Free Perfect Bride by Samantha James Page B

replied without blinking an eye.
    “Well, Patrick, I’m Bridget. What’s yer pleasure?”
    “Ale.”
    A burly, bearded man across from him banged his tankard on the table. “Blimey, wot about me?” he barked. “Can’t a man get another pint round ’ere?”
    “Calm yerself, Davey. Yer pint’s a-comin’.”
    “Fine,” he boomed. “But where the devil is Devon?”
    Every fiber of Sebastian’s body came to full alert.
    The fellow next to him shrugged. “Haven’t seen ’er for a couple o’ nights. Timmie thinks she’s de cided she’s too lofty for the likes o’ us.” He gestured to the barkeep, a hulking man whose meek name be lied both his countenance and his girth. “ ’E’s got a new girl startin’ in the morn, ’e says. Let’s ’ope she’s half as fetchin’ as our fair Devon, eh?” He offered the fellow a wink.
    Sebastian was steaming. When Bridget set a foam ing tankard of ale before him, he wasted no time lift ing it to his lips. By the time he lowered it, she was on her way back to the bar. The customer sitting at the end of the table grabbed a handful of her skirt and tugged her onto his lap. The suddenness of the move caused the barmaid’s heavy breasts to nearly spill out of her gown.
    The man crowed. “Ah, now there’s a juicy tidbit, eh, lads!”
    The girl let out a peal of laughter and they both tumbled onto the floor. He whispered in her ear and pressed something into her hand. She nodded.
    Sebastian slapped a coin on the table and rose. There was no need to stay any longer. He’d seen all he needed to.
    But once he was outside, he didn’t return to the spot where he’d left Jimmy, the coachman. Instead he turned and strode deeper into the heart of St. Giles.
    His business here was not yet done.
    The hour was indecently late when he returned to Mayfair. As he stepped across the threshold, it crossed his mind that, for that very reason, he should expect Justin to follow soon.
    Naturally Justin did.
    They came face-to-face in the entrance hall.
    “Sebastian?” came the sound of his brother’s shocked voice. Justin looked him up and down. “Ye gods, man, what the devil are you wearing?”
    Sebastian gave a tight smile and pulled the rough woolen cap from his head. “My name is Patrick,” he said with his best Scots burr, “and I’m a sailor from the north.”
    “Had I chanced to pass you on the street, I should never have guessed it was you!”
    “That was the case when I wore this to the Pem berton masquerade a few years back,” Sebastian said. “Our houseguest isn’t the only one who’s a master of disguise.”
    “Ah, and is she the reason—” He broke off. The very next instant, his elegant nose twitched. He re treated a step, his mouth curling in distaste. “Christ,” he said faintly. Suddenly his jaw came to gether with a snap. “You smell like ale. And smoke. Don’t tell me you went to St. Giles!”
    Already on his way into the study, Sebastian ig nored his accusatory tone. “Very well then. I won’t.”
    Justin was right on his heels. “Damn it,” he said tightly, “I told you I sent Avery to check on Devon’s story. Didn’t you believe me?”
    One of Sebastian’s hands was on the brandy de canter, the other on the glass beside it. “It wasn’t that,” he said curtly.
    “What then? Was she the one you doubted? Avery? Or me? Or all of us?”
    “It wasn’t that,” Sebastian said heavily. He walked behind his desk and sat. It was a moment before he spoke. “I had to see for myself,” he said quietly. “I had to.” The air was still and silent as he raised the glass to his lips.
    Justin took the chair across from him.
    Leaning back, he ran a hand through tousled black strands.
    “My God,” he said in an odd, strained voice. “I feel like I’ve been to hell and back.”
    Once he began, it was almost as if he couldn’t stop. “I had Jimmy let me off on the outskirts of St. Giles. I’d no more than rounded the corner and I saw a man