The Perfect Wife Read online

  Chapter 5

  “Egypt!” Belinda gasped. “There’s nothing but sand and pyramids and mummies in Egypt! Why in the world would she be going to Egypt?” She glared at Erick as if this were somehow his fault.

  He lounged on the sofa in the front salon and shrugged nonchalantly. “I have no idea, and apparently neither does Father. The message I received from him said simply that she had boarded a ship bound for Alexandria and he was accompanying her.”

  “What! He’s going with her!” Shock widened her blue eyes. “Without a chaperone? Without even a servant? It’s scandalous! It will absolutely destroy her reputation! She’ll be the talk of every gossip in the ton!”

  Belinda’s voice rose, and Erick eyed her cautiously. “Darling, I think your fears on that score are groundless. My father is an honorable man, and he is with her only for her protection.”

  “Hah!” She threw him a scathing glance. “I’ve heard the talk about your father. He has a sterling reputation when it comes to diplomatic matters, but he’s equally well known as a womanizer and a rake!”

  “Belinda!” Shock rang in Erick’s voice. “I daresay—”

  “Don’t you daresay me, Erick,” she snapped. “You know as well as I do, his conquests at the courts of Europe were not restricted to treaties and government alliances. He was not what I, or anyone else for that matter, would consider discreet. And since his return to England, he’s already well known for his exploits with women.” Outrage sparked in her voice. “And respectable is not a term I would apply to many of them!”

  “Enough!” Erick leaped to his feet, drawing himself up in his best imposing manner. “I will not have my father slandered like this!”

  “Slandered!” she sputtered. “I hardly think the truth could be considered slander!”

  The two glared at each other for a long, tense moment. Anger and confusion battled in Erick. He had no idea how they’d gotten to this point. He understood her concern over her mother, but to suggest his father would take advantage of her was ridiculous. Belinda was far too overset to view the situation calmly. Why, she even had him up at arms, and all he wanted to do right now was wring her lovely neck. He would never hurt a woman, of course. Still, Belinda could drive a rational man to completely irrational acts.

  Within moments, the icy sparks in her eyes dissolved and her expression turned contrite. “Oh, Erick, I’m so sorry.” She flew across the room and into his arms. Her supple form melted into his, and they sank back upon the sofa. His anger disappeared, banished by her intoxicating scent and the warmth of her body next to his.

  He gathered her near and she sighed, snuggling closer. The touch of her breasts against his chest quickened his blood, and he groaned to himself, all thoughts of her mother and his father forgotten.

  “I did not mean to offend you, truly I didn’t.” She tilted her angelic face up toward his, her eyes misted by tears, her lips full and inviting. “I am just so very worried.”

  “I know, darling.” Just one kiss, he thought, simply to calm her. His lips brushed hers, and he marveled at the pliant softness of her mouth, the way her lips opened slightly, and the heady feel of her breath joining with his. Obviously she needed more comfort than one insignificant kiss could provide. As her fiancé, it was his responsibility, nay, his duty to help her as much as possible. A duty he was more than willing to sacrifice himself for.

  He trailed kisses along the line of her jaw until she moaned softly. Her head fell back, and he noted with satisfaction the dreamy look in her eyes. He found a sensitive spot just below her ear, and she gasped. Lightly he ran his lips down her neck, and she sagged against him.

  “After all,” he murmured between kisses, “it’s not as if we can do anything at this point.” This point, he thought, this magnificent, bewitching point. Deftly brushing away her sleeve, he exposed one perfect shoulder. He teased the satin skin with teeth and tongue, and his mouth drifted lower toward breasts now heaving with newfound arousal and innocent desire. His tongue traced the neckline of her bodice, and her skin quivered beneath his touch. His words whispered against the swell of her breast. “It’s not as if we could go after them.”

  The temptation of the valley between her breasts beckoned and enticed. His tongue tasted her heated flesh, and she shuddered. Aching need surged in his veins. Any determination not to allow their passion to triumph over them ebbed away. They were to be married at any rate. What harm could there be in a few passionate kisses, a few intimate caresses, a mere moment of shared arousal?

  “Erick,” she said softly. Vaguely he noted her breathing had slowed, nearly normal. He raised his head reluctantly and gazed into her eyes. A slight frown creased her forehead, and a thoughtful expression graced her face. Erick stared in disbelief. His desire vanished as if hit by an icy splash of water. Here he was in the midst of a rather successful seduction, and the blasted chit wasn’t even paying attention.

  She stared up at him. “Why can’t we?”

  “Why can’t we what?” She might have dampened his ardor, but it would still take him a few moments to get his mind off the temptations she’d been so close to offering and he’d been more than willing to sample.

  “Go to Egypt, of course.” She scrambled off the sofa and paced the room. Excitement built in her voice. “It’s perfect, Erick. With us along, your father can’t possibly take advantage of my mother.”

  Erick shook his head, still wondering how she could shift from the throes of passion to exhibit enthusiasm for something altogether different so quickly and easily. God knew he couldn’t. He sighed in irritation, frustration sharpening the edges of his words. “I think you’ve forgotten a number of things.”

  He stood to face her and ticked off the items on his fingers. “Number one, she did not go with my father; he is accompanying her for her own protection. As a favor to me, I might add. Number two, your mother has some kind of mysterious business in Egypt, and from what she has, or has not, said to both you and my father, I don’t believe she would welcome us along. Number three, they have already left. There’s no guarantee we could catch up with them. And finally…” With a flourish he presented his trump card. “We have the same problem our parents do, no chaperone. The whole idea is absurd.”

  “Piffle,” Belinda said with a wave of her hand.

  “Piffle?”

  “Piffle.” She nodded firmly. “Not one of your objections is at all valid.” She cast him a triumphant smile, then echoed his earlier gesture, counting off her reasons on her fingers. “Your aunt Wynne can be our chaperone. I daresay the poor old dear would love a trip like this. She doesn’t seem to get out much. And if you go to the docks today, you can probably find out what route their ship was taking. With any luck we can take a ship with a faster or more direct route. Finally, regardless of what my mother does or does not want, she is behaving so oddly, I think it is in her best interest for us to act.”

  “You mean interfere,” he said wryly.

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “All I know is that my mother is normally a reserved, reasonable woman who never does anything the least bit impulsive or ill-advised.”

  Erick drew his brows together in a thoughtful frown. “I have been wondering about all this. You cannot remember her behaving like this before?”

  “Never.” Belinda shook her head in a blizzard of golden curls. “Although…”

  “Yes?”

  She hesitated, gathering distant, faded memories. “I was five when my father died and we went to live with a great-aunt of Mother’s. Somewhere north, I think, fairly close to the sea. We stayed for about three years. Mother would disappear for days at a time. Looking back, I assumed she was simply trying to deal with my father’s death in her own way.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I was far too young to pay it any mind then and really haven’t thought much about it since. And she hasn’t behaved in any way unusual since we’ve lived in London.”

  “Well, there’s probably nothing to it then.”

  “P
robably,” she echoed. “So…”

  “So?”

  “So, you talk to your aunt and then find us a ship.” She grasped his arm and pulled him toward the door. “I’ll begin packing.”

  He groaned. “Belinda.”

  Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and she laughed. “We haven’t any time to spare, so off with you.”

  Belinda reached up and brushed his lips with hers, and for a moment the light in her eyes teased and tantalized him. She practically pushed him out the door, and he paused for breath on the top step. He was not enthused at the idea of an ocean voyage that would very probably take months. Erick stalked toward his carriage in an indignant huff, wondering how he had gotten himself into this and, better yet, how he could get out of it. He would much rather stay in London, especially with Belinda’s mother away. Although… The revelation thundered through his mind and pulled him up short.

  This trip would allow him to spend a considerable amount of time with Belinda. Aunt or no aunt, that would very likely be time alone. Alone, with the subtle rocking of a ship, warm ocean breezes, the magnificent Mediterranean moon, and nowhere to run. Add Belinda to that scene, and it was not an unappealing vision. In fact, it painted quite a promising picture. And even if they failed, even if they never caught up to their parents, would that really be so terrible? Erick grinned and strode toward his carriage, now eager to set his fiancée’s plan in motion.

  Absurd or not, there were interesting possibilities in her proposal. Possibilities and a great deal of potential.

  Lady Wynnefred Harrington paused before the gilt-framed mirror in the foyer and impatiently tucked a stray tendril of chestnut hair into place. Unruly curls struggled to escape their haphazard captivity high on the back of her head. Large, dark eyes returned her critical stare behind gold-rimmed glasses. It was really quite an attractive face, even pretty. Fat lot of good it did her, she thought wryly. Wynne shrugged and turned from the mirror. She had far too many things to do today to waste time wondering about what might have been.

  Still, she realized as she leaned against the chest centered below the mirror, it was a topic that occupied her mind more and more frequently these days. At two and thirty she was firmly on the shelf. It wasn’t that she’d never had the opportunity to marry. There’d been offers through the years. In her first seasons, there were young men enamored of her obvious charms, and later there were those more prone to appreciate her fortune than her face. But none had ever measured up to Father’s standards, or, for that matter, her own.

  She had never met a man who came close to the mythical heroes, legendary leaders, and knights in shinning armor she devoured in the books she kept constantly close at hand. Wynne was a genuine bluestocking and knew a certain amount of self-satisfaction in the derogatory title. She lived complete and happy lives in the stories and tales that filled her free time, exploring the world with adventures and travels and the latest scientific marvels.

  Even without a home and family of her own, her life was exceedingly full. Besides her books, she’d been companion to her father, run his household with an efficient hand, acted as his hostess, and, in addition, helped raise her nephew. And if the years had flown by unnoticed, so be it.

  Now Wynne’s mind was filled with what she thought of as her own personal story. A story she had yet to write. A story she had yet to live. With Father dead two years now, and Erick about to marry, Wynne saw no reason that she should not do exactly as she wished with her life. If Nicholas needed someone to run his home, he could certainly find a wife. Wynne had never complained about putting her father’s and her nephew’s needs first, but now it was her turn. Just as soon as she had Erick safely married, she would pack her bags and set off to see the world. See for herself all the places she’d only read about. Maybe Italy and Greece one year, China the next. Perhaps she’d even visit America. A dreamy smile drifted across her lips, and images of exotic places and unknown lands teased her mind.

  The crash of the front door rudely pulled her from her reverie, and the voice of her nephew planted her feet firmly back in reality.

  “Aunt Wynne.” Erick rushed to her side, clasped her hand, and raised it to his lips. Wynne sighed to herself. As a child, he used to offer her some of his secret cache of sweets to get her to do what he wanted. With maturity came new techniques, but Wynne could still read Erick’s intentions as well as any of her books.

  She drew back her hand and studied him with a knowing gaze. “Don’t bam me, Erick. What do you want?”

  “What? Why, Aunt Wynne.” Erick’s eyes opened wide with feigned innocence. “You wound me to the quick.”

  “Nonsense.” Wynne sniffed. “I’ve known you all your life, and I certainly know when you are trying to wheedle something out of me. Now, what do you want?”

  Erick took a deep breath. “It’s about the wedding. I’m afraid it has to be delayed.”

  Wynne’s heart sank. Her elusive freedom slipped farther away.

  “Belinda’s mother has taken off on a somewhat mysterious and ill-advised voyage to Egypt, and Father has followed her.” He paused as if to gauge her reaction.

  Wynne simply raised a brow, but her composed expression belied the rush of questions whirling through her mind. Nicholas had actually gone out of his way to go after a woman? Put himself at some trouble for a mere female? As far as she’d ever been able to see, her brother had no use for women except as managers of his household or fetching playthings to be toyed with, then discarded. Disrupting his well-ordered life was unheard of.

  During his long years of service to the crown, it was not unusual for him to take off without a moment’s notice. Then he was involved in diplomatic missions, ferreting out smugglers and, Wynne long suspected, even spying. But this was different. This was not for king and country. This was for a woman.

  “Go on.” She nodded for Erick to continue.

  “Well…” He hesitated, with that uncertain look on his face that always told her he was summoning up his nerve. His words exploded in a quick rush. “Belinda wants us to go after them. But we can’t go without a chaperone. So it would be of great assistance to us if you would agree to come along.” He stared at her with a hopeful look.

  Egypt? The mystical, magical land of the pharaohs? A thrill swept through her veins. This was her chance! Her first step toward a new life of her own. And, who knew? Maybe she wouldn’t come back. In her role of chaperone she could ensure Erick’s marriage, and her obligations would be at an end.

  Her voice betrayed none of her mounting excitement. “You say this is Belinda’s idea?”

  Erick grimaced. “She doesn’t seem to feel her mother’s virtue is safe in Father’s hands.”

  “Wise girl,” Wynne said under her breath. “Well, if we are to undertake such a venture, we have no time to lose. There are dozens of preparations to be made.”

  “You’ll go?” Surprise flooded his face.

  “Of course.” Wynne nodded. She grinned to herself at his stunned expression. No doubt the boy was shocked that his competent, efficient, reliable Aunt Wynne would agree to uproot herself without warning and head to the ends of the earth. The poor child had no idea of the dreams and desires of Wynnefred Harrington. Dreams and desires she could see beckoning just over the horizon.

  Lord Benjamin Medvale impatiently thrust his coat at a footman and scanned the club lounge for his companions. He spotted the others in their usual corner near the fireplace and hurried toward them, pausing only to place a drink order with a waiter. Bursting with the need to reveal the latest on-dit, he nonetheless restrained himself, now that the moment of release was at hand. Med-vale settled into a chair and savored the anticipation of imparting information he alone was privy to.

  Sir Reginald Chatsworth and Lord Patrick Norcross barely acknowledged his presence, resuming their lack-luster debate on the relative merits of the horseflesh currently available at Tattersall’s, and whether the absence of quality was inversely proportional to the outrageous prices.<
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  Medvale surveyed his friends with a practiced eye, wondering, as he often did, how a group so dissimilar in temperament could be quite so compatible. The trio was of a like age and shared a common heritage and breeding. They were, to his way of thinking, a shining example of the best of English manhood. Still, Chatsworth was a talkative, amicable sort of fellow, where Norcross had a disturbing tendency to brood and frequently submitted to bouts of melancholy. As for Medvale, he thought of himself as the best of the bunch: attractive, witty, and generally not given to overexcitement. Except where the occasion warranted, and this was just such a time.

  The companions shared one other thing that bound them together. One factor that through the years had variously prompted rivalry, triggered resentment, and ultimately created a common sympathy. A bond that frequently filled their conversations with enthusiastic speculation, glimmers of hope, and lengthy debate: each had loved and lost the enchanting Lady Sabrina Stanford.

  “She’s gone off, you know,” Medvale blurted, his secret bolting toward freedom like a cornered rabbit desperate for the sanctuary of a hedgerow.

  Norcross and Chatsworth turned to him at the interruption, satisfying Medvale that he now had, if not their rapt attention, at least their mild interest.

  Norcross raised a dark brow in a manner Medvale found annoyingly superior. “She who?” he said idly, as if the answer were of no real concern and the only purpose to his question was to cater to Medvale’s obvious excitement.

  “Lady Stanford. Sabrina.” Medvale leaned back in his chair and smirked at the curiosity now evident on the faces of the two men before him. “She’s gone off and…” He paused and took a swallow of the fine Scottish whisky in his glass, savoring the taste of the liquor not nearly as much as the expressions of his friends. “She’s not alone.”

  “What on earth are you babbling about, Medvale?” Chatsworth snapped. “What do you mean?” He repeated Medvale’s words in a snide mimicry of his friend. “She’s gone off and she’s not alone. Explain yourself.”