The Perfect Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  “Excellent, then you will not miss these.” His voice growled, deep and sensuous.

  “But I—” His descending lips cut off her objections. He stole her very breath, and she sagged against him. He could do what he wished with her breeches or anything else for that matter.

  The dull edge of the knife lay hard against her stomach and she flinched. The laces popped with release at the smooth slice of the knife. It took Nicholas less than a moment to slice the confining strings, and he slid the breeches down the long length of her hips to fall unresisting at her feet.

  She splayed her hands across his back and clung to him, her bare body pressed to his. His arousal throbbed against her, hard and powerful, and she drew a sharp breath. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the berth. With a gentle motion, he laid her on the bed.

  She was all that he’d dreamed, all that he’d ever desired. Her breasts rose firm and full, nipples rosy and erect, her tiny waist flaring to seductive hips. Golden curls protected the portal to her pleasure. Nicholas had been with beautiful women before, and he wasn’t sure how, but this was different. This was not an insignificant coupling, it was … more.

  She stared at him provocatively, her eyes half closed and glazed with desire. He groaned and lay down beside her, wanting nothing more than to take her. Now. Hard and swift. But it had been so long since she’d known a man’s desire. And he wanted this to be more than mating. He would pleasure her until she reached newfound heights of ecstasy and only then satisfy himself. With slow, lingering caresses he would draw out her passion, preparing her for their joining. Yes, he would take his time. Even if it killed him.

  His lips claimed hers and his control dissolved beneath the fury of her response. He stroked her supple body, and she writhed at his experienced touch, his own desire spiraling ever higher. Her heated flesh seemed to singe his very soul, and he gasped with the urgency to posses and devour her.

  Like an adventurer in an undiscovered land, he searched and explored her hidden secrets until his fingers reached the gate of tangled curls and slipped past to the valley beyond. He dipped into the fragile folds of flesh, wet with welcome, quivering with need, and gently caressed the delicate bud of her womanhood.

  She gasped with surprise and pleasure, and he bent his head to take her nipple in his mouth. Teeth and tongue echoed the stroke of his fingers, and she whimpered with the exquisite sensations coursing through her. Her hands clasped his head convulsively, and she pulled his lips to hers.

  “Take me, Nicholas. Take me now, husband.”

  He hesitated, then at once poised above her, his erection demanding, not to be denied. Slowly he slid into her throbbing heat, deeper and deeper until he was fully submerged in the trembling fire within her. He drew back, prolonging the maddening anticipation, then plunged again and again, his thrusts growing harder, faster.

  Her hips rose to meet his, and they moved together in a rhythm beyond time, beyond truth. She called his name over and over in a frenzy of sizzling pleasure and selfish possession. He murmured words of wonder and magic and awe against her scorching skin. She was at once his master and his slave. He was conqueror and conquered. As one, the forces that joined them drove them upward to a desperate pinnacle, fierce and intense, where their very souls merged.

  With one powerful thrust he drove deep within her. Sabrina cried out and arched upward, the force of her release melding with his own. Nicholas shuddered convulsively against her, his body clasped to hers, her name a breath on his lips. “Sabrina… Bree.”

  They collapsed together, spent.

  Victorious.

  Chapter 12

  The laughter built deep within her. Sabrina buried her head in the crook of his neck and battled the irresistible urge to giggle. She bit her lip, suppressed laughter shaking her from head to toe.

  “Sabrina?” Nicholas’s arms tightened around her, a note of distress sounding in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, really quite fine.” Her choked words muffled against his neck.

  “Sabrina?” Nicholas pulled away, concern clouding his stormy eyes, and he studied her intently. “Do you regret what has passed between us?”

  “Regret?” She stared with amazement. Worry pulled his brows together. A dark bruise cast a roguish shadow on one cheekbone. The healing cut above his eye slashed a line of emphasis to his frown. He appeared so anxious, so apprehensive, in such stark contrast to her own feelings, it was almost comical. Regrets? Hardly.

  The laughter she’d successfully stifled now triumphed over her, bubbling to the surface and erupting in an explosion of mirth. Nicholas stared, dumbfounded. The expressions chasing each other across his face just added to her amusement. Concern, followed by confusion, nipping at the heels of astonishment, and trailed, finally, by mild annoyance.

  He raised a brow. “You know, my dear, a lesser man would take your reaction to our lovemaking as something other than complimentary.”

  Nicholas’s wry comment only served to trigger another wave of laughter. “Oh, Nicholas, I’m sorry.” Her glee belied her apology. “It’s just that, well, I simply feel so wonderfully delicious.”

  “Delicious?” A slow grin spread across his face. “I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but delicious may well be an accurate description.” His eyes twinkled, and he brushed his lips lightly across her forehead. “Yes, indeed, delicious is definitely the right word for it.”

  He lay on his side and propped himself on one elbow. She gazed up and tossed him a teasing smile. “So, am I still a prim and proper paragon of virtue?”

  He threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her blood. “You have assuredly provided new meaning for that phrase.” His expression grew serious, and he idly traced the line of her jaw with a long, bronzed figure. “Why did you do it, Sabrina?”

  “Do what?” she said, startled by the unexpected question.

  “Hide yourself. Live virtually disguised all these years.”

  She stared at him cautiously. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He shrugged; his fingers continued their exploration, now trailing down the curve of her throat. “I mean, you have given the world the impression of a quiet, reserved woman. Quite sedate and extremely proper.” His bottomless eyes seemed to search her soul. “You are not at all what I had been led to expect. And ever since we began this escapade, your every word, every act, has convinced me your life in London was a sham. Why did you hide this daring, delightful woman I have finally had the good fortune to discover?”

  She dropped her gaze from his and stared at a distant point far beyond the walls of the cabin. Her love for him dictated honesty, at least to a point. They would very likely spend the rest of their lives together, and that was no longer a distressing idea. There was much about her past she would never tell. But equally as much, he now deserved to know.

  At last she met his gaze. “It was for Belinda. When we returned to London after Jack’s death, I knew I could not continue the reckless life I’d led before. The ton would probably accept me, but what would happen to my daughter when she was old enough to take her place in society? She would always be faced with a mother branded as fast and unconventional and God knows what.” She shook her head. “I could not allow that. I could not allow my child to pay for my sins, petty though they may be.” She sighed. “So I buried myself in propriety, going about in society no more than was necessary. Letting my presence be known without undue attention.”

  His fingers now drifted lightly down the valley between her breasts, and she quivered at his touch.

  “So you existed rather than lived.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You make it sound awful. It wasn’t quite that bad. It’s not as if I were an absolute recluse. And besides, I had … other interests to keep myself occupied. But all in all, it has been rather—”

  “Dull and boring.” He leaned over and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I promise, I shall not allow your life ever to be borin
g again.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “And how, dear husband, do you propose to prevent that?”

  He pulled her close. “I am willing to spend a very long time trying to devise ever more interesting and intriguing activities to deter tedium from creeping into your life.” His lips met hers with a passion that sealed his promise and stole her breath. Her lips parted under his, and she accepted his tongue eagerly. Desire rose again between them.

  He pulled his mouth away and feathered kisses down the side of her throat. Excitement and urgent need coiled within her. She nibbled on the lobe of his ear and ran her tongue lightly down the curve of his neck, along a thin, almost imperceptible, silvered scar. Curious, she had not noticed the mark before. It was obviously a very old injury. Such a serious wound surely would once have threatened his life.

  “Nicholas, how did you come by this scar on your neck?”

  His efforts at surveying the sensitive points of her body had progressed to her shoulders. His words mumbled against her flesh, tender with heightened awareness. “It’s nothing. A trifle. A mere boyhood mishap.”

  Merely a boyhood misadventure.

  She gasped with sudden understanding. Good Lord! Nicholas was the government agent she’d outsmarted all those long years ago! She had married the only man who held a real threat to her continued safety. The very man who’d haunted her dreams and filled her fantasies now warmed her bed.

  The irony of it all threatened to overwhelm her. But it explained so much. Her immediate attraction to him. The vague familiarity of his voice, his scent, his kiss. Perhaps fate meant them to be together. And thwarted once, now gave them a second chance.

  His lips reached her breast and he drew the hardened bud into his mouth; his tongue teased and tormented. Apprehension battled with desire and lost. Her discovery and what it meant for the future faded under the onslaught of his touch. Time enough to dwell on this new development later. She could not sustain rational thought under the firestorm of sensation besieging her.

  Sabrina abandoned herself to the erotic bliss of Nicholas’s skillful touch and joined him without reserve. Lost in the oblivion of passion, her final thought was a simple acknowledgment: everything between her and this man, after all these years, could truly be attributed to magic.

  Sabrina snuggled close by his side, Nicholas lay in the lethargic haze of passion well spent. One arm curled around his sleeping wife, the other folded behind his head. He gazed unseeing at the rough beams above him and suspected the least astute of observers would call his grin idiotic. His lips quirked upward, held aloft by a delightful sense of peace and harmony.

  Never before had lovemaking affected him quite this way. Oh, assuredly he had often ended a passionate encounter both exhilarated and exhausted. But this overwhelming sensation of well-being and contentment was an altogether new experience, an experience he doubted he would ever tire of.

  She sighed and shifted and he drew her closer. He had never imagined the serene creature he had dispassionately selected as the perfect wife would ultimately steal his heart. But she had swept into his life and his soul with the unrelenting inevitability of time itself. And Nicholas could no longer avoid the obvious.

  For better or worse, Nicholas Harrington, Earl of Wyldewood, was finally, deeply, and irrevocably in love. His doubt about the very existence of the emotion had dissipated, replaced by an inner warmth he had never known. Not the searing heat of passion but something far more intense, deeper, richer, and lasting. Odd that love had come to him now, far past the susceptible days of youth. He chuckled wryly. At least a man of his years and experience was intelligent enough to recognize the unique and fragile emotion and mature enough to cherish it.

  He gazed at his wife and marveled at whatever quirk of fate had brought them together. Her fair hair glistened in the late-afternoon light like strands of gold, and he idly stroked it away from her face. He assumed that, when they had wed, she had believed this avowed marriage of convenience would be much the same as many fashionable matches. They would go their separate ways, together only when the dictates of social pressures demanded it. But even then he had wanted more from her. Now he would never let her go, and he hoped she would not want to leave.

  Sabrina was obviously exhausted, but Nicholas was far too restless for sleep. A fair amount of soreness still persisted in his muscles, but the ache in his head had virtually disappeared. Only the fear of disturbing his slumbering wife stopped him from rising from the berth. He sighed and firmly closed his eyes, accepting his not unpleasant confinement, willing himself to sleep.

  Fragments of elusive dreams drifted through his mind. Snippets of conversation, memories, fears, desire lingered just beyond reach. He struggled to rein in the meandering recollections, to make sense out of the disjointed bits, the aimless pieces. It was something about the past. About yesterday? No, farther away than that. Something about the sea, a woman, the Lady B…

  Nicholas’s eyes snapped open, and only his arm around Sabrina kept him from bolting upright. Lady B. The smuggler he had tried, and failed, to capture a decade ago. That was the name of this ship. The ship belonging to that bloody American. Certainly he had had any number of other things on his mind, but how could he have been such an idiot not to have made the connection before now?

  Excitement surged through his veins and he forced himself to stay calm, to examine this intriguing revelation with rational precision. Obviously the memories of that past incident had surfaced because of the blow to his head, a blow not unlike the one that had felled him ten years ago.

  He remembered waking up on a deserted beach, knowing before he opened his eyes, there would be no evidence of the smugglers he had sought. He had staggered to his feet and winced at the painful pounding in his head. Nicholas had been at once grateful to be alive and livid at the failure of his mission. To this day his defeat still plagued him. No particular blame had been placed in the Home Office. Although he had not captured the band, he had at least halted their activities. But his inability to succeed in his quest had cast a black mark in his own mind, on his own private record. A record that before and after was composed primarily of success and triumph.

  And his defeat had been at the hands of a woman, the mysterious Lady B. He had combed the village with a corps of experienced men, thoroughly searched the countryside, all to no avail. Not only had no one admitted any knowledge of her, not a single soul had so much as blinked at the mention of her name. Eventually the futility of the effort had forced him to concede. But he never forgot either the failure or the woman.

  Long after the details had faded into vague impressions of the past, she had haunted his dreams. For years she’d emerge from the mists of his memory with her voice, her touch, her kiss, renewing a raging desire for a woman he’d never known. The same unyielding need that surged within him now for Sabrina.

  Abruptly the similarities between his wife and the mysterious Lady B struck him. Both evidenced a courage and independence he had not encountered in women before. Both displayed far more intelligence than other women of his acquaintance. And both spurred his passion and fired his blood. How strange. Their attributes were the opposite of what he would consider acceptable in a woman, but in these two, those very qualities drew him toward them with an irresistible pull.

  He shifted in the berth, tightened his arm around his wife, and considered the matter. While it was very likely his presence on this particular ship was a mere coincidence, he no longer doubted there was a link between this vessel and his past nemesis. An unerring instinct deep in his gut confirmed the fact. It was more than probable that Madison knew the lady. The ship was allegedly named for Madison’s sister. But with every word spoken on this trip, that story grew more and more suspect.

  Could Madison have worked with the smugglers? The man carried a certain arrogant, lawless air about him that bespoke of disdain for government and authority. Madison could well have used his ships, this ship perhaps, to supply the goods from France
for smuggling into England.

  Nicholas gritted his teeth. A driving determination built within him to find the truth. Not that there was any official action he could take. Madison was neither on English soil nor a subject of the crown. But Madison could lead him to Lady B. And then what?

  The question reverberated in his mind, and he examined his feelings carefully. Surprised, he noted his long-held desire for the unknown woman no longer existed, supplanted by or perhaps merged with the more immediate passion for his wife. And he realized Sabrina was the only woman he wanted in his life, now and forever.

  Still, the need to answer the questions that had tormented him for a decade remained. If he could discover the identity of Lady B, he could redeem himself. Oh, not in the eyes of his onetime superiors—a ten-year-old smuggling case hardly still held the interest of the crown—but in his own. Beyond that, perhaps, it no longer mattered.

  It would not be easy to solicit information from Madison. Nicholas smiled slowly. But it would be exceedingly enjoyable. The life of an earl was not nearly as fascinating as his previous activities as agent, spy, and diplomat. Playing cat and mouse with Madison would allow him to resurrect skills he had expected never to use again. The captain was very likely a challenging subject. Nicholas chuckled. He thoroughly enjoyed challenges.

  Sabrina could tell him about Madison’s background. He wondered briefly about this business partnership she’d once had with the American, then dismissed it from his mind. No doubt it was a trifling matter. Surely Sabrina had no knowledge of Madison’s illicit activities. As much as she was a continuing surprise to him, of that he was confident.

  He gazed down at her, and emotion swelled within him. The instinct he had trusted throughout his life now told him, regardless of circumstances, Sabrina would never engage in anything against the law.