Free Imposter Bride by Patricia Simpson

subject of Edward
Metcalf. She didn’t chat much and never once assumed an imperious
air, for which he was grateful and not a little surprised.
    Then, after Ramsay poured them each a second glass
of wine, he sat back and let his gaze settle upon her face.
    “So tell me, Miss Hinds,” he began, “how much do you
know of London society?”
    He thought he saw her gulp at the question.
    “Not very much. I’ve never been to London before.”
She blinked and slightly tilted her head. “Not to change the
subject, Captain Ramsay, but did you happen to make inquiries as to
the fate of my governess?”
    “I’m afraid there was nothing to be found of
her.”
    “She perished?”
    “There were many deaths. Many bodies burned beyond
recognition.”
    “And my maidservant?”
    “Apparently she is the notorious Sophie Vernet, on
the run from the law, and wasn’t there at the time.”
    “They are wrong about Sophie.” She looked down for a
moment, her face pale. “She would never hurt anyone. And she would
never steal.”
    “Perhaps. But perhaps you don’t know her as well as
you think, Miss Hinds. Servants often have secret lives and secret
dreams that they never reveal to their masters.”
    Sophie glanced up at him, her eyes dark with
emotion, her mouth suddenly drawn into a small ruined smile. What
was the young woman thinking about?
    He took a sip of wine and studied her soft features,
her slender nose, and her smoky-blue eyes. Their color was smudged
by the long sweep of her unusually straight lashes, the kind often
seen on a colt. “As for other matters, when your grandmother
arrives, she will undoubtedly arrange a party or two for you. You
will be introduced to many eligible men.”
    “Eligible men? What are you implying, sir?”
    “That a beautiful woman such as yourself could have
her pick of men—instead of settling for the Earl of Blethin.”
    “Why must you continue this quest to turn me off
from marriage to him?”
    “He is not what he seems.”
    “Is anyone?” She gave a short laugh and leaned
forward for the wine goblet that he had inadvertently set just out
of easy reach. As she did so, the lace sleeve of her dress pulled
back on her right arm, revealing a crimson line on her forearm.
    At the sight of the wound, Ramsay clutched her
delicate wrist in his hand and folded her arm upward, so that the
cloud of lace fell back to her elbow. Shocked, she cried out and
tried to yank out of his grip, but he held her fast.
    There on the young woman’s lovely white forearm was
the mark of the murderess, Sophie Vernet, the woman who had hid in
his coach and then disappeared. He had thought her voice was
familiar! Never having seen either of the young women clearly, he
had mistaken Sophie for the heiress.
    “You’re hurt,” he exclaimed, quickly masking his
initial surprise.
    “It’s just a scratch,” she replied, “from the fire.”
Her eyes were round with alarm that she tried hard to conceal.
“Please, let go of me.”
    He complied. “I wonder the doctor didn’t see that
injury.”
    “It’s nothing.” She adjusted the lace to cover her
arm, while Ramsay’s thoughts soared off in a completely new
direction. Suddenly everything made sense, including his altered
opinion of Miss Hinds and her unemotional reaction to the fate of
her governess. This woman wasn’t the heiress from the West Indies.
This woman was an imposter. He had sensed it all along. Now he had
proof.
    Before Ramsay could say anything more, he heard a
loud rapping at the front door. A moment later, Mrs. Betrus hobbled
into the dining room.
    “Lord Metcalf to see you, Captain.”
    “Metcalf? At this hour?”
    “And his sister, Lady Charlotte.”
    “Curious.” Ramsay dabbed his mouth with his napkin
and rose as Sophie got to her feet as well.
    “Stay here,” he instructed. “I will speak to the
earl on your behalf.”
    “But he is my betrothed.”
    “True.” Ramsay glanced at her, admiring her pluck
and her ability to think on