Perfect Bride (7 page)

“It’s true,” she said bitterly. “The constable will never believe me, nor will the magistrate. I’m poor. I’m from St. Giles. That’s all the reason they need to hang me. And Harry . . .” A shiver ran through her. “He’s mean. Cruel. I could see it in his eyes. And I-I killed his brother. If he ever finds me, he’ll make me wish I
had
died.”

This time it was Justin who spoke sharply. “See here now, there’s no need for such talk! And there’s no need to be afraid. You’ll come to no harm here in
this house, Sebastian and I will see to it. Indeed, you may stay as long as you wish.” He rose and strode to the door. His hand was already on the gleaming brass handle. “But come. You should be resting. Therefore, we bid you good night.”

There was little doubt Justin possessed the Ster
ling arrogance. Sebastian had no choice but to follow him into the corridor. Justin was leaning against the wall when Sebastian closed the door.

“Was it only last night you said something about
me
taking a fancy to the chit?” Sebastian gave him a long, considering look. “I do wonder if it isn’t
you
who’s been taken in by her ...how shall I put this . . . considerable charms.”

“Rubbish.” The word was a bald dismissal. “De
spite appearances, I’m not so shallow as all that. She’s in trouble. We can’t turn her out. And we can’t turn her in.” Justin arched a brow when Sebastian said nothing. “Oh, come. Surely you don’t think she’s a murderer?”

Sebastian hesitated, aware of a tug-of-war churn
ing inside him. “No,” he admitted. “But can we ig
nore the fact she’s from St. Giles? Home to beggars. Thieves. Prostitutes—”

“Oh, I see. You think she’s a woman of easy virtue?”

Sebastian’s mouth compressed. “More likely a woman of
no
virtue.”

“The streets of St. Giles are a mean, dirty place, Se
bastian. One can hardly remain innocent living there.”

“Precisely the point. Just because she claims she’s not a thief doesn’t mean she isn’t.”

“She’s in dire straits, Sebastian. If we go to the po
lice, it’s quite likely they won’t listen to her. From her own admission, she killed Freddie. She comes from a place where her background alone is a crime. What if the police are more interested in securing a convic tion than meting out justice? It won’t matter that she was trying to defend herself. Thief or no, she doesn’t deserve to hang.”

It was a disturbing observation. “I’m aware of that,” Sebastian said quietly. “It’s entirely possible they’ll take the view that there will be one less un
desirable on the street.” But now that undesirable was in his home, and in all truth, he couldn’t say he was particularly pleased that Justin had offered the woman safe harbor indefinitely. “Considering you informed her she could remain as long as she wants, I do hope this woman doesn’t take it into her head that she can become a permanent houseguest.”

“Well, in that case she would no longer be a guest, would she?”

“In that case, perhaps you can take her with you when you find a town house of your own. You men
tioned the possibility not long ago, I believe.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“My dear, elder brother, I should like to point out two things. For one, it was you who brought the dear lady Devon here—”

“Thank you for that reminder,” Sebastian put in.

“As for the other, I vow you’d be rather lonely in this monstrous house all alone.”

“Julianna may be off traveling, but she still resides here,” he reminded Justin. “And I must say, I do wish our dear sister were here to tend this upstart!”

“As you said yourself, she’s already on the mend.”

“It will be some time before she’s completely well. She could use some meat on her bones, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did. Considering your opinion of her, I’m sur
prised
you
noticed.”

Guilt stabbed inside Sebastian, swiftly set aside. “I am not an insensitive brute, Justin.”

Justin’s expression proclaimed otherwise.

“I daresay there’s a woman in London who might consider
you
an insensitive brute.”

“Oh, I daresay more than one.” Justin’s eyes gleamed. He paused, the laughter fading from his expression. “She was terrified, Sebastian, and trying very hard not to cry.”

A vision impaled itself in his mind, a vision of eyes glistening like jeweled amber. He’d told himself they weren’t tears. God knew, he didn’t deal well with weeping females. They tore at his heart. They burned his very soul. Julianna could attest to that. A downward glance, a tremulous lip, a smothered sob...he was lost. Not that Julianna was the weak, whimpering type. Far from it. Yet for all that she was staunch and strong, he knew of no one more tender
hearted than she. And when she or any woman cried, Sebastian simply could not abide it. He could not remain unaffected. He could not turn his back and walk away. He did whatever he could, whatever must be done, to chase away those tears.

Now his brother’s rare chastisement only made him feel worse. Good Lord, even Justin, who should have been immune to a woman’s tears, who’d bro
ken more hearts than all the rakes in London com
bined, had been moved.

Oh, hell.
Hell
. Perhaps he
was
an insensitive brute.

And indeed, the chit was in dire straits.

“Perhaps some inquiries should be made into her statements,” he said quietly, “in particular, this wretch named Harry.”

Justin nodded. “I’ll see to it.” He turned toward the stairs.

“Oh, and Justin?”

His brother glanced over his shoulder.

“We must take care it isn’t known the inquiries came from us.”

Justin cocked his head. “What?” he drawled. “Am I not a man of the utmost discretion?”

“Never.” Nary a breath was wasted on the obser
vation.

“Ah.” His brother’s smile was purely wicked, purely rakish, purely Justin. “You mean rarely, do you not?”

“I think you’re quite aware what I mean.”

Justin’s smile ebbed. His countenance became un
usually somber. “I am,” he said. “And rest assured, brother, that you may count on me.”

Their eyes met. A faint smile curled Sebastian’s lips. “I know,” he said softly.

Six

ehind the door, Devon sank back against the pillows with a sob. She was furious. Devas
tated as never before, sick to the dregs of her soul. A cold ache settled around her heart. Her mother would have been appalled that she had even pos
sessed a dagger, let alone used it. She had prom
ised Mama once that she would never steal or whore or beg.

Instead she’d killed a man. Guilt raged inside her. She had wanted out of St. Giles, wanted it above all else! Ah, but at what cost? Her heart twisted. Sebastian Sterling was con
vinced she was a thief.
A thief
. Never would Devon have dreamed of stealing.
Never
.

At least, never again.

For she
had
stolen once, a sweetened pastry from a confectionary. It had been so tempting, sitting on a pretty white plate painted with blue and yellow
flowers, drizzled with honey. The shopkeeper’s back was turned, and she knew he would never see. With no more thought she snatched it from the plate and ran for all she was worth, all the way home.

There, in the attic, she sank down upon the floor. She still remembered the way she’d crammed it in her mouth. The taste was incredible. Lusciously sweet.

But Devon knew better. She hadn’t even been par
ticularly hungry . . .

Mama had caught her. “You stole it, didn’t you!”

The pastry in her mouth turned to sand. It was all she could do to swallow it.

There had been no need to answer.

Mama was furious. “You will not steal, Devon St. James. We may live among the wicked, but
we
are not wicked.”

To this day, Devon remembered the way she had felt. So guilty. So greedy.

They had both cried afterward ...the first time she’d made her mother cry.

And now tears threatened again, but she blinked them back. She couldn’t cry.
She wouldn’t
. She couldn’t change things. Freddie was dead.

Nor could she stay here, in this house. His house. Not when he didn’t want her here. But she
would
have her necklace back.

And then she would leave.

Her gaze swung to the door. Determinedly she pushed aside the coverlet, easing to the side of the bed. The room spun giddily. The world seemed to dangle on end. She sat for a moment, pressing a shaky hand to her forehead. More than anything, she longed to crawl back within the inviting warmth
of this soft, wonderfully wide bed. It was such a lovely room...What, she wondered yearningly, would it be like to live in such grandeur, to wear such soft garments as the night rail that even now co cooned her body? The rich wood floor was so highly polished she was certain she could see her reflection in it, had she tried. With the sunny yellow bed hang ings and gaily patterned coverlet, it was like being in the midst of a sunbeam.

But
he
didn’t want her here.

Just then she spied her bonnet, atop the chair. What was it he’d said?

They’re looking for a woman with a large belly, a cloak, and a ridiculous bonnet
.

Her bonnet was most certainly
not
ridiculous, she thought furiously. Why, she prized it above all else! Mama had always bemoaned the fact that she’d never been able to buy her a bonnet. Devon vividly remembered the day she’d found it on the streets, shortly before she’d begun working at the Crow’s Nest. She’d been ecstatic, for it was her first. It mat
tered not that it was blemished and stained, or that the profusion of yellow silk feathers and matching trim no longer stood straight and proud. She had imagined some pretty young miss twirling her um
brella and strolling in Hyde Park on a sunlit day; in
deed, she’d fancied that
she
was the young woman. And now it
was
hers, and for Devon, a find beyond price.

Pressing her lips together, she slid from the bed to the floor. The effort sent pain streaking through her side. She stood cautiously for a moment, feeling her strength wane and fighting it desperately. Her knees went weak. She was stiff and sore and couldn’t even
straighten her spine. She felt like an ancient hag and
probably looked it.

All of a sudden the door opened.

“Bloody hell,” said a voice. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

She fixed an eye on him.

“I should think it would be obvious. I’m leaving. And I thought you said the language of the gutter wouldn’t be spoken in your house. No doubt it’s dif
ferent for the master, eh, my lord Shyte?”