True, he’d said over and over he felt responsible for her safety, and he’d charged after her on his silver horse more than once. But if Jason attended the wedding and captured Geoffrey Gothard—the very menace he’d been protecting her from—then…
Well, then he wouldn’t be responsible for her anymore, would he?
Caithren shook her head. She had no idea what Jason was thinking, which meant she couldn’t count on a rescue. She’d have to manage on her own.
She walked to the window and looked out. Four stories down. Her first thought had been to open the window and jump. But even when Geoffrey left and she had only to deal with thickheaded Wat, it would still be four stories down.
She wouldn’t be jumping.
Pressing her forehead to the cold pane, she strained to see the wall below. Vines. Old, gnarled vines, the stalks as thick as her forearm. She could climb down the vines.
But only if she incapacitated Wat somehow.
Her gaze darted around the room and into the next one. There must be something here that could help her. Whatever it took, she had to get to the wedding.
SIXTY-SEVEN
SOMEHOW JASON managed to dress for the wedding, though he didn’t know how it happened. His heart pounded so hard his fingers shook. He was torn in three directions at once.
One, find Cait—absolutely his first priority, but the least likely to be successful. London was the biggest city in England, a veritable rabbit warren of streets and buildings. She could be anywhere. Anywhere.
Two, get to Scarborough’s house and warn him.
Three, go to Lord Darnley’s wedding, where he might capture Gothard once and for all.
Since Scarborough was expected at the wedding, he had a strong hunch Gothard would be there, too. For the bride and groom and wedding guests, he hoped he was wrong, but at least it would be done.
Scarborough and Gothard. Those last two he could handle. He hoped.
He frowned at himself as he tied his cravat in the mirror, bungling the knot for the fourth time. He couldn’t think about past failures. He had to pull himself together and do what needed to be done.
Save Scarborough and apprehend Gothard.
Or go after Cait—
A knock came at the door. Giving the cravat a final yank, he went to open it.
“A letter, my lord.” Goodwin proffered a neatly folded square.
The note was obviously scribbled in haste. Eleven words that made up his mind. Your girl can be found at the Bull Inn on Bishopsgate.
A clue. A direction. Relief coursed through him, though he knew it was premature.
He nodded at Goodwin. “Have the carriage brought round immediately.”
He hoped Scarborough had received his warning letter; if not, the man would have to fend for himself. Or—
“Ford!” Grabbing his velvet surcoat—black, to match his mood—he bolted from the room and down the stairs.
WAT SAT SLUMPED in a chair in the back room, his shifty brown eyes watching Caithren pace back and forth while she did her best to ignore him.
She was envisioning Lord Darnley’s wedding. There they were, walking down the aisle, Lord Darnley and his bride. Her mind conjured up a bonnie image of a man in a dove-gray velvet suit and a woman in a lovely pink gown. Very English. The kirk, of course, was enormous, this being London. Dressed in every color of the rainbow, guests filled row after row of pews. On one end sat a man wearing bright blue satin bedecked with gaudy ribbons.
Adam.
She had to get to Adam. She’d come all this way, and it was her one and only chance—
“Sit down, wench. You’re making me barmy.”
She sat. Geoffrey had given Wat a pistol.
Congealed food sat on a pewter plate before her, making her stomach roil. There was a spoon, but no knife. No weapons at her disposal.
When she closed her eyes, a vision of Jason’s smile seemed to hover behind her lids. What was it about him that made her miss him so fiercely all this day, the first day she’d spent without him since he’d kept her off the coach? Certainly not his black-and-white judgments, his innate stubbornness, his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. But whatever it was, he had changed her life. Changed an essential part of Caithren Leslie.
She could no longer imagine living all her life without love. Without Jason’s love in particular.
But somehow she would have to.
Now she knew what her answer to his proposal would have been. But he wouldn’t be asking. Once he captured Geoffrey Gothard, he’d leave for his home in the country. She’d been telling him to leave her all along, after all.
It was painful, knowing he cared but not enough. If she could even believe he’d been telling the truth when he said he loved her. Wishing the three words had never passed his lips, she reached to touch her amulet and splayed her hand across the bareness there instead.
So much ill luck had befallen her lately.
She had to get to Adam. Everything had gone wrong, but this one thing—this one thing—had to go right. With her emerald or without.
SIXTY-EIGHT
“WHAT DOES Scarborough look like?” Kendra whispered as she and Ford quietly entered the church.
“How on earth should I know?” Scarborough had already left his house when they’d arrived there to alert him of his brothers’ plans. “We’ll have to ask around after the service. Surely there will be time to warn him.”
The ceremony hadn’t started yet, but everyone was seated. At the far end, a harpsichordist played a gentle tune. Ford drew Kendra along one wall, so they could view the assemblage. “Jason thinks Gothard won’t show up until the reception—”
“Look! There’s Cait’s brother, Adam!”
“Silence!” a matron warned, turning in her seat to give them a cold gray glare.
Kendra ignored her, reaching into her drawstring bag for the miniature that Caithren had left in her hands in the park, when she’d run off to find her hat. She thrust the little
