The Perfect Wife Read online

  Sabrina sat down before her dressing table, unlocked the bottom left drawer, and pulled it open. A large Italian marquetry box filled the space. She tugged it out and hefted its substantial weight onto the table, noting that her journal, as always, lay in the bottom of the drawer, usually well hidden by the box. She was probably a fool to keep it all, evidence of a time long ago when she was a different person altogether, but just knowing her past was hidden beneath her jewels somehow made her days of staunch propriety easier to bear. She closed the drawer and turned her attention to the box. With a reverent touch, she opened the lid.

  Now this was treasure. She’d bought and paid for every piece herself. Selected every bauble with care. Delighted in every sparkling ruby and every glowing emerald. For the second time in her life, Sabrina would have to sell her jewels to ensure survival for herself and her daughter. The sheer panic of those long-ago days lingered in the back of her mind. But now, as then, she squared her shoulders and stifled the fear. The Marchioness of Stanford was made of sterner stuff.

  Sabrina pulled out strand after glittering strand. Perfectly matched pearls. Diamonds flashing rainbow fire. Sapphires the deep, soulful blue of true love. It was not a particularly extensive collection, but the quality was impeccable.

  A discreet knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” she said absently.

  “You rang for me, milady?”

  Sabrina turned at the familiar voice. “Yes, Wills, please come in and close the door.”

  Wills complied and stood waiting in an attitude of dutiful expectancy. She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. No doubt he would not like what she was about to say.

  “Wills.” Her words came slowly and deliberately. “I fear I shall have to leave town for a while.” She hesitated and watched warily for any reaction to cross his controlled, expressionless face. “It may be a very long while.”

  Not a sign, not a quiver, not a twitch broke his solid, country-bred visage. “Smuggling again, milady?”

  “Wills!” The shock in her voice failed to hide the smile in her words. “You know those days are long behind me. Besides…” She shrugged and smiled ruefully. “There’s no money to be made smuggling these days.”

  She nodded toward the door. Wills immediately stepped to it and turned the key in the lock in unspoken understanding. He was the only one in London who knew of her nefarious past. A footman in her great-aunt’s house in those days, he had also served as her second-in-command, as her guardian and her confidant. In many ways, he still did.

  When she had moved to London, she brought Wills along, elevating him to the position of butler. He ran her house, made sure her home and her life functioned smoothly. And, at least once a month, the bonds of mistress and servant vanished and two longtime comrades shared a drink together.

  Sabrina moved to her wardrobe and rummaged in the farthest corner for a brandy decanter and glasses. Belinda would be scandalized if she ever learned of this highly improper ritual. Her daughter would never understand that while Wills’s birth dictated his station in life, his actions had earned Sabrina’s respect and friendship.

  “A bit early in the day, isn’t it?”

  “Probably.” She poured a glass, passed it to him, then gestured for him to sit in one of two chairs before the fireplace. Sabrina filled her own glass and settled in the remaining chair.

  Wills spoke first. “If not smuggling, then what is this unexpected departure about?”

  It always amazed Sabrina how the years vanished whenever she and Wills relaxed together like this. The confident, capable, imperious butler fell away, and in his stead sat the courageous older man, ever watchful of his young mistress’s safety, eager for adventure in his own right.

  Sabrina took a deep pull of the pungent liquor and savored the burn cascading down her throat. “Treasure. Gold. Hidden for twenty years just waiting for the right person to come along.” She toasted him with a jaunty gesture. “And that person is me. But…” She sighed. “I can’t go without money.”

  She rose and strode to the jewels on the dresser. Regretfully she tossed them all back in their chest, silently bid them farewell, then closed the lid with a decisive snap. She turned to Wills and raised her chin in resignation. “I want you to sell these. It must be done quickly, but try to get a good price for them.”

  Sabrina cast a mournful glance at the box, returned to her chair and her brandy. “I know that surely it’s sinful to love things, inanimate objects, the way I love these jewels, but even if I burn in hell for it, I do truly love them.”

  Wills quickly tossed back a deep swallow of the liquor, but not quite fast enough to mask a choked chuckle.

  “Very well.” She laughed. “I know I sound absurd, but I had to sell all the jewels Jack gave me. And these I bought myself. With money I earned.”

  Wills cocked a brow at her words.

  “Earned by smuggling, I admit,” she said, irritated by his unspoken admonishment, “but earned all the same.” She threw one last wistful gaze at the box. “It hardly matters, I suppose. I probably would have had to sell them sooner or later anyway.”

  Concern creased Wills’s face. “Money problems, milady?”

  She nodded and wrinkled her nose. “A bit. Oh, we have enough to live on, but there’s no money for anything extra. And nothing for a dowry.” She leaned forward eagerly. “That’s why I have to go after this gold, Wills. It’s my only hope.”

  His eyes narrowed in interest. “Would you be needing any help on this quest?”

  Surely the gleam in his eye must match her own. “Life has been fairly dull for us these past ten years, hasn’t it?”

  He shrugged in simple acknowledgment.

  “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me but…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I need you here. To keep the house running, to keep an eye on Belinda.”

  Disappointment flashed across his face, and he frowned. “I don’t believe it’s wise for you to undertake such a venture alone.”

  “I don’t seem to have a great deal of choice,” she said impatiently. “It’s not like I can put a notice in the Times saying: Marchioness seeks companion for treasure hunting. Previous experience in smuggling or other similar ventures preferred but not required. There is no one I can turn to for help with this. And no one I would trust.”

  Wills swirled the brandy in his glass. The light flashed off the golden surface, and he studied the liquid for a long moment. Finally his gaze caught hers.

  “There is one,” he said quietly.

  “One? Whom do you—” Sabrina jerked upright. The meaning of Wills’s comment struck her with an almost physical force. Of course. It was perfect. Her spirit leaped. She had not thought of that. Of him. The only real flaw in her plan so far was the difficulty of an unprotected woman traveling alone. This would solve that problem, plus answer her need for transportation. Wills’s idea was more than likely impossible to execute but not bad, not bad at all. “Do you think he’d be willing to help me? It has been a very long time, after all. I have not seen or spoken to him in ten years.”

  Wills leaned forward and locked his gaze with hers. “I believe he’d do anything just for the pleasure of your company.” Heat flushed up her face, and he grinned at her discomfort. “The pleasure of your company and a sizable fortune.”

  Sabrina ignored the comment and thought for a moment. “I really have no idea where he is. He could be in America or anywhere else in the world. Have you had any contact with him in recent years?”

  Wills shrugged. “I still have a few old friends, here and there. I’m not completely out of touch. I’ll check the docks and try to discover if he’s in England.” He tossed back the last of his drink and shot her a warning look. “If we find him, I’ll have no objections to this treasure hunt of yours. If we can’t, we’ll have to think of another way. I won’t let you go off by yourself.” He gave a sharp nod and quickly pulled himself to his feet, once again the ideal butler. He picked up the
jewel box. “I shall take care of this at once.” He crossed the room, turned the key, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Sabrina stared at the glass in her hand. Wills’s threat didn’t bother her. She’d do exactly as she pleased. Wills knew she wasn’t stupid and would not make foolish mistakes. No, he was merely concerned about her safety, an old habit she honestly appreciated.

  But he was right. It would all be so much easier with a partner, especially the right partner. A man with whom she could drop her prim and proper facade. A man who recognized that intelligence and courage were not strictly male qualities. A man who expected nothing more from her than the free spirit she had once been, and now perhaps would be again. The idea triggered a rush of excitement in her blood that rivaled even the lure of a fortune in gold.

  She was more than willing to share the treasure. According to her translation, it was worth at least a half-million pounds. More than enough for two.

  Oh yes, a partner would be the perfect answer. If, of course, she could find him.

  Nicholas leaned back against the tufted velvet seat of his carriage and wondered for the hundredth time what on earth Lady Stanford could possibly be up to. When his son had asked him last night to have a talk with her, it had seemed a minor request. Nicholas looked forward to seeing her again, especially since he was more and more convinced she would make an acceptable, even exceptional wife. But the more he pondered her unusual behavior, the more he wondered if indeed she was quite what she appeared to be.

  What did he really know about her anyway? Certainly her widowed years here in London had been quiet and discreet. Before then, of course, was a different story. A story familiar to most in the ton.

  She and Jack Winfield had run off to Gretna Green a scant week after her come-out. Nicholas believed she was seventeen at the time. Their six-year marriage had been fraught with wild living and the flouting of convention. Gossip had branded the Marquess and Marchioness of Stanford outrageous and extravagant. No one was surprised when Stanford had died in a carriage accident during an extremely high stakes race.

  The ton generally agreed her husband’s death had changed Sabrina. She’d apparently mourned deeply, secluding herself in the country for a full three years. She and her daughter eventually returned to London, but she did not resume her reckless, fast-paced life, living instead in relative quiet.

  Nicholas’s carriage pulled up to her town house, and Nicholas stepped out. He cast a critical eye on the structure, then blessed it with a nod of approval. It was as acceptable and proper as he’d been led to expect, pleasant enough in a fashionable neighborhood, nothing out of the ordinary.

  He climbed the steps and rapped sharply on the door. Within seconds it opened, and a tall, powerfully built older man towered before him. A spark of surprise flickered in the man’s eyes, so briefly Nicholas assumed he was mistaken.

  “May I help you, milord?” The man’s deferential tones at once marked him as a servant, no doubt a butler.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Lady Stanford.”

  “And whom shall I say is calling?”

  “Lord Wyldewood.”

  The butler ushered him into the house and escorted him to a small salon. “I shall inform milady you’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  The butler nodded and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Odd. The man certainly did not look like a servant. He was built more in the style of a dockworker than a household retainer. Oh, his manner could not be faulted and his apparel was impeccable, but there was something about him… Nicholas frowned in puzzled concentration. Somehow, he suspected there was more to this butler than his composed expression would have one believe. Nicholas tried to dismiss the thought but it nagged at him. The man was simply not the type of servant he envisioned the serene, reserved Lady Stanford to have.

  Wills had done his job well. Sabrina’s jewels had fetched more than enough to finance her quest. And even better, he’d found her old partner, or at least her partner’s ship. It was set to sail this afternoon, and she was determined to be on it.

  Sabrina’s small, serviceable portmanteau lay open on her bed. She would not be accompanied by servants and planned on traveling as light and as fast as possible. She ran a hand lovingly over the two pairs of breeches and several loose men’s shirts already folded in the case. Beside them lay a pair of men’s leather boots, butter soft and well worn; even the look of them gave a promise of adventure. Delicious anticipation shivered through her.

  The clothing had been stored untouched for nearly a decade and remained serviceable. She intended to wear men’s clothing as much as possible on this trip, for safety and for comfort. As for servants, she would hire what she needed in Egypt.

  Sabrina tossed a few day dresses in the case, some undergarments, and, as an afterthought, grabbed a shimmering emerald evening gown from the wardrobe. Extremely daring and the height of fashion, it was her favorite and brought out the sparkle in her eyes. She didn’t foresee the need for such a dress on this trip; still, it would do no harm to take it along.

  Sabrina closed and secured the case, then moved to her dressing table. She skimmed the note she had written to her incompetent solicitor, advising him Wills would be in full control of the family accounts and her other assets. On impulse, she reached for a pen and scribbled a brief postscript. She selected some of the money from the sale of her jewels, wrapped it in the note, and sealed the now bulky packet. The rest of the money she divided between her reticule and hidden pockets she tied beneath the skirt of her dress.

  Eager to get under way, Sabrina pulled open her door to find Wills poised to knock.

  “Excellent timing, Wills, my bag is ready. If you would take it downstairs.” Sabrina handed him the note for her solicitor. “And give this to that idiot Fitzgerald, and be certain he understands you have complete authority over my finances while I’m away.”

  Wills lifted a brow. “No message for Lady Belinda?” Sabrina folded her arms stubbornly and stared at the floor. “We have already said our goodbyes.” She glanced at Wills. “No doubt she is still weeping in her room?”

  Wills nodded. There was no reproach on his face, no censure, no accusation. Even so, a wave of guilt passed through Sabrina.

  “She simply could not understand. Everything I’ve done since her father died, I’ve done for her. My activities before we returned to London and how I’ve lived my life since have been for her. God knows, I had quite a reputation to live down and I did.” She glared at him. “And this is for her as well.”

  “Are you certain?” His quiet tone emphasized the query.

  “Oh, I admit, the very idea of this quest has fired the blood in my veins. I feel alive for the first time in years.” Sabrina stared defiantly. “But yes, this is for her.”

  “As you say, milady,” Wills said in his perfect butler voice. Sabrina simply hated it when he used that tone with her. She turned and grabbed her reticule.

  “You have a guest waiting in the front salon.” Wills nodded politely. “Lord Wyldewood.”

  Sabrina groaned.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Chapter 4

  “Lord Wyldewood, how charming of you to call.” Sabrina sailed into the room with an outstretched hand and a serene smile that hid the impatience churning within her.

  Wyldewood took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “Lady Stanford.”

  His lips brushed the back of her hand, and his ebony gaze bored into hers. A thrill shot through her at the look and the touch. What was it about this man that attracted her so? That he could have such an immediate and unwanted effect on her senses disturbed her. And the way his gaze captured hers all the while his lips caressed her hand had an annoying, practiced feel to it that indicated he did it not only well, but often. She firmly pushed the intruding emotions away and withdrew from his unsettling grasp.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, and so soon, but I must admit I am at a loss as t
o the purpose of your visit.” Sabrina tossed him a pleasant smile, all the while praying he would be both brief and to the point.

  “My son asked me to speak with you. I believe at the request of your daughter.” Wyldewood surveyed the room casually. “May we be seated?”

  “Of course.” Sabrina directed him to a chair and then perched on the edge of a brocade sofa. A surreptitious glance at the ormolu clock on the mantel showed she still had time, but not much. This little chat really needed to proceed at a much more than leisurely pace. “I assume they wanted us to discuss the wedding?”

  Wyldewood cleared his throat, and for the briefest moment, the self-assured diplomat appeared oddly ill at ease. “Actually, it’s about your travel plans.”

  “My travel plans?”

  “Yes. Belinda is very concerned about an unexpected trip you seem to be considering, and she and Erick requested that I speak to you about it.”

  Sabrina’s serene expression never faltered, never betrayed the seething irritation that grew with every word he spoke. “It is extremely kind of you to assist my daughter like this. And it’s such a relief to know her future father-in-law will be there when she needs him. However, my plans are personal, relating to private business, and I am not at liberty to discuss them.” Sabrina stood, prompting Wyldewood to rise to his feet. “So I’m afraid your purpose in coming, while thoughtful, is unnecessary.”

  She beamed up at him, hoping to disarm him with her talk of privacy. Indeed, what well-bred Englishman would dare intrude in a private matter?

  “Lady Stanford.” Wyldewood’s dark brows drew together in a forbidding frown. “If you were a man I would not dream of pushing this matter any further, but as you are a lady, and one without benefit of male guidance, I feel it is my duty to pursue this.”

  Sabrina fought to keep her smile plastered firmly on her face. Struggled not to clench her teeth and ball her fists in tight little knots. Resisted the overwhelming urge to tell this pompous, arrogant, sanctimonious ass exactly what he could do with his male guidance.