The Perfect Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  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 and the caress of his hands? How many women had he murmured words of love to?

  “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, 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 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 man’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 forgone this particular form of masculine entertainment after all. Too many years of proper behavior stretched between her and rough-hewn men like this, and 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 fist-fight, barbaric though it may be.

  She maintained her pleasant smile and fought to hold on to her air of mild amusement, all the while fear for their safety growing within her. Neither man gained advantage. Each absorbed the impact of punishing knuckles and returned swing for swing, stroke for stroke. Blood dripped from the corner of Matt’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 was a clear victor over the other? Would their animosity grow? Or worse, 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 knock one of them over herself. Or could she?

  Nicholas stumbled at Matt’s last blow, and opportunity seized Sabrina. Deftly thrusting her foot out, she caught Nicholas’s ankle, and he crashed backward 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 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 had 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 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. But like a huge tree, strong and hard in appearance but with roots rotted and weak, he tottered backward 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. I am sorely disappointed in you.”

  He groaned and closed his eyes.

  Simon stepped to his side. “Cap’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 supine 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. 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 seen what you did. No one else was looking 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 there’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 cap’n will be worth much for the next few days. Now off with you.” Matt groaned and Simon bent to administer 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 brushed her hair away from her face. The one thing she didn’t need at this moment was yet another secret to keep. She had more than enough of those already.

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

  What on earth would happen next? Belinda propped her elbow on the rail, her chin in her hand, and 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 was 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 had expected there would be the opportunity to know more of each other while they sought their wayward parents. She had hoped to spend her time by his side and in his arms, exploring the shivering heat he unleashed with his kisses. She especially 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 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’d 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 put off by the more disgusting aspects of his illness. She herself had 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. Lady Wynnefred Harrington 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. Lady Wynnefred 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. Lady Wynnefred 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 the funds to spare in such idle pursuits and had little use for those who did. As much as he resented them, they did serve a purpose. The other 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 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.

  He smiled slowly. It was indeed a beautiful day.

  Chapter 11

  Sabrina flinched at the sight of the battered body on the berth. The sailors who carried Nicholas to the cabin had removed his clothing, tossing it in a bloody heap on the floor. Only a light blanket covered his nude form.

  Fearful of what she might find, Sabrina took a deep breath and folded back the coverlet, exposing his bronzed body. The rise and fall of his chest was even and steady, a good sign. Angry, scuffed, reddened skin confronted her, not yet showing the shades of blue and purple bruising that would come. But there were no breaks in the skin, no bloody gashes with white bones protruding. She released her pent-up breath with relief and thanks.

  Sabrina ran her fingers lightly along his ribs, searching for any abnormality, any indication of serious damage. Nothing. The flesh beneath her hand was warm but not feverish. Her touch drifted to his stomach and lingered. She reminded herself that this was an examination of necessity, nothing more.

  Still, she could not help but marvel at the hard, muscled planes of his chest. Seemingly of their own accord, her hands stroked upward, fingers tunneling through the mat of rough, dark hair. His heartbeat pulsed against her fingers.

  What would it be like to be crushed against that chest for longer than a mere moment? To feel his heartbeat next to hers? To have her own naked breasts flattened against his solid form? Her heart thudded at the thought, and longing throbbed within her. She wanted that intimacy and more.

  A groan broke from his lips, and she jerked her hands away as if burned by the contact with his skin, or her own scorching desire. Irritated and shaken by her unthinking reaction, she glared at her unconscious husband.

  “Bloody hell, Nicholas, you’ve gone and done it now.” She dipped a rag into a basin of water and dabbed at his battered face. “You’ve made me love you.”

  Exasperation colored her words but her hand was gentle, and she sponged off the last traces of dried, clay brown blood. “I did not ask for this. It makes it all so much more difficult.” A cut marred his handsome face above his right eye, the skin on his left cheek puffed and bruised. Sabrina winced at his obvious pain, and her tone softened. “It simply isn’t done, you know. I don’t believe I know of one wife in the ton who loves her husband.”

  Sabrina sighed and considered her confession. She had never known an emotion
quite like this. Not with Jack. Not with anyone. She’d never even dreamed of a passion this powerful. A passion that had her willing to ignore a painful reality; Nicholas was not the kind of man who would return her love. He used the word itself like an inexpensive seasoning, with a generous sprinkling to spice and flavor a dish, and no thought given to the food itself. Perhaps her love alone would be sufficient. Perhaps not. There would be time enough to deal with the consequences of her feelings later.

  She gazed at him and wondered why he had not yet come to his senses. Simon said he would recover unless there was a serious injury they had not noted. Smoothing his hair away from his face, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. He was no more badly beaten than Matt, yet he remained unconscious. Unless… Sabrina eased her fingers under his head and felt the back of his skull carefully. Within moments she found what she feared, a huge knot at the back of his head. The injury came not from the fight, but from the fall. The fall she had precipitated.

  Guilt swept through her, and she stared helplessly at the silent figure. “Good Lord, Nicholas. I am so very sorry. I would not have you hurt for the world. You have to recover.” She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “There is much yet to be settled between the two of us. I shall not allow you to leave me with so much unresolved. This is fair warning, husband, I shall run you to ground through the end of eternity if you do not return to me.”

  Impulsively she leaned over him and lightly pressed her lips to his. It was not enough to satisfy the yearning to possess him, and be possessed in return, but it would do, for now.

  She dipped the rag in the water, wrung out rust-colored water, and stroked his brow, keeping up a constant stream of chatter, a narrative that leaped aimlessly, detailing her thoughts and dreams and desires, an edited version of her past and her newfound hopes for their future.

  The day slipped into night and again to day, and Sabrina remained by his side. Simon checked on them both occasionally and agreed with Sabrina; the lump on Nicholas’s head was very likely the reason he had not awakened. She slept little, bathing his face and his body and murmuring words of encouragement, of frustration, of concern, and of love.