Perfect Bride (3 page)

The knife tucked at the side of her boot.

Freddie squeezed. Devon clawed at him desper
ately, certain her neck would snap with the pressure of his bony fingers. A grating laugh seared the air.

The world blackened. Desperately she fought against it. Her fingertips closed about the knife’s handle. Gritting her teeth, she drove upward with all her might, then wrenched it back.

Air rushed back into her lungs. Through the mea
ger light she saw Freddie’s eyes bulge, as if they would pop from their sockets. Little did she realize the surprise on his face mirrored hers, for it was then she realized the blade had reached its mark.

“Ye...ye’ve killed me!” he said faintly.

Devon waited no longer. With a cry she shoved at his shoulders. Weak, stunned, Devon rolled away. As she pushed herself to her knees, she saw the knife, still in her hand. Blood dripped from the blade onto the cobblestones. In horror she let it fall from her hand.

It was then she chanced to see her necklace, just beyond her knees. With a frantic cry of relief, she snatched it up and clasped it to her breasts.

Behind her, there was a groan. Her heart gave a great bound. It was Freddie!

Run!
chanted a voice in her mind.
You must run!

Too late. He’d seized hold of her dagger. She twisted, even as a tremendous force hit her from be hind. She pitched forward, skidding headlong across damp, slippery stone. Searing fire burned through her, like a red-hot poker, at the place where
her shoulder blade curved into her side. A scream shrilled in her ears...her own, she realized.

In the swirling mist of her vision, she was aware of Freddie staggering to his feet and shuffling toward the alley where Harry had disappeared.

Freddie’s dragging footsteps faded. Devon’s mind hazed. The world seemed to dangle. She felt dizzy and sick. And she’d fallen in a puddle, she realized hazily. Beneath her cheek, the cobblestones were rough and wet; she could feel the dampness seeping through her gown. Her teeth began to chatter. She had been cold before, but not like this, for this was like a numbing, icy blast that came from within and spread to every part of her, a cold that made her shiver from the inside out.

Memory flashed inside her, the memory of Mama’s last hours. She had whispered of the cold, and she had shivered and shaken...

Oh, God. Was she dying then?
No
! her mind cried.
I don’t want to die, not like this. Not in the dark and the cold
...

Biting deep into her lip, she choked back a sob— she knew there was no use in crying out.

For there was no one to hear. No one to care. For this was St. Giles, home of beggars and thieves, the poor and the unwanted.

Two

amn his brother’s foolhardy nature! The Sterling family carriage careened around the corner onto St. Martin’s Lane, a grand affair of shining black and gleaming silver. To any onlookers (of which there were few, given the ungodly hour), the splendidly sumptuous vehicle was sorely out of place in the filthy streets of St. Giles. Inside the vehi
cle, Sebastian Sterling held on tightly, both to the strap and to his temper—it was rare he ever truly
lost
his temper—but admittedly, the edges were a bit frayed.

True, he’d spent a very pleasant evening at the Far
thingales’ dinner party—a lively affair, to be sure, for it had lasted until well after midnight. Justin had been invited as well but had chosen not to attend, it seemed. Indeed, Stokes, the butler, had informed Se
bastian as Sebastian left his town house that Justin planned to spend the night gaming.

So it was that Sebastian had stopped at White’s af
ter leaving the Farthingales. Though Sebastian and Justin lived beneath the same roof, it seemed they only encountered each other in passing these days. Since Julianna was traveling, there was no one home but the servants, who were certainly all abed by now; perhaps he and Justin might share a brandy to gether. Besides, it was only right to apprise his brother of his plans before Justin read about them in tomorrow’s gossips...

But Justin was not at White’s. His friend Gideon, however, was. And it was Gideon, deep in his cups— God, was he ever anything
but
deep in his cups?— who disclosed he’d seen Justin but a short time earlier . . .

At a gaming hell in St. Giles.

And it was that which accounted for the carriage’s breakneck pace...

Outside, Sebastian could hear Jimmy, his driver, urging the horses on. Damn Justin’s recklessness! he thought again. By God, but there were times he swore his brother cared about nothing, not any
one
or any
thing
. What the blazes was Justin thinking, to come to such a place? Ah, he reflected furiously, but that was Justin. His life consisted of but three pursuits— gambling, whoring, and drinking. As for Gideon... well, they were rakehells, both of them, and he wasn’t sure who was worse!

Under other circumstances, Sebastian wouldn’t have dared stray into the heart of St. Giles, for it was surely the very scourge of the earth, rife with pick pockets, thieves ...and worse. It seemed a man could scarcely walk down any street in London these days without risk of being robbed. But in an area
such as this, a man risked losing not only his watch, but his very life...

His jaw clamped together hard. Little wonder, he decided blackly, that he preferred Thurston Hall to London.

The carriage veered precariously. As Jimmy nego
tiated the turn, Sebastian shifted to accommodate the movement. Yet in the next instant, the carriage swerved abruptly and lurched to a halt. Sebastian found himself flung across the seat so violently, he narrowly escaped cracking his head.

He righted himself and flung open the door. “Jimmy! Is this it?”

Jimmy hadn’t moved from his perch atop the cab. “No, my lord,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Then drive on, man!” Sebastian couldn’t curb his impatience.

Jimmy pointed a finger. “My lord, there be a body in the street!”

No doubt whoever it was had had too much to drink. Sebastian very nearly advised his man to sim
ply move it and drive on.

But something stopped him. His gaze narrowed. Perhaps it was the way the “body,” as Jimmy called it, lay sprawled against the uneven brick, beneath the folds of the cloak that all but enshrouded what looked to be a surprisingly small form. His booted heels rapped sharply on the brick as he leaped down and strode forward with purposeful steps. Jimmy re
mained where he was in the seat, looking around with wary eyes, as if he feared they would be set upon by thieves and minions at any moment.

Hardly an unlikely possibility, Sebastian con
ceded silently.

Sebastian crouched down beside her, his mind working. She was filthy and bedraggled. A whore who’d imbibed too heavily? Or perhaps it was a trick, a ruse to bring him in close, so she could snatch his pocketbook.

Guardedly he shook her, drawing his hand back quickly. Damn. He’d left his gloves on the seat in the carriage. Ah, well, too late now.

“Mistress!” he said loudly. “Mistress, wake up!”

She remained motionless.

An odd sensation washed over him. His wariness vanished. His gaze slid sharply to his hand. The tips of his fingers were wet, but it was not the wetness of rain, he realized. This was dark and sticky and thick.

He inhaled sharply. “Christ!” he swore. He moved without conscious volition, swiftly easing her to her side so he could see her. “Mistress,” he said urgently, “can you hear me?”

She moved a little, groaning as she raised her head. Sebastian’s heart leaped. She was groggy but alive!

Between the darkness and the ridiculously over
sized covering he supposed must pass for a bonnet, he couldn’t see much of her face. Yet he knew the precise moment awareness set in. When her eyes opened and she spied him bending over her, she cringed and gave a great start. “Don’t move,” he said quickly. “Don’t be frightened.”

Her lips parted. Her eyes moved over his features in what seemed a never-ending moment. Then she gave a tiny shake of her head. “You’re lost,” she
whispered, sounding almost mournful, “aren’t you?”

Sebastian blinked. He didn’t know quite what he’d expected her to say—certainly not
that
.

“Of course I’m not lost.”

“Then I must be dreaming.” To his utter shock, a small hand came out to touch the center of his lip. “Because no man in the world could possibly be as handsome as you.”

An unlikely smile curled his mouth. “You haven’t seen my brother,” he started to say. He didn’t finish, however. All at once the girl’s eyes fluttered shut. Se
bastian caught her head before it hit the uneven brick. In the next instant he surged to his feet and whirled, the girl in his arms.

“Jimmy!” he bellowed.

But Jimmy had already ascertained his needs. “Here, my lord.” The steps were down, the carriage door wide open.

Sebastian clambered inside, laying the girl on the seat. Jimmy peered within. “Where to, my lord?”

Sebastian glanced down at the girl’s still figure. Christ, she needed a physician. He thought of Dr. Winslow, the family physician, only to recall that Winslow had retired to the country late last year. And there was hardly time to scour the city in search of another . . .

“Home,” he ordered grimly. “And hurry, Jimmy.”

It wasn’t Stokes but Justin who opened the door to Sebastian’s fashionable town house. “Well, well,” Justin drawled, “keeping rather late hours, aren’t—” He broke off at the sight of his brother. In his arms
was a woman, but hardly the sort his brother usu
ally fancied. Hardly the sort
he
fancied, for that matter.

Her wet, billowing cloak dripped puddles on the highly polished floor. Her head lolled over Sebastian’s arm. Her face was turned into his greatcoat.

He raised incredulous eyes to his brother. “Sebas
tian! What the hell—”

“She’s hurt, Justin. Bleeding.”

“Good God! Shot?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian’s tone was clipped and abrupt. “Let’s get her upstairs. The yellow room.”

In unison the brothers gained the stairs, cleared the landing, and proceeded down the hall, their long-legged strides in perfect accord.

“What the hell happened?”

“I found her sprawled in the street in St. Giles. Jimmy nearly hit her.”

“St. Giles! You?” Justin thrust open the bedroom door.

Sebastian spared him a hard look as he brushed by him. “Yes.”

By then the butler had appeared, scratching his chest and still dressed in his nightclothes. “My lord, may I be of assistance?”

“Hot water and clean strips of linen,” Sebastian ordered. “And please hurry, Stokes.”

He lowered his burden to the bed and turned his attention to her. She was soaked and shivering and white as snow. It hadn’t taken long to reach his town house—a scant quarter hour—but she hadn’t roused again, which worried him.

Particularly when he realized she was heavy with child.