The Earl's London Bride

by Lauren Royal

  AS SHE CAME down the inn’s staircase with Kendra, Amy saw Jason jiggle Colin’s elbow. Colin slowly rose to his feet.

  “Oh my goodness,” she whispered to no one in particular. He was quite simply the most magnificent male she’d ever seen. Once, months ago in her shop, she’d been overwhelmed by his good looks, but that initial impression had long since been replaced by a sense of the complex mix of heart and intellect that, to her, was Colin.

  Now, seeing him dressed for his wedding—their wedding—the awe came rushing back.

  The handsome planes of his face were clean shaven, and his freshly washed hair hung in dark waves to his shoulders. But it was his formal clothing that transformed him in Amy’s eyes—a black velvet suit that reminded her of the one she’d found in the chest at the foot of his bed at Greystone.

  Given Colin’s simple tastes, the suit was a passable nod to fashion, the breeches fuller than he preferred, though not the divided skirts called “petticoat breeches” that were in vogue. Where a dandy’s apparel would be dripping in looped ribbons—cuffs, waist, and epaulettes—Colin’s was finished with gold braid. His full, snow-white shirt was trimmed with lace at the gathered cuffs. Matching lace adorned the cravat that flowed over the collar of his short doublet, Amy’s gold-edged cameo pinning it in place. The signet ring she’d made for him was his only other jewelry.

  Though Jason and Ford were decked out in similar finery, she had eyes only for Colin. When he started toward her, she saw he was wearing shoes—shoes, not boots!—heeled, with high tongues and stiff narrow ribbon bows.

  Amy could scarcely believe this model of masculine perfection was about to be hers. She felt breathless, lightheaded, and nearly tripped at the bottom of the stairs, but Colin was there and caught her in his arms.

  “No fainting, now,” he quipped. “I may look like a peacock, but I assure you I’m the same man you consented to marry.”

  Clad head to toe in black and white, he hardly looked like a peacock. “No…you look…”

  “Like a featherbrained fop, no doubt. These are my court clothes.” Setting Amy down, Colin threw a peevish glance up the staircase. “She made me wear them.”

  Kendra’s laughter floated down. “No one makes you do anything, Colin Chase. Though heaven knows we’ve tried.”

  “Besides,” Amy declared, “I was about to say you look incredibly handsome.”

  Colin’s face flushed pink beneath his tan. He clutched the sides of his full breeches in a show of annoyance. “Just don’t expect me to dress like this often. A fellow cannot move properly with all this extra fabric hung about his person.”

  General laughter greeted his comment.

  Moving closer, Colin linked his arms around her waist and sought her gaze with his. “You look unbelievably splendid in that gown,” he murmured, his voice low so only she could hear. Then he smiled mischievously. “Though I look forward to helping you out of it.”

  Amy’s cheeks burned hot as she remembered tonight would be her wedding night.

  Someone cleared his throat, and she broke free of Colin’s embrace. Jason nodded toward her. “In the absence of your father, Amy, may I have the honor of giving you to my brother?”

  For the countless time since this incredible day had begun, Amy’s throat closed with emotion, and her eyes filled with tears. Although saddened by the absence of her parents, she was oh so gladdened by her acceptance into this marvelous family.

  She nodded mutely.

  “Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Jason’s smile was warm and understanding as he offered Amy his arm. With a return smile and a swish of her satin skirts, she sailed past Colin and linked arms with her almost brother-in-law.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  AMY COULDN’T really remember her wedding. From the moment they entered St. James until she was handed a rolled parchment declaring her officially Amethyst, Countess of Greystone, the time swept by in an incoherent blur of unreality.

  Oh, she remembered saying “I will” and hearing Colin’s “I will” boom confidently through the sanctuary. She remembered him slipping a cool circlet of metal onto her ring finger, and she remembered his long kiss, sealing her to him forever, the taste of him tinged with the sack he’d sipped while waiting. Jason had finally tapped Colin on the shoulder, and he’d reluctantly released her, and she remembered that, too. But the curate’s words—the continual drone that tied these events together—had been muffled by a distracted fog.

  The ceremony was followed by a hastily prepared wedding feast at the Chases’ town house. Their formal dining room was filled with laughter from the inlaid wooden floor to the ornate painted ceiling.

  Portraits of ancestors watched the proceedings from the walls overlooking the laden table. Silver platters bearing suckling pig, a roast round of beef, and duck stuffed with oysters and onions were brought steaming to the table, surrounded by bowls of peas, cauliflower, lettuce, corn, potatoes, and rice spiced with saffron and chopped nuts.

  The scent of fresh, hot bread and sweet butter tickled Amy’s nose. Her cup was filled with claret wine punch spiked with brandy, nutmeg, sugar, and the juice of a lemon. As she drained it for toast after toast, she grew giddy with laughter and companionship, not to mention the unprecedented amount of drink she consumed.

  In the center of the table sat a white-iced wedding cake decorated with candied violets and roses (in the middle of winter!), which Kendra insisted they cut and serve immediately in celebration of their marriage. Amy and Kendra ate their portions, but the men pushed theirs aside to have later.

  Colin raised a brow, his gaze searching out each of his brothers in turn. “See?” he asked them, his tone deep with hidden meaning. “It’s just as I said…”

  Ford and Jason laughed, while Kendra and Amy exchanged a look of confusion. But then dishes were passed back and forth across the table, plates were filled, more toasts were drunk, and the odd comment was forgotten.

  Amy could eat no more than a few bites of the impressive feast. Her stomach churned with a combination of excitement, exhaustion, and a tinge of inebriation. Besides, the press of Colin’s thigh against hers, under the cover of the table, kept her thoughts elsewhere.

  Conversation whirled about her. She paid scant attention to most of it, but she did take notice of Kendra’s reaction when Colin announced they were leaving. Kendra wasn’t at all pleased to be having her brand-new sister snatched away so soon.

  “You cannot!”

  “The dickens we cannot. If you think I’m spending my wedding night with my little sister hanging outside the door…”

  “But you have only Ebony. Surely—”

  “You can borrow my carriage,” Jason offered pleasantly.

  “Thank you, but I sent for my own carriage this morning.”

  “But—but—”

  Colin smiled when his sister sputtered.

  “Amy has no clothes!”

  “She has a trunk full of clothes you picked up from Madame Beaumont only this morning.”

  “She has no shoes, no stockings, and no nightclothes,” Kendra returned smugly.

  “Surely you can lend her a pair of shoes and some stockings.” Colin grinned. “And she has no need of nightclothes.”

  At this announcement, everyone fell into embarrassed silence—even Colin, who looked down and gulped from his goblet of claret. But Kendra quickly changed the subject, and thankfully that odd comment was forgotten, too.

  Amy hazily remembered being bundled into Colin’s carriage and settling her head against his shoulder. The next thing she knew, she was back at Greystone, in his—their!—bed, wearing naught but her chemise. But she wasn’t cold. A blaze roared in the fireplace, and Colin’s breath was warm on her neck where he’d nuzzled her awake. And though the thin fabric of the fine chemise left little to the imagination, she didn’t feel nervous or embarrassed under his emerald-green gaze. She only felt happy.

  “Have you slept enough yet?” he’d whispered. And at her answering smile, he’
d proceeded to keep her awake until dawn illuminated the sky.

  Not that she was complaining. Not one bit.

  Judging by the bright sun through the window, it was afternoon now. Amy stretched beneath the sheets, content. She ran her hand over the shallow hollow where Colin had lain, breathing in his distinctive scent and imagining she could still feel his warmth. She had no cause to be concerned about his disappearance—he was her husband now.

  The thought brought a smile and a vision of herself standing beside him in the old church. Sapphire and cream, black and white. They hadn’t matched. It had been perfect.

  No…

  No, it hadn’t been perfect. A disturbing emptiness seemed to open in Amy’s middle.

  What had she done?

  She’d taken one vow and broken another. She’d never be able to reestablish Goldsmith & Sons now. Dear heavens, would her father ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself? Generations of craftsmanship, all ending with her, ending with her selfishness.

  She should have married Robert willingly—then none of this would have happened. No matter that the mere idea twisted her insides; she would have had the solace of Goldsmith & Sons, of her craft, of knowing she’d done the right thing.

  And she’d done Colin no favor, either. What had he said? I knew I should have killed him. Instead, he’d married her to save her from Robert. And now he was stuck with a commoner for a wife, when she knew he’d wanted a titled lady.

  Did he really even love her? She curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Strange patterns danced behind her lids, making her dizzy. The claret punch from last night wasn’t sitting well in her stomach.

  She lay there for long minutes, hugging her knees, blanking her mind, forcing her breathing to slow and her heart to gradually calm.

  At long last, she felt able to think more clearly.

  What was done, was done. She would have to bury the guilty feelings deep. Her love was so overwhelming, surely everything would work out. She’d had no choice.

  No other choice she could have lived with.

  Opening her eyes, she straightened and rolled onto her back, gazing up at the cream-colored canopy. A warm fire crackled on the gray stone hearth. Yellow sunshine streamed through the window. A brilliant flash of purple arced from where her hand lay on the blanket.

  She sat up, drawing a quick breath. In all the excitement, she hadn’t found time to inspect it last night, but the ring was magnificent: a large heart-shaped amethyst surrounded by tiny seed pearls and table-cut diamonds, set in a framework of delicate filigree reminiscent of the finest sixteenth-century artistry.

  Where had Colin come by such a masterpiece on such short notice? She waved her fingers, watching the play of light on the deep purple amethyst and old diamonds. The ring was eighteen karat gold, the shank worn thin with age and use, but still a rich yellow. Lovely, yet strange somehow…foreign…she’d never worn jewelry not made by a member of her family.

  She pulled off the ring.

  At her burst of laughter, Colin appeared in the doorway, sporting a wide grin.

  “Good afternoon, sleepyhead. What’s so funny?”

  Sunlight flashed off the amethyst in the palm of her hand. “This,” she choked out between giggles. “This ring.”

  His smile disappeared, replaced by a frown of hurt. “It was my grandmother’s,” he mumbled grimly. “I thought…”

  Her laughter died as she realized he thought she was disparaging the beautiful piece of jewelry. Clutching the quilt around herself, she jumped off the bed and rushed to his side. “No, it’s lovely,” she cried. “But look—just look inside.”

  Colin took the ring. “Inside?” he asked blankly.

  “Yes! Look there—do you see it?”

  He frowned, squinting at the tiny marks. “An eagle?”

  “A falcon! And the letters GSJ.”

  “So…”

  “Goldsmith and Sons, Jewellers. Don’t you remember the falcon on our sign? Colin, someone in my family made this ring!”

  He glanced up quickly, then back down, staring at the ring in disbelief. “Are you sure? There’s also an animal head of some sort stamped in here.”

  “A leopard’s head. That means the gold was assayed at Goldsmith’s Hall in London. It’s why we call it hallmarking. And the leopard head is in a circle—an old mark used before 1519. Colin, this ring must be more than a hundred and fifty years old.”

  “I knew it was old, but—”

  “It’s very old. And very wonderful. Look at the filigree.” Before Colin could look at the filigree or anything else, she snatched the ring from him and slipped it onto her finger. Extending her arm, she gazed at it possessively. “However did it survive this long? Most of our business was designing new mountings for old stones; fashionable people have their jewels reset every two or three years.”

  “Grandmother was never fashionable. She gave the ring to Jason—otherwise it would have been sold years ago to help fight Cromwell. Is it valuable?”

  “Quite. Fine large amethysts are rare—they call amethyst the Jewel of Royalty. But it’s the workmanship I treasure…I wonder who made it? My great-great-grandfather?” Happiness spurted through her as she looked from the ring to her husband. “Oh, Colin, this is the best wedding ring ever!”

  Colin’s eyes glittered in response. He moved to her, slipping his arms beneath the blanket to encircle her waist. “I’m glad you like it, love,” he murmured before his mouth descended on hers. “And I second your opinion concerning the rarity and value of Amethyst…”

  His large hands were warm on her bare back, and he kissed her long and deep, breaking off only when the quilt slid from her shoulders and she pulled away and stooped hurriedly to retrieve it.

  Colin wrapped it back around her. “Benchley has our dinner waiting. How quickly can you dress? Unless you’d rather have, uh, dessert first?”

  “Kendra is the one who has dessert first.”

  Colin chuckled deep in his throat. “That wasn’t what I meant.” He leaned down and kissed her again, sending a tremor through her body. When he pulled back, his eyes bore into hers suggestively.

  Two hot spots burned on Amy’s cheeks, but nonetheless she murmured, “Oh. Dessert would be nice.”

  This time, when the blanket fell, she didn’t reach for it.

  And as he carried her to the bed, she told herself it was impossible for something this perfect to be wrong.

  She wouldn’t let it be.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  Six weeks later

  December 24, 1666

  COLIN ENTERED the bedroom, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Will you come upstairs with me, love?”

  Amy’s reflection looked puzzled in the dressing table mirror. “Upstairs?” She folded the letter she’d just written to Aunt Elizabeth with news of her life since the wedding. “You keep telling me it’s dangerous up there. Besides, don’t we need to leave for Cainewood?”

  “Christmas Eve can wait a few minutes yet.” Struggling to keep a smile off his face, he took her by the hand and led her down the corridor to the staircase.

  She followed him up the steps. “When will the upper level be renovated?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve put all the renovations on hold. The farmstead is nearly self-supporting, and then—”

  He turned when he felt her stop. Her words came forced and quiet. “Colin, I have a trunk full of gold.”

  “So you do.” He backed down a step, twisting his ring. “I promised you I wouldn’t touch it.”

  “But—it’s yours. Legally, it’s yours.” Her fingers trailed back and forth along the oak rail. “You…you’d have taken Priscilla’s dowry, wouldn’t you?”

  Colin noticed the catch in her voice. It would kill her if he spent her gold. It would kill their marriage. Kill her love for him.

  “Priscilla was different,” he said carefully. “That was a business arrangement.” He moved down another step to encircle her in his arms. �
��I love you,” he said low. “We’ll wait, see what happens. If you don’t mind living like this for now—”

  “I could live like this forever,” she said quickly.

  Very quickly, Colin thought. Much too quickly.

  As he took her lips in a gentle kiss, a disturbing image of Lord Hobbs flashed in his head.

  He didn’t have forever.

  AMY FOLLOWED Colin down the corridor, feeling troubled by his sudden change of temperament. What she’d seen in his eyes had worried her. He’d seemed so lighthearted when they’d started upstairs—what had happened to lower his spirits?

  It was odd and disturbing to find that his state of mind affected hers. It seemed that if he wasn’t happy, then she couldn’t be, either.

  Love was more complicated than she’d ever imagined.

  His step lightened as he reached the end of the corridor. Despite his earlier warnings, she’d seen no rotting wood along the way, no holes in the floor. He stopped in front of a stout, arched oak door and slipped a key into the lock.

  After it clicked open with a rusty screech, he took her hand and placed the key in her palm. The metal was warm, retaining his body heat. She closed her fingers around it and looked up at him.

  “Go ahead. It’s yours,” he urged, indicating the door and whatever lay beyond.

  The door squeaked a protest of disuse as she pushed it open. The smallish chamber had a carved marble fireplace. A long upholstered couch sat in the center, and there was a heavy, dark wooden desk that belonged to the previous century. But best of all were the books, multitudes of them, lining the walls from floor to ceiling.

  “A library…”

  Her mood suddenly lifted, her uneasiness flitting away as it tended to do in the bliss of being wed to Colin. If they really loved each other, it should be enough.

  It would be enough.

  “It’s yours,” Colin repeated. “Your own place, like the study is mine. Though I’m hoping you’ll let me in now and then. To borrow a book, you know.”