The Earl's London Bride

by Lauren Royal

  It felt good to accept that inevitability. Now his course was clear. Now that he knew neither his pride nor his honor could stand between them, he certainly wouldn’t let some rotten criminal keep them apart. He would find her, make her safe, and then somehow convince her to stay. She simply had to stay.

  Because he was in love with her.

  Criminy, when had that happened?

  He didn’t know; perhaps he’d fallen in love the very first day they met, or perhaps it had happened gradually. It wasn’t something he could analyze or account for. He only knew she was meant to be his. He needed her.

  And right now, she needed him.

  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!” Kendra appeared from around the corner and threw herself at him. “Thank heavens you’re here!”

  “Jason isn’t home.” Ford called 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.

  “I’ll show you.” Kendra seized him arm and dragged him toward the staircase. “Yesterday Amy and I visited Madame Beaumont. When we came out, Amy ran into a young man named Robert, and they had a huge row.”

  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.”

  “When she told him she’d no wish to marry him,” Kendra continued, “he lost control. He seized her and threatened her—”

  “—and Kendra punched him in the jaw.” Ford met them 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. Look what’s happened!”

  Colin growled impatiently. “What has happened?”

  “Come see.” She beckoned him down the corridor. “After I struck him, 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 dropped down beside him. “It’s the only explanation. Amy would never leave without telling us. And the blood…she might be dead. Oh, Colin!” She buried her face in his shoulder.

  One hand absently patted her back 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 heaven’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 force her to wed him. Then he’ll own her fortune outright.”

  “He couldn’t do that!”

  “It happens.”

  “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 unlikely. On the other hand, Ford’s conclusion seemed chillingly possible.

  Colin took deep breaths to keep from retching at the thought. His hands curled into fists at his sides as 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.”

  FORTY-SIX

  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, chi
pped 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.”

  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.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  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 onto 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.” Gad. 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.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  “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 inactiv
e 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 blasted 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 silently cursed himself; he hardly recognized the person he’d become since he found Amy 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.”