The Perfect Wife (8 page)

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

He shrugged, the answer obvious. “Erick asked me to speak to you about this voyage. It was to no avail. You issued that ridiculous challenge and ...” He shook his head sharply and stared into her eyes. “Why am I here? I don’t really know.”

He stepped nearer. “All I know is that from the moment we met you intrigued me. Captivating me one second, cutting me directly the next. I came to believe the fascinating woman of whom I caught a momentary glimpse was a passing illusion, a mere mirage. And the lady well known throughout society for her reserve to be the true woman. I believed that calm, proper personage would make an appropriate countess.”

“Countess!” Sabrina gasped, shocked at the implication of his statement. “Marriage? To me?”

He placed a finger over her lips, quieting her words. A shiver of anticipation shot through her. His arms encircled her waist and he drew her close, an unresisting puppet pulled by an invisible string.

Nicholas brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face and gently cupped her chin. “But when you defied me, stood up to me, virtually challenged me to accompany you, that’s when I began to wonder if the lovely Lady Stanford was indeed the proper, somewhat dull paragon of virtue my investigators had prepared me for. I would wed the lady.” The intensity of his gaze held her speechless. “I wish to know the woman.”

“I scarcely think—”

His lips crushed hers, silencing her protest, stealing her will. Desire suppressed since the moment they met exploded within her. She clung to him, powerless to fight the urgency of her need for his touch. Greedily, her lips parted and greeted his exploring tongue. Welcoming. Inviting. Demanding. He tasted of limitless passion and raw power. Sensations she’d long forgotten, or perhaps never knew, surged through her, and she strained her body toward his.

He splayed his hands across the width of her back and drew her tightly against him. Full breasts pressed into his chest, pebbled nipples hard and arousing. Her brandy-scented breath mixed and mingled with his own, and he thought liquor had never tasted so good. He groaned and pulled his lips from hers. Her head fell back and he trailed kisses the length of her neck, his lips settling in the warm hollow of her throat.

She raised her head and ran her fingers through the thick, silken threads of his hair. Drawing her hands down to frame his face, she guided his lips back to hers. Sabrina wanted— no,
needed
—to devour him, to be devoured in return. Dimly, she realized, this passion on the deck would soon not be enough.

Jack had taught her many things about the pleasures that could be experienced between a man and a woman. And not since his death had she wanted to share such intimacies with a man. But even Jack had not elicited this immediate reaction, this insistent desire.

Nicholas nibbled her shoulder. A skillful hand caressed her breast through the thin fabric of her gown. She trembled beneath his fingers, yearning for more. What would he think when this paragon of virtue took him to her bed? This proper, somewhat dull paragon of virtue.

“...
the proper, somewhat dull paragon of virtue my investigators had prepared me for
.”

Investigators?

He’d had her investigated?

Fear of discovery mingled with indignation and passion extinguished like a wave upon a flame. Frantically, she cast her mind over their conversation, searching for any hint, any clue that he had uncovered her past. Surely if he knew, there would have been some indication. The fear diminished, leaving only a growing outrage. She’d had far too much of far too many arrogant men through the years to let yet another think he could do as he wished simply by virtue of his gender.

Nicholas continued his exploration, concentrating on a point where graceful neck met creamy shoulder, a point he’d learned long ago was particularly arousing for most women.

“Nicholas ...”

“Hmmm?” The warm flesh beneath his lips seemed subtly cooler.

“Why did you have me investigated?”

The chill in her voice penetrated his haze of arousal and he drew back, perplexed. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

“I see nothing unusual in it. My son is to marry your daughter, after all. Naturally, I would be concerned about the girl and her family.”

Sabrina untangled herself from his arms and stepped back. “And just what did your inquiries tell you about my daughter and myself?”

He stared, trying to make out her expression in the dim light. “Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. You have lived a relatively conservative life since your husband’s death, retiring to the country after his demise for a more than respectable period of mourning. You are well received, although not overly involved socially. There have been a number of offers for your hand through the years, but the names of only three men have appeared in the betting book at White’s as serious contenders for your affection. And you appear well suited financially. Hardly earth-shattering revelations. As to your marriage ...” He shrugged. “I had no need of an investigation for that. The activities you and Stanford engaged in are well known; bordering, I might add, on the level of legend.”

Indignation overrode relief at his words. He knew nothing of significance. She ignored the annoying thought that she had also made inquiries about him. Were his actions so very different from her own? He only did what he had to to protect his son, much as she had to protect her daughter. Was it the investigation itself or his conclusions that angered her? His words throbbed in her head.

Dull, boring paragon of virtue.

“Did my daughter live up to your expectations for a wife for your son?” A seed of an idea took root in the back of her mind.

He nodded. “Of course.”

Sabrina stepped to the rail and stared out over the sea. The idea burst into
full blossom. Absurd. Ridiculous. Disastrous. An irrevocable mistake.

“And I gather I too lived up to your standards?”

“Well, yes, I—”

She whirled to face him. “Just what are your qualifications?”

“My qualifications?” Confusion colored his words.

“Your requirements?”

“My requirements? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

“For the position,” she snapped. “For a countess. For your wife?”

“My wife!” he sputtered. His reply was cautious. “Why, the same as any other man in my position, I would imagine. I need an accomplished hostess, capable of managing my household. I would prefer a woman of passing intelligence, one not difficult to look at, as well. And, naturally, someone with a spotless reputation and impeccable breeding.”

Nicholas winced and Sabrina noted the expression with satisfaction. Even he could see how arrogant and selfish his admission was. It would serve him right if she took him up on his proposition.

Dull, boring paragon of virtue.

“I see.” Her voice rang controlled and calm. Far too calm. A fist clenched in the pit of his stomach. She paused, as if in thought. “You did not mention love or even affection, so I presume you want a relationship that allows you to continue to live your private life as you wish. With whomever you wish. You seem to be seeking a strictly public relationship, one for the sake of appearances only. A marriage of convenience.”

“I hadn’t quite thought of it that way,” he said wryly.

“Perhaps you should. And according to your investigations, with the exception of my somewhat scandalous marriage, I meet your qualifications?”

“Why, yes, but—”

“It sounds as though you’ve forgotten.” Cool surprise sounded in her voice. “Very well, then. I am not used to lauding my own accomplishments, but they are extensive. I have run my own household for many years and I am a polished hostess, well versed in the social niceties. I speak French quite well and know a smattering of Spanish and an equal amount of Italian. My mother’s family can trace its heritage back to King Richard.” Starlight flashed in her eyes and the chill in her voice grew even colder. “Men have dedicated poetry to my obvious charms, and my reputation is—how did you so graciously put it?—oh, yes, I am a dull and boring paragon of virtue. I think I more than live up to your standards. Don’t you agree?”

Nicholas thought himself an intelligent man, but not until Sabrina nearly spit the words at him did he realize that this was not going at all well. It was certainly not the conversation he had envisioned when he took her in his arms.

“Of course, Sabrina, however—”

“Very well then.” She squared her shoulders and addressed him in a tone worthy of royalty. “I accept your proposal.”

He stared, shocked. “I wasn’t aware I had extended a proposal.”

She shrugged. “Call it what you will. You said you would wed the lady. And whatever else I have heard about you, I have also heard you are a man of honor. A man of your word.”

He pulled his brows together in a considering frown. “I cannot believe you would agree to such an arrangement. A marriage of convenience, as you put it?”

“Under certain terms and conditions.” Sabrina nodded.

He bit back the chuckle rising to his lips. Whatever else this woman might be, his investigators had it all wrong. She was definitely not dull and boring. He wondered what else they’d gotten wrong. “Just what are these terms and conditions?”

She crossed her arms and paced to and fro before him, her face and form growing crisp, then indistinct in the shadows and the moonlight.

“First of all, you must not withdraw your permission for Belinda and Erick to wed, regardless of what happens between us.”

“Agreed.”

“Secondly, all property and wealth I bring to this marriage remains under my control. I would like papers drawn up to that effect. I will not forfeit my financial independence.”

He pondered the idea briefly. While it was not unknown for a wife to have her own resources, it was extremely unusual. However, he certainly did not need her money and could well afford to be generous. If this demand kept her amused, so be it. “Very well.”

“We will be equal partners in any business venture in which we are jointly engaged in.”

“Business ventures?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What type of business ventures?”

She stopped her pacing and tossed him a wary look. “It doesn’t signify at the moment. I simply need your word.”

“You have it.” He grinned. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Sabrina stepped forward and gazed up at him. The glittering heavens reflected in her eyes, and he had to stop himself from reaching for her.

She drew a steady breath. “Since this is to be a marriage of convenience only and privately we shall continue to live our separate lives, and since you already have an heir, I will expect you to respect my privacy.”

“Respect your privacy?” he blurted, stunned. “Do you mean to say you will be my wife but you will not share my bed?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she said earnestly. “I shall be everything you want in a countess. I shall be the perfect wife. But I shall not share any man’s bed with other women, and I shall not give my favors to a man I do not love.”

She stepped back. “I suspect you would never wish the public spectacle of a divorce; therefore, if we do not suit, we can have the marriage annulled, or we can do what so many do and live completely apart from one another. If these terms are unacceptable to you ...” Sabrina tilted her head in a questioning manner. “Well, Nicholas, what’s it to be?”

He stared, the silence growing between them. He had thought she’d be the appropriate wife for his purposes the evening they first met. But now he wanted more. Much, much more. The light of the moon cast a shimmering halo about her hair, caressing her finely carved features, her classically sculpted form. She was a vision in the misty magic of the black and silver shades of the night. He could only remember one other time in his life when his desire for a woman had been this overpowering. Irrational, instinctual and, ultimately, undeniable. He would take her as his wife, terms, conditions and all.

“I have a condition of my own,” he said softly. “If we decide we do not suit, it must be a joint decision. We must agree to separate.”

“Is that all?”

The moonlight reflected the surprise on her face. Nicholas smiled to himself. Obviously, she did not think he’d accept her outrageous proposition. He nodded.

“Then as acting captain of this vessel, Simon can marry us. Is tomorrow acceptable?”

“More than acceptable.” He pulled her into his arms.

“Nicholas,” she gasped, “I hardly think this is an auspicious start to a marriage of convenience.”

“We are not yet wed,” he murmured, “and at the moment I find this wonderfully convenient.” He pressed his lips to hers.

The pressure of his touch stole her breath and sapped her will. She struggled to fight a sea of powerful sensations, flooding her veins, throbbing through her blood. How would she resist him? If he could do this to her with a mere kiss ... she shuddered with anticipation and ignored the distant warning in the back of her mind; it was not to be.

He held her close, plundering her lips with his own. Instinctively, he sensed her surrender, knew the moment of her defeat. Satisfied, he released her. Lifting her chin with a gentle touch, he gazed into eyes aglow with the power of his passion.

“Until tomorrow.”

It took but a moment. Nicholas noted Sabrina gathering her wits about her. Noted her transformation into the cool, collected Lady Stanford. She was good, his bride-to-be, very good.

“Tomorrow.” She nodded politely, turned and walked into the darkness. He rested his back against the rail and watched her disappear into the night. Her scent lingered in the air, vaguely spicy, hinting of a long-forgotten memory. A smile grew on his lips and he considered the unexpected benefits of taking a wife.

Nicholas, Earl of Wyldewood, was a man of honor, and he would abide by their bargain, abide by their terms.

All, of course, except one.

“Have you lost your mind? This is the most harebrained scheme I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear! What’s got into you, lass?” Simon glared at her.

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Sabrina said defensively.

“Excellent idea!” he roared. “Just last night you stood in this very same cabin and told me, in no uncertain terms, mind you, how his mere presence was ruining everything. How you’d be just as happy to see him feeding fish at the bottom of the sea. Now you want to marry the man!”

“I simply changed my mind.” She sniffed haughtily. “Besides, marrying Wyldewood solves all my problems.”

“Oh?” He raised a sandy brow in a sarcastic gesture. “And how, pray tell, does your getting yourself leg-shackled to a man you scarcely know and can’t stand to boot solve anything?”

“I presented him with a list of terms and he agreed to them. For one thing, he promised he would not withdraw his permission for Belinda to marry his son.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Her future is now assured.”

“And?”

“And, he’s agreed to be equal partners with me in any business venture.”

“By business venture do you mean this French gold you’re going after?”

“Exactly.” She nodded.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Did you tell him about the gold?”

“Good Lord no! I wouldn’t hazard to guess what he’ll say about that. But sooner or later he is bound to find out, and this way I’ve secured his promise and assured my share.”

“Seems to me, if you’re married to the man, there’s no need to pay him a dowry so’s your daughter can marry his son. So there’s no need to go looking for this gold.”

“No, Simon.” She shook her head vehemently. “I won’t be dependent on any man financially ever again.”

“But marriage, lass,” he said softly, catching her gaze with his. “When I first met you, you were newly widowed. If I recall, you were almost as relieved to be free as you were sorrowful at your husband’s death.”

“Simon! That’s not true!” she said sharply, denying the feelings it had taken her years to accept. “You make it sound as if I was glad Jack died. I never wanted him dead.” She sank into a chair, laying her head on the back rest, and gazed unseeing at the low rafters above. “I just wanted him ... to grow up. Life with Jack was one unending entertainment. A magnificent, midnight masked ball. Fast and exciting and full of adventure. But even the best of parties grow wearying after a time.

“I was so very tired at the end. Tired of living far beyond our means and always pretending not to know how deeply in debt we were. Always pretending tomorrow would never come.” Sabrina closed her eyes for a moment, memories of her marriage, memories of Jack, crowding her mind. Setting them aside, she firmly closed the door to the past.

“However,” her tone turned brisk, “that was a very long time ago. And this marriage shall be far different.”

“I can’t believe the man would agree to these so-called terms of yours,” Simon grumbled. “And I still don’t see why you need to wed him.”

“I’m heading to a rather primitive place,” she said in her loftiest manner. “A lady alone. Unprotected. Sometimes a woman simply needs the protection of a man’s name, if nothing else.”

“Hah!” He snorted. “That smells worse than a crock of week-old fish. I’ve watched you bully a rowdy bunch of smugglers, as well as throw your weight around on a ship loaded with salty sailors. Hell, I taught you myself how to handle a knife. I’ve yet to see you need a man for protection from anything.”

“You’ve never seen me scared either!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“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 I suspect 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, 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 eyebrow 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 ...” Her face flushed with heat 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 and all men have their limits, lass. 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. But 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. 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 capt’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 damned 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 on him about the gold, 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. Staring at the ceiling, the odd turn her life had taken struck her, and she couldn’t suppress the hysterical laughter building inside. 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, butter-soft 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 Lady Winfield, Marchioness of Stanford, but now Sabrina Harrington, the 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 threw at him and casually surveyed her quarters. “Very comfortable. Far nicer than my previous accommodations.” He quirked a brow. “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 chest 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 is 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 for Sabrina, his behavior irritated and annoyed and frustrated.

“What do you want?” she snarled.

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 damned 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 to my wife, to 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?”