“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.”
The enormity of her words swamped his mind for a moment. He groped for some cord of reason or logic in the vast, nonsensical sea.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Destroying that book doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Lady Katherine Gramercy.”
“Oh, I know who I am. And the Gramercys know it, too. But this mishap”—she held up the mangled register—“makes my identity more difficult to prove. Evan says we’ll need more witnesses before we even can approach the courts. It could take us years to have it all sorted out—until well after Lark’s season, I expect, and after Evan has a chance to arrange the finances and prepare me to inherit.”
“So you’re saying . . .”
“I’m saying I’m free, for now, to do as I please.” She approached him slowly. “I’m saying that someday I’ll take the Gramercy name, legally and publicly. But in the meantime . . . I’m hoping to share yours.” Her voice went husky with emotion. “I told you I’d give up everything, Samuel. I can’t fathom any life without you in it.”
Thorne stared at her a moment. Then he went to the door of the cell. “Bram!” He rattled the bars. “Bram, open this gate. Now.”
Bram shook his head. “Not a chance. I gave my word.”
“To hell with your word.”
“Curse me all you like. Rattle your cage as you please. You asked for this. You told me to keep you in gaol until Miss Taylor is married.”
“Well, she can’t get married while she’s locked in here.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I believe I can.”
He turned to find her gazing at him from beneath lowered lashes. A shy smile played about her lips.