“No one’s up there,” he stated, running a dirty hand through shaggy hair that might have been yellow if it weren’t so greasy.
A scream. Hysterical. Unrelenting. Anxiety sent Colin’s pulse racing, and he felt as though his chest might burst. Noting a rough staircase in the back, he started toward it.
The yellow-haired man moved swiftly to round the table and block him. He wrenched a long, rusty knife from his belt and brandished it in Colin’s face. “You cannot go up there.”
Another scream sounded above. Colin’s hand went to the hilt of his sword…and then to his pouch. He pulled out a gold guinea and flung it on the table, his eyes boring into the other man’s.
“Room six,” the man muttered, turning to scoop up the coin and test it between his teeth. “Third floor.”
Colin bolted up the rickety staircase.
ROBERT RIPPED off one side of Amy’s stomacher.
His pale eyes gleamed recklessly.
He tugged at her laces, heedless of her screaming. Neither did he stop when she tore at his neckcloth and pulled on his hair. His breath was heavy and labored; the stench of stale ale and old vomit suffused the air around them.
She clawed long, bloody scratches along his cheeks. But instead of relenting, he growled low in his throat and tugged up on the voluminous skirts of the wedding gown.
Though she’d thought she could feel no more panicked, the cool air on her legs fueled her useless howling to new heights. When Robert shoved his knee between hers, her anguish was so acute that it overwhelmed any physical pain.
FIFTY-SIX
THE NUMBERS on the doors were too faded to read in the dark corridor. But there was only one room Colin sought, and Amy’s unmistakable sobs led him straight to it.
“Stanley!” He pounded with both fists on the rotting wood that separated him from the girl he loved and her abductor. “Open up! Now!”
He ripped off his surcoat and threw it to the floor. Backing up a few feet, he made a run at the door and rammed it with a shoulder—the old lock gave with a satisfying snap, and the door flung into the room and slammed against the wall, barely staying on its hinges.
Startled, Robert rolled off Amy and slid over the edge of the bed, scrabbling to find the pistol on the floor.
Amy struggled up on her elbows, her gaze riveted to Colin in the doorway. He took a step forward as Robert rose, one hand holding up the waistband of his unlaced breeches, the other clenching the gun. A feral look hardened his bloodied features.
Colin took another step.
“Stay back, Greystone, you vile beast.” The pistol wavered as Robert growled. “She’s mine.” The flintlock had been half-cocked, primed and ready, and now he pulled back the lock.
The room reverberated with an ominous click.
A scalding fury burning in his chest, Colin advanced.
Robert’s face registered sheer, unreasoning panic. His arm swung wildly as he squeezed the trigger. The pistol went off with a thunderous report.
Amy let out a shriek of terror, but Colin didn’t flinch; his advance continued unchecked. The bullet was lodged somewhere in the wall of the corridor. Robert was left with a smoking gun in his shaking hands, the pungent scent of exploded gunpowder swirling around him.
There was insufficient time for an expert to reload, and Robert had already proven he was no expert. He flung the heavy pistol at Colin’s head.
Colin ducked, and as his head came back up, he pulled his rapier out of his belt with smooth, practiced ease.
Without the false sense of security the pistol had provided, Robert seemed to shrink into himself. He backed up against the wall, his pale eyes glassy with terror, fastened on the gleaming silver length of Colin’s blade.
Flinging the sword away, Colin rounded on Robert with his fists clenched. He grabbed the shorter man’s shoulders and yanked him away from the wall, then rammed him back into it with a raging force. There was an audible crack! as Robert’s head met the rigid wood, and when Colin let go, Robert slid to the floor in an ungraceful heap.
The fight was over before it began.
Clutching her torn dress closed in the front, Amy watched, silent, as Colin bent down to reclaim his rapier. “Do you want me to kill him?” he grated out, his breath coming in large gulps as he fought to control his fury.
She shook her head violently, still mute. Colin stood motionless for a moment, registering the shock in her disbelieving eyes. Then he slid the sword into his belt and moved to the bed, reaching down toward her.
“You’re…you’ve been shot,” she whispered, beginning to shake.
He straightened and looked down to where her gaze was riveted, surprised. His shirt was plastered to his ribs by a dark, sticky patch of blood, but it wasn’t spreading. “It’s but a scratch,” he said. He still couldn’t feel it—the white-hot maelstrom of his emotions overrode any pain.
Still, he had enough presence of mind to retrieve his surcoat from the corridor and shrug back into it, wrapping it tightly around himself to cover the blood before he scooped her up in his arms.
She trembled in his embrace. With a lingering, murderous look at Robert’s still form, he carried her down the stairs and out into the street.
FIFTY-SEVEN
ONLY A STREET from the ramshackle Cat & Canary, the luxurious Rose & Crown seemed a world away.
Amy seemed a world away, too.
“I’m cold, Colin,” she whispered as he gently laid her on the bed.
After starting a roaring blaze in the fireplace, he went downstairs to ask for a bath to be prepared. He returned to find Amy huddled in a chair, staring into the flames.
Concerned, he glanced back at the bed.
“I’ve been tied to a bed…” she murmured
