Perfect Bride (27 page)

But they could not shut away the outside world forever.

They could not shut away the truth.

She couldn’t be angry with Justin, she just couldn’t.

She was far too angry with herself. In the depths of her soul, she’d always known he would never marry her. Bitterly she acknowledged he’d told her as much, the night she’d discovered he intended to marry her off. What was it he’d said?

If things were different
...
if
I
were different
.

No, she could not change who she was. She could not change
what
she was.

And neither could he.

Ah, yes, she thought, it was better to know the truth now than to live a fool’s dream.

In sheer, utter desolation, she dropped her cheek on her hand.

It was then she heard it...the click of the door. Pushing her heavy mane from her face, she saw the outline of a tall, powerful form in the doorway.

Slowly she pushed herself upright. In that instant her heart surely ceased to beat. It resumed with thick, dull strokes. Her mind teetered. Time swung away.

In but a heartbeat, Sebastian was standing at the bedside. Strong hands slid beneath her. She felt the sweep of powerful arms about her, lifting high in the air.

Dumbly she stared at his profile, etched in moon
light. His features were drawn and taut. She felt in him a purposeful determination that was somehow almost fierce.

Deep in her throat, she made a low, choked sound.

His hold tightened. His pace quickened. Without a word, without a sound, he carried her down the hall to his chamber. The coverings raked aside, he de
posited her on the mattress. Before she could draw breath, she was caught once more in the cage of his arms.

His embrace was almost crushing, so tight she could feel the throb of his heart beneath the place where her hand coiled on his chest. It echoed the drumbeat of her own, hard and fast.

A crippling wave of pain washed over her. She lay in his bed, she thought wildly, the bed where he would lie with his wife. In the house where his chil
dren would be born, the very bed where his children
would be born—and this, from his lips!

She could not bear it. She could not.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried, uncaring that her voice was laden thick with tears.

With stark, wrenching clarity, she recalled the night of Sebastian’s dinner party. Justin had pre
dicted then that Sebastian would marry only a proper young woman of impeccable breeding and lineage.

A blue blood.

Devon knew why—because of the scandal his mother had caused. He would make no choices that would embroil him in similar scandal, she acknowl
edged bitterly. He would never marry
her
, a woman of tainted bloodlines.

Foolish though it was, she longed for him to whis
per that he loved her as she loved him. She yearned to hear him vow she would be his wife, that her roots in St. Giles did not matter, nor his sense of duty or propriety.

But hers was a fleeting, blighted hope. He shook his head, his expression so ravaged she nearly cried out; his eyes mirrored her suffering and bleakness.

She gave a dry, jagged sob. “Let me go!” she cried.

A tortured groan ripped from his throat. “I can’t! Don’t you see, I can’t give you up! I can’t let you go!”

His fingers caught at her chin. He whispered her name, a sound of agony, and then his mouth came down on hers. She tasted a desperation born of pain and passion and hot, fiery need—her own wasjust as fierce. She surrendered her lips with a low, helpless moan. She could withhold nothing from this man. By the time he raised his head, she was gasping.

Her clothes were impatiently stripped away, along with his. Naked, he came down beside her. With lips and hands and tongue, he greedily charted sleek, feminine flesh. But Devon was just as greedy.

Her knuckles grazed the hair-roughened grid of his belly. Her fingers tangled in the nest at his groin. Her fingers closed tight around his shaft, taut and rigid. He was hot. Burning hot. But she reveled in the way he swelled and surged, the way he throbbed against her palm...into it.

His hips bucked forward. “Yes,” he said thickly. “That’s the way. Oh, God, Devon...”

She didn’t release him, but explored him boldly, allowing her fingers to trip down the length of his shaft, then dance back up, a heated, shattering rhythm that made him gasp.

“Enough! I can stand no more!” His breath scrap
ing and harsh, her hand engulfed in his, he turned her onto her back.

One fiery stroke embedded him deep inside her. Her sheath abrim with him, his heat and strength and power, she moaned aloud.

He pulled back, leaving the head of his shaft buried inside her. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Feeling empty and bereft, she clutched at his hips, seeking to bring him back inside.

His eyes rained down on her like molten fire. “You’re mine,” he said raggedly. “Mine.”

He plunged once more. His thrusts quickened un
til he was driving almost wildly, so deep he touched her very soul. Their lovemaking tinged with a dark desperation, her hands slipped to ride the frantic plunge of his hips. Her nails dug into the clench of his buttocks, loving the feel of him.

Each pounding thrust hurtled her closer to the edge. Her thighs tightened around his, as if to im
prison him, bind him to her forever. She tried to stave off her climax, but it was too intense. Her inner mus
cles convulsed around his rod. There was the sound of whimpering—her own, she realized dimly—and then there was no more conscious thought. Sebastian erupted inside her, and the world exploded, her re
lease as searing and blistering as his.

In the aftermath, Sebastian lay with an arm flung across his eyes. Spent and trembling, Devon turned her face into the pillow.

A single, scalding tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

She had wondered what would happen next . . . and now she knew.

I can’t let you go
.

His raw, stark whisper echoed in the chambers of her mind until she wanted to scream aloud with the pain it wrought.

Justin was right. Sebastian wouldn’t marry her. He would make her his mistress...

But Devon would be no man’s mistress.

If she stayed with him, she would be a whore, the very thing she had vowed she would never be. She would never betray her mother in such a way. She would never betray
herself
in such a way.

It struck her then...From the moment she’d learned she was a bastard, Devon had despised the man who had fathered her. She had never truly understood her mother’s plight—rejected by a man she would always love, no matter that he’d hurt her beyond measure...She’d never truly understood the endless sadness that lurked in her mother’s eyes.

Now she did.

In a way, she admitted achingly, she had taken the very same path as her mother. And there was a bitter truth that must be faced.

She loved Sebastian, would
always
love him. But Sebastian belonged to a world far different and far above her own.

But unlike her mother, she wouldn’t give in to her despair or live her life in regret, wishing for some
thing that could never be.

She was stronger than that.

As difficult a choice as it was, she knew what she had to do.

When they returned to London, the two of them must part.

nce Devon had drifted off to sleep, Sebastian rose and slipped on his robe. Lifting her care
fully in his arms, he carried her back to her own bed. He needed to think, and he couldn’t think with her beside him.

She stirred when he pulled the counterpane over her shoulders. Holding his breath, he watched and waited until she had quieted. Bending low, he kissed her softly on the mouth, trailing a finger down the fragile curve of her jaw.

A tiny whimper broke from her lips.

An oppressive tightness filled his chest, crushing the very air from his lungs. He had done this. He alone was responsible for the shadows in her eyes, the anguish in her soul.

Christ, he wanted to shove his hand through the wall! Instead he hauled in an unsteady breath and straightened. Walking away from her was the hard
est thing he’d ever done.

Almost before he was aware of it, he found himself standing beneath the tree where he’d last seen his mother so many years ago.

Oddly, it wasn’t his mother’s image that haunted him. His eyes squeezed shut, but all he could see was Devon...her hair a silken halo spilling down her back. Devon, small and delicate, grinning impishly at him, her eyes alight in sheer gold.

His eyes opened. All at once it was as if he’d been caught in the rampage of a wind that battered him across the earth and back.

Nothing could ever erase her memory. Time would never blunt the sharpness of his craving for her.

She was unforgettable.

And what he’d done was unforgivable.

He’d just stabbed himself in the back.

Worse, he’d stabbed
her
in the back.

A scathing self-derision blackened his soul. He had reminded himself over and over that she could never be his. He should never have touched her, but he had, and now they both paid the price.

All along he’d told himself he had a stake in her future. But he couldn’t share it.

The situation was...impossible.

It all came down to a matter of responsibility. A matter of duty.

Duty.

The word left a vile taste in his mouth, choking him until he could not breathe.

All his life he’d done what was expected of a man in his position. He’d expected to marry a woman of the
ton
, a woman of culture and worldliness. His mouth twisted. Oh, but he’d been so smug! He’d thought he had everything all planned out. He
would produce an heir, thus preserving the family name and heritage. He’d told himself his life would be full, that he would be content.

Indeed, his duty compelled it.

But now those well-laid plans went against every
thing he wanted...or been
told
he wanted. He was torn between what was right ...and what was proper. What he wanted to do...and what he
should
do.

Nothing had turned out as he’d planned. He stabbed his fingers against his forehead, his heart in a stranglehold.

If it were up to him, he’d marry Devon in a heart
beat. It didn’t matter that she was poor. Take away his wealth, his power, and his title, and what was he? Just a man like any other. No
better
than any other.

But Devon...Devon was a woman like no other.

Justin’s words battered his mind.
She deserves someone who’ll love her
.
Someone who’ll take care of her
.
Someone who’ll give her everything she’s never had
.

He
had been taking care of her.
He
was giving her everything she’d never had.

And he loved her. God help him, he
did
.

But it wasn’t so simple...or was it? Would society accept her as his wife? He flinched at the names she would be called. No doubt it wouldn’t bother Justin if they were shunned. Justin, cynic that he was, would probably bask in what he would surely per
ceive as his elder brother’s rebellion against society.

From the time his mother had deserted them, Se
bastian had vowed there would be no scandal in his life, no taint upon his name. But suddenly it didn’t seem to matter. He and Justin could weather another disgrace.

But what of Julianna?

Sweet, sweet, Julianna. Could she bear another scandal? He thought of the horrid incident that had sent her into hiding for months. He hated the thought she might suffer still more disgrace, for his lovely sister did not deserve the wretched fate that Providence had cast upon her.

And neither did Devon.

He suddenly remembered the way she’d looked that day gliding down the stairs, so full of hope and youth and eagerness. She had placed such trust in him. Such faith.

And he had betrayed her. He had betrayed them both.

Suddenly he knew...He would not betray her again. He would
not
.

Conviction thundered in his heart, roared through his blood.

Duty, he thought again. Duty be damned! Christ, what did he care about duty? He’d give it all up—his fortune, his home—if only she would be his wife.

He wanted her. He wanted her at his side. Tomor
row. Forever. And he didn’t give a
damn
what the world might say. He owed it to Devon to make it right...

And he owed it to himself to be happy.

It was near dawn when he finally tumbled into bed. The burden that had driven him outside was no more. Tomorrow, he decided, closing his eyes. To
morrow everything would be different.

It was later than usual when Sebastian arose. He bathed and dressed quickly with the help of his valet,
anxious to see Devon. After he traversed the length of the corridor, a hasty glance revealed that her chamber was empty, the bed linens already changed. At the bot tom of the stairs, he chanced to see one of the maids.

“Alice, do you know where I might find Miss Devon?”

The girl’s eyes were huge. “I believe she’s outside having a stroll.” She nodded in the direction of the wide double doors.

Sebastian nodded and walked away. Judging from the girl’s reaction, he guessed the servants had ex
changed a good bit of gossip this morning. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

His boot heels echoed as he crossed the entrance hall. A footman hurriedly opened the door, and he stepped outside. A blistering curse leaped to his lips when he saw a carriage had halted before the manse. By George, if it was Justin again, he would—
It was not.

A sumptuous affair of black lacquer trimmed with red and gold, it belonged to the dowager duchess of Carrington. She had an estate nearby and sometimes called on him when she was in residence.

Sebastian was not particularly pleased. God, could no one leave them alone?

One of the duchess’s footmen had already alighted. He stood at the ready when the carriage door swung open. The dowager descended. Smothering his dis
pleasure, Sebastian prepared to greet her.

It was then he spied Devon at the bottom of the stairs. She stood frozen, her pose a reflection of her uncertainty.

The duchess had noticed her as well, and sum
moned her forward with a slashing movement of her cane.

Sebastian held his breath. The diminutive figure in white spoke, but he couldn’t hear what was said. And now she was looking Devon up and down— and offering an elbow for Devon to escort her inside!

Sebastian maintained his stance. Once the duchess was inside, he closed the door and bowed low over her hand. “Your Grace,” he murmured. “How nice to see you again.”

“I’m on my way back to London,” she announced crisply. “I’d heard you were at Thurston Hall, and it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.” She eyed Devon with undisguised candor. “Who is this lovely young lady?”

Sebastian inclined his head. “Your Grace, may I present Miss Devon St. James. Devon, the dowager duchess of Carrington.”

Devon sank into a curtsy. “Your Grace, I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Sebastian couldn’t have been prouder. But the duchess continued her perusal of Devon.

“St. James,” she repeated. “I know that name.” She fumbled for her quizzing glass. “My word, but your eyes are most unusual. ’Tis almost uncanny, for they are remarkably like—” All at once she stopped short. She raised her quizzing glass and peered at Devon, who was obviously discomfited. “Turn this way, girl,” she commanded. “Yes, that’s it. Now the other way—”

The duchess’s gaze had settled on Devon’s throat. “That necklace,” she said in an odd voice. “How came you by it?”

Devon’s pulse was suddenly thudding. The
duchess’s regard was so strange. She raised her fin gertips to the cross. Her chin climbed high.

“This necklace,” she stated with quiet dignity, “was my mother’s—she wore it always. It was given to her by my father before I was born.” She glanced at Sebastian. Did he expect her to change her story? She couldn’t alter the truth!

But he merely regarded her calmly. It was the duchess who broke the silence.

Aging fingers grasped at Devon’s sleeve. “Who was your mother, child? Who was she?”

Devon took a breath. “She’s dead now. But her name was Ame—”

But even as she spoke the name Amelia, it was echoed by the duchess.

“Amelia,” the old woman finished. “Amelia St. James.”

Devon was dumbfounded. How could she possi
bly know—
The duchess was swaying. Her face was pasty white. Alarmed, Devon latched on to her elbow, steadying her. Sebastian had grabbed the other arm. Together they guided her to a chair in the drawing room.

“Your Grace!” Sebastian said. “Are you unwell?”

The duchess shook her head. “I’m fine. Truly I am. Just give me a moment to catch my breath.” She paused, then beckoned to Devon.

“Come here, child. Come here and let me look at you.”

Devon sank down before her. The duchess stretched out a hand. Devon grasped it instinctively, seeking to infuse some of her warmth into the duchess’s cold fingers. No sound passed between
them, but the duchess’s eyes scoured Devon’s fea tures. She was relieved to note some of the color had begun to seep back into the old woman’s lined cheeks.

Devon took a deep, steadying breath, gathering her composure. Her mind was racing. No doubt she was about to overstep her bounds, but she didn’t care.

“Your Grace,” she burst out, “I don’t understand. You knew my mother’s name. How is it possible... how?”

The merest hint of a smile passed over her face. “Because the necklace you wear”—her fingertips brushed the delicate silver chain—“was once mine.”

Behind Devon, Sebastian inhaled sharply.

Neither woman heard.

“No,” Devon said faintly, “that cannot be—”

“It’s true, child.” The old woman’s eyes filled with tears. “It was I who gave it to my son, Marcus. He died many years ago.”

Marcus. The duchess’s son. The rake that Justin had spoken of, the night of Sebastian’s dinner party.