Amethyst (42 page)

"I'll send up one of the footmen to guard the door."

"Make that two," Colin said. "And Amy will need breakfast sent up as well."

Jason nodded. "Done." He swiped Colin's swordbelt off the table and tossed it to him. "I'll have to cancel a couple of appointments, but I suppose this takes precedence."

Colin caught the sword and buckled it on, grinning mischievously. "Are you sure, now? I wouldn't want to be responsible for upsetting your schedule."

"I'm sure." The brothers' eyes met, sparkling leaf-green to glittering emerald. Jason moved to enclose Colin in a bear hug. "God, I thought this day would never come. A Chase, married."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Colin said, his voice a bit choked. "Shall we?"

He accepted the surcoat that Kendra held out, flinging it over one shoulder, then went to Amy and leaned to brush a kiss across her forehead. Her heart pounding at his nearness and the realization that he would be hers—all hers—from now on, she risked releasing her blanket to reach up her arms and wind them around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers.

Their lips met and clung for a long, sweet minute, until Jason cleared his throat.

"Get some rest, love." Colin's tone was more suggestive than his words. "I don't plan on letting you sleep tonight."

His sister gasped. "Col-in!"

"Hang it, Kendra, this was your idea in the first place."

Amy snuggled down in the bed, listening to Kendra's exaggerated sniff, Jason's infectious laugh, and Colin's hurried footsteps as they left to prepare for the wedding. Her family—almost.

The door closed behind them, but she could hear Kendra's exclamation through the walls. "Oh, my God—we forgot Ford!"

COLIN LEANED AGAINST
the mantel in the Hobbs's massive drawing room, twisting his ring and steeling himself to face Priscilla.

Breaking the betrothal had seemed such a simple matter at the Rose and Crown. But now that he was here, he suspected it would be harder than he'd thought.

Priscilla would be unhappy, though mostly out of humiliation, if he didn't miss his guess. He was well aware she harbored little genuine affection for him. He wondered if she were even capable of deep feeling.

Her father would be furious. Lord Hobbs had searched high and low for a son-in-law with Colin's connections, thrusting his daughter at every likely candidate. He wouldn't take lightly to having his careful plans thwarted.

Hearing heavy footsteps on the parquet floor outside the room, Colin stood up straight and tugged his surcoat tighter around his middle, hoping to conceal the rip in his shirt. His jaw tensed when Lord Hobbs entered alone. A tall, pale man, he was most definitely his daughter's father, though he did have a more animated personality—one that had always rubbed Colin the wrong way.

"Lord Hobbs. I had asked to speak with Priscilla."

"My daughter isn't home at the moment. I was thinking we might share a drink while you waited. King Charles—" Hobbs broke off and looked critically at Colin, sizing up his rumpled form. "My God, Greystone, you look positively disreputable. Have you fought a duel, or what?"

"Something like that," Colin muttered, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "When will Priscilla be returning?"

"Lord knows. She's off shopping with a few friends—spending my money like there's no tomorrow, no doubt." He poured Madeira into two goblets and handed one to Colin with a jovial slap on the back. "Glad that will be
your
problem soon."

Colin couldn't dally until Priscilla returned. Amy was waiting. "That's what I wanted to discuss, sir. I'm sorry Priscilla isn't here, but perhaps it's best I talk to you, in any case."

"About Priscilla's spending habits? I suppose you can put her on an allowance, but she won't take kindly—"

"No, sir. About our marriage." Colin took a mouthful of wine and swallowed it deliberately. "I want to call off our betrothal."

"You
what
?"

Colin hadn't eaten in two days. The Madeira burned a path down his throat and into his stomach, and courage flowed in after it. "I want to call off our betrothal," he repeated firmly. "Your daughter and I—we aren't suited. It's not a good match."

"Not a good match? You need her fortune, and I need the king's ear in order to obtain a license to develop my land outside London. It's a perfect match."

"I don't love your daughter, sir."

"Pshaw! What does that matter? Take a mistress. My daughter isn't the warmest of women—you think I haven't noticed? I won't think the less of you for it." Hobbs put an arm around Colin and tugged him close to his side. "A warm, willing wench in the City and a beautiful heiress in the country—what more could a man want, eh?"

Hobbs's hot, alcoholic breath washed over Colin's face, making him pull away before he retched in response. The man was making him physically sick. Colin felt sorry for Priscilla—it wasn't her fault he couldn't love her—and angry with Hobbs for treating his own daughter so callously.

The despicable buzzard.

He took a deep breath and sidled away from the man. "I'm marrying someone else this afternoon," he said quietly.

Hobbs's jaw set, and his breath became labored. "You would leave Priscilla for another woman?
My
Priscilla? After a formal betrothal? After you—you
ruined
her?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Colin felt an absurd urge to laugh. "Ruined her?" he said, incredulous. "That's a joke."

Hobbs's gray eyes darkened in anger. "Not everyone shares our good king's lack of morals, young man. Priscilla was raised properly, and—"

"Do you honestly believe she was a virgin when I took her to my bed?" The outraged father role did not fit Hobbs well; Colin could see the truth in the man's eyes, and he'd had it with his pomposity. "After you tried to pawn her off on half the Royalists in England?"

"You…you…"

"There's not a name you could call me that would change my mind." With an outward calm he didn't feel, Colin set his goblet on the table, spread his feet and crossed his arms. "What will it take to satisfy you, Lord Hobbs?" His hand moved to his sword. "You may draw my blood if it will appease your sense of honor, but I warn you: I do not intend to lay down my life in order to be released from this betrothal."

The older man's eyes flickered toward Colin's rapier and back up, then narrowed connivingly. "I'm certain we can find a civilized way to settle this, Greystone."

"What do you want?"

"A private audience with His Majesty."

It was naught but an audience—it would cost Charles nothing but a few minutes of his time. He'd do it if Colin asked.

But it made Colin furious that he'd
have
to ask.

"I'll get you your audience. I'll get you ten audiences. You can have a standing appointment—"

"Just one audience. As long as you can guarantee my license will be forthcoming."

Colin paused. It was a tall order. Though Hobbs had professed neutrality throughout the war, he was rumored to be a closet Parliamentarian. The king did not look kindly on those responsible for beheading his father; Charles didn't merely disregard Hobbs, he actively disliked the man. More than a simple request, this would mean asking a special favor of Charles.

But Charles owed the Chases favors. And a license wouldn't cost Charles, either—to the contrary, he would probably milk Hobbs for an exorbitant fee. It grated on Colin, a scheming buzzard like Lord Hobbs getting his way, but it wouldn't be a problem.

He nodded once. "Consider it done."

Hobbs didn't smile. He seated himself at the drawing room's marquetry writing table and waved Colin into a chair opposite. "I'll expect my funds returned within the week, of course."

Colin's stomach knotted; this was the part he'd been dreading. "I cannot do that, sir. I don't have the funds. They were used for renovations—"

"Then the deal is off. You were legally betrothed, and you accepted part of the dowry. Surely you don't expect—"

"I'll pay it back. Just"—Colin sucked in a breath—"give me some time."

Hobbs fixed him with an icy stare. "You will sign a note. Eight percent interest, with the balance due before we see 1668."

A year. One year. If the renovations were halted, the fields produced bumper crops, the quarry was extra-productive, the sheep thrived…

It was a terrible gamble.

Colin pictured Amy waiting for him at the inn, and his vision blurred. They would have her inheritance. But he'd promised her he wouldn't take it.

"I'm waiting for your answer," Hobbs pressed. "Unless you'd prefer to pretend you never walked in here today."

Colin blinked. "I'll sign it."

Hobbs wasted no time producing paper, quill, and ink. He scribbled a hasty contract, which Colin signed, a weight in his gut, the scratch of the quill sounding like nothing so much as a death knell. Hobbs dripped wax by the signature, and Colin used his ring to set his seal, remembering the day he ordered it from Amy. How he'd walked away that day, expecting never to see her again.

Hobbs sprinkled sand on the ink, then dusted off and rolled up the contract. "If you fail to pay up, as God is my witness I'll have you slapped into Newgate Prison so fast your head will spin. You'll see the devil in heaven the day I show you mercy."

Although it would never come to that—Hobbs would end up with Greystone instead—the thought of squalid, vermin-infested Newgate made the bile rise in Colin's throat.

He pushed away the image. He'd find some way to pay back the money. Whatever sacrifices were necessary would be worth it in the end.

Hobbs tucked the scroll in a drawer, poured himself another goblet of wine, and downed it in one gulp. "I won, you know." He swiped a hand across his mouth. "I'll have my license, and I still have my daughter."

"To sell to the highest bidder? The man with the next item on your agenda?"

"That's what daughters are for. You'll learn it when you have your own."

Colin ignored that, setting aside his own goblet of Madeira in disgust.

"Who is she?" Hobbs asked suddenly.

"It doesn't signify. She has nothing to do with my lack of love for your daughter."

"Love, hah! You're a weak man, Greystone—my daughter is well rid of you."

Hobbs's stare dared Colin to respond to the insult, but Colin forced himself to ignore him once again. "Please give Priscilla my regards, and my sincere apologies."

"She'll be fine. She'll suffer some loss of face, but she'll survive. I'll remind her how little she liked you—and your
countrified
family, as I believe she called them."

That should have hurt Colin, but it didn't. He felt nothing but relief and an overwhelming compulsion to escape.

He stood. "I'll take my leave, then."

To Colin's vast surprise, Hobbs held out a hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Greystone."

Colin blinked. "There are no hard feelings, then?"

Hobbs shrugged. "It was all for the better."

"That it was," Colin muttered, proffering a halfhearted handshake. He shuddered to think how narrowly he'd escaped becoming this man's son-in-law. Claiming a favor from Charles and acquiring a monstrous debt were small penalties, indeed, for avoiding the biggest mistake of his life.

Still and all, if he never saw that buzzard's face again, it would suit him just fine.

WITH KENDRA IN TOW,
Madame Beaumont bustled into the room and made her way to the window, throwing open the shutters. "Get up, mademoiselle. We must make you ready for the
mariage!
"

Amy sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She winced as Madame clutched her chin, turning her poor bruised face this way and that to examine it in the early afternoon light.

"Mon Dieu!"
Madame exclaimed, shaking her head, "we have a lot of work to do!" She gestured at the door. "Come in, come in."

Two footmen entered, toting a large wooden box between them. Madame indicated a spot on the floor where she wanted it placed, then shooshed them out with an impatient wave of her hand.