Perfect Bride (15 page)

She held her breath and waited, waited forever it seemed. Something flickered in his eyes, and then he spoke.

“I’m not worried about any such thing.” He smiled slightly. “Of course you may watch.”

Devon leaped up and threw her arms around him, her eyes shining. “Thank you,” she sang out. “Oh, thank you!”

Sebastian watched her go, filled with an odd jum ble of emotions. The little things that gave Devon such pleasure—my God, to watch a party she couldn’t even attend! He’d been remiss in not telling her earlier about the festivities. If he could have can
celed it, he would have, but the gossipmongers of the
ton
would have asked too many questions. His mouth twisted. Christ, but he wished he could recant his foolish announcement about taking a bride. In truth, it had been nothing but a bother. He had little patience for the addle-brained twits who constantly
threw themselves in his path. So much had hap
pened since he’d made the declaration.
Too
much. Why, it was that very night that he had brought Dev
on into his house...and into his life.

A heavy weight sat in the middle of his chest, an oppressive weight. He heartily disliked the feeling that she must be banished, hidden away from all eyes; it didn’t set well at all. She was sweet and lovely and enchanting, and he’d never felt so low and dirty and mean. Devon thought nothing of it, but he did. Yet it couldn’t be helped.

As much as he wished otherwise, he couldn’t invite her, for it was just as Justin had once reminded him. The
ton
, he feared, would surely look askance at the fact that she was an unmarried woman living beneath the same roof as two unmarried men, would not be forgiving of such a fact, no matter the circumstances. If Julianna were here, it would be a different situation en
tirely. But alas, he’d received a note just yesterday that she was now in Italy and might stay longer. And God knew, he couldn’t blame her, not after her wretched experience of the last year. For she too had been the unwitting victim of an unavoidable scandal...little wonder she had vowed she would never marry!

Scandal. The word felt vile to his very soul. God, but he despised it with every pore of his being!

Which, he thought grimly, made him all the more determined that Devon avoid all hint of scandal. If she were to attend tonight, there would be questions he was not yet prepared to answer—she might never gain the post of governess she sought. When the time was right, he decided, they would come up with a story to explain her presence, a story that would leave her reputation intact.

Too, the situation with Harry made him uneasy. He’d said nothing to Devon, but Justin’s sources had advised that Harry was still searching for the preg
nant woman who had killed his brother, a realization that sent a chill through his bones. He wouldn’t risk exposing her—not to the police or to Harry.

Damn, he thought tiredly, but it couldn’t be helped.

Later that evening Devon installed herself on the balcony behind a potted fern. It was a perfect spot, for she could observe the festivities firsthand with
out being seen. If she was lucky, she told herself stoutly, she might learn a thing or two about proper behavior.

It was like something out of the fairy stories she’d just finished. Urns of fresh flowers sweetened the air with their light, delicate scent. The ladies wore swirling concoctions of silks and satins that shim
mered in the candlelight, pearls and jewels at their throats and ears, their curls beribboned and plumed. The gentlemen were bedecked in pantaloons and tight-fitting jackets, the points of their collars stiff and high. It was an enthralling sight—and this but a dinner party.

But her eyes returned to Sebastian, again and again. He strolled among his guests with that care
less, natural grace only he possessed. He stopped once, turning his head so that she was allowed a glimpse of his strong, sensuous lips and rugged jaw. Had she been standing, the very sight of him would have turned her knees to water.

She didn’t notice that Justin was missing until she saw him strolling lightly up the stairs.

Devon pressed her back against the wall. “Rats!” she whispered as he stood beside her. “Have I been seen?”

“No,” he assured her. “I didn’t even realize you were here until I reached the landing.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she said quickly.

A devilish glint appeared in his eye. “Oh, but Devon”—he gave a shake of his head—“the things you might learn if you did. Why, you could end up a wealthy woman far into your old age.” Devon was still trying to figure out precisely what that meant when he gestured with a finger. “Scoot to the left and look between the rails. You’ll be able to see everything. As a child, one learns these things.”

Devon obliged, and indeed, he was right. She could now see into the dining room as well as the drawing room.

“And later, if you should chance to see three beautiful
demoiselles
flee into the garden with me”— his smile was recklessly bold—“don’t tell anyone it was me.”

“Three!” Devon was shocked.

“For a dare I’ll make it four.”

“You are incorrigible!” She scolded him without heat, for she knew he was teasing. She peered down again. “Sebastian told me this was a small gathering. My word, but there must be a hundred people down there.”

“You see that man, standing at the far end of the fireplace?”

Devon nodded.

“That is Viscount Temberly. He stuffs his pantaloons to enhance his—how may I put this delicately?—his
masculine endowments. Or perhaps I should say his lack thereof.”

Devon cuffed him in the shoulder. “I am not so gullible. No man would do such a thing!”

“Wouldn’t he? Ask the widow Blakewell standing next to him. She knows. No doubt far better than his wife.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

An odd look passed over his features, but then he was laughing. “What, are you shocked? Ah, Devon, don’t delude yourself. Temberly’s wife too has had her”—a meaningful pause—“diversions.”

“What about Sebastian?” Her heart was suddenly beating very hard. “Is his mistress here?”

Justin regarded her for a full minute in what looked to be sheer astonishment. Then he said, “He told you about her? He hasn’t even told
me
about her!”

“Well, not in so many words...I guessed,” she admitted.

He nodded. “Sebastian is very closemouthed when it comes to such things. But to answer your question, no, she’s not here. To be honest, I’ve never seen any of his paramours. But I’ve heard she’s an ac
tress named Lilly.”

Devon let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Sebastian would never be so crass as to consort with his mistress openly, not with this crowd. Be
lieve it or not, you see before you the crème de la crème of the
ton
.”

Devon leaned forward intently as he pointed out a duke, and an earl and his countess.

“And there is the grande dame of them all, the dowager duchess of Carrington.”

The duchess was quite diminutive in size, her white hair covered by a seed-pearl cap. Though as
sisted by a cane, she carried herself in a way that left Devon in no doubt that she was a woman of distin
guished importance. Devon found herself rather in awe of her.

“Sebastian went to her ball the night after I found Dumpling.”

“Yes, I recall. I do believe she has the most sumptu
ous house in London—and that but one of a dozen.”

Devon found it difficult to imagine a house grander than this one, and so she said.

“I daresay the devil himself could be received in society if he was received by the duchess. The duke died about ten years ago, as I recall. Her son, Marcus, is gone too, for many a year now. Her husband’s nephew inherited the dukedom, but they’re not close. Sebastian is convinced she’s made society her playground because she has no one else.”

“How lonely, and how sad,” Devon murmured, still looking at her. “Did Marcus die in infancy?”

“God, no! To all accounts, Marcus was a rake who would put even me to shame. Affairs with married women, affairs with
un
married women, duels... The duchess weathered each scandal, for she adored him and tried to rein him in. She was devastated when she lost him.”

“How did it happen?”

“He fell from his horse and broke his neck.”

Devon stared at the duchess for a long moment. Her son was exactly the sort of man Devon despised. Yet what good had the dowager’s wealth and riches done for her? Her houses were empty, and perhaps so was her heart.

“What, Devon, are you feeling sorry for her?” Justin sounded astonished.

“Well,” she began.

“Don’t,” he said baldly. “She can take a man down with a look. A word and he’s cut to a ninny. She says what she thinks and she thinks what she likes.”

The trace of a smile crossed Devon’s lips. Mama had often said that about
her
.

“And when she begins to brandish that damn cane of hers...God help anyone who chances to be in the line of fire.”

Devon couldn’t help it. She chuckled aloud. “A fearsome woman then.”

“A
most
fearsome woman,” he agreed.

“Sebastian doesn’t appear to fear her.” She made the observation almost proudly.

“There’s no question Sebastian can hold his own. Look there. The duchess has slipped her arm through his. And I do believe where Sebastian is con
cerned, she’d love to play matchmaker.”

Matchmaker?

“You see? She’s piloting him towards Miss Darby. A good, biddable lass, but without enough starch for Sebastian. He’d be bored silly with her.” From his perch above, Justin laughed softly. Cheering, she wondered, or jeering? With Justin, she could never be quite sure.

“That’s the way, old man. Steer the old gal to a chair, exhibit your most courtly bow while driving home your point . . . oh, ever the gallant to young and old alike, that’s my brother.”

Devon couldn’t take her eyes off Sebastian. He’d barely turned aside from the duchess when a bevy of beauties surrounded him.

Her smile was no more. “For pity’s sake,” she said peevishly, “do they wish to smother him?”

“An apt observation, Devon.” Justin’s laughter had grown mocking. “Sebastian made the an
nouncement not long ago that he would begin his search for a bride.”

Devon’s heart caught. Her breath grew painfully shallow. “A bride?” she echoed faintly.

“Yes. He’s the marquess of Thurston, and he’s not getting any younger. He’ll need his heir and spare. And those women smothering my brother down there, well, they’re all hoping to snare a husband. The gossips are full of speculation about who will be the bride-to-be.”

In her lap Devon’s fingers pulled at each other. She had gone very still inside.

“But no woman will ever
snare
him. I know my brother, and when he weds, it will be a woman of his own choosing, not one who chooses him. I daresay that’s why none of those clucking young chicks gathered about him now will be his bride—they’re too damn eager. God knows, no hint of scandal dare taint his future bride’s past. When Sebastian marries it will be a most proper young woman, a woman of unquestionable lineage and impeccable behavior.”

“A blue blood,” Devon said slowly.

“A blue blood,” he confirmed. “Nothing less will do for Sebastian.” He hitched his chin toward the corner, where a woman had paused before the harp. “If I were to wager, I’d lay odds on Penelope Hard
ing. She’s quiet. Intelligent. Genteel.”

Devon didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see the woman who might well end up Sebastian’s bride. Yet no power on earth could have stopped her.

The lump in her throat was almost painful. “She’s quite lovely,” she said wistfully.

Petite, with sleek black hair, Penelope Harding was arranging her skirts over a stool before the harp. Even as Devon watched, Sebastian joined her. He said something. Penelope nodded, her exquisite fea
tures lighting up. Lace-tipped fingers reached out to strum the strings of the harp.

She began to sing.

The room was filled with the sweetest, purest sound that Devon had ever heard.

Long after Justin’s return to the party, long after the last note had died, long after the applause had ended and the guests moved into the dining room, Devon sat alone in the dark. Unmoving.

Desperately trying to wish away the rending ache in her breast.

Perhaps it was Justin’s words. Perhaps it was the way everyone in the room had paused to listen in wonderment to the sweet-voiced Penelope. Perhaps it was the way Sebastian had immediately lent his hand to help the stunning Penelope to her feet. She sang like an angel. And dressed in gleaming white silk, she looked like one too.

Devon gazed down at her lap. She suddenly felt cheap and tawdry, sitting there in her pretty new gown.

When the evening began, she had almost fancied herself in love with Sebastian.