The Wife He Always Wanted

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “See, I am correct,” she said, a touch of hurt filling her expression. She turned toward the window.

  “You are not correct,” he replied. A soft lock of hair brushed the curve of her jaw, hiding her expression. “Perhaps once, a pretty face was enough to hold my interest, but not anymore. Now I find myself entranced by a woman with both beauty and intelligence.”

  How odd then that as he sat in the coach, the lamplight illuminating her face in a silvery glow, he discovered there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

  “Hmmm. Someday you will have to introduce me to this perfect creature.”

  The comment took him aback. Despite Noelle’s best efforts to build her confidence, she was still unsure of herself.

  From her elegant neck, to her full mouth, to her trim, yet enticing, figure, it was clear why men sought her out.

  His wife underestimated her power over his sex. “True, you are not the kind of woman who’d bring men to their knees the moment you walked into the room, because you are shy and do not seek to draw attention to yourself. However, when you choose to bestow one of your smiles on a man, his attention is all yours.”

  And she was lovely. A fact largely unnoticed by him until this evening. She had filled out a bit, his wife, and her cheeks no longer held a deathly pallor.

  It was easy to see why men were drawn to her. By the time they attended the Hollybrooks’ ball, Sarah would be in the full blush of her youthful prettiness, making it harder for him to run off men like Lord Pembrook.

  “How kind of you to say so, but I know my limitations.”

  He wanted to shake her. “I think you do not see yourself as others do.” He stretched out a leg and placed an arm casually across the back of the seat. As he stared, he could see her struggle not to fidget. “I shall have your mirrors polished so that you may observe yourself clearly.”

  Her pretty mouth parted slightly and an impatient sigh escaped. “I see now why women have been casting themselves at your feet since you were a lad. You do have a full measure of charm.”

  The tart comment brought his grin. “I thought you were immune to me and my devastating handsomeness and appeal.”

  Sarah’s body tensed. She was clearly not of a mind to accept his teasing banter; lingering effects of their earlier argument, most likely.

  “It is impossible to see around your inflated sense of worth to determine if your face is indeed handsome, Mister Harrington.”

  His laughter filled the coach. “Who knew your tongue had such a painful bite, Wife.”

  Despite the dim light, he saw a flash of embarrassment in her eyes. His outspoken wife still had a measure of sweetness in her. He liked knowing that had not been “lessoned” out of her.

  Even now, he felt her struggle not to look down at her toes. Her confidence had its limits. “I think you should let me kiss you again, dearest Sarah.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would not.”

  “You are my wife. It is my right.”

  Before she could summon up a scathing reply, he stood, pivoted, and dropped onto the seat beside her. He knew that they were seconds from arriving at the town house. If he was to torment her, it was now.

  Emboldened by her scent and her full mouth, he realized rather quickly that she’d not fight him. Her hand gripped his waistcoat, and she gave no sign that she intended to scream for help or knock him off the seat.

  He cupped her face, held her gaze, and breathed against her mouth, “Kiss me, Sarah.”

  Her lips quivered, her eyes darkened, and her lashes fluttered closed. He pressed forward, closer, until he could almost taste her mouth. He wanted to kiss her; yearned for it, eagerly.

  How easy it would be to kiss her. But not yet.

  Thankfully, the coach rolled to a stop. He fought the urge to smile when her eyes popped open and she appeared a bit rattled at the near-kiss. He drew back.

  “Damn. We missed our opportunity.”

  The coachmen opened the door and Gabe alighted. He turned to help Sarah down and felt her hand quiver. The chit was not as off put by him as she wanted him to believe. And he wondered how long she’d lie in her bed tonight, thinking about the kiss that did not happen.

  They went inside, removed their coat and cape, and he led her up the staircase. Her hand trembled throughout.

  He knew it was wicked to tease her so. Yet, he could not resist. He wanted her to want him. Passionately.

  The only way to accomplish this goal was to make her eager for his touch, his kisses. He could seduce her, yes. She might even enjoy his touch. But he wanted her to feel passion for him, and passion was the one lesson Noelle could not teach her. It was something she had to discover inside herself.

  “There we are.” He pulled her to a stop before her bedroom door and took her hand. He kissed her gloved knuckles and stared deeply into her violet eyes. “Until tomorrow, then.”

  * * *

  Sarah watched him enter his room, which he did without once turning back to see her standing there, waiting for him to notice the hunger and longing she felt to her toes; the kind of emotion that both frightened and intrigued her.

  Lud, she wanted his kiss.

  When he’d touched her in the coach, she’d been unable to push him away, her bold husband. When he’d brushed against her body in the close confines, her hand had involuntarily gone up to touch his chest.

  When he’d leaned in to kiss her, his lips so very close to hers, she’d ached in anticipation. If not for the untimely arrival at Harrington House, she would have melted against him and allowed him to have his way with her eager mouth.

  Drat. She told him not to kiss her anymore. If only there was bite behind the sentiment. She was just as befuddled by his charms as any other woman. So much for leading him on a merry chase.

  Slowly, she turned to open the door and slipped into her room. Leaning back on the panel, she looked at the ceiling, confused at the new emotions he’d invoked in her. These were yearnings she knew would only be satisfied by his touch and experience . . . but how? How could she explain the happenings inside her body, when she did not fully understand them herself?

  All she knew was she wanted him to kiss her. That was easy enough to put words to. Why then did her breasts ache when he kissed her? Why did she feel tingles between her legs?

  Pushing away from the door, she walked over to sit on the bed and wait for the maid to come to her.

  How shocked would Gabriel be if she rapped on his door and begged him to kiss her the way Noelle had kissed her Mister Blackwell? Extremely shocked, if she were to guess.

  Would he think her forward? Too forward?

  With a groan, she dropped back on the bed. “What to do?”

  Any decisions were set aside when the young lady’s maid in training, Ivy, arrived, stifling a yawn behind clenched teeth. The girl worked with quiet efficiency to strip her to the skin and draw a soft cotton nightdress over her head. By the time her toilet was completed, all thoughts of kisses were pushed aside for the desire for sleep. She crawled into bed and buried her face in the pillow.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, Gabriel called Sarah into the parlor. When she arrived, a man of medium height, nearing fifty if he was a day, stood near the sideboard with Gabriel, watching the door for her arrival. The man wore a hooded expression.

  Gabriel was clearly not happy. When he spotted her, he walked over and spoke to her in a low voice. “Why did you not tell me you’d gone to the London Times building and asked for papers pulled, during the time of your father’s death?”

  Her lips parted and no sound came out. Then she said quietly, “I did not think it a matter needing discussion. I can do as I wish, without your permission. I also visited Bow Street, if you must know.”

  “You did not think.” He crossed his arms. “Apparently your visit brought you to the attention of the Bow Street Runn
ers.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Mister Brown, do come and meet my wife.”

  Bow Street Runners? Here? Sarah didn’t have time to process this tidbit when the man joined them. He was not entirely imposing, but carried himself with confidence.

  “Mister Brown, this is Mrs. Harrington, the former Miss Sarah Palmer.”

  The man bowed. “A pleasure, Mrs. Harrington.”

  Sarah brushed aside any further pleasantries. “I cannot fathom why my visit to the Times or your offices would be of interest to the Runners. Surely my search for a few articles about my father’s death is of no interest to anyone but me, and the Runner I spoke to discovered no helpful information to share.”

  Mister Brown seemed bemused by her abrupt tone. “Perhaps we should sit, Mrs. Harrington.”

  The Runner took a chair and Sarah the settee. She waited, her apprehension rising by the heartbeat. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “This is about more than your search for answers in your father’s death,” Mister Brown said. “The mystery of his murder, and your curiosity, has kicked open a wasp nest.”

  “I do not understand.” She frowned. “A wasp nest? I did nothing but ask to read a few articles. Please explain.”

  He nodded. “Two days ago, your cottage was partially destroyed by a fire. We suspect it was started by the same person who searched the building before setting the flame.”

  Sarah went cold, quickly changing from alarmed to confused. “Why would anyone do such a thing? The cottage contained no valuables.”

  Gabriel stepped forward, ignoring her question. “Why are the Runners involved in a cottage fire? Surely the vandalism, and Sarah’s visit to the Times, is not enough to garner your attention?”

  Mister Brown refused tea from a maid and Gabriel shooed her off. He looked from Gabriel to Sarah and back. “Might we speak privately, Mister Harrington?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Whatever news you have can be said in front of my wife. The cottage was her home and it’s her interest in her father’s death that led to your visit.”

  Grateful she’d not have to assert her right not to be excluded from the conversation, she waited for Mister Brown to continue. The man appeared somewhat hesitant to begin. Whatever his reason for coming, it was about more than the hunt for the vandal who damaged her cottage.

  It took a moment before he nodded and spoke.

  “We think that the fire has something to do with the death of Mrs. Harrington’s father,” he said bluntly. “That is why your interest in the articles drew our interest.”

  Sarah gasped. Gabriel walked to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her heart raced. “My father has been dead for more than ten years. This case was left to gather dust a long time ago.”

  After giving her shoulder a squeeze, Gabriel walked around the settee and took a seat beside her. She took comfort in his nearness.

  Mister Brown continued, “What I am about to tell you must be kept secret.” Sarah and Gabriel nodded and he rubbed his hand over his chin. “For almost twenty years, your father was a spy for the Crown. We’ve confirmed that his death was not the act of a footpad, as we were led to believe. He was targeted for something he was investigating.”

  “That cannot be.” Sarah’s mind went back to her memories of her kind and bookish father. “He worked as a secretary for Lord Hampton. He was not a spy.”

  “Indeed he was, I assure you.” Mister Brown leaned forward. “He was one of our best. He had the ability to move within certain circles without drawing notice. I deeply regret his loss. He was a friend.”

  The weight of this news was almost more than Sarah could carry. She stood and walked to the fireplace. Everything she thought she knew about her father was taken from her. He lived a life of which she and Albert had no part.

  How could he keep this secret? From her, yes, she was just a child then. But Albert? How much did he know?

  “I thought his travels were part of his duties to Lord Hampton,” she said softly. “I cannot believe this is true. There must be a mistake.”

  Mister Brown joined her. “I know this is a shock, but I assure you that your father was the man you knew, with this one exception. His information saved many, many lives early in Napoleon’s reign.”

  Sarah looked into his kind eyes. If nothing else was true, they shared a great loss in the murder. “You must tell me everything.”

  For the next hour, Mister Brown told her tales of her father’s adventures, times they worked dangerous missions in faraway places together, and of a secret friendship built on a shared desire to help king and country.

  “He once spent a week with the emperor’s mistress, right beneath his haughty French nose.”

  Sarah shook her head. She remembered her father’s handsome face. He would certainly attract women from all levels.

  The tale was not so hard to believe. Yet, the picture did not entirely fit. “My bookish father dallied with Napoleon’s consort?”

  “He did.” Brown chuckled. “Your father cuckolded the emperor.”

  Pride welled, not for the affair but for knowing her father was admired for his ability and heroism.

  Brown continued, eyes filling with grief when he spoke of learning of the murder. “When I heard he’d been killed, I went to find you and your brother, hoping I could offer guidance, but someone had gotten to Albert first. Your brother had packed you up and vanished.”

  “I well remember that night,” Sarah said. “Albert came into my room and took me from my bed. Our nanny sobbed as she packed my valise. We said a brief good-bye to Nanny, and Albert rode away with me into the night. I never saw her, or my home, again.” She touched her brow and fought to keep her emotions controlled.

  Mister Brown nodded. “I suspect that your brother became privy to enough information about your father’s activities to realize the danger. He hid you to keep you safe.”

  “He left her destitute,” Gabriel said, his voice tight. “I found her living in desperate conditions. I would not call that keeping her safe.”

  The Runner shook his head. “Your father had funds. I know that as your father’s heir, Albert was able to get access to some of the funds. I was able to discover as much after you vanished, though I could not find you.”

  “There is an inheritance?” she asked.

  “We believe so. Your father secreted away most of his assets. We know not where. Albert took what he could find in a few days and set up an account, through your aunt, for your upkeep. This much I was able to learn from your nanny, Mrs. Fielding, before she, too, vanished. I tried to trace you through the account, but Albert hid it well.”

  “Her pension,” Sarah said. “I thought it was a settlement from her late husband.” Albert had taken care of her in a fashion. “He did not know that her death would cut off the payments.”

  A headache pulsed behind her eyes. There was too much information to process. “How did you find me?”

  “In addition to your visit to Bow Street, one of our contacts recognized you when you arrived at the Times building. Though he had not seen you in ten years, he was almost certain it was you. Mister Smart confirmed your identity. I took the information and traced you back to the cottage and the village. The parson informed me of the marriage. However, it was your eyes that convinced me. Your father shared your violet eyes.”

  Sarah smiled at this. She remembered Father’s eyes. They were deep violet with little flecks of gold at the irises, nearly unnoticeable unless he was out in the sunshine. Hers were the same.

  “How does this all link to the cottage?” Gabriel said, bringing the conversation back to the present.

  The Runner expelled a breath. “We believe Henry had found information about a high-ranking traitor in our government. That is why he was killed. I also believe that when you asked Smart to dig up old articles about the case, our traitor realized that it w
as possible that you might be in possession of your father’s papers. If I found you, others could, too.”

  She glanced to the window and smiled ruefully. Someone at the Times had alerted both the Runners and an arsonist to her whereabouts. “There are spies everywhere.”

  “Worse, my dear Sarah,” Mister Brown said. “Your life may be in danger.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Danger? A cool shiver spread across her skin. “Why would anyone want to harm me? I was a child when my father died and Albert went away. I knew nothing about any of this spying until you arrived today. I am not a threat to anyone.”

  Gabriel rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I believe that Albert’s death, and your query, may pose a threat to the person behind your father’s death.” He walked to the sideboard and poured a brandy. “Albert and I traveled extensively, never staying long in one place. He’d given me enough information to know he was fearful of discovery. After he died, I no longer felt the need to keep his true identity secret.”

  “It is possible,” Mister Brown said. “If whomever your father was investigating is as powerful as I suspect, they would have contacts in America. It would not be difficult to keep watch over the passenger lists of outgoing ships.”

  “For ten years?” Sarah said. “And that would mean they’d have to know you were traveling with my brother.” She found this all too much to believe.

  “Albert’s first stop when he fled was New York,” Mister Brown said. “That was easy enough to discover, when I searched for you after you went missing. He vanished from there.”

  “We met in New York,” Gabriel said. “I’d just arrived in America and he was passing through on his way to St Louis. We spent several days there, causing mischief and becoming friends before moving westward. If someone was looking for him, New York is the best place to catch a ship to anywhere. That is where a person would look first.”

  “This still does not explain how someone would connect you two,” Sarah pressed.