The Perfect Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  “We’ve both agreed the bloody man has a brain. He’s already had me investigated. No.” She shook her head in response to Simon’s questioning look. “He doesn’t know. And he had the arrogance to inform me he had already selected me as the perfect countess for him.”

  She rose and paced the room. “With the marriage of our children and his interest in acquiring the perfect wife, I fear eventually he will learn the truth.” She turned a pleading gaze to Simon. “Don’t you see? As his wife, I’ll not only have the protection of his name, but the power of his title and position and wealth. He will have to do all that is necessary to make sure I’m never exposed.” She shrugged. “The public scandal would ruin him, and Wyldewood is a highly ambitious man.”

  “Still, I don’t—” He stopped and stared at her sharply. She grew uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Abruptly his eyes widened. “You lost your temper, didn’t you, lass? That’s it. That explains it all. Whatever did he say to put such a bee in your bonnet?”

  “He called me dull and boring,” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “Ain’t that exactly what you’ve been wanting folks to think these past years?”

  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” She plopped back in the chair and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve lived an extremely respectable life. Never revealing my feelings and never losing control. But lately I feel different. I feel more like the smuggler than the lady. And when he called me dull and boring and”—she tossed him an incredulous look—“a paragon of virtue as well, if you can believe that, something simply snapped.”

  “So you’ll marry the man to teach him a lesson?” Simon snorted. “That’s daft, lass, downright stupid.”

  “Tell me something I haven’t already told myself. I know this is nothing short of idiotic.” Sabrina hesitated, wondering just how much she should tell Simon, then tossed caution aside and plunged ahead. “It won’t be at all bad, really. It’s simply a marriage of convenience. I’ll have to keep up public appearances during the season and when Parliament’s in session and various and sundry other things, but I expect we shall live completely separate lives eventually.”

  “Oh?” His eyebrows soared heavenward again. “And what if children come of this marriage o’ convenience of yours?”

  “Simon.” She laughed. “There won’t be any children. We’re not going to…” Heat flushed her face, and she winced at the look in his eye.

  “Good Lord, woman! You’re telling me you’re taking the man’s name but you’re denying him his marital rights? Is that another one o’ your terms?”

  “Well, he agreed to it. And he’s an honorable man, a man of his word.”

  Simon shook his head, disbelief evident on his face. “No man is that honorable. I hope you haven’t pushed Wyldewood too far.”

  Sabrina couldn’t tell him that particular condition would be as hard for her as it would be for Nicholas. She’d come to grips with her desire for him. Recognizing it as lust, pure and simple. She wanted nothing more than the touch of his hands, his lips, his skin next to hers. Wanted to explore his hard, heated body. Wanted fire to surge through her veins and burn in her heart. She wanted… Magic. Love.

  Not the girlish crush she’d had with Jack but something real, tangible. She’d resisted plenty of opportunities through the years to succumb to enticing pleasures of the flesh. But love had always evaded her. With her marriage to Nicholas, she realized, perhaps it always would.

  She meant every word she’d said to him. If he wanted to continue his rakish ways, she would not protest, but she would not share any man with other women. And she would not give herself to any man without magic, without love. She would not give in to her desire at the risk of losing her self-control. Losing her soul.

  Sabrina grinned. “I hope he hasn’t pushed me too far.”

  Simon groaned and headed for the door, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the cap’n’s going to say about all this.”

  “Good Lord, Matt! I hadn’t even thought about that.” Simon pulled open the door. “Well, you’d damn well better think about it. It’s less than a week till we dock in Marseilles. He’ll not be happy to find you married, by me no less, and to a blasted English lord. Won’t be happy at all.” He shook his head and stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

  “Bloody hell.” Sabrina threw herself down on the bed. Matt could be a problem. Not only would she have to spring her partnership proposal about the gold on him, but inform him there would now be a third partner and, oh yes, Matt dear, did I mention that our new partner is my husband?

  She groaned and rolled over on her back. As she stared at the ceiling, the odd turn her life had taken struck her, and she couldn’t suppress the hysterical laughter building inside her. This was not quite the adventure she’d envisioned when she started out.

  But it was definitely an adventure nonetheless.

  The ceremony was simple, as befitting the circumstances . Simon performed with a grace Sabrina had not expected. She stood by Nicholas’s side, on his left, nearest his heart. They exchanged vows on the forward deck, their promises drifting away with the wind.

  Sabrina had thought to wear her emerald gown, going so far as to pull it out of her bag and struggle into it, a difficult task without a maid. It was not only a favorite, but flattering as well, turning her hair a richer gold, heightening the creamy color of her skin, highlighting the green of her eyes. In spite of its wrinkled condition, the effect pleased her.

  Until her gaze caught on the breeches and men’s linen she’d so lovingly packed. It was an outrageous thought. A scandalous idea. Definitely not dull and boring.

  Nicholas never said a word when his bride appeared in men’s clothing, complete with knee-high, worn leather boots. He merely smiled pleasantly. His composure was nearly her undoing, but years of practice came to her aid. Even as he tipped her head back and placed a chaste kiss lightly on her lips, signaling she was no longer Sabrina Winfield, Marchioness of Stanford, but now Sabrina Harrington, Countess of Wyldewood, she remained to all eyes calm, cool, controlled.

  The crew insisted on celebrating the match. Someone pulled out a fiddle, another man a flute, and Sabrina danced with every sailor on board. There was no danger in this; this was no endless sea voyage with men too long denied the company of women. They had already put in at several ports and would stop at many more before the journey’s end. Only when she danced in Nicholas’s arms did her facade of serenity threaten to crack. Only when she gazed into his black eyes and wondered at the amusement lingering in their depths, only when the nearness of his body warmed her own, did she fear the results of her actions.

  It was late before Sabrina returned to her cabin. Exhausted, she sank onto the bed and relaxed, the tension of the day flowing out of her. She hadn’t the strength left to perform the simple task of changing into her night rail. Maybe if she just lay here for a moment. Perhaps two.

  The door to the cabin burst open and a small valise sailed into the room. Sabrina shot to her feet.

  “What in the—”

  “Good evening, my dear.” Nicholas grinned in the doorway. “Or should I say, my dear wife?”

  She gasped. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  He strode into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. “It’s my wedding night. I couldn’t bear to spend it anywhere else.”

  “But we—we’re not—you’re not…” Sabrina sputtered.

  He shrugged. “Appearances, my pet. Appearances are everything.”

  He ignored the scathing glare she leveled him and casually surveyed her quarters. “Very comfortable. Far nicer than my previous accommodations.” He nodded in a satisfied manner. “And here I can actually stand upright.”

  Sabrina had the good grace to blush.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “I wondered if you’d had a hand in that. No matter. I’m here now and here I shall stay.”

  “Oh no, you won’t. This is my cabin.” She folded her arms over her ches
t and nodded impatiently toward the door. “Now get out.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “I’m afraid, my dear, you don’t quite seem to understand.” Nicholas swaggered past her to the berth. He sank upon it and stretched out, cradling his head on his laced fingers. “I have no intention of leaving. This is no longer your cabin. Now it’s our cabin.” He gestured lazily with one strong hand. “Our cabin, our table, our chairs, our bed. And a surprisingly spacious berth it is too.” He patted the bed beside him. “Join me?”

  Sabrina clenched her teeth. “I believe you are forgetting the terms of our arrangement.”

  “Ah yes.” He sighed tolerantly. “The terms. I really have been meaning to discuss those with you. I suspect a little clarification is in order.”

  “What do you mean, clarification? I thought it all perfectly clear.”

  “Nothing is perfect, my dear. Now about those conditions. The first is the marriage of my son and your daughter. I see no difficulties there.”

  Sabrina released a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “And the rest?”

  He pulled his dark brows together in a curious frown. “My, you are impatient. Hardly what one would expect from the cool, collected Lady Stanford. Of course, you are the Countess of Wyldewood now, and that shall no doubt mean changes. Still”—he shook his head in a mock-serious manner—“one would not imagine those changes, particularly changes in personality, to come so soon after the ceremony. It’s extremely puzzling.”

  She stared in amazement. Nicholas lay on the bed looking for all the world as if he belonged there. Resembling nothing quite so much as a lazy lion, surveying his pride. That was all very well and good for a lioness, but she found his attitude irritating, annoying, and downright frustrating.

  “What do you want?” she said through clenched teeth.

  A slow smile of smug satisfaction spread across his face. Good Lord, the man was baiting her. Attempting to discover just how far he could go until she lost her temper. Well, she damn well wouldn’t let him succeed.

  She drew in a deep breath. “Forgive me. It’s been a long day.” She seated herself in a nearby chair with all the grace she could muster and gathered her wits about her. It appeared she would need them. “As I was saying, the other terms?”

  They were at eye level now. Even from across the room, she could see him studying her, could see the glitter of amusement in his eye.

  “I must admit to some confusion. Let’s see if I understand this correctly. I am to support you in the manner and style appropriate for my wife, for a countess of no little social standing. In return, you maintain control and ownership of all your assets, wealth, property, and so on. Is that accurate?”

  She squirmed uncomfortably. “You make it sound very unfair and quite selfish.”

  “Isn’t it?” He raised an innocent brow.

  “Hardly.” Sabrina forced herself to remain calm. “I merely want to ensure my financial security.”

  “You mean in the event I turn out to be a scoundrel and a gambler as well as a rake?” His eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “It is hardly a flattering portrait.”

  Heat flushed Sabrina’s face. “It was not meant as a personal affront.”

  “Nonetheless, when one’s bride admits to requiring safeguards against the possible flaws of a new husband, one cannot help but wonder what their future holds.” He paused for a long moment and added thoughtfully, “Or what occurred in the past.”

  She threw him a sharp glare. Absolutely no one knew how little money Jack had left her. And Sabrina wanted to be certain no one ever would. As many faults as Jack had, indiscretion when it came to his financial instability was not among them. She’d worked hard to quietly pay off all his creditors and make good his debts.

  “And the next term?” she asked, her voice cool, hoping to steer him away from the question of finances.

  “Ah, that one is intriguing. That is the business ventures condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have mulled it over in my mind, trying to ascertain just what kind of business a reputable woman such as yourself might be engaged in. I have come up with a number of amusing, although highly unlikely, possibilities.” He cast her a boyish grin, and she stifled a childish urge to stick out her tongue.

  “Do go on.”

  “I have reached the inevitable conclusion that the first so-called business venture you, or rather now I suppose I should say we, are involved in must have something to do with this jaunt to Egypt.” He paused. “We are headed to Egypt, are we not?”

  She nodded. It was only her own irritation that had kept her from telling him their destination in the first place. She had realized as soon as they boarded the ship, he would discover where they were going. His knowledge came as no surprise.

  “Now, I said to myself,” he mused, gazing upward, “why would someone like the lovely Lady Stanford travel to Egypt? Alone. Suddenly and without notice. Why would she refuse to tell anyone, including her own child, where she was going and why?” He caught her gaze with his. “It is indeed mysterious.”

  “And did you solve this mystery?”

  Nicholas studied her face intently. “Not yet. I shall, you know. At some point. Unless you choose to reveal the answer to me first. After all”—his dark gaze deepened—“we are now man and wife.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Even from across the room, his gaze bored into hers. Beckoning and very nearly irresistible. Yearning ached deep within her, and she wrenched her gaze away with a nearly physical effort. Sabrina’s fists clenched in her lap, so tight that nails dug into palms. The pain cleared her mind, and the expression she turned back to Nicholas was unruffled, belying the explosive emotions he triggered with no more than a look.

  “No doubt you will discover the purpose of our journey soon enough. I see no urgent need to explain it to you now.” She leaned back and surveyed his relaxed demeanor with a measure of satisfaction. At least on this subject, she had the upper hand. “So, if we have sufficiently cleared up your concerns…” She adopted a pleasant smile and gestured with a tilt of her head toward the door. “Get out.”

  Laughter danced in his eyes. He settled himself deeper in the berth. “Ah, but we have not discussed the final term of our arrangement.”

  “I would think that condition, above all others, would be easily understood.”

  “I simply want to be absolutely certain.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “After all, I would hate to violate any of your rules and regulations. Are these typical of a marriage of convenience, do you think?”

  She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I really have no idea.”

  “Neither have I.” He sighed, as if the issue was of paramount importance. “I have never been in a marriage of convenience before, and I’m not at all sure if convenience is the proper word for it. So far, nothing about it has struck me as at all convenient. In fact, I can see where some of it will be a damn nuisance.”

  Sabrina wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh out loud or throw the nearest object at his head. The man was actually joking with her, breaking down her resistance, toppling her defenses. Startled, she realized she enjoyed this verbal fencing. Realized as well how Nicholas had earned his reputation with the ladies. The pompous, arrogant Earl of Wyldewood was positively charming.

  A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Nuisance or not, you agreed.”

  He shrugged as best he could in his prone position. “And that brings us back yet again to that last term. Now what was it I agreed to? Oh yes, you said you would not share your bed with any man you did not love.”

  She nodded, wondering where this would lead.

  “Very well then.” Nicholas swung his legs to the floor, bounded to his feet, and in two long strides stood before her. He knelt before her feet and clasped her hands in his. “I love you. I have always loved you. I shall always love you.”

  “What!” She tried to snatch her hand away. “You c
an’t be serious?”

  “Oh, but I am, my dear. Need I prove my love to you?” he said dramatically. “Since the moment we met, I have lived only to be in your presence. Your hair is spun of purest gold, your eyes rival the most brilliant—”

  “Nicholas!” She laughed and pushed him away. “That has the sound of a well-rehearsed play. How many times have you told some poor unsuspecting woman you loved her?”

  He stood and grinned down at her. “This year or ever?”

  Laughter bubbled through her lips. “You are a rake.”

  “At your service.” He bowed with a sweeping gesture. “Do with me as you please.”

  “What I please is for you to stop this foolishness and leave so that I might retire for the evening.”

  He shook his head firmly. “I fear you were not listening to me. I am not going anywhere. I am staying right here. In this room. With my wife.”

  The light moment they’d shared vanished abruptly. Sabrina leaped to her feet and glared up at Nicholas. “You gave your word. You promised to respect my privacy.”

  “And so I shall. If you would like to change into whatever the thoroughly proper Lady Stanford wears to bed, I shall be more than happy to close my eyes. Although”—his gaze flicked over her men’s clothing—“I can’t imagine anything would be as fetching as the attire you donned today.”

  “I most certainly will not change my clothes with you here.”

  “That is entirely your decision. I find I am in agreement with you on one point; it has indeed been a long day and I too would like to retire.” Nicholas grinned down at her. “And since I have no such compulsion about privacy, consider this a warning. I do not find clothing especially comfortable to sleep in. Therefore, I sleep without any. I am going to prepare for bed now. You may do as you wish.”

  Incredulous, Sabrina glared. Surely the man did not intend to fully disrobe right here in front of her? In a swift gesture, Nicholas pulled his shirt over his head, revealing broad, hard shoulders and a firm, muscled chest. His skin was surprisingly dark, and she remembered Simon told her he’d been working with the crew, obviously without a shirt. Dark, crisp hair curled across his chest and drifted seductively down his flat stomach to disappear beneath his unmentionables.