Amethyst (37 page)

COLIN REACHED ST. JAMES,
the first church outside Aldgate, just as the evening service was concluding.

The congregation was sparse. Religion had lost favor when Charles and his loose-moraled court took over London, and no one save a few tradesmen and peasants bothered attending church for anything but the obligatory baptisms, weddings, and funerals. No exception to the norm, Colin shifted impatiently, twisting his ring back and forth as the curate completed his boring, long-winded sermon.

The minute the parishioners began shuffling out, Colin strode toward the pulpit, jostling shoulders in his haste.

"Excuse me, Father," he called when he was but halfway down the aisle. "Did you marry a couple yesterday—he red-haired, and she small with black hair and—"

"Would you care to examine the marriage register, my son?"

Colin winced at the humor in the curate's voice; clearly the man was no stranger to lovesick swains having their intended brides stolen out from under them.

The register was duly produced, and there were nine recorded weddings dated the previous day—none of them Robert's or Amy's.

"Did you see them?" Colin persisted. "Perhaps you know where—"

"No one came to be wed yesterday who wasn't accommodated. Perhaps they went to St. Trinity?"

Colin was already out the door.

The marriage register at St. Trinity had logged eleven ceremonies, and Colin's heart seemed to grow larger in his chest as he scrutinized the long list. When he reached the end without seeing either name, he stumbled to a front-row pew and plopped down.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" the plump curate asked kindly.

"No, which is a relief. They didn't wed here, and they didn't wed at St. James." Amy was yet unmarried. Colin slumped on the bench, his pulse returning to normal.

Until another thought occurred to him.

He jumped up. "Is there another place in London where one can be wed—ah—in a hurry, without a license?"

Robert's friends had recommended only the two, but—

"Nay." The curate grinned, clearly pleased that he shared his lucrative business with only one other clergyman. "Not in London. In the countryside, near Oxford…"

Colin exhaled a long breath. "Too far to signify. They got a late start last night."

The curate ran his tongue over his uneven teeth, thinking. "This couple, from late last night. He wouldn't have had red hair, would he?"

Colin's heart skipped. "Yes! And she's small, dark-haired—"

"I never saw her. He said she was waiting outside, and she was likely to be…reluctant, I believe he termed it."

Thank God
. Having abandoned Amy at the town house without so much as saying good-bye, a tiny, insecure part of Colin had been wondering if the blood could have been an honest accident, if Amy might marry Robert willingly, given the circumstances.

"I expect them back here in the morning."

"I must find them tonight. She could be injured…"

The clergyman frowned. "They're likely close at hand, as he's planning an early return. Perhaps at a nearby inn. You might try Fenchurch Street."

"Thank you, Father." Colin was so relieved he felt like kissing the fat, bald man, but he thought that would be improper with a man of God. Instead, he dropped a coin into the collection box on his way out.

The curate hurried to retrieve it when the door shut. Silver. His big teeth gleamed in the candlelight as he pocketed the coin.

He may have lost himself a wedding fee, but it didn't matter much. Over fifteen hundred anxious couples a year found their way to his altar.

NO RANSOM NOTE
arrived.

A crackling fire warmed the drawing room, but the cold knot inside Kendra refused to thaw. Ford sat next to her and held her hand, which may have provided a small comfort if Jason's constant pacing weren't driving her to distraction.

She bit the inside of her cheek, worrying the soft flesh with her teeth. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was partially at fault. She should have checked on Amy much earlier. She should have taken Robert's threat more seriously. Over and over, she replayed yesterday's scene in her mind, looking for a clue to his plans.

Suddenly, the blood drained from her face, and she sat up straighter. "I just remembered something," she breathed.

Jason stopped in mid-track. "What?"

"He said he spent his time drinking at the King's Arms. Maybe someone there—"

"Oh,
that
is bloody useful information," Ford scoffed. "The King's Arms." He rolled his eyes. "There must be two dozen of them in town, at least. Not to mention the King's Head and other assorted royal body parts—why, half the taverns and inns have been renamed since the Restoration."

Kendra stood. Planting her feet in a wide stance, she placed her hands on her hips. "I cannot just sit here, waiting, any longer," she declared.

Ford's gaze swung to Jason's, inquiring, and Jason shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask around," he said with a sigh.

And Kendra was out the door, leaving her brothers to follow in her wake.

AS THE SUN DISAPPEARED,
the grimy window darkened to black. Amy struggled to stay awake. Her life depended on it. If she nodded off and slept until morning, her chance for freedom would be lost.

And life as the forced bride of Robert Stanley wasn't worth living.

Her only hope lay in his falling asleep, deeply enough for her to escape her bonds and retrieve the key from his pocket. He had dozed a couple of times, but his body would jerk awake, his cold, suspicious eyes searching her out.

He hadn't said a word since he threatened to kill her child.

While she waited long hours for him to nod off, her emotions swung wildly. Deep inside, she seethed with mounting rage at his ability to control her just because he was bigger and stronger. Other young men took fencing lessons, trained with knives and pistols, spent hours in boxing parlors perfecting their skills. Not Robert. He spent his off-hours drinking, gambling, and wenching, and he had the soft physique to prove it. Yet that unhardened body was twice her weight, coupled with a deranged force that rendered her well-nigh helpless.

She lay still, as unobtrusive as humanly possible in an effort to avoid his wrath, feeling alternately angry, defiant, despairing, determined, and frustrated. In between, she made paltry attempts to calm her irregular pulse, telling herself to think of better times in the past and those to come, when she somehow extricated herself from this impossible situation.

Mostly, she thought about Colin.

She placed her bound hands over her stomach protectively. Was it possible? She'd never considered the hypothetical consequences when she'd lain in Colin's arms. Had he? She'd heard there were things women could do to prevent pregnancy, but the details were hazy. Were there things men could do as well? Had Colin done any of them? Though embarrassed at her lack of knowledge, she thought not. He'd seemed too emotionally involved to have concerned himself with any precautions.

She counted back carefully. Sixteen days had passed since she'd first lain with Colin. Her monthly flow had been due last Friday, but she'd thought nothing of it when it hadn't arrived; her body was notoriously irregular.

It was way too early to jump to any conclusions, but still…her heart beat an erratic tattoo at the thought. Even now, Colin's son might be cradled within her. She never even considered it might be his daughter. In her mind's eye, her body harbored a tiny little replica of Colin Chase.

Now she had yet another reason to make sure she escaped. If she should be so fortunate as to have conceived Colin's child, she'd cherish him her whole life. She'd set herself up as a jeweler's widow and raise their son in Paris.

She'd have a piece of Colin forever.

She smiled a slow, secret smile before she remembered her predicament and looked across the chamber to Robert. He was sleeping, his head lolling to one side, his mouth open and slack. His breathing was deep and measured.

Thank God
.

Her heart galloping with excitement, she brought her wrists to her mouth and tested the knot. Her teeth slipped off the hard knob and clicked together with a sound that seemed loud in the still room, but Robert didn't stir, and she continued working at the knot, loosening it bit by bit.

Half an hour later her arms ached from holding them up, and her lips were chapped and sore from rubbing against saliva-drenched fabric, but her hands were free.

She made short work of the bonds on her ankles and stood on shaky legs. After twenty-odd hours flat on her back, her knees threatened to buckle under her, but she refused to give in to her weakness. Sternly forcing her body to comply, she drew the ice-blue dress off the foot of the bed and dropped it over her head, holding her breath when the satin rustled as it settled into place. She shoved the nightgown's sleeves up under those of the gown, jerked the lacings closed over her breasts, and attached the stomacher haphazardly. She could finish dressing properly when she was safely outside.

Slipping her feet into the matching slippers, which were a little large but would have to do, she tiptoed over to Robert. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was half-convinced it would wake him.

Silently blessing the powers that be for decreeing loose breeches with deep pockets were fashionable, she crouched behind him and eased her hand into one pocket. Her first try found a small gunpowder flask and a few balls and cloth patches, but no key.

She paused, taken aback by the evidence that he was prepared to fire the pistol. As she pulled out her hand, Robert took a deep, ragged breath, inhaling with a resounding snore, and Amy froze for a good two minutes before daring to try the other pocket.

When her fingers closed around the cold, heavy key, she could barely contain her glee. She was mere steps from freedom.

Reminding herself to be light-footed regardless of her haste, she slowly rose. Her gaze lit on the gun on the table. It gleamed in the weak firelight, the stock profusely inlaid with silver wire in a display of workmanship akin to the finest jeweler's. She briefly considered taking it, but the gown had no pockets, and she hadn't the faintest idea how to shoot it, in any case. Forcing her eyes away, she tiptoed to the door.

The key in the lock made a hideous grating noise, but she didn't look back.

She bolted into a dim, dusty corridor.

One of the too-loose slippers threatened to come off, making her trip and stumble. Suddenly she heard scuffling behind her, then a horrible ripping sound as, for the second time in as many days, she found herself tugged to her knees. Robert's considerable weight landed on her back, and she plunged forward.

"Holy Jesus," he hissed into her ear. "I'd have thought you'd've learned your lesson by now." He jerked her up, one hand coming around to cover her mouth and muffle her impending scream. She glanced frantically around the dingy corridor, but there was no one to help her.

The cold steel of the pistol's barrel pressed into the side of her neck. She should have taken it.