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.
He hadn’t said a word since he threatened her maidenhead.
While she waited long hours for him to nod off, her emotions swung wildly. Deep inside, she seethed with mounting rage at his ability to control her just because he was bigger and stronger. Other young men took fencing lessons, trained with knives and pistols, spent hours in boxing parlors perfecting their skills. Not Robert. He spent his off-hours drinking and gambling, and he had the soft physique to prove it. Yet that unhardened body was twice her weight, coupled with a deranged force that rendered her well-nigh helpless.
She lay still, as unobtrusive as humanly possible in an effort to avoid his wrath, feeling alternately angry, defiant, despairing, determined, and frustrated. In between, she made paltry attempts to calm her irregular pulse, telling herself to think of better times in the past and those to come, when she somehow extricated herself from this impossible situation.
Mostly, she thought about Colin.
To distract herself, she relived every one of their kisses in her head. She caught herself smiling before she remembered her predicament and looked across the chamber to Robert. He was sleeping, his head lolling to one side, his mouth open and slack. His breathing was deep and measured.
Thank heavens.
Her heart galloping with excitement, she brought her wrists to her mouth and tested the knot. Her teeth slipped off the hard knob and clicked together with a sound that seemed loud in the still room, but Robert didn’t stir, and she continued working at the knot, loosening it bit by bit.
Half an hour later her arms ached from holding them up, and her lips were chapped and sore from rubbing against saliva-drenched fabric, but her hands were free.
She made short work of the bonds on her ankles and stood on shaky legs. After twenty-odd hours flat on her back, her knees threatened to buckle under her, but she refused to give in to her weakness. Sternly forcing her body to comply, she drew the ice-blue dress off the foot of the bed and dropped it over her head, holding her breath when the satin rustled as it settled into place. She shoved the nightgown’s sleeves up under those of the gown, jerked the lacings closed, and attached the stomacher haphazardly. She could finish dressing properly when she was safely outside.
She slipped her feet into the matching slippers, which were a little large but would have to do, and tiptoed over to Robert. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was half-convinced it would wake him.
Silently blessing the powers that be for decreeing loose breeches with deep pockets were fashionable, she crouched behind him and eased her hand into one pocket. Her first try found a small gunpowder flask and a few balls and cloth patches, but no key.
She paused, taken aback by the evidence that he was prepared to fire the pistol. As she pulled out her hand, Robert took a deep, ragged breath, inhaling with a resounding snore, and Amy froze for a good two minutes before daring to try the other pocket.
When her fingers closed around the cold, heavy key, she could barely contain her glee. She was mere steps from freedom.
Reminding herself to be light-footed regardless of her haste, she slowly rose. Her gaze lit on the gun on the table. It gleamed in the weak firelight, the stock profusely inlaid with silver wire in a display of workmanship akin to the finest jeweler’s. She briefly considered taking it, but the gown had no pockets, and she hadn’t the faintest idea how to shoot it, in any case. Forcing her eyes away, she tiptoed to the door.
The key in the lock made a hideous grating noise, but she didn’t look back.
She bolted into a dim, dusty corridor.
One of the too-loose slippers threatened to come off, making her trip and stumble. Suddenly she heard scuffling behind her, then a horrible ripping sound as, for the second time in as many days, she found herself tugged to her knees. Robert’s considerable weight landed on her back, and she plunged forward.
“Curses,” he hissed into her ear. “I’d have thought you’d’ve learned your lesson by now.” He jerked her up, one hand coming around to cover her mouth and muffle her impending scream. She glanced frantically around the dingy corridor, but there was no
