Sabrina drew herself rigidly upright on her horse, gazed at him with all the composure amassed from years of practice, and smiled coolly. “Well, what?”
Nicholas stared as if he could scarce believe his ears. She met his gaze calmly, coldly, controlling the defiance simmering just beneath the surface, daring him to push her further.
“Nicholas, it was quite awful,” Wynne said with a cheerfulness that belied her words. “We were kidnapped, snatched practically from our beds—”
“By the most awful men.” Belinda joined in eagerly. “They imprisoned us in this horrible hole with dead bodies.”
“Dead bodies?” Confusion diffused the anger on his face.
“A mummy pit,” Wynne explained.
“What’s a mummy pit?” Matt said curiously.
Wynne drew a deep breath and launched into her by now practiced explanation. “A mummy pit is something of—”
“Quiet!” Nicholas bellowed above the rest. “Erick, is all this true?”
Erick nodded. “Quite true, sir. They have had a considerable adventure.”
Belinda cast an adoring glance at the young man. “And Erick saved us. He was magnificent.”
Nicholas turned back to Sabrina, his eyes troubled. “Why did you not tell me this at once?”
“Why did you not give me the chance?” She jerked her gaze from his, urged her horse to a trot, and headed in the direction Nicholas had come, not bothering to see if the others followed. Vague, excited voices behind her indicated Wynne and Erick filled in Nicholas and Matt on the details of their adventure. At the crest of the rise, she spotted the camp and headed toward its dubious comforts.
“Mother,” Belinda said hesitantly.
Sabrina sighed. “I have little desire for conversation right now.”
“But, Mother, Lord Wyldewood was—”
“Belinda.” Sabrina’s voice cracked in the air. “Please.” Belinda fell silent and Sabrina dug her heels in the horse’s side. The animal seemed to sense her irritation and responded instantly. In no time, the beast had covered the short distance to the camp.
Attendants helped Belinda off the horse, and Sabrina gratefully slid to the ground on her own. She leaned against the animal, closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply, the air sweet with freedom.
“I believe an apology is in order.”
Sabrina snapped her eyes open at Nicholas’s words. She laughed, a short, harsh, mirthless sound. “I shall not apologize to you.”
Nicholas nodded. “No doubt, but I shall apologize to you. I jumped to some rather hasty conclusions.”
“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed. She would not make this confession easy for him. “And what were those conclusions?”
“I believed you and my sister had set out on your own to locate the horses.”
She raised a skeptical brow. “That would be exceedingly foolish.”
“It would indeed.” He ran a weary hand through already disheveled hair.
Only now did she note how very tired he appeared. More than likely, he too had not slept. Still, unreasonable anger, fueled by her own weariness, surged within her at his assumptions. “And you think I am that foolish?”
“Damnation, Sabrina.” Nicholas’s eyes blazed at her goading. “What am I supposed to think? Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, you have been completely unpredictable, not to mention stubborn, and, yes, I believe foolish is a fairly apt description for some of your actions.”
Fury stormed through her. “And exactly what have I done that was so foolish?”
“What have you done?” Astonishment colored his face. “First, you attempt to flee to Egypt without telling anyone where you are going or why. Then you join forces with a man of disreputable background, more than likely a smuggler, and a blasted American at that. Throughout it all, you disregard even the basic tenets of proper behavior in your language and the manner in which you dress. And you do all of this because of a document of questionable veracity!”
Sabrina glared, furious at his words all the more because they struck perilously close to the truth. “It is no doubt difficult to be married to a woman as foolish as I.”
“And that’s yet another matter.” He grabbed her arms and yanked her to him, his eyes stormy, dark, and dangerous. “You married a man you scarcely knew simply because he angered you. Because he offended your pride. That was indeed foolish. And yes, Sabrina, sometimes it is difficult. Sometimes it is extremely difficult.”
She stared, stunned by his words. Anguish twisted her heart. His comments confirmed her worst fears. Obviously he regretted his actions. Regretted the marriage to a woman who turned out to be a far cry from the perfect wife he had expected. The back of her throat tightened and ached with tears she refused to shed. She clenched her fists and her nails dug into her palms. She was bound to this man, no doubt forever. A man who not only did not love her but found her a trial as well. There was little hope here for the future she had dreamed possible in those glorious moments when she was in his arms.
Pain and anger hardened her resolve and chilled her words. “I regret you find marriage to me such a distasteful burden. Perhaps it would be preferable if we return to our original bargain. A marriage of convenience, in name only. Preferable, for both of us.” She turned on her heel and stalked off.
“That’s not what I said.” His voice rose in frustration, and she ignored him.
He stared at the defiant figure striding toward her tent. Gad, she was infuriating. He realized his anger with her was perhaps irrational and even possibly out of proportion. But damn it all, the terror that had settled in his gut when he had returned to find her missing still lingered like a poorly prepared meal. On further reflection, it might well have been unwise to assume she would search for the missing horses on her own. Still, if he had discovered nothing else in these past weeks about the woman he’d married, he had learned she was fiercely independent and more than likely to take matters into her own hands. Given that, the conclusions he’d leaped to were not far-fetched at all.
How had her first husband put up with her? His mood darkened at the unbidden thought. She and Stanford were no doubt two of a kind. The bloody man probably would have joined in this misguided quest with joyous abandon and scarcely a second thought for the hazards of the venture. No matter. Stanford was dead and Sabrina was his wife now. And if he did not compare favorably with the notorious marquess in one respect or another, it was bothersome, but so be it.
She disappeared into her tent, and his fury ebbed away. Would life with Sabrina always be this frantic, furious, and unsettled? Surely when they got out of this blasted desert and returned to London, their existence would calm substantially. Abruptly the realization struck him. He no longer desired a composed, collected woman to share his days. The serene Lady Stanford he’d selected for a wife was well and good initially, but even in the beginning he’d suspected boredom would be the ultimate consequence. Now he wanted much more. Wanted her. Her passion, her laughter, even her outrageous self-sufficient manner. Life with her would be anything but boring.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of following her into the tent. Of sweeping her into his arms and showing her just how much he wanted her. How much he loved her. No, he would let her calm herself first. Let her ponder her illogical comments, her unreasonable reactions. His resolve was firm. This would never again be a marriage of convenience, never a marriage in name only.
He smiled slowly. He’d let her stew in her own juices for a while. He could wait. He had plenty of time. Whether she believed it and accepted it right now or not, they would indeed spend the rest of their lives together. If, of course, he didn’t kill her first.
Sabrina paced before the fire, arms wrapped tightly around her, and glared at the offending flames as if they were somehow responsible for her foul mood. It had been three days since their ordeal. Nicholas said the horses were apparently stolen simply to get the men out of camp so the women could be kidnapped. It all had something t
o do with the foolish passion in Europe for Egyptian artifacts and the cutthroat competition here among various factions to procure the ancient items. Of course he did not tell her that directly. She refused to speak to him and avoided his very presence.
He no doubt thought she was still angry. She’d caught him studying her these past days, the hint of a smile on his lips, a glimmer of amusement in his eye. Her ire had vanished long ago, replaced by a deep, abiding pain that throbbed and pulsed with every beat of her heart. Pain she would never allow him to see.
Sabrina kicked at the sand and glanced across the flames. The servants had long since retired. Belinda, Wynne, and Erick sat talking quietly. Their voices were low, but even from a distance Sabrina could sense their excitement. None of their party would sleep tonight.
The gold was at long last within reach, a mere few hours’ ride from this very spot. Sabrina had wanted to continue on, but Nicholas insisted they set up camp with nightfall. The others agreed in an altogether irritating acknowledgment of Nicholas’s leadership, and Sabrina reluctantly held her tongue. The thrill of the quest had dissipated with the shattering of her heart. Now all she wanted was the freedom from her husband the treasure would bring. How ironic that it was French gold that would bring her liberty. Nicholas hated the French, even more than he disliked Americans.
“Bree, we need to talk.” She started at the sound of Matt’s voice and turned. Nicholas stood beside Matt, a dark shadow to the American’s fair figure.
Irritation washed through her. “What is there to talk about?”
Annoyance crossed Matt’s face. “Tomorrow, Bree, we need to talk about tomorrow.”
Sabrina shrugged. “Tomorrow we shall recover the gold, then get out of this blasted country as swiftly as possible. It all seems quite straightforward to me.”
Matt nodded toward Nicholas. “We don’t think so.”
“We?” She raised a brow. “This is an unholy alliance, is it not?”
Nicholas remained silent. Matt cleared his throat as if embarrassed by her recognition of the relationship between the two men. “We are all partners, Bree, more or less. Your idea, I might add.”
She tossed Nicholas a scathing glance. “I wouldn’t trust him, Matt.”
Matt laughed, his natural sense of amusement restored. “Oh, I don’t trust him. But I’ve worked with any number of men”—his eyes twinkled—“and women too, for that matter, that I didn’t particularly trust.” He grinned. “I’ve found a certain lack of trust makes for a better business relationship on both sides.”
“Really?” Her gaze traveled insultingly over Nicholas’s stoic figure until she met his eyes. “You may be right. Trust may not be necessary. In any type of relationship.”
A smile quirked the corners of Nicholas’s lips. “Perhaps trust has to be earned?”
A hot flush swept up her face; she snapped her gaze from his and turned to Matt. “Very well, Matt, what did you wish to discuss?”
Matt glanced from Sabrina to Nicholas and back. He shook his head slightly as if exasperated by the continued tension between his old friend and her husband. “All right, Bree, who’s going on your treasure hunt tomorrow?”
“Who?” The unexpected question caught her unawares. “I had not given any consideration to the makeup of the party, but I am going, of course, and you—”
“And I,” Nicholas said firmly.
“No doubt,” Sabrina said under her breath.
“Well.” Matt again cleared his throat and darted a quick glance at Nicholas. What on earth was the man so uneasy about? “Wynne wants to go. Frankly, I don’t think you can get away without her.”
“I suspected as much.” Sabrina nodded in resignation. “Very well, she may come. I would hate to throw a damper on her enthusiasm for adventure. But I wish to leave as soon as the sun is up.”
“Do you have the letter?” Nicholas said.
She stared him straight in the eye. “I have kept it on my person since we left Cairo.” She placed her hand on the laces of her breeches, just below her waist. “I have it here. I did not want it misplaced.” Sabrina fairly spat the words. “That would be exceedingly foolish.”
A grin split Nicholas’s face. “It would indeed.”
His gaze trapped hers, and she responded with a withering glare. An odd tension smoldered between them: fury on her part, amusement on his.
Matt rolled his eyes heavenward, planted a look of disgust on his face, and ambled off to join the others.
Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you yet reached any conclusions regarding your recent behavior?”
“Indeed I have.” She narrowed her eyes and softened her voice. “I should have had you thrown to the sharks when I had the chance.” Sabrina turned on her heel and stalked off. Nicholas’s deep laughter trailed after her.
She stopped at the edge of the pool of flickering light cast by the campfire. The dark stretched endlessly into the desert. She dug at the sand with her toe and studied the shifting grains with a focused intensity. How could Nicholas find any humor in their situation at all? Obviously the man did not have the merest ounce of sensitivity. He’d stomped on her heart and seemed to find it all laughable. Perhaps he was right about her foolishness in at least one respect: she never should have married him.
“Sabrina,” a low voice whispered from the night.
She snapped her head up and peered into the darkness. Out of the black, three familiar figures slowly took shape.
She gasped. Lord Benjamin Medvale, Sir Reginald Chatsworth, and Lord Patrick Norcross emerged from the shadows. “Good Lord! How on earth did you get here?”
“Horses, my dear,” Norcross said lightly, as if discussing a chance rendezvous in the park instead of a meeting in the middle of a desert halfway across the world. “We left them, and what passes for servants in this abominable country, a short distance from here. Chatsworth’s idea. Thought it would be better if we approached you singly rather than in what’s become a somewhat impressive entourage.”
“Indeed.” Medvale nodded vigorously. “We all agreed it would be prudent to speak to you privately.”
“Privately,” Chatsworth said quietly, “seemed best.”
Sabrina stared at her former suitors in total confusion. “Best for what? Gentlemen, you have me at a distinct disadvantage. I am completely baffled by your presence. Why are you here?”
“It was the way he spirited you off—” Medvale said.
“Wyldewood, that is,” Chatsworth added.
Norcross nodded. “Naturally, we were concerned.”
“Concerned?” Sabrina shook her head, still failing to grasp the slightest bit of sense in their not quite sensible explanation. “Concerned over what?”
The three exchanged glances. “Wyldewood, of course,” Chatsworth said. “His reputation is notorious. He’s a rake.”
Norcross joined in. “A rogue—”
“A reprobate, Sabrina,” Medvale paused in the detailing of Nicholas’s character flaws. Medvale always had been a fair-minded man. “Although, to give him his due, he does have an excellent reputation in diplomatic circles—”
“He is expected to make his mark in Parliament.” Norcross pointed out.
“Add to that the man’s money. Wyldewood is so plump in the pockets, he could likely buy much of England itself,” Chatsworth said wryly.
“And his word in affairs of honor has never been questioned.” Medvale drew himself up in a dignified manner. “Still and all, when it comes to affairs of the heart, the man is a scoundrel—”
“A blackguard,” Norcross said.
Chatsworth shrugged. “A cad.”
Astonishment coursed through Sabrina. If she were not already stunned by the trio’s unlikely appearance, their litany of Nicholas’s faults compounded her amazement. Not that it wasn’t true, of course. Nicholas had spent much of his adult life building the kind of reputation with women that brought a grin of admiration and a pang of envy from even the most straitlac
ed of men.
“Gentlemen, your words flatter me.” Nicholas emerged from the shadows with a swagger in his step and a dangerous smile on his face. Sabrina’s heart stilled. Her husband was nearly as well known for his skill with a pistol as his way with women.
“Nicholas,” she said quickly, “I assume you know Lord Medvale, Sir Reginald and Lord Norcross.”
“We are not bosom bows, but I believe our paths have crossed on occasion.” His eyes narrowed. “To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of your visit here?”
“Well…” Medvale tugged nervously at his neck cloth. Absently Sabrina noted all three were dressed more suitably for an outing in Hyde Park than for a trek through the hinterlands of Egypt. “Well…”
“Do get on with it, Medvale,” Norcross said, exasperation in his tone. “The blasted man can’t possibly call out all three of us. He can only shoot one of us.” He glared at Nicholas and his voice faltered. “At a time, that is.”
“Indeed.” Chatsworth’s gaze met Nicholas’s. “He can only shoot one of us at a time.”
“Shoot you?” Sabrina’s bewilderment increased. “Why would he possibly want to shoot you?”
“It’s not at all far-fetched, Sabrina. You see”—Medvale drew a deep breath—“we have come to rescue you.”
“Save you,” Chatsworth chimed in.
“From his clutches.” Norcross cast a lofty look at Nicholas. “Before he ruins you completely.”
“Ruins me?” Sabrina’s voice was little more than a squeak.
Medvale nodded in agreement. “Destroys your reputation beyond repair.”
“Can one ruin a previously married woman, I wonder?” Nicholas said with an air of casual curiosity. She threw him a cutting glare.
“Sabrina has never been free with her favors,” Medvale said staunchly. “Not like other widows I could name. Her behavior has always been above reproach.”
Nicholas snorted in derision.
Norcross ignored him. “Sabrina, we know you well enough to know you would never go off with this man on your own, voluntarily, that is. Therefore, we assumed—”
The Perfect Wife Page 25