Amethyst (36 page)

"Untie me, and I'll feed myself. Otherwise…" She shrugged.

Robert dropped the spoon in the bowl. Ragout of mushrooms, sweetbreads and oysters splashed up, brown bits landing on the coverlet. "Have it your way. You'll let me feed you when you get hungry enough."

Never
, Amy thought. She'd never grant him the satisfaction.

He rose from the bed, wandered to the window, and rubbed a fist on the grimy pane in an effort to see out. Then, giving up, he threw himself onto one of the wooden chairs, his legs sprawled out in front of him in an awkward attempt to recline.

Amy's carefully veiled eyes followed his every move. He was growing bored, tired of waiting. Good. Perhaps he'd become restless enough to consider leaving for a while.

He yawned, loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. She grimaced at the sight of his overlapping teeth, wondering how she'd ever had the stomach to let him kiss her.

He yawned again. This was encouraging. If he fell asleep, she'd have a chance to untie herself. She ground her teeth lightly, anticipating using them to loosen her bonds.

A knock at the door jerked Robert back to life.

"About time," he growled, rising to answer it.

A man pushed a large box into Robert's arms. Reaching into his pocket, Robert fished out a coin and slapped it into the man's palm, then turned and kicked the door shut behind him. He set the box on the table. "Want to see it?"

Without waiting for an answer, he threw aside the box's lid and pulled out an ice-blue gown. Shaking it out, he held it up. "See? It matches my suit," he pointed out with a foolish grin.

He was obviously pleased with himself, his good humor restored. And why not? Amy reflected. He'd planned everything down to the last detail, and it was all proceeding perfectly.

"We'll appear the proper bride and groom," Robert boasted.

Amy snorted. Matching his outfit was the last item on her list of priorities. She had to admit, though, he had good taste.

However had he managed to procure such a lovely gown on a few hours' notice on a Sunday? The satin was embroidered with silver flowers and leaves, and scattered clusters of pearls suggested bunches of grapes. He spread it across the foot of the bed and laid coordinating blue slippers on top; they looked as though they might fit.

Amy was heartened. In such a gown she could flag down a hackney without the driver suspecting she had no means to pay. Another problem was solved.

She allowed herself a smile—but just a tiny one, so he wouldn't suspect.

THE SIGN ON THE
middle-class tavern swung gently in the light wind, the words "Kings Arms" spelled out in bright new paint. Colin stepped inside.

The clientele were seated in convivial bunches at long, clean-scrubbed wooden tables with matching benches. They were by and large a well-off group, although not of the aristocracy—merchants and solicitors, architects and publishers, gathered to share the news and some companionship at the end of a busy day. Many drank coffee, well known as a means of overcoming drowsiness and stimulating the wits, and the cheerful room was filled with the buzz of animated conversation and the faint scent of tobacco smoke. Colin could well imagine that a titled peer or two stopped by this warm, friendly establishment when they felt like slumming with the common people.

From behind a serving counter, the proprietor looked up then bustled over. Noting Colin's sword and spurs, and the fine fabric and cut of his surcoat, he immediately took him for exactly what he was.

"May I be of service, my lord…?"

"Greystone. I'm looking for a man said to frequent this establishment, a Robert Stanley."

The proprietor's dark, intelligent eyes scanned the room. "Your information is correct. However, he's not here now."

"Perhaps someone here may know of his whereabouts?"

"That's a possibility. He usually sits over there—men are creatures of habit, you know."

He indicated a table in the center of the room, crowded with jovial young men with tankards of ale before them. Their conversation ceased as Colin approached.

He did his best to put a smile in his voice as well as on his face. "I'm looking for Robert Stanley."

Silence reigned for a moment, the faces around the table cautious and suspicious. "Is he in some sort of trouble?" one man asked slowly. "Lately, he's been—"

His words were cut off when the man beside him dealt him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

The smile left Colin's face. He surveyed the table, focusing on each of Robert's friends in turn. "This is a matter of some urgency. It seems Mr. Stanley has abducted a lady of our mutual acquaintance. I'll pay for information."

Friendship apparently went only so far. Whether it was the severity of the charge or the offer of money, Colin didn't know, but the men suddenly came alive.

"He's been searching for his betrothed for weeks. Is it her? She may have gone willingly."

"He paid someone to show him the Marquess of Cainewood's house."

"Yesterday, he asked where to find a privileged church. I told him St. Trinity, in the Minories."

"I told him m'sister was wed at St. James."

Privileged churches
.
A forced marriage
. Colin wanted to kick himself for not thinking of the possibility. He could have saved hours by simply enquiring as to where such churches were located and riding straight there.

Well, Ford's hunch, though slightly miscalculated, had led him to the truth. Colin drew a deep breath.

He was on the right track.

"Might anyone know where Mr. Stanley is now?"

The men shook their heads. "He hasn't been here since yesterday," one of them volunteered.

"Where is St. James?"

"In Duke's Place."

"Thank you, gentlemen." Colin dug in his pouch and threw a handful of silver coins on the table. He left without another word, at a run.

The two churches in question were just outside the City walls, and Amy had been taken last night. If Robert Stanley had timed it early enough, she might be a wife already.

ROBERT LEANED BACK,
balancing precariously on the hind legs of the rickety wooden chair, picking at his teeth with a fingernail. "So…are you ready to talk?"

Watching him, Amy shuddered. She hoped he'd fall over and crack his head open. "You mean, discuss something? As though you still lived in my father's house and we cared about each other?"

"I care about you, Amy."

"You actually sound sincere." She lifted her tied wrists, the skin red and raw. "You have an unusual way of showing it."

He leaned forward, and the front chair legs met the floor with a loud
bang
. "That's for your own good. We were meant to be together, and you refused to cooperate. After we're wed— after you have my babe—you'll agree."

She'd never have his babe, Amy promised herself—
never
. She'd drink a thousand purges first. She'd throw herself down a staircase. Whatever it took.

"Where's the jewelry?" he asked suddenly.

She stared at him, unblinking. "I don't have it."

"That is quite obvious. And unfortunate, as I'm sure you'd like to choose a few pieces to complement your wedding gown tomorrow." He flashed a facetious grin, but it faded swiftly. "No matter. It will all turn up once the deed is done, won't it?" He rose from the chair, walked to the bed, and leaned over her. "
Won't it?
"

She spat in his face.

He hovered above her for a moment, disbelief marking his features. Then his hand shot out and slapped her across the face, snapping her head to one side.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't allow him the gratification of seeing her reduced to a quivering bundle of emotion.

"
That
was a mistake," Robert ground out from between clenched teeth. "Care to try it again?"

She shook her head infinitesimally.

"Very well, then." He turned and slunk back to the chair, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "Now, you said earlier you were sorry we quarreled, and you were willing to work something out. Were you lying?"

She didn't answer.

"
Were you lying?
"

She turned her head. "I won't marry you," she whispered to the wall.

"What? What did you say?"

"I won't marry you, Robert Stanley!" she fairly yelled. "Not now, not tomorrow,
not ever
!"

She knew it was the wrong thing to do; she should act as though she were willing and wait for her chance to escape. But the rebel in her took over, and she couldn't help herself.

He leapt up to stand over her again. "Oh, yes, you will. I'm a second son. There are no jeweler's heiresses lining up to wed me. If I don't have you, I have nothing. That pistol"—he gestured toward the table—"will guarantee you'll marry me."

At that moment, he looked angry enough to use it.

"You'd never—" she started.

"And as insurance," he continued, his pale eyes flashing and wild, "I've a mind to take your maidenhead tonight." He paused, licking his rubbery lips as he considered the idea. "Ah, yes. A consummated betrothal is as good as a marriage, isn't it?"

Amy struggled up on her elbows. "Our betrothal papers burned in the fire. It would be your word against mine. My Aunt Elizabeth would swear her brother never betrothed me to the likes of you."

His face went slack, but only for an instant. "I can still ruin you for anyone else, can't I? You'd have no choice but to marry me then."

"You're too late, Robert Stanley," Amy shot back without thinking. "Someone else has already claimed the honor."

She glared at him, unflinching, even knowing how furious the admission was likely to make him.

He pounced on the bed, crouching over her with his hands on either side of her head. "Who was it?" He pushed his hands down at each word, for emphasis.
"Who was it?"

She dared not tell him.

"Whoever it was, I'll kill him, I swear it. You're mine." The mattress continued to bounce, punctuating his words, swiftly escalating her diminished headache into a virulent pain.

His pale eyes narrowed as he growled deep in his throat. "It was Greystone, wasn't it?
That bastard
."

Evidently the fear on her face was all the confirmation he needed. He raised a fist and slammed it toward her, but she was ready and jerked her head to the side in time.

"Robert!" she screamed. "What have you turned into? Look at yourself!"

And miraculously, he did. He picked up his fist from where it was buried in the mattress and stared at it as though it were a foreign body. Then he slowly climbed off the bed and wandered over to the table.

He sat down, dropped his head to the surface with an audible bump, and stayed there, perfectly still.

Amy released her breath. She was shaking from head to toe.

She had to get out of here before he raped her. She choked back a sob at the mere thought, the possibility of him violating her body, pushing himself into her. It seemed a completely different act than what she'd done with Colin, and didn't think she could bear the disgust and humiliation.

Robert lifted his head from the table. His breath came in loud, ragged gasps. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?" he asked in an ominous, deep whisper. "Cold, proper Amethyst Goldsmith."

She flinched, but she didn't answer. She just watched his steely blue eyes, preparing herself to react should he attack her another time.

Silent moments ticked by. Robert's gaze remained locked on hers. His expression grew hard and resentful.

"You'd better pray you're not carrying his babe," he stated in a tone that was absolutely emotionless. "Because if you are, I swear I'll kill it."

A chill slithered down her spine.

"Robert Stanley," he said, "will not raise another man's child."