He was an older, much fatter version of Robert, exhibiting the likely result of an inactive 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.”
“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
