Imposter Bride (8 page)

“Is there something wrong, constable?” Mrs. Betrus
asked.

“Yes. My assistants and I are going door to door
warning good citizens such as yourself to be on the lookout for
this young woman.” He handed a paper to the housekeeper, which
Sophie guessed was the handbill being circulated about her.

Mrs. Betrus glanced down at the sheet. “Sophie
Vernet? Who might she be?”

“A murderess. A dangerous criminal.”

“Really?” Mrs. Betrus held the paper close to the
end of her nose as if nearsighted. “She looks so innocent!”

“It’s not the best likeness, madam, but yes. That’s
Sophie Vernet. We have reason to believe she might be in the
neighborhood. She was last seen near the Queen & Cross, which
is not far from here.”

“Where they had the fire last night?”

“Yes, ma’am. I wouldn’t doubt but she started
it.”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“To cover her tracks. This young woman is devious,
madam. She’s managed to elude capture for two days. But we’ve got
more men on the job now and have notified all the ports, all the
turnpike officials. She won’t get far.”

“She’s young for such things, isn’t she? It says
here that she’s only nineteen.”

“True. But the devil is in this one, madam, and I
advise you to be wary of anyone who might fit her description.
Sophie Vernet would sooner slit your throat than ask for the time
of day.”

“Lord!”

“No need to worry, though, madam. We have men on
every street corner for blocks around. They know what this
murderess looks like, and they are keen on finding her. You can be
sure of that. In the meantime, keep your doors locked. Keep your
eyes open. And if you see anything suspicious, I would ask that you
to send a note around to the Chestnut Lamb. There might even be
something in it for you in the way of compensation.”

“I will keep it in mind, constable. Thank you.”

“And I thank you, madam. Goodnight.”

In despair, Sophie sank against the wall. What would
she do now, with thief-takers lurking on every corner, waiting to
apprehend a suspicious-looking female traveling alone? How could
she possibly get past them? And what would she do if she could make
it to a ship? More agents of the constable would be waiting for her
at the docks. One thing she knew for certain: she could not leave
this house for a few days at the very earliest. As Sophie Vernet,
she was literally trapped in the home of Captain Ramsay. As
Katherine Hinds, she could buy herself valuable time.

Sophie fingered the hard lump in the pocket tied
beneath her skirts. The diamond-studded buckle was her only hope
now. She would use it to buy her freedom and passage to another
country where she could start life anew, but only if she escaped
the local authorities.

Until the witch-hunt for her had died down, however,
she would have to conceal her identity and her whereabouts. What
better way to hide than in the guise of another woman. But would it
be possible to pull off such a charade? Sophie frowned. In
appearance, she was very much like her mistress. The small painting
that had been sent to Edward Metcalf could have been the likeness
of Katherine or Sophie. No one but Captain Ramsay had met
Katherine, and even he had not seen her face. The only problem she
might encounter would be if Katherine had survived the fire and
made herself known.

Sophie lingered in the dining room until Mrs. Betrus
returned downstairs to the kitchen. Then she retraced her steps to
her bedchamber to await the arrival of Captain Ramsay, whom she
hoped would be able to provide her with news of the fire.

Normally Ramsay ate alone near in his study at the
back at the house, but that evening he was forced to take his meal
in the dining room with Miss Hinds. Mrs. Betrus served a beef stew
and great chunks of bread, with slices of winter apples and cheese.
He was amused by the young woman’s hearty appetite, and decided to
let her eat her fill before he brought up the 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 her feet during what had to be a trying
situation. “But do you wish to see him in these circumstances, Miss
Hinds? This will be his first impression of you.”

She flushed, and he suddenly wondered if his remark
had been too harsh. He could not admit it to her now, but he
doubted Sophie Vernet would ever make a bad impression, even in her
present state of disarray. In fact, he found her tousled hair and
unpowdered skin disturbingly attractive, as equally attractive as
she had been early this morning, when he had caught her in her
nightgown and her breasts had quickened beneath the heat of his
stare. His blood had risen at the sight, just as it threatened to
rise now.

However, it was not in his best interests to allow
lustful thoughts to interfere with his plans. Ramsay forced his
mind back to the matter at hand. He could not permit Sophie to meet
Edward, not until he was certain Edward wouldn’t suspect she was an
imposter. He had every intention to see her wed to Edward now. If
the earl married a penniless criminal, he would be ruined for
certain.

“You do wish to make a good impression, don’t you?”
Ramsay added.

“Of course. You’re right. Please tell Lord Metcalf
that I am indisposed—because of my burns.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He had guessed she wouldn’t protest, and she hadn’t,
at least not stridently. She sank back to her seat, her face
clouded with concern, an expression he doubted would have ever
crossed the countenance of the real Miss Hinds.

“Show them into the parlor, Betty,” Ramsay said.
“And I’ll see what the earl and his sister require.”

“I’ve been informed that you have taken in Miss
Hinds,” Edward Metcalf said after terse greetings were exchanged.
Ramsay glanced at Charlotte Metcalf, Edward’s sister, who had been
giving him a lengthy and appreciative perusal from the moment he’d
entered the room. She inclined her head toward him.

“A noble gesture, Captain Ramsay.”

“More a convenience for her than noble,” Ramsay
replied, motioning for them to sit. Charlotte lowered herself to
the settee, but her brother remained standing before the fire.
Ramsay sat in a chair next to the settee.

“I was alerted regarding the fire at the inn,”
Ramsay continued, “and was able to offer my services to her.”

“I heard she jumped into your arms, sir,” Charlotte
put in, her eyes sparkling. “So heroic!”

“Heroic?” Edward sneered. “I’d say damned
convenient.” He narrowed his eyes. “May I remind you, Ramsay, that
Miss Hinds is my betrothed.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Ramsay drawled.

“Well, don’t.” Edward took a pinch of snuff without
offering any to his host. “You have a way of inserting
yourself—“

“I offer the protection of my home, nothing
more.”

“As to that, your hospitality is no longer
necessary,” Edward seemed eager to downplay any notion that Ramsay
had performed a good deed. “Charlotte and I are here to fetch Miss
Hinds to Blethin Hall.”

“Blethin Hall?”

“She’ll be much more comfortable there.”

“Besides, she’s almost family.” Charlotte leaned
forward and touched Ramsay’s sleeve. “And I can’t tell you how
excited I am to have a sister at last!”

Ramsay glanced at Charlotte’s bright brown eyes and
imagined the young woman became excited over many things—especially
men of whom her brother did not approve, of which he was one. As if
to shield her from the very thing, Edward stepped behind his
sister.

“I’m certain Miss Hinds will appreciate the company
of the fairer sex until the time her grandmother arrives.”

“Actually,” Ramsay replied, “Miss Hinds has
requested that I convey her compliments to you and inform you that
she intends to remain here a day or two more while she
recovers.”

“She is not hurt!” Charlotte gasped.

“She has few minor burns.”

“And has a doctor seen to her?”

“Of course. She will be fine very soon. But she has
lost all her belongings and does not wish to meet Lord Metcalf
until she is more presentable. You understand.”

“Ridiculous!” Edward sputtered. “This truly tries my
patience!”

“She wishes to make a good impression.”

“But she’s been in London for two days and I haven’t
even met the girl yet.”

“It could not be helped.”

“While you plot and scheme!”

“Edward!” Charlotte rose to stare in alarm at her
red-faced brother. “Really, whatever has come over you?”

“You don’t know Ramsay as I do,” Edward retorted.
“He’ll use the friendship of Miss Hinds for his own ends, mark my
words!”

“And what ends would that be?” Ramsay gave a soft
chuckle. “I have no interest in the girl. She’s charming, but
nearly half my age.”

“You fail to mention her fat inheritance,” Edward
threw at him. “A minor detail. So easily overlooked.”

“Where I come from,” Ramsay replied, “A gentleman
does not discuss such things before tea.”

Edward flushed a deeper scarlet.

“Shall I ring for some?” Ramsay asked. “Or would you
prefer port?”

“Thank you, no,” Edward drew up as if to compose
himself. “Send for Miss Hinds and we will trouble you no more this
evening.”

“I’m afraid Miss Hinds retired shortly after supper.
Would you care to leave her a note?”

“This will not do!”

Charlotte smiled as if to offset her brother’s anger
and linked her arm through his. “Edward, it might be best to—“

“What if he’s keeping her here against her
will?”

“I doubt a woman would object to Mr. Ramsay’s
attention.” She sent Ramsay a look from under her lashes that
conveyed a single meaning. Ramsay turned away, pretending not to
have seen the expression.

“I assure you that Miss Hinds will receive your note
the moment she is awake, and I will send her answer as soon as
possible. That is the very best I can do, Metcalf, other than
rousing her from sleep, which she would surely not appreciate.”