The Earl's London Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “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.”

  FORTY-NINE

  ROBERT PUSHED the spoon between Amy’s lips, but it met clenched teeth. “Amy, you have to eat. I won’t have you fainting in church tomorrow.”

  “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.

  FIFTY

  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 fancied 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, Mr. Stanley is 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.”

  The man 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.”

  A privileged church. Colin wanted to kick himself for not thinking of the necessity—where else could a forced marriage take place? He could have saved hours by simply enquiring as to where such churches were located and riding straight there.

  Well, at least Ford’s hunch had been confirmed.

  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.

  FIFTY-ONE

  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.”

  Dear heavens, could she even love a baby fathered by Robert? She prayed she’d never have need to find out.

  “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 yo
u’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 through 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?”

  “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 she couldn’t help herself.

  He leapt up to stand over her again. “Oh, yes, you will marry me. 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, seeming to consider the idea. “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. “You’d still be ruined. You’d have no choice but to marry me then.”

  “You’d better think twice, Robert Stanley,” Amy shot back without thinking. “I have friends who would make you sorry.”

  He pounced on the bed, crouching over her with his hands on either side of her head. “Who would make me sorry?” He pushed his hands down at each word, for emphasis. “Who? Whoever they are, I’ll kill them if they come after me. I swear it!”

  Amy would have been terrified by this evidence of his obvious madness, had she not been distracted by the bouncing mattress escalating her diminished headache into a virulent pain.

  His pale eyes narrowed as he growled deep in his throat. “It’s Greystone, isn’t it? And his blasted family.”

  She froze.

  Evidently the look 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 stole her innocence. She choked back a sob at the mere thought, the possibility of him violating her physically. She didn’t think she could bear the disgust and humiliation.

  Robert lifted his head from the table. His steely blue gaze locked on hers. His breath came in loud, ragged gasps.

  Silent moments ticked by.

  His expression grew hard and resentful. “You’ll be mine,” he stated in an ominous, deep whisper.

  A chill slithered down her spine.

  “Cold, proper Amethyst Goldsmith will be mine for the rest of my life.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  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 most people attended church only for baptisms, weddings, and funerals. Colin shifted impatiently, twisting his ring back and forth as the curate completed his 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 but 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 heavens. Having left 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. It wouldn’t quite cover the loss of the red-haired lad’s wedding fee, but it was something. His sudden—and unexpected—surge of sympathy for the young woman may have cost him a few shillings, but no matter. Over fifteen hundred paying couples a year found their way to his altar.

  NO RANSOM NOTE arrived.

  A crackling fire warmed th
e 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 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.

  FIFTY-THREE

  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 was too hideous to contemplate.

  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.