The Perfect Wife (13 page)

Nicholas cast her one last considering glance and, as if dismissing her from his thoughts, turned his attention to his opponent.

The men circled each other warily. They were well matched, these two, of an equal height and breadth. Gladiators cut from the same mold, forged in the same fire. If not for Nicholas’s dark hair and eyes and Matt’s fair coloring, Sabrina thought they could have passed for brothers. And, she had to admit, their bared, muscular chests were not at all unpleasant to gaze upon; perhaps a shade unsettling, but definitely not unpleasant.

The similarities did not end with physical attributes. Both certainly had the same unyielding nature and arrogant attitude. She had adjusted to Matt’s personality years ago and remembered fondly how annoying he’d been when they’d first met. She wondered if, in time, she would adapt as well to Nicholas’s temperament.

And, of course, there was the easy manner they had with women. Sabrina couldn’t suppress a fair amount of amusement at Matt’s conquests, but the same could not be said of Nicholas. More and more his reputation as a rake grated on her mind. Was it all true, or mere exaggeration? How many women had known the touch of his lips? The caress of his hands? The singe of his heat?

“You surprise me.” Matt’s lips curled upward in a menacing smile, his voice deceptively mild. “I half expected you to beg off, to hide behind your wife’s skirts.”

Nicholas laughed. “Perhaps you have failed to notice, but my wife prefers not to wear skirts.” His steely gaze narrowed. “And I hide behind no one. You shall regret your—”

Matt’s fist smashed into Nicholas’s lips before the words were out of his mouth. Sabrina winced inwardly but refused to allow anything other than an amused smile on her face. Nicholas’s eyes registered surprise at the force of the blow and he hesitated, only to catch a second in his midsection. The sickening thud reverberated in Sabrina’s stomach but barely budged Nicholas.

Matt failed to follow up, stepping back momentarily. He too wore an expression of incredulity. The power of his strike would have felled another man.

Nicholas recovered quickly, feinted a right hand and, instead, placed a sharp jab to the chin, stunning Matt briefly. Matt recoiled but countered. Both came together, toe to toe, in a wild blur of punches. Obviously, neither’s estimate of the other had been entirely accurate. They were far better matched than even Sabrina had imagined.

But she had never imagined the brutality of the scene. Perhaps it would have been better if she’d foregone this particular form of masculine entertainment after all. Too many years of proper behavior stretched between her and rough-hewn men like this; she’d forgotten how savage even the best of them could be.

She was the only one not savoring the combat. There was no doubt of the crew’s enjoyment. Cheers and jeers rang out over the whoosh of breath forcibly expelled and the nauseating sound of flesh crunching on bone.

Sabrina gritted her teeth and forced herself to watch the gruesome contest. She would not give either man the satisfaction of learning she could not face a simple fistfight, barbaric though it might be.

She maintained her pleasant smile and fought to hold on to her air of mild amusement, all the while fear for their safety grew within her. Neither man gained the advantage. Each absorbed the impact of punishing knuckles and returned swing for swing, stroke for stroke. Blood dripped from the corner of Mart’s mouth. A gash opened over Nicholas’s eye, and crimson drops flew at every punch. Both men, bloodied and battered, fought on, neither able to claim victory, neither willing to accept defeat.

Sabrina’s stomach churned at the appalling sight. Would neither give up? What would happen if one were a clear victor over the other? Would their animosity grow? Or worse, what if neither won?

She wanted this ended and she wanted it ended now. Nicholas could barely stand, and Matt was no better. It was a struggle now less of skill and strength than of endurance and will. Each stubbornly continued to jab and thrust, their blows lacking force but just as punishing on the embattled bodies as when they’d begun.

They came together in a macabre dance and hung on each other as if one hoped to steal the might of his opponent or gain a momentary respite, only to push apart and go on. She could not, and would not, allow the two men who meant the most to her in all the world to continue this senseless brawl.

Sabrina’s calculating gaze passed over the excited faces of the crew. She would get no help there. Even Simon was deeply immersed in the struggle of the exhausted combatants, although she appreciated the way he rooted equally for both his captain and Nicholas. At least he wasn’t counting his winnings yet.

She narrowed her eyes and considered the possibilities. Simply declaring a finish to the match would never work. They would no doubt ignore her.

Typically, one is left standing.

That was it! If one fell, the contest would end. How to achieve that particular circumstance remained a problem. It was not as if she could bowl one of them over herself. Or could she?

Nicholas stumbled at Matt’s last blow, and opportunity seized Sabrina. Deftly thrusting out her foot, she caught Nicholas’s ankle, and he crashed backwards to the deck. For one terrified moment her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat. Stunned, she pulled her gaze from Nicholas’s still form. To a man, the crew stared awestruck at the sight of the fallen warrior, anointed with blood and sweat. Only Simon caught her gaze. He shook his head in a disgusted manner at her interference and strode to Nicholas’s side. Sabrina reached her husband first and knelt beside him.

“Is he...?” she whispered, unable to say the words aloud.

“He ain’t dead,” Simon said. “But he’ll wish he was when he wakes up. His head will pound worse than a smithy’s hammer on his anvil. I wouldn’t want to be him.” He stared straight in her eyes. “Nor the one responsible neither.”

She returned his glare with one of her own. “This is not my fault.” Sabrina sprang to her feet.

Matt still stood where he had when he struck the last blow, dazed and not altogether steady. Sabrina advanced with as much menace as she could muster, setting aside the fact that she was the one who essentially felled Nicholas. Fury surged through her.

Matt swayed on his feet at her approach. “Bree, I—”

“Don’t you dare attempt to make excuses for this uncivilized and totally unacceptable display of masculine stupidity,” she snapped.

Matt flinched at her tone and tried again. “Bree, I—”

“And don’t you ‘Bree’ me either, Matthew Madison.” Anger overwhelmed all other thoughts. They could have killed each other. Nicholas could have ... fear gripped her at the thought of how very easily she could have lost him. And somewhere, beyond her rage, she acknowledged, and accepted, that she very much did not want to lose him. Not now, not ever. “If he is seriously injured, I will hold you fully at fault. I should beat you myself for this.”

Sabrina splayed her hands against his hard chest and shoved with all her strength, a futile gesture under ordinary circumstances. Like a huge tree, strong and hard in appearance but with roots rotted and weak, he tottered backwards and sprawled on the deck, astonishment and pain washing over his face.

Hands on her hips, Sabrina glared at the fallen figure. “It’s no more than you deserve, Matt. I am sorely disappointed in you.”

He groaned and closed his eyes.

Simon stepped to his side. “Capt’n?”

“Is she still there?” he said in a weary voice.

“Still here.” Simon nodded.

“I’m not moving until she leaves,” Matt said in a dignified manner. Or at least with all the dignity a man lying prone on the deck of his own ship could summon. “Go away, Bree. Let me die in peace.”

“Hah!” She snorted. “Death is too good for you.” She turned to where Nicholas lay. He was gone. Panic rose within her.

“Simon,” she clutched his arm, “what’s happened? Where is Nicholas?”

“Don’t worry yourself, lass. I had the men carry him down to your cabin and put him to bed. He’ll be good as new.”

She sighed with relief.

“Eventually.” Simon smiled with the rueful look of a man well versed in the aftermath of physical conflicts.

Abruptly, a new misgiving gripped her. Casting Simon a troubled look, she spoke softly. She did not want Matt, lying at their feet, to hear her concern. “Do you think anyone else ... um ... noticed ...”

“I don’t think so.” Simon shook his head. “I think I was the only one who saw what you did. No one else was lookin‘ at their feet.” He eyed her sternly. “You had no right, lass, no right at all.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “I had every right. The rest of you were all bound and determined to let them bash each other senseless.” She sniffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Somebody had to stop it.”

“Well, you better hope neither of ‘em find out you’re the one who ended their fight, or they’ll be hell to pay. From both of ’em.” He nodded sagely. “Go take care of your husband. You’ll want to check his ribs, make sure none of the bones are broken.” He shrugged and chuckled. “I’ve seen a lot of fights in my day, and this was a good one. But neither your Nicholas nor my capt’n will be worth much for the next few days. Now, off with you.” Matt groaned, and Simon bent to minister to him.

Sabrina wrinkled her nose and turned toward her cabin and her unconscious husband. She paused by the railing and gazed out over the sea. Calm and tranquil, the water barely rippled, in stark contrast to her own chaotic emotions.

At least she didn’t have to worry about Simon telling Nicholas or Matt her role in their little battle. She sighed and brushed her hair away from her face. The one thing she didn’t need at this moment was yet another secret to keep. She already had more than enough of those.

Sabrina stared moodily at the sea. Nothing on this entire voyage had gone as expected. She couldn’t help but wonder, what on earth could happen next?

What on earth could happen next? Belinda wondered, propping her elbow on the rail and her chin in her hand. She gazed with annoyance at the placid sea. This voyage had been one minor, irritating crisis after another. It was not at all what she had imagined or, for that matter, hoped for.

When the idea had struck her of following her mother there had been more behind the suggestion than concern for her mother’s safety. Of course, Belinda was legitimately worried that her mother’s virtue lay in the hands of a notable rake. But beyond that, the notion of a sea voyage to an exotic land like Egypt had intrigued and excited her. It had seemed such an adventure. She’d never suspected she had a daring streak, and assumed it to be a legacy from her father. Her mother was far too proper for adventure. Or, at least, she used to be.

And then there was Erick. Belinda expected there would be the opportunity for them to learn more of each other while they sought their wayward parents. She hoped to spend her time by his side and in his arms, exploring the shivering heat he unleashed with his kisses. She particularly wanted to again experience the odd, aching tension that came with his touch. Belinda brushed away the distinct possibility of impropriety in her desires. After all, she and Erick were to be wed.

But reality was a far cry from her expectations. Erick had spent half the voyage doubled over the side of the ship, losing whatever vestiges of food he’d managed to keep on a turbulent stomach. The rest of the time he remained secluded in his cabin, groaning with a severe case of mal de mer.

She’d tried her hand at tending to him, but he was not an easy patient, preferring to be left alone. And she was not a compassionate nurse; rather, she was put off by the somewhat disgusting aspects of his illness. She herself suffered no adverse effects from the voyage and had little patience for those who did. No, it was not at all as she’d envisioned.

Erick’s aunt was not as she’d envisioned either. The woman was indeed a bluestocking, and had apparently read everything there was to read about everything. Wynne was pleasant enough, with a sharp wit and an engaging laugh, but she was also more than willing to share her knowledge with anyone foolish enough to inquire. It was not at all an endearing trait, particularly to the captain of the vessel. Wynne had an annoying habit of attempting to tell the experienced sailor how a proper ship should be run, knowledge gained from her books. More than once, Belinda had overheard the mutterings of the crew. Wynne would be lucky if they did not simply toss her overboard.

Belinda sighed and shook her head. At least the ship traveled at a good clip. With luck, they should reach Alexandria well before their parents. As to what happened then, she shrugged, well, she’d wait and see. She had already come to one rather startling conclusion during the journey.

Her beloved, proper, serene mother was not at all as she’d appeared.

And, perhaps, never had been.

It was a beautiful day. The sunlight danced off the azure waves with the grace and charm of a corps de ballet. But he was in no mood to appreciate the scene before him. He leaned on the rail, straining forward as if to urge the ship on by sheer force of will alone. It was imperative that he arrive in Egypt before Sabrina and Wyldewood. His plans would be much more difficult otherwise.

At least his companions had given him a respite from their constant company. The fools were ensconced in the captain’s cabin, engaged in games of chance. He did not have funds to spare in such idle pursuits and had little use for those who did. As much as he resented it, they did serve a purpose. The two had paid virtually all the expenses for this expedition, in the manner of wealthy men who do not think to question the fiscal capabilities of others and simply assume all will work out eventually.

He had always hidden his financial difficulties well. Even those who, when asked, would say they knew him best, never suspected his pockets were all but empty. For years he had concealed the true state of his depleted fortune. Once he had nearly acquired the means to remedy the situation, but the opportunity had slipped through his hands through no fault of his own.

He did not seek revenge. He simply wanted his due. If he had to kill the lovely Lady Stanford and whoever else sought to stop him, so be it. He would let nothing stand in the way of possessing Sabrina’s gold. His gold.