The Perfect Wife (25 page)

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 got on well together. However, it is not your face I am so 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 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 Melville’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, my dear, 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 and 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 with 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 leapt 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 me when I first offered for you.”

“What is the meaning of this, Chatsworth?” Norcross asked. “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 Melville 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.”

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

“Gold, Melville,” 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, Wyldewood. 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.” Chatsworth 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 here 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, that you would fold like a losing hand of whist. Could there be more to the serene Lady Sabrina 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.”

Belinda staggered around the fire and stumbled against Sabrina, the impact jarring the letter from her hand. It hung, suspended in midair, for what seemed an eternity. The assembly held a collective breath. Finally, like a feather on the wind, the delicate paper fluttered softly away from the flames to rest gently on the sand.

For a split second no one moved. Then chaos erupted. Chatsworth and Sabrina lunged, their action mirror images. Nicholas leapt toward them, Matt less than a step behind. The four scrabbled on the ground, and Sabrina lost sight of the precious paper.

“I have it!” With a cry of glee, Chatsworth held up the letter.

“No!” Sabrina screamed and threw herself at him, Chatsworth’s gun pointing straight for her.

“Bree!” The cry tore from Nicholas’s throat and he charged, pushing her out of the way. She tumbled and sprawled on the sand.

Chatsworth’s crazed laugh echoed in her head. His weapon gleamed in the firelight. Motion slowed as if in a dream. He raised the pistol toward Nicholas, the barrel no more than an arm’s length from his heart. Fear for him squeezed her in a vicelike grip. She could not, would not let him die. Her hands clenched in a spasm of terror, and sand scrapped her palms. In a last futile effort she flung the grains and screamed. “Chatsworth!”

His gaze flicked toward her. The grit and Nicholas struck at the same instant. The two men struggled on the ground in a blur of arms and legs. Sabrina could not tell who was who. Who had the advantage. Who had the pistol.

The shot echoed in the night. Abruptly, all movement ceased. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart stopped. Her mind screamed a prayer.
Please God, not Nicholas! Please, let him live
!

It was forever, or perhaps less than a moment. The bodies on the ground shifted.

Chatsworth rose to his feet in awkward, jerky movements, like a poorly manipulated marionette. Sabrina froze in horror, her gaze locked on his face. Chatsworth’s eyes gleamed red in the firelight, his soul staring naked and evil. He gasped and collapsed in a heap.

Like a valiant warrior from a battlefield of old, Nicholas stood behind him. Blood drenched his shirt. An odd smile quirked the corners of his mouth. He shrugged, a strangely hesitant look in his eye. “I do believe, my love, if you seriously want to do away with me, the sharks may well be more efficient.”

A sob of relief burst from her. “Oh, Nicholas!” She flung herself into his arms, laughing and crying and meeting his lips with hers to assure herself he was indeed well and truly unharmed.

“Is he ... 7” Melville said, unease and apprehension in his voice. Sabrina and Nicholas broke their embrace, but his arm stayed protectively around her shoulders.

Matt knelt beside the crumpled body and glanced toward them. “He’s dead, all right.” He plucked the wrinkled letter from Chats worth’s still clutching hand.

Sabrina gazed at her fallen suitor, shock lingering in her voice. “He killed Jack.”

Nicholas’s arm tightened around her. “You did not suspect?”

“Never.” She shook her head. “Who would have? Jack died while in the pursuit of an idiotic wager. His death came as no surprise to anyone.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. She spoke more to herself than to him. “Especially not me.”

“Sabrina, I hope you understand we knew nothing of this.” Norcross’s voice jerked her attention away from the bloodied body at her feet and the persistent, unbidden memories crashing through her head. “We would never have gone along with him if we’d had so much as a hint of his true purpose.”

“Our intentions were always of the noblest sort,” Melville said. “Quite above reproach. Please believe us.”

“Of course,” she said under her breath, once again mesmerized by the scene before her, the broken body, the blood oozing into the sand.

“Gentlemen, I have no doubt Sabrina holds you blameless in this unfortunate incident. However,” Nicholas gazed at Sabrina with a troubled expression, “I am concerned as to leaving Chatsworth’s body here for even a short period. If you would be so kind as—”

“Quite,” Melville said, anticipating the question. “If we could perhaps get some assistance in moving him to our horses and our camp. It is not far. We shall take care of any difficulties there may be with the local authorities. It seems the least we can do to make up for—” he waved a hand vaguely in the general direction of the body, “—all this.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said. “Erick, Madison, if you could accompany them and lend some assistance. Wynne, take Belinda back to your tent.”

Wynne nodded, her usual exuberance dampened. She wrapped an arm around a pale, shaking Belinda. “Adventure,” Wynne said softly, “does seem to have its trying moments.”

Matt cast an appraising look at Sabrina. She smiled absently, then turned an unseeing gaze on the dead man.

Nicholas glanced toward her and frowned. “I shall remain here.” He nodded slightly at Matt and drew the American a few steps away. “She has not taken this revelation about Stanford’s death well. Did she love him so very much, do you think?” Nicholas fought to keep his voice even.

“Remember, she was very young and inexperienced when she married him.” Matt shrugged. “I met Sabrina after Stanford’s death. I really have no idea of her feelings.”

Nicholas plowed his fingers through his hair in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know how to help her.” Frustration sharpened his voice. “I don’t know how to compete with the memory of a dead husband.” His gaze flicked to Sabrina. She stood silently, her stare blank, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if to ward off an unexpected blow. “What do I do, Madison?”

Matt’s gaze trapped his for a long, steady moment, his expression unreadable. Abruptly, the American nodded, as if he had found whatever he searched for in Nicholas’s eyes. “Just take care of her, Wyldewood.” He passed Nicholas the letter. “Take care of her.”

Nicholas released a breath he was not aware he held. In some odd manner, a bond had been forged between the two men. In spite of their differences, both cared deeply for the same woman. Gratitude surged through Nicholas; whatever else Madison was, or had been in the past, his concern for Sabrina could not be faulted.