Perfect Bride by Samantha James Read Free Book Online

St. James? Pray continue.”
    It was easy to see what he thought of her. He con tinued to regard her as if she were a maggot, and she was suddenly furious. Why, she was surprised he had brought himself to sit within arm’s length of her.
    Devon would not hide from what she was. She could not change what she was. She had grown up in the dirty, fetid streets of St. Giles, where she’d learned the hard way that trust was not something to be given lightly.
    Marquess or no, she would not allow him to steal her pride from her, for indeed, it was all she had. Be sides, she knew his kind. Long before Mama had died, Devon had determined she would not fail, that she would fulfill her promise to find a better life for herself. She’d gone to the great houses of the city, seeking other work. From the time she was very young, Devon had labored. She’d cleaned fish at the docks, swept paths for the gentry as they crossed the street or descended a carriage, and carried slop from the kitchens, for Mama’s work as a seamstress was barely enough for food and lodgings.
    But there were no positions to be found in the households of the lords and ladies of London, or in deed any reputable establishment, not as maid or cook or kitchen wench. One look at her and the door was promptly slammed in her face. She did her best to stay presentable, but it wasn’t always easy—she’d placed a basin outside the door to catch rainwater in order to bathe, but some wretched soul had stolen it. If she was well scrubbed and rosy-cheeked, perhaps it might have made a difference. And it hadn’t helped that she’d outgrown her ragged gown some years ago. There was no money to spare for cloth, though Mama had mended and let out the seams as much as she could.
    “Miss St. James, why do I have the feeling there’s something you’re not telling us?”
    Her sharp retort died in her throat. Justin’s gaze was nearly as sharp as his brother’s. She felt herself pale, all at once uneasy. These two were blue bloods, and blue bloods had no use for people like her! If she admitted she had stabbed Freddie, what would they do?
    She would be hauled off to the authorities with nary a thought.
    “Miss St. James? Is something wrong?”
    Her heart thumped wildly. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said quickly. It was part fear, part defiance that compelled her answer. But suddenly she started.
    “My necklace!” Her hand moved frantically on the satin counterpane. “My necklace! Where is it? I can not lose it. I had it, I know I did—”
    “Set your mind at ease. It’s in a safe place.”
    But his expression lent her no ease. “It’s mine! I want it back!”
    He got to his feet. It skittered through her mind that on his feet he was a giant. She watched as he walked to the ornately carved marble fireplace, then turned to face her, strong hands linked behind his back. Near the door, his brother continued to look on.
    “When the rightful owner has been determined,” he said with a lift of one brow, “the rightful owner shall have it back.”
    “The rightful owner...What do you mean?”
    His eyes had gone the color of stone. “It means I am not a half-wit, Miss St. James. I do have a very good idea how your injury was sustained, and I’ll not be tricked. A quarrel among thieves, for instance—”
    “I am not a thief!” she cried. “My purse was stolen!”
    “Your purse,” he repeated. “Stuffed with your coin, I expect.”
    “Yes. Yes! There were two men, you see—”
    “Oh, so now there were two. And hoodlums, no doubt.”
    There was an awful, twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach.
    “I must give you credit, Miss St. James. You speak far better than I expected.”
    Her chin climbed high. “My mother was well-spoken.”
    “And who was your mother?”
    “Why, the queen of England!”
    “That would make you a princess. In that case, I commend most highly your penchant for disguise.”
    Devon followed his gaze across the room. Draped across a