The Perfect Wife

by Victoria Alexander

“He coerced you in some way,” Chatsworth finished.

  “But never fear,” Medvale said. “Few in London know of your ill-advised indiscretion. Wyldewood has turned more than a few heads, and no doubt he swept you off your feet in a moment of weakness.”

  “One does wonder why he chose this beastly place to spirit her off to,” Norcross said under his breath and nudged Chatsworth. “I would have taken her to Paris or Rome. And Vienna is lovely this time of year.”

  Medvale continued without pause. “However, we have a solution to your problem. There will be little talk and no hint of scandal if you return to London married—”

  Sabrina gasped. “Married!”

  “Indeed.” Norcross nodded. “To one of us.”

  A strangled look of smothered amusement crossed Nicholas’s face.

  “Yes, my dear.” Medvale took her hand and sank to his knees in the sand. “I have loved you from the moment we first met. I know now I should have pressed my suit harder through the years, but I somehow thought there would always be time. I assumed one day my chance would come. I only hope it is not too late. Marry me, Sabrina.”

  “Marry you?” Her voice was scarce more than a shocked whisper.

  “Stand aside, Medvale.” Norcross claimed her hands from his companion. He gazed into her eyes with solemn sincerity. “I shall not get down on my knees, Sabrina. And I am known more for my sharp wit than fine words. But I too have loved you these past years. I should like nothing more than to make you happy and spend the rest of my life doing so. Sabrina, do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  “Your wife,” she said faintly.

  “And what of you, Chatsworth?” Nicholas drawled the words sarcastically. “Do you not have a declaration to add to this outpouring of affection?”

  Chatsworth’s eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion. He smiled slowly. “Sabrina knows of my feelings. I have offered for her once before. My offer stands.” He nodded at Sabrina, his voice quietly intent. “If she will have me.”

  Sabrina stared, speechless.

  “If the object of all this noble concern is to save Sabrina’s reputation, I believe you have forgotten one potential husband in your zeal to repair her good name,” Nicholas said thoughtfully. “What about me, gentlemen? After all, I am the cause of her ruin.”

  “Nicholas,” she said sharply. He smiled innocently.

  “Marry you?” Medvale sputtered. “Preposterous.”

  “Completely out of the question,” Norcross said.

  Chatsworth snorted. “Damn idiotic if you ask me.”

  “But, gentlemen,” Nicholas said, “I have always heard it told that reformed rakes make the best husbands. And we are all in agreement here, that is one title I have earned.”

  “Nicholas!” What was he doing? Was he baiting them? Or her?

  Medvale shook his head. “No, no, Sabrina shall never marry you. It would be a disaster.”

  “Utter stupidity,” Chatsworth said.

  “Ridiculous, asinine, absurd,” Norcross said.

  Nicholas looked thoughtful. “Foolish, would you say?

  Rising anger strangled the words in her throat. “Foolish?”

  Chatsworth nodded. “Extremely foolish.”

  “Foolish is the least of it,” Medvale said.

  “Indeed.” Norcross nodded. “Only a woman who had lost all her wits would even consider such a notion.”

  “Bloody hell!” The blasphemy exploded from her. “I will not stand here and be insulted. I would not marry any of you to save my life. If I had to choose between you four and the gallows, I’d go to the devil with a smile on my face and a song on my lips, knowing full well I was getting the best of the bargain.” She turned and strode toward the fire, the crimson flames mirroring the fury within her.

  “What did we say?” Chatsworth’s question lingered in the dark behind her.

  “Never mind that, did you hear what she said?” The shocked tone of Medvale’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Indeed,” Norcross said. “Quite appalling for the eminently proper Lady Stanford. And did you note her attire? Positively scandalous. Although”—a note of appreciation sounded in his words—“she certainly does wear breeches well.”

  “Sabrina.” Medvale and the others hurried after her.

  Matt jumped up from his seat beside the fire. “Who in the hell are they?”

  “Lord Medvale? Norcross? Sir Reginald?” Surprise colored Belinda’s words and she stepped toward the newcomers. “Bloody hell.”

  “Belinda,” Sabrina said in a sharp reprimand.

  Belinda blushed. “Sorry, Mother.”

  “By Jove, Chatsworth, look.” Norcross nodded toward Wynne. Her unbound hair gleamed seductively in the glow of the fire; the flames emphasized her willowy form. Even her glasses winked charmingly above a pert smile. Norcross stared in appreciation. “Yet another beauty in breeches. There are benefits after all to being in this blasted desert.”

  Wynne blinked in surprise and blushed, Matt’s eyes narrowed, and Sabrina was relieved Belinda had been unable to find breeches of her own.

  Medvale’s glance swept across the now intermingled gathering and settled on Sabrina. “Sabrina, my dear, I do not know precisely what we’ve said to overset you so. But we are, one and all, completely serious. Please, grant one of us the honor of your hand.”

  Matt grinned. “Her hand? You want to marry her? All of you? Oh, this is rich.” He laughed. “Thank you, Bree. You always were most amusing, and thank God you haven’t lost that gift through the years.”

  “Captain,” Wynne said curiously. “Is this always the way with adventure? One never knows what or whom to expect next?”

  Matt smiled down at her. “Hold your tongue, Wynne, and enjoy it.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I shall have to make note of this.”

  Medvale ignored them both, gripped Sabrina’s shoulders, and gazed into her eyes. “We all care deeply about you.”

  “If you have a concern for your own safety,” Nicholas said, his words softly ominous, “I would recommend you let go of my wife.”

  Medvale tossed him an annoyed glance. “Come now, Wyldewood. We’ve been all through this. Sabrina would never marry you. It would be absurd.”

  Norcross nodded. “Completely unwise.”

  “Damn foolish,” Chatsworth said.

  “As my sainted governess used to say, foolish is as foolish does.” Nicholas’s eyes gleamed with an unspoken threat. “Now, once more, Medvale, get your hands off my wife.”

  Sabrina twisted out of Medvale’s grasp. “I do wish you would all cease discussing me as if I were not here.”

  “Discussing… you?” Medvale’s eyes widened with astonishment. He glanced from Sabrina to Nicholas and back. “Good Lord, Sabrina, you can’t mean—”

  “You’re not saying—” Norcross started.

  “You’ve married Wyldewood?” Chatsworth finished.

  “That’s precisely what she’s saying.” Nicholas smiled smugly. Sabrina’s hand itched with the desire to slap the satisfaction off his face.

  “I scarcely know what to say. This changes everything.” Medvale’s expression fell.

  “It does indeed,” Chatsworth said slowly.

  “I say, Wyldewood.” Norcross nervously sidled up to Nicholas. “I rather hope you took no offense at my comment about Sabrina’s appearance in those delightful garments.”

  “Rubbish, old man.” Nicholas slapped him on the back as if they were the best of friends, and relief suffused Norcross’s face. “I daresay I can’t chide you for speaking the truth.” His gaze swept Sabrina from head to toe in a manner that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that expressions of appreciation might well be allowed, but no more. She clenched her fists and tightened her jaw at his possessive air.

  “Now that Sabrina is taken, Wyldewood…” Norcross glanced speculatively at Wynne. “Might I beg an introduction to this enchanting creature?”

  “My pleasure. I would like nothing bett
er than to introduce her to a man with whom she shares a common background and heritage.” Nicholas’s eyes twinkled. The man acted as if he were at a ton ball instead of the middle of the desert. “Norcross, may I present my sister, Lady Wynnefred Harrington.”

  Norcross grasped Wynne’s hand and raised it to his lips. “I am delighted, my dear.”

  Matt moved protectively to her side and growled. “I’d drop that hand if you value your life.”

  “Captain,” Wynne said with delight.

  Nicholas laughed. “Sorry, Norcross. You’d best do as he asks. He is an undisciplined American. They are rather quick-tempered and unpredictable.”

  Norcross sighed, tossed Wynne one last look of regret, and stepped aside. Sabrina stared at her husband in disbelief. The man obviously knew about his sister and Matt and very likely had known all along. Known and permitted their growing attraction by the simple act of pretending not to notice.

  “It does appear our attempt to rescue you was ill-advised,” Medvale said. “My apologies, Wyldewood. I wish you both well.”

  “Thank you, Benjamin,” Sabrina said gratefully. “I am truly touched by your efforts.” She nodded at Norcross standing next to Nicholas and smiled at Chatsworth beside Belinda.

  “Think nothing of it,” Norcross said loftily, as if a trek across the world and a proposal of marriage were as commonplace as an evening at Covent Garden. “Obviously our presence here is no longer necessary. I suggest we take our leave.”

  “Quite.” Medvale cast one last longing look at Sabrina. “Although this endeavor has not turned out as I had hoped, it’s perhaps all for the best.” Norcross joined Medvale. Chatsworth still lingered on the other side of the fire next to Belinda. “Chatsworth? I believe our business here is finished.”

  Chatsworth shook his head slowly. “I beg to differ on that point.” He withdrew a wicked-looking pistol from his waistcoat and aimed it at the assembly. “My business here is anything but finished.”

  Chapter 18

  Norcross expelled a deep, exaggerated breath. “Really Chatsworth, the woman is already married. Do try to be a better sport about all this.”

  Chatsworth laughed, a short, caustic sound that grated in her soul. Fear shivered along her spine.

  “I suspect the man is not overly concerned with Sabrina.” The mild tone of Nicholas’s words belied the tense line of his jaw and the calculating gleam in his eye.

  “You are perceptive, Wyldewood,” Chatsworth said. “Although, I must admit, when these two fools came up with the ridiculous idea of wedding Sabrina, it fell in nicely with my plans. As my wife, her possessions would also be mine.” He threw Sabrina a look of regret. “We would have suited well together. However, it is not your face I am as interested in as your fortune.”

  “You are mistaken then, Chatsworth,” Sabrina said boldly. “I have no fortune.”

  “Perhaps not at the moment.” Chatsworth’s eyes glittered with greed in the firelight. “But you well have the means to what is, in anyone’s view, a sizable fortune.”

  “Do I?” Sabrina stared at him fearlessly, but apprehension settled in her stomach. The only means to a fortune she had was the letter.

  “Do not play games with me, Sabrina.” Chatsworth’s sharp tone cut through the night. “I want the letter.”

  Confusion washed across Medvale’s face. “What letter?”

  “Yes, Chatsworth, what letter?” Nicholas’s voice rang cool and casual.

  “You know full well what letter, Wyldewood,” Chatsworth snapped. “I have no doubt it is the real purpose of your journey to Egypt.” His eyes narrowed. “Although I suspect the story of your marriage is intriguing as well. Ironic, is it not?” He waved the pistol at Sabrina. “That your new husband will be made to suffer for the sins of your first?”

  Bewilderment drew Sabrina’s brows together. “Jack? What does he have to do with any of this?”

  “It is a shame that Stanford did not keep you better informed as to his activities,” Chatsworth said. “The letter should have been mine. I had already paid the idiot who lost it to your husband in that damnable card game. Paid and paid dearly. But I only received the first page of the letter.” He spat the words. “It was worthless.

  “Stanford believed the second page was just as worthless; indeed he thought it a joke until he learned I wanted it. I was negotiating for it when he was killed.” Chatsworth sighed. “I do regret that, my dear.”

  The import of his words struck her like a physical blow. The blood drained from her face. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “What are you saying?”

  “I did not intend for him to die. It was nearly as much an accident as everyone believed. However, I did arrange for the tampering of his carriage wheels before his ill-fated race.” Chatsworth shrugged. “Stanford was toying with me. He kept raising the price of the letter. I merely wanted to, shall we say, encourage his cooperation and settle our bargain. It was all quite unfortunate.”

  Sabrina’s head spun. “You killed him?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Chatsworth shook his head ruefully. “That was not my intent.”

  “Mother.” Belinda stepped toward Sabrina. Chatsworth grabbed her arm and yanked her back to his side.

  “Belinda!” Erick instinctively leaped forward. Nicholas blocked his movement with a quick sideways step. For a moment their gazes locked, then Erick nodded slightly, clenched his fists, and resumed his place by his father’s side.

  Chatsworth glanced from Erick to Belinda. “Apparently Sabrina and Wyldewood are not alone in forging new attachments in this beastly desert. But for now, my child, you shall remain exactly where you are.” His gaze met Sabrina’s. “I should have been her stepfather, you know. This would be unnecessary now if you had accepted when I first offered for you.”

  “What is the meaning of this, Chatsworth?” Norcross said. “Are you saying you do not care for her? You have never cared for her?”

  “Oh, Sabrina is a fine figure of a woman. She would have made me an excellent wife. Eminently respectable. Unquestionably proper. Perfect, in fact.” Chatsworth shook his head. “But no, my foolish companion, I do not care for her as you and Medvale do. All I ever wanted was the letter. I courted her with only one purpose in mind until I became convinced she knew nothing of it.”

  “I only learned of its existence recently,” Sabrina said faintly.

  Chatsworth nodded. “I assumed as much when you abruptly fled London for Egypt.”

  Medvale’s eyes widened in realization. “It was your idea to go after her. What’s so bloody important about this letter?”

  “Gold, Medvale,” Nicholas said evenly.

  “French gold.” Matt’s calm tone echoed Nicholas’s. Vaguely in the back of her mind she noted that in spite of their differences, in this the two men were allied. “A considerable fortune, I might add.”

  Chatsworth’s gaze flicked dismissively over the American and settled on Nicholas. “Excellent, Wyldewood. Perhaps I underestimated you. I wonder as well about this unexpected marriage of yours. The noted rake turned devoted husband. It does not ring true. Did you know of the gold when you married her?”

  “I have no need of Sabrina’s gold,” Nicholas said.

  Chatsworth laughed contemptuously. “Come now. Even with your vast resources, you cannot expect me to believe a treasure of this magnitude is not tempting.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “Believe what you wish. I have no interest in the gold.”

  “Then perhaps we shall be able to conclude our business here more amicably than I envisioned.” Chatsworth tightened his grip on Belinda’s arm. “Give me the letter.”

  Nicholas nodded at Sabrina. “Give him the letter.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “No.”

  Nicholas’s steely gaze trapped hers. “Sabrina—”

  “I shall not give him the letter,” she said stubbornly. “It is mine. Jack left it to me. It is all he left.”

  “Not quite all, my dear.” Ch
atsworth smiled slowly and turned the gun away from the gathering before him, pointing it mere inches from Belinda. Her eyes grew wide and stark with fear. “Stanford also left you a daughter. You must choose, Sabrina.” He pressed the pistol into Belinda’s side, and she whimpered in terror. “One legacy for another.”

  There was little choice. Sabrina’s gaze locked with Chatsworth’s. Here was another arrogant man attempting to control her life, the stakes higher than any she had ever faced. She might well lose this encounter, but not without a fight.

  With slow, deliberate motions, she withdrew the letter from beneath the laces of her breeches. She stepped toward him until only the fire danced between her and Chatsworth gripping a terrified Belinda. She held the letter in her hand and stretched it toward him, over the flames, the rising heat fluttering the page. “Release her, Chatsworth. Now.”

  He shook his head. “Not until I have the letter firmly in hand.”

  Sabrina stared with a cold, steady gaze that hid the panic rising within her. “If you do not release her now, I shall not hesitate to drop this page into the fire. Then the gold will be lost to all of us.”

  “You are quite amazing, my dear.” A note of genuine admiration colored his words. “I fully anticipated, when presented with the imminent demise of your daughter, you would fold like a losing hand of whist. Could there be more to the serene Lady Stanford than the picture presented to the world these past years? I am more disappointed than ever. We would indeed have suited well.” His voice softened. “I shall kill her, you know.”

  “I suspect you plan on killing all of us,” she said mildly. “However, it will do you no good without the letter. And if you harm so much as a single hair on her head, I shall dash this fragile, and no doubt highly flammable, paper into the flames without a moment’s hesitation.”

  Annoyance stamped Chatsworth’s face. “How do I know you will give me the letter once I release the chit?”

  Sabrina lifted a questioning brow. “How? Do not forget, Reginald. You have the pistol.” She waved the letter at him. “This is my only weapon.” Her voice sounded deep and intent. “You also have my word.”

  Chatsworth rolled his eyes with exaggerated forbearance. “Very well, my dear.” Abruptly he released Belinda and pushed her forward. “Now, the letter if you will.”