Perfect Bride (2 page)

evon St. James was in a dreadful fix. Two days hence, the rent was due on the cellar room where she lived. Her landlord, Mr. Phillips, had raised it to an outrageous sum. Devon was both furious and amazed, for the room was scarcely able to accommodate a stool and the narrow bed she had shared with Mama before she died. To make matters worse, he’d informed her but yesterday, the wretch!

“Thieving monster,” Devon muttered under her breath. She tugged almost viciously at the ribbons of her bonnet. The same treatment was accorded the ties of the voluminous cloak she flung over her shoul
ders. A sad, limp affair, its hem ratty and uneven, it was far too large for a frame as small as hers. In places it nearly touched the ale-spotted, pitted plank flooring beneath her feet. But it served its purpose— as did the remainder of her clothing—and for that she was grateful.

Carefully smoothing a hand over the rounded
mound of her belly, she paused at the back entrance to the Crow’s Nest, the tavern near the Strand where she worked. Shutting the door firmly behind her, she stepped out into the damp, misty night. Not a night went by that she didn’t dread the long walk home through the crisscross of dark alleyways. Tonight it was even later than usual before the last patron had stumbled from the taproom. Seeking to fortify her self, she reminded herself she’d made the journey safely for nearly a year now.

A year. God above,
a year
.

For the space of a heartbeat, a wave of bleakness chilled her soul. God, but it felt as if a lifetime had passed since then! When Mama had died, the loss was like a knife to the heart. Indeed, she thought with a pang, at times it was difficult to refrain from discouragement. But something inside would not al
low her to resign herself to working as a barmaid forever. Mama had hated that she worked there— and so did she. No, she would not give up her hopes and dreams. Indeed, she was more determined than ever...

Someday she would find a way out of St. Giles. Some
way
...

It was a vow made long ago. A vow she was deter
mined not to forsake.

But how was another matter, for Phillips’s words of this morning echoed in her brain. Though it had cost her dearly, she had swallowed her pride and pleaded with him. If he would only allow her some time to cover the sharp increase in rent . . .

“I will not!” he had snarled. “Me mind is made up. Ye’ll pay, missy, else ye’ll find yerself out on the street!”

His angry flare had left her in no doubt. He meant what he said.

He was, she decided blackly, a scoundrel. She had despised him for years now, for the wretch had al
ways been rude and hateful to her mother. But how
ever much she might wish Phillips to the devil and beyond, it would not solve her own dire straits.

Only money could do that.

Continuing on toward St. Martin’s Lane, Devon considered the precious stash of coins nestled in the left pocket of her gown; her wages had come due to
day. Only a week ago, she’d been so certain there would be more than enough to cover the rent! She’d even imagined she might be able to buy another gown, and improve her chances of obtaining em
ployment other than as a barmaid. But now it would take every penny of her wages to cover the rent . . . and more.

A chill seized hold of her, a chill that had nothing to do with the cool night air. Dear God, what if Phillips
did
cast her out?

Rounding the corner, she managed to quell the dread roiling in her belly. Instead she directed her at
tention back to her surroundings. It was quiet, as quiet as it could be in this part of London. Darkness smothered the rooftops. During the day, horses and carriages jostled for room along narrow streets. Tradesmen’s shouts filled the air, struggling to be heard above the bustle of activity.

Her cloak flapped about her ankles as she hurried past the Seven Dials—not easy given the bulk of her middle. She slipped once on the cobbles, slick from an earlier shower. The girth of her belly made her balance tricky, but she managed to right herself
without mishap. Her gaze swept around again as she did so. There was no one about.

“Your plight might be easier were you to take some of the patrons in the back room now and then,” Bridget had commented earlier that day. “That’s what I do when I’m in need of a shilling or two.”

The ease with which she advised was telling— Bridget scarcely gave a second thought to such activ
ity. While Devon was aware that Bridget meant well, she could hardly do as Bridget suggested. For she re
fused to make her living on her back.

Another promise she’d made to herself.

As she tugged her cloak more closely about the bulk of her middle, her gaze encompassed the next corner. God knew, the streets of St. Giles were mean and merciless—no place for a lady.

Especially at night.

Of course, not that she was a real lady, as Mama had been. Though Mama had worked as a seam
stress for as long as Devon could remember, she knew that her mother had been employed as a gov
erness before she was born.

But society, she thought with a trace of bitterness, was not forgiving of an unmarried woman with a child at her breast, and it was that which had forced her mother into poverty.

Almost without knowing it, her hand stole to the pocket of her gown. Warm fingertips brushed against cool metal. She fingered the cross. Remem
brance flooded through her ...As Mama had breathed her last, Devon had slipped the necklace from her mother’s pocket ...and into her own. The clasp was broken—the reason Mama had carried it in her pocket.

It was Devon who had broken it.

Twice in her life she’d made her mother cry. That was one of those times, and the memory of it still provoked a stab of guilt in her chest. She had no idea of the value of the necklace, nor did it matter. The necklace was Mama’s most treasured possession.

Now it was
her
most treasured possession.

Never would she part with it. Never. No matter what price it would fetch, no matter how hunger gnawed at her belly, no matter if she had to sleep in the rain and the cold—pray God it would not come to that! For as long as she had it, she had a part of her mother.

Pulling up her cloak, Devon skirted a puddle left by an earlier rain shower. On either side of her, the houses huddled together like shivering children in a biting wind. A ragged woman slept in a doorway, bony knees huddled to her scarecrow frame.

Despite her earlier resolve, a dry fear touched Dev-on’s spine.
I don’t want to be like her
, she thought with a touch of desperation.
I don’t!

Her steps slowed. All at once, she recalled the boardinghouse on Buckeridge Street where they’d lived for a time when she was younger. It was a vile, smelly place filled with scum and decay, and both she and Mama had hated it there. She reminded her
self that they had survived hunger and squalor.

Yet they had never been homeless. There was al
ways a roof above their heads, no matter that it sometimes leaked like water through a sieve.

Taking a breath, she battled a rising despair. She could not give in. Staunchly she told herself she had her wits, her determination...and her mother’s necklace.

“What ’ave we ’ere? Why, a lady with a fondness for the laddies!”

The voice rang eerily into the night. Devon stopped short. A man blocked her way. Another stepped from the shadows, just to her left.

“Hello, dearie.”

The fine hairs on the back of Devon’s neck prick
led. And somehow she knew she’d remember the sound of that oily voice for the rest of her days . . .

He beckoned. “Come here, dearie. Come to Harry!”

“Leave off,” protested the other. “I saw her first!”

“Ah, but she’s closer to me, Freddie!”

Harry. Freddie. Her breath caught in her throat. As the names tumbled through her mind, her heart plummeted. She knew this pair—or at least she knew
of
them. They belonged to one of the most frightening gangs that roamed St. Giles!

“Wot say we share, eh, Freddie?”

The suggestion came from Harry, a coarse-faced man dressed in a filthy tweed jacket, a top hat tipped jauntily on his head. Beside him, Freddie grinned, displaying yellow, rotting teeth. Vile-looking crea
tures they were, both of them men of sinister counte
nance, ageless in the soul, their behavior ruled by perhaps the oldest of provocations.

Greed.

Oh, yes, she could see it in their eyes. And now Freddie blocked her way. He was smaller than his brother, not much taller than she.

She flung her head up. By God, she would show no fear.

But feel it she did. The cold breath of terror trick
led along her spine. Her breath caught in her throat.

She willed herself not to panic. Mama had always told her she possessed a sound constitution. She would not scream. Indeed, what good would it do?

Earlier she had given thanks that not a soul was about. But now...

She managed to shield her fear behind a wall of bravado. “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

“Depends on wot ye got to give!” There was a sin
ister rumble to Freddie’s laugh. He stepped near, grabbing her chin. The streets were ill-lit and dark, but as if to aid him, a full moon slid from behind a cloud. He tilted her face to the sky. “Oh, but we’ve caught ourselves a pretty one, Harry!” he crowed. “Will ye look at those eyes! Pure gold, they are!”

Devon cursed her forgetfulness. She always took great care with her clothing when she left the Crow’s Nest each night. The brim of her bonnet was wide enough to help shield her face; the crown was deep enough that she was able to stuff her mane of thick, golden tresses within. As an extra precaution, she usually smudged her face with soot to hide the youth
ful curve of her cheeks and neck. But she’d been anx
ious to be on her way tonight, and she’d forgotten.

She jerked her chin from Freddie’s grip. “I have nothing,” she said levelly. “Now leave me be. Or would you prey on an innocent woman?” Oh, a ridiculous question, that! This pair would prey upon any and all! “Can you not see I’m soon to give birth?” She jutted out her stomach so that her girth protruded from the cloak. And it was on her belly that his gaze lingered.

But not in the way she hoped.

“Oh, I can see,” Freddie said with a wink. “And we be glad to see ye like the laddies, eh, Harry?”

Harry bowed to her with a great flourish. “Indeed, Freddie.”

Freddie’s narrow lips twisted in a smile. He gave a nod. “What’s that ye have there in yer pocket?”

Devon paled. Too late she realized she had done the one thing in the world she should never have done. Her hands had plunged protectively into the pockets of her gown. Her mind sprang to the knife tucked away in her boot. Drat, but they were so close! They would be upon her before she could reach it!

She dragged her hands out so they could see. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Now leave me be!”

“Let’s just ’ave a look, shall we?”

This was a feat with which they were familiar and quite accomplished. Harry’s nimble fingers found the pouch with her precious stash of coins in one pocket. With a hoot Freddie snatched her necklace from the other.

Something exploded inside her.

“No!” she cried. They could steal her coin, beat her senseless, but they would not take her necklace! The only way she would see it gone was if they left her dead on the street. Heedless of the danger, she re
acted without thinking, darting after Freddie. Harry had already disappeared into the murky depths of the alley, but Devon paid no mind. Throwing out a hand, she managed to grab a fistful of Freddie’s coat.

It was enough to topple him. Together they tum
bled heavily to the ground. But all at once he had her by the throat. “Bitch!” He squeezed; she could feel the ragged edge of his nails biting into the soft flesh just below her jaw.

She struggled to breathe. A faint, choking sound
emerged...it bore no resemblance to a scream. She raked at his face, but it was no use. Then she remem bered...