The Perfect Wife (26 page)

Madison took charge of the moving of Chatsworth’s body, and within moments Nicholas and Sabrina stood alone by the fire. Helplessness filled him, an unfamiliar emotion. “Sabrina,” he chose his words with care, “I believe it would be best if—”

“I want to go,” she said quietly. “I want to go now.”

Relief coursed through him. “Of course, my love, we can head back to Cairo at sunup and begin the journey home to London.”

“London?” Her head jerked up and her gaze met his. Her eyes blazed with ... what? Pain? Sorrow? Anger? “I cannot return to London yet. Not without the gold. I wish to get it tonight. Now.”

“It’s out of the question,” he said patiently. “You have suffered through quite an ordeal and I—”

“That is precisely why I want to go now. Chatsworth may not be the only one who knows about the gold.” Annoyance rang in her voice. “If you will not accompany me, I shall go alone.”

“You most certainly shall not,” he said, his voice rising. “It would be nothing short of idiotic to go off alone into the desert at night.”

She glared at him angrily. “Well, do not hesitate to add it to the list of my foolish acts. With you or without you, I will go. And I shall go tonight.”

Fury flared in his blood. All he wanted to do was protect her, take care of her. All she wanted was his assistance in an impetuous, ill-advised, completely ridiculous act. It was not his nature to behave in so reckless a manner. He would not dash off, unthinking, in the middle of the night. Not like ... his eyes narrowed. “I imagine Stanford would have had no hesitation about falling in with your plan?”

“Jack?” Surprise underlaid her words. “What does he have to do with this?”

“Oh, come now, Sabrina.” Impatience fueled his irritation. “I am fully aware of the differences between Stanford and myself. He was well known for his wild behavior. His rash acts.”

“Jack is dead and gone,” she said slowly.

“Dead perhaps, but is he gone?”

“Yes.” She turned away quickly, as if to end the discussion, but he clasped her shoulders and spun her around to face him. He gazed deeply into her eyes, emerald fires of defiance.

“Hear me out. I have had more than my share of what my sister would so charmingly call adventure. And, like tonight, it is very often not pretty. I have risked my own life and that of my companions, but never without cause. For my country, for my honor. My courage, even daring, has never been questioned.” He pulled an unsteady breath. “I am as different from Stanford as night from day. He was your first choice. I cannot fill his shoes. I only hope that you can put him in the past. That you can someday love me as you loved him.”

“No.”

The single syllable struck him like a dagger through the heart. Anguish tightened his hands on her shoulders. She winced, and he released his grip abruptly. “I see,” he said softly.

Sabrina sighed. “No, Nicholas, you do not see. You see nothing at all.

“I was seventeen and straight from the schoolroom when I married Jack. He was gay and dashing and romantic. And I loved him with all the passion of an infatuated child.” Bitterness and sorrow tinged her words. “But even children have to grow up. And Jack never did. We lived from one party to the next, with no cares and no worries beyond which invitation to accept and which gown to wear. It was great fun.”

Confusion muddled his mind. “I do not understand.”

She laughed, a tight, strident sound without mirth. “Of course not. No one would. It was not the way I wished to live my life. It was a lovely dream, but it was not real. It was never real.” She paused and stared past him at a distant spot in the night, or perhaps a distant time. “Still, I did not want him dead. I never wanted him dead.”

“Bree,” he said gently, “his death was not your doing.”

“No, I know that.” She fell silent, and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. Uncertainty held him back. After a moment she gazed up at him and smiled. “Thank you.” Her manner turned brisk and bright. “Let us be off. If we leave now, we shall surely return before sunrise.”

He stared, speechless. How could the woman change an altogether serious discussion so abruptly? And would she ever listen to him? “Sabrina,” a warning lingered in his voice, “I believe I have made myself clear on this point. We will not go tonight.”

“And I have made my feelings plain as well.” She glared at him. “I am going, alone if need be.”

“You cannot go by yourself,” he said firmly, irritation at her irrational insistence rising once more.

She stepped away from him and planted her fists on her hips. “And why not?”

“Why?” His mind groped for a response. It all seemed so very logical to him, he was nonetheless hard pressed to come up with a reason to sway her stubborn determination. He suspected that her adamant demand to forge ahead after the gold at this moment had more to do with the emotion churned up by Chatsworth’s appearance and her own feelings about Stanford than any real desire on her part to conclude her quest. Still, she tried what little patience he had left. “Why? It would be extremely dangerous to go off through the desert alone.”

“Hah!” She scoffed. “What is not dangerous here?” She ticked off the points on her fingers. “To date we have been abducted by grave robbers and held at gunpoint by a crazed, rejected suitor. I suspect there is little more that can happen. I am not afraid of what the desert or the night might hold.”

He shook his head in frustration. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” she said sharply. “Am I being foolish again as well?”

“Foolish is not the half of it.”

“I do not care,” she said, her voice rising.

His tone matched hers. “I do.”

“Why?”

“I do not want any harm to come to you.”

“Why?” She screamed the word.

“Blast it, Sabrina, you are my wife.”

“I daresay that will do me a lot of good.” Her eyes snapped with rage. “You will no doubt discard me the moment we return to London.”

“Discard you?” How on earth did this woman’s mind work? “I would never discard you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you!” His voice thundered in the night.

“How would you know?” she said with disdain. “You’ve said the words so many times to so many women, what could you possibly know of love?”

“What do I know of love?” He grabbed her arms and pulled her tightly to him. She glared, her green eyes dark and stormy and challenging. Anger and urgency powered his words. “I know when I first saw you in Madison’s arms I wanted nothing so much as to slice him to ribbons. I know when I returned from recovering the horses and found you missing my heart stopped with the fear of what might have become of you. And I know when Chatsworth aimed his pistol at you I realized my life would not be worth living without you in it.”

“And how do you think I felt when that blasted weapon went off and I did not know if you were alive or dead?”

“How?” He shot the word as a marksman aimed at a target.

“As if I too would die if you were killed.” Her words rang loud and strong. “Bloody hell, I love you too.”

He gave her a quick shake, as if to force the answer he wanted desperately to hear. “What about Stanford?”

She wrenched out of his grasp. “He’s dead! He’s dead and buried! And I know now, and God help me I’ve known almost from the first, but I’ve never said the words aloud and I’ve never even dared to say them to myself. They were wrong and disloyal and without honor. But I never, ever truly loved him and—” she stopped as if thunderstruck by her own words. Her eyes widened and her voice broke “— I have always loved you.”

Her words hung in the air between them. Their gazes locked. Elation flooded him, and he saw his wonder reflected in her eyes. He grinned slowly and held out his hand. She reached hers to his. Electricity sparked between their fingers. In less than a moment she was in his arms.

His lips crushed hers with a ravenous hunger that swelled with the taste of her, the touch of her. He swept her off her feet and strode toward his tent. Her hands clasped around his neck with an intensity that equaled his own.

The silken walls fluttered at their passage and they plunged into darkness, the shelter abruptly shutting out the glow of the fire and the shine of the desert stars. He released her and she slid from his arms, down the long length of his body to stand before him in the night. In a frenzy of urgent need and unrelenting desire, they blindly tore the clothes from one another without heed until the garments lay forgotten at their feet. Her body pressed into his, her breasts crushed against the hard planes of his chest, the rough mat of hair rasping her already taut nipples.

She tunneled her hands through his hair and drew his head down to greet his lips with greed. Her mouth parted beneath his and they joined together in mindless fervor, as if each sought to steal the very life breath from the other, or perhaps the very soul.

He splayed one hand across her back and cupped her buttocks with the other, pulling her tighter against him. His manhood, hard and powerful, throbbed against her stomach, an iron staff shared between them.

They sank to their knees, unwilling, unable to break the bond of flesh to flesh, heat to heat. She dragged her lips from his and along his jaw, rough and firm, to the strong line of his neck. He groaned, and she trailed her tongue to the hollow at the base of his throat, pressing her hands flat against his chest. She reveled in the taste of him, of salt and heat and power. Lost herself in the sheer pleasure of his strength beneath her fingertips.

He pulled away and claimed her lips with his own, a declaration of possession and passion and promise. His impatient hands roamed her sides until they grazed her breasts, his very touch a blaze of scorching, sizzling obsession. She moaned and her head fell back, her neck arched, her chest thrust forward like an offering to a pagan god. He cupped her breasts and bent to taste first one and then the other, until the sweet singe of his lips, his tongue, left her breathless with need.

He laid her back amid the linens and blankets and discarded garments, and she strained upward in relentless yearning for the fusion of his desire with her own. He trailed kisses of fire and chills down the valley between her breasts to the flat of her stomach and lower, ever lower, until his fingers parted the silken curls and his tongue flicked the point of her passion. She gasped and gripped his shoulders, as if to push him away, as if to urge him on. Never had she known such exquisite sensation, such delicious sin that pulsed and throbbed from his touch to fill every part of her. Tension built within her, deep and taut, until she existed only in the skillful caress of his lips, the masterful brush of his hand.

She called his name and he drew back to tower above her, a figure only of shadow and dark. Reaching for him, her hands fell upon the fire of his loins, soft as velvet and hard as rock beneath her fingers. Her own urgency spiraled. He moaned, a sigh of tortured delight. “Bree.”

He poised between her legs and plunged into her yielding softness, hot and moist and tight. She surrounded him, engulfed him, welcomed him. He no longer knew where one began and the other left off, and no longer cared. Dimly, in a last coherent moment, he marveled at the potency of this aphrodisiac called love.

She arched upward to met his thrusts with a wanton eagerness that defied mere mortal pleasure. He plunged harder and faster, his fury forging with hers until she thought it would surely tear her asunder and gloried in the sheer power of it all.

Together, they moved in a rhythm ancient and primeval, merged in a dance uncivilized and elemental, fused in an uncompromising frenzy of unbelievable sensation and inconceivable joy. And when each thought they could not survive the unadulterated pleasure of their joining the desert night erupted around them in wave after wave of magnificent, shuddering rapture, and for the barest moment, or perhaps forever, glimpsed eternity. Until finally they clung to each other with an exhaustion born of passion spent and enchantment shared.

The inevitable laughter bubbled up inside her and she wondered through a haze of exhilaration if Wynne had yet discovered: Love was the greatest adventure of them all.

“Do you expect to laugh each time I make love to you?”

“Oh, Nicholas.” Sabrina gasped, straggling to overcome her mirth. “I certainly hope so.”

“Very well, then,” he growled and nuzzled her neck, “perhaps you will find this humorous?”

Sabrina laughed and snuggled against him, reveling in his warmth, his strength, his scent. The turbulent emotions of the night crept upon her, and she was abruptly too weary to move. A moment’s rest would do no harm. Her eyes closed and her mind drifted. Images floated through her head of an impulsive kiss shared in a cave long ago, of a valise tossed into a room and the rogue following close behind, of love ... and laughter ... and ... gold.

“The gold.” Sabrina jerked upright. “We must be off, Nicholas. I want to find that gold tonight.”

“Very well, my love,” he said, his manner resigned and relaxed.

She glared at him suspiciously. “What? No protests? No excuses? No lectures about the dangers of the desert in the night?”

Nicholas grinned. “I believe the night is virtually gone. The sun will be up in less than an hour.”

Confusion colored her thoughts. “But how—”

“You slept—quite soundly, I might add.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You were exhausted, and I could not bear to wake you.”

“Hah.” She scrambled to her feet and cast around her for her clothes. “You just wanted to be certain we would not travel at night. Very well; you have succeeded in delaying us and now we shall—”

“Now we shall do precisely as you wish.” Nicholas rose to his feet and pulled her still nude body against his. “Although I would not see the harm in delaying just a little longer.” He trailed his lips along the side of her neck. She quivered beneath his touch and melted against him. Perhaps he was right. Would a short delay make even the tiniest difference?

“No.” She jerked away regretfully and cast him her most patient glance. “Nicholas, I will not be seduced into putting off this quest.”

“Sabrina.” He donned an expression of exaggerated injury. “I had no intention of seduction.” His eyes twinkled. “I merely wanted to tell you a joke or two.”

“I am in no mood for jokes.”

“You could be,” he said, his voice low and ripe with promise.

He stepped toward her, and she held out her hands, as if to ward him off. “No, Nicholas, I am quite serious. I wish to go now.”

He shrugged and stepped around her. “I know you do. I was merely looking for my clothing.”

“Of course.” She did not believe his words for a moment, but she couldn’t very well blame him. As much as she wanted the gold, the idea of losing herself in Nicholas’s arms once again was more than tempting.

They dressed quickly and left the tent. The sun peeked over the horizon in a golden glow that forecast the heat to come. Sabrina clenched her teeth in irritation. How could she have slept the night away? “I shall see if I can find some bread and cheese to take with us. You prepare the horses.”

Nicholas raised a brow at her commanding tone. “I was never in the military, but I do recognize an order when I hear one.” He swept her a polished bow. “At your service, my lady.”

She blushed a delightful shade of pink, wrinkled her nose and briskly headed off. He chuckled to himself. She would never cease to amaze him, barking orders as if she were accustomed to controlling and directing armies of men.

He glanced toward the fire. Madison and Erick lay wrapped in blankets, sound asleep. He strode past Madison, and a hand snaked out from beneath layers of wool, catching his ankle, stopping him in midstride.

“Going for the gold, are you?” Matt said in a sleep-roughened voice.

Nicholas shook off Madison’s hand and grinned. “Sabrina is insisting.”

“That’s a surprise,” Matt muttered.

Nicholas hesitated. “I do hope you know, even if we find this gold by ourselves, we shall still share it equally with you. Your partnership with Sabrina is not in question.”

Matt squinted up at him. “I can’t say that I actually like you, but I’ve seen enough to know that you have a certain sense of honor. I have no doubts about getting my share.” He rolled over and buried himself deeper in his blanket, his voice muffled by the cover. “I just don’t know what I’m going to tell your sister when she discovers she’s missed out on this adventure.”

Nicholas’s stomach tightened at the reminder of his sister’s relationship with this American. He now acknowledged it, at least to himself, but acceptance was a bit harder to come by. Still, he had no choice. Wynne was far past the age of consent and had her own considerable fortune. There was nothing he could do. “Simply tell Wynne that Sabrina and I chose to savor this moment alone together. She will no doubt find it quite romantic.”

Smothered laughter came from Madison’s blanket, and Nicholas couldn’t help chuckling in return. He took a step to leave, but Madison’s voice checked his movement. “Remember what I said: take care of her, Wyldewood. She is as dear to me as your own sister is to you.” A muffled sigh rose from the fabric. “And I am resigned, but not especially pleased, about her choice for a husband. Much as I wager you’re not particularly happy about your sister’s choice for a—”

“For a what, Madison?” Nicholas asked coldly.

“Husband, if she will have me. Or whatever she wants.” The voice from the blanket fell silent. “I love her, Wyldewood.”

Nicholas grinned slowly, his concern for his sister mellowed by the considerable satisfaction of just suspecting the merry chase on which Wynne would no doubt lead the American. “Then I fear you are in for as much chaos and turmoil as I have faced.” He strode off toward the horses and laughed to himself. “And, with luck, as much delight.”

Sabrina slid from her horse with a weary sigh; she had seriously underestimated the distance to the gold. Already the sun was high overhead, and there was no sight yet of the spit of land described in the letter, nor the Temple of Isis.

Nicholas regarded her with a hint of what she feared was sympathy in his eyes. “If we do not find the temple soon, we shall have no choice but to turn back.”

She brushed the hair away from her damp forehead. “Not yet. It is barely midday. There are still hours of light left. I cannot give up until all hope is exhausted.” She turned away and retrieved the bread and cheese she’d brought along for a hasty meal. Breaking off a hunk of the slightly stale crust, she handed it to him. Her gaze met his. “I have come too far to quit without one final fight.”

He stared silently, then pulled a knife from a sheath he had taken to carrying at his waist and gestured for the too warm cheese. She passed it to him, and he carved a piece and handed it back. “I fear I still do not understand. I asked you once before, and your answer was distinctly unsatisfying.” He paused, and his steely gaze bored into hers. “I ask you again, my love: why do you want this gold so desperately? You no longer need it. I have vast resources, and now everything I have is yours. Why, Sabrina? Why is this so very important to you?”

She stared into his endless eyes, heavy with questions and concern. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind. She had never told anyone other than Matt and Wills and Simon the sorry state in which Jack’s death had left her. But as she had so vehemently told Nicholas, Jack was long dead and in the past. Still, did she not owe him a certain amount of loyalty? Where did an obligation to one husband end and allegiance to another begin? And what of her own personal code of honor? Did she not still have her own sense of duty and morality?

Even if she told him how Jack had left her virtually penniless, that would not completely explain her need to achieve financial stability independent of husband and family. A need she feared Nicholas could never understand. God knows, thoroughly proper women did not act on their own. They did not meddle in the management of their own funds, let alone direct their investment. Beyond that, once Nicholas knew about Jack, how much longer would it be before he connected her to Matt’s smuggling and the infamous Lady B?

There was only one answer a man like Nicholas would accept.

“Nicholas,” she said quietly, “how important is honor to you?”

“Honor?” Confusion washed over his face. “I do not understand. What does honor have to do with this?”

“Bear with me, please, and answer my question.”

He shook his head, obviously puzzled. “Very well. A man’s honor is paramount. Rich as the devil or stricken with poverty, a man’s word is all he has. Honor is the one unquestioned principal that rules any man’s life.”

She nodded slowly. “And what of a woman? Should a woman have to live up to those same high standards?”

He grinned. “Sabrina, women have never been held to the same ideals as men. Their moral strength is simply not up to it.”

“Oh?” She arched a disdainful brow.

His expression fell and he had the good grace to look chagrined. “Forgive me, my love. For a moment I forgot which woman I was talking to. You are unlike any female I’ve ever encountered. Perhaps my attitudes need a bit of adjustment, at least so far as you are concerned.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He stared for a moment, as though realizing she was indeed serious. “I must admit I have never thought about a woman’s sense of honor. I have simply never expected a woman to keep to her word. But upon reflection, I can see how honor could be as strong in a woman as in a man. And could mean as much.”

She squared her shoulders and gazed into his eyes. “As trite and ridiculous ... and perhaps foolish as it may sound to you, I too have principles I live by. My honor means as much to me as yours does to you. My word is just as binding. I consider loyalty—”

“To Jack?” he said mildly.

She nodded. “In spite of his faults, he deserves no less from me. I owe him at least that much. He taught me a great deal.” She pulled a calming breath. “It is that sense of loyalty that keeps me silent. I ask only that you respect my wishes in this.”

His eyes narrowed and he studied her for a long, considering moment. At last he nodded sharply, as if he understood, or perhaps simply accepted her reasoning. “I see.” His voice was gentle. “I believe I should tell you, I consider you the least foolish woman it has ever been my pleasure to know.”

A weight lifted from her heart and relief flooded her. He could respect honor and loyalty without question and, hopefully, would not quiz her again.

She cast a disdainful glance at the bread in her hand. “I find I have little appetite.” She flicked the crust into the river. “Perhaps the fish will make better use of this than I. Shall we be off?”

He shrugged, and his bread and cheese followed hers. “I daresay I would have a difficult time stopping you. We might as well finish this quest of yours,” he paused, “and lay to rest any ghosts once and for all.”

He helped her mount her horse, climbed on his own and they headed off. Lost in her own thoughts, Sabrina barely noticed their continued progress along the river’s edge. She wondered at his words. Would this treasure really lay to rest her fears of poverty? Could mere gold close the door to Jack and her past? If so, this quest was worth far more than simple monetary gain, no matter how vast the fortune. It could well save her soul.

A scarce quarter hour into their ride, Sabrina spotted the Temple of Isis.

“Nicholas, look!” She pointed off to a distant spot. Small and square, the building gleamed in the sun. Excitement surged through her and she urged her horse on.

The crumbling structure did indeed stand on a small finger of land thrusting into the Nile. They dismounted before the edifice, and for a moment the centuries fell away. Sabrina could well imagine the ancient worshipers here. She could envision them bearing tribute for their goddess and offering prayers for health and wealth and long life.

“Now that we’re finally here,” Nicholas said impatiently, pulling her back to the present, “let’s get this bloody job done.” He untied two spades hanging from his saddle. “Where exactly does the letter say the gold is?”

Sabrina drew out the paper from her beneath her waist and studied it briefly. There was no real need; she knew it by heart. “It says from the temple face that fronts the river, three trees stand to the left.” She glanced from the page to the structure and the point indicated. “There, Nicholas.” Excitement rang in her voice. Three palms towered majestically over the sand.

She strode toward them, glancing from letter to trees and back. “The gold is buried at the base of the third tree, farthest from the temple, on the side away from the river.” She stepped around the palms and halted. Triumph sounded in her voice. “Here! This must be the place.”

Nicholas plucked the letter from her hand, perused it briefly and returned it to her. “Very well, then.” He tossed one spade on the ground and pushed the other into the sand beneath the third tree. “Let’s get to it.”

He dug with a methodical efficiency. Within moments his shirt was soaked and he peeled it off. Sabrina had no such respite from the unrelenting heat. Perspiration trickled along her neck and between her breasts. Her shirt clung to her, wet, sticky and uncomfortable. The sun beat down without mercy.

“You don’t seem to be making much progress,” she said irritably.

He stopped, leaned on the spade handle and glared. Sweat glossed the muscles of his arms and shined the planes of his chest. “No doubt you can do better?”

Better? She was no match for his physical strength, but when it came to determination ... “No doubt.”

“Excellent.” He picked up the second spade from the ground and tossed it at her feet. “Please, do me the great honor of joining me in this little soiree.”

“I’d be delighted.” She snatched up the spade and dug in furiously. It was far more difficult than he made it look, back breaking, hot and hard. She refused to give up, refused to let him see she could not handle this menial chore. Finally she hit on a steady rhythm, one of her spade turns to three of his, but satisfying nonetheless.

They worked silently, the hole growing deeper, the pile of excavated dirt rising higher.

“Sabrina,” Nicholas said thoughtfully, “does it strike you that this is all a little too easy?”