Read Perfect Bride for Free Online Page B

she was cocooned in soft ness and warmth as never before.
    And someone sat close. Very close.
    With that awareness, Devon struggled to bring the image into focus. A man sat beside her, so near she could have reached out and touched his sleeve. Even sitting down, he was astonishingly large, his shoul ders surely as wide as the Thames. Behind him, standing across the room, was another man, whose rich, dark hair was but a shade lighter.
    Devon scarcely gave the other man a second con sideration. No, it was the man beside her who cap tured and commanded her attention and made her breath slip away. She remembered now. She remem bered waking and seeing him ...the jolt of fear that passed through her at finding this huge man crouched over her.
    It wasn’t just his size that radiated power. It was more, far more, for his was a presence that could hardly go unnoticed, not by her, or anyone else, she suspected.
    His clothing was sheer elegance. Not a single wrinkle marred the fabric of his coat. Beneath was a royal blue silk waistcoat and fine cambric shirt. His cravat was spotlessly white, almost blindingly so, particularly against the bronze of his skin.
    His eyes were sharply, penetratingly gray, set deep beneath craggy black brows and hair of darkest mid night. His jaw was square and cleanly shaven to the skin, totally unlike the bristly, bewhiskered men she was used to encountering. The only hint of softness in his angled, supremely masculine face was a clefted chin.
    “Where am I?” The words came out sounding hoarse; she sounded nothing like herself.
    “I found you injured in the streets. I brought you here, to my house in Mayfair.”
    Mayfair. Devon’s gaze circled slowly around the chamber. She stared. Somehow she couldn’t stop herself. Draperies of yellow silk hung at the window, tied with a silver cord. The walls were papered and patterned in roses. She was lying in a bed the size of which she’d never imagined, a bed so soft she felt as if she were floating on a cloud. In truth, but for the fiery ache in her side, she might have been in a dreamworld.
    His speech was clipped and precise, like her mother’s. “You are a gentleman.” She spoke un thinkingly. “And this house...it’s so grand! ’Tis what I imagined some fine lord’s might be like.”
    The merest hint of a smile graced his chiseled lips.
    Devon blinked. “Are you a lord?”
    He gave a half bow. “Sebastian Sterling, marquess of Thurston, at your service. And this is my brother Justin.”
    Devon was dumbfounded. By Jove, a marquess!
    “Miss.” The other gentleman gave a slight nod. His gaze didn’t possess the piercing sharpness of that of the marquess, but he watched her closely.
    “What about you?” asked the marquess. “Have you a name?”
    She swallowed. “Devon. Devon St. James.”
    “Well, Miss St. James, now that you’re a guest in my home, perhaps you’d care to tell me of the night’s...activities.”
    There was a masked coolness in his regard. Only then did Devon perceive it. As she did, her memories sharpened. With unremitting clarity, she remem bered the feel of Freddie’s fingers around her neck, cutting off her breath. That, she realized belatedly, was why it felt as if needles were slashing her throat when she spoke, why she was so hoarse.
    Freddie, she thought wildly. She remembered gripping her dagger and thrusting it forward, the odd sensation of cloth tearing and flesh giving way...how he’d staggered away. She nearly cried out. Where was he? What had happened to him?
    Her gaze lifted. “There was a man,” she said un steadily. “Where is he?”
    The marquess shook his head. “When I found you, you were alone.”
    “But he was there! I tell you he was there!”
    “And once again, I must tell you, you were alone. Clearly you did not sustain your injuries yourself. So tell us about this man you were with.”
    “I wasn’t with him. I—”
    All at once she broke off. The way he was looking at her...
    “Miss