that thoughtless, hotheaded remark. He swore silently at himself; he hardly recognized the man he'd become since he found Amethyst Goldsmith outside her blazing shop.

He stared down at his reflection in the case's glass, and narrowed green eyes stared back up at him. His jaw was tense, his mouth twisted into a threat. He blinked, shocked at his forbidding countenance. He wouldn't send such a man after his son, either, he supposed.

Determined to regain his self-control, he forced his lips to part in a stiff, toothy smile and looked back up at James Stanley. "I just want to make sure this is what Amy wants. I would never harm her, physically or otherwise."

"Robert would never harm her, either," the older man snapped.

Colin lifted his chin, meeting Stanley's icy blue gaze—so like Robert's—straight on. "There was blood on the sheets, Mr. Stanley." The words were calm, unemotional. Inside, Colin was seething, but this man was his best hope for information, so he couldn't afford to let him see it.

James Stanley blinked, and his sharp indrawn breath revealed his shock. "I honestly don't know where he is," he said after a few moments. "He doesn't confide in me. But he spends his free hours at the King's Arms, on Holborn."

ROBERT PUSHED THE
spoon between Amy's lips, but it met clenched teeth. "Damn it, Amy, you have to eat. I won't have you fainting in church tomorrow."