“I DON’T KNOW where he is, my lord. I’m sorry.”
“Think, Mr. Stanley. Please,” Colin begged. “I must find her. I—I love her.”
There. He’d said it. Out loud, to another human being.
Sadly, his confession, however difficult, didn’t seem to make any profound impression on Robert’s father. “I’m sure Robert loves her too, my lord,” James Stanley said warily.
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.”