A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(103)

“I’m not sure,” Bram said. “But she’s just come through the front door of the Queen’s Ruby.”

“How does she look?”

“Like she’s about to be married.”

A black, bottomless pit opened up in Thorne’s chest. He contemplated jumping into it.

“She’s walking toward the church,” Bram said. “All the rooming house ladies are following her. The Gramercys, too.”

“Tell me what she’s wearing.”

Bram cut him an annoyed look. “What do I look like to you? The Society columnist for the Prattler?”

“Just tell me.”

“Ivory frock. Two flounces and a great deal of lace.”

“Is she smiling?”

Stupid question. Her smile wouldn’t give any clues to her inner emotions. His Katie would be bravely smiling, even if she were walking to a guillotine.

“Her hair,” Thorne asked. “How is she wearing her hair?”

Bram growled. “Good God, man. I agreed to imprison you, not provide fashion reports.”

“Just tell me.”

“Her hair is up. You know how the ladies fix it—mass of curls on top, wound with ribbons. Someone’s stuck little blossoms between the curls. Don’t bother asking me what kind of flower. I don’t know.”

“Never mind,” Thorne scraped out. “That’s enough.”

He could see her in his mind’s eye. Floating in a lacy cloud, tiny stars of jasmine studded in her dark, shining hair. So feminine and beautiful. If she’d taken that much care with her appearance, she must be approaching her wedding with joy, not unwillingness or dread.

This was good, he told himself. The best possible outcome. He’d worried she might hold out longer, strictly for the sake of being stubborn. But she must have seen the wisdom of it, once she had a few hours to reflect.

“Susanna’s with her,” Bram said. “I’ll go inquire about their plans.”

Restless, Thorne paced the small round cell. He lifted and spread his arms, pulling against the irons. Every primal instinct in his body wanted to break free. He’d been prepared for this. This was why he’d exacted the promise from Bram—because when the time drew close, he knew only physical restraints could keep him from going after her.

Less than an hour now, surely, and it would be over. A matter of minutes, perhaps. When the church bells sounded, he’d know it was done.

Instead of church bells, however, he heard a scraping of metal in the lock. In response, his body screamed, Make ready. Prepare to bolt.

He turned his back on the door, clenching his hands in fists. “Devil take you, Bram. I told you not to open that door. You gave me your word.”

“I’m not releasing you,” Bram called. “I have a new prisoner, so you’ll have to share the cell.”

“A new prisoner?” Thorne glared hard at the wall as the door clanged shut. “I’m the first prisoner this gaol has seen in years. Now two in one morning? What’s the offense?”

A soft, melodic voice answered him. “Possession of a nuisance animal. Destruction of property.”

No.

His iron chains seemed to double in weight, and they pulled directly on his heart. He turned.

Of course it was Katie.

She was here, in gaol with him. And Bram had no future in Society columns, because his account of her appearance was a mere ghost of the reality. A man might as well witness a comet streaking across the sky and describe it as something resembling a glowworm.

Her frock was gauzy—sweet and revealing, all at once. Her hair was piled in dozens of intricate coils and twists, and her skin could have made angels weep. She was radiant.

A bit of fire flashed on her finger.

Sweet mercy. She was still wearing his ring.

Thorne pushed down the unwelcome surge of hope. His spirits shouldn’t be buoyed by her presence. He shouldn’t want her here at all. She didn’t belong with him in a gaol of any sort—not even a relatively quaint and charming one.

“Well . . . ?” She twisted, trying to catch his approval. “I wanted to look my best for my wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “What the hell sort of game is Bram playing at?”

“It’s not a game, unfortunately. I’m under arrest.”

“For what?”

She pulled a thick black book from beneath her arm. “You were right. Letting Badger chew books was horrendous neglect on my part. Just look what the little beast has done.”

Thorne couldn’t risk drawing any closer to her, but he cocked his head and peered at the book. It was old, thick, bound with black leather . . . the gold leaf letters on the spine had been mostly destroyed, and most of the pages were shredded.

“Jesus,” he breathed as realization dawned. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

She nodded. “It’s the St. Mary of the Martyrs parish register.”

“Not the one that—”

“Contained my birth record. Yes. As well as the record of my parents’ marriage.”

Thorne couldn’t believe this. “You allowed Badger to do that. On purpose.”

“It doesn’t really signify how and why it happened, does it? It’s done.” She squared her shoulders. “There’s no paper record of Katherine Adele Gramercy. Not any longer.”