The couch proved far heavier than Sabrina expected. Several minutes of pushing, lifting and tugging left her breathless, but finally the chaise flipped over on its side. One more shove and it toppled onto its back, looking for all the world like a wounded beast begging for mercy.
Sabrina laughed aloud in triumph. Quickly, she examined the underside. A coarse fabric tacked securely at the frame covered the bottom. Thoroughly, she studied every stitched section and every point where wood met material. Just as on the other side, here, too, nothing appeared touched. Jack was no upholsterer, no seamstress. Surely if he had hidden something here it would be apparent. Her momentary sense of triumph vanished, replaced by a surge of disappointment.
“Bloody hell.” She gazed with disgust at the innocent chaise. Like a spark amid dry tinder, anger flared in her veins. She glared at the portrait over the fireplace.
“It isn’t fair, Jack. I really need that gold. I need it for your daughter and I need it for myself. Damn you, Jack, why does it have to be so bloody hard?”
The smile on his lips lingered unchanged. Frustrated and furious, Sabrina drew back a slippered foot and let it fly. Flesh and bone connected with wood. Pain speared up her leg.
“Yow!” She clutched her throbbing foot, plopped down on the floor and massaged her aching appendage. “This is really quite absurd.”
She scowled at the offending couch leg, gasped and stared in stunned disbelief.
Her kick had dislodged the leg from the frame, and it tilted at a slight angle. She leapt up, ignoring the pain in her foot. Gripping the carved wood in both hands, and throwing all her weight behind it, she pushed with every ounce of her strength.
For a long moment nothing happened. Abruptly, the leg gave way. Sabrina sprawled forward on the back of the couch, it’s claw foot clutched in her hand.
She tumbled to the floor. Apprehension and excitement battled within her. Carefully, she turned the leg over in her hands to view the hollow end where it had been affixed to the frame. Cautiously, she slid two fingers in the narrow space. The inside did not have the rough feel of wood. Rather it seemed smooth. Smooth, like paper. Her heart hammered in her chest and she forced herself to remain calm. She gently withdrew her fingers and gingerly inched out a rolled leaf of velum.
Sabrina tossed the leg aside and set the page on the floor. Her hands trembled with the anticipation raging through her. Slowly, she smoothed the curled sheet open. She could scarcely believe her eyes. It was definitely a letter. Definitely old, yellowed with age.
And it was in French.
“She is not acting at all like herself. She spent all night tearing half the house apart, looking for God knows what, and now she says she’s leaving London. Erick, I’m extremely worried.”
Belinda paced back and forth in her mother’s front salon, Erick’s gaze appreciatively following her every move. She was indeed a diamond of the first water, a reigning beauty of the current season. And she was his.
“Have you tried talking to her?” he asked, his mind far busier contemplating the graceful way her hips swayed and the ivory bosom discreetly hidden beneath the day gown than her words.
“Of course I have.” Belinda turned concern-clouded sapphire eyes toward him. “I have no idea what she is up to, and she simply refuses to talk to me.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Mother treats me like a child still in the schoolroom.”
“But what a lovely child,” he said under his breath. His gaze lingered on her seductive curves, full and luscious and ripe.
Erick dreamed of the moment he would have the right to explore those curves in detail, to caress the pouting breasts and allow his lips to linger over the recesses of her delectable body. To claim her and teach her and make her in every way his own. So far they had shared but a few kisses, each less chaste than the last, each giving a promise of growing passion hidden beneath her well-guarded innocence. Even now the warm scent of her, an intoxicating blend of perfume and femininity, wafted around him, arousing and tantalizing.
“Erick!” Impatience rang in her voice. “Are you listening to me?” Her eyes flashed blue fire and he wondered what they would flash in the throes of passion.
“Of course.” He shepherded his wandering thoughts. “Yes, of course I’m listening. Where is your mother now?”
“In her room. I believe she finally went to sleep late this morning. When she retired to her chamber I think ...” Belinda’s eyes were wide with disbelief, “she was singing!”
He pulled his brows together in a thoughtful frown. “Singing? From what you’ve said I gather that is not her normal behavior?” She nodded. “Could she be ill, do you think?”
Belinda scoffed. “I doubt it. Neither is she insane, nor is she stupid. I know her far better than anyone. She has always been something of a private person. But she has never acted especially impulsive or heedless of propriety before.” She gazed up into Erick’s eyes, and instinctively his arms curled around her, drawing her close. A cry caught in her voice. “Oh, Erick, what am I to do?”
This bewitching woman wanted to know what he thought. She turned to him to solve her problem. Erick believed that was as it should be, but, even so, his chest swelled with masculine pride. He would take care of it for her. He would show her he could handle anything.
“If she will not talk to you, perhaps she will speak to someone closer her own age.” He smiled into her worried gaze. “If you wish, I could ask my father to have a chat with her. He is well versed in diplomacy. Surely he can determine what is amiss.”
She returned his smile with a sigh of relief. “That would be wonderful.”
He bent his head, and his lips met hers in a gentle kiss, meant, quite honorably, only to provide comfort. Her breath teased his and spurred his unquenched need. Her lips opened beneath his increasing pressure and his tongue tentatively traced the full, pouting curve of her mouth. She sighed, and her body melted against his. Erick knew he would withdraw momentarily, stilling his desire, marshalling his control, but for now he lost himself in the still forbidden taste of her.
Belinda’s eyes closed, and she marveled in the new and unique sensation of his lips on hers. His exploring tongue triggered a wave of odd but delightful shivers starting deep within her core and vibrating outward. A vague desire for something more floated through her, and her body molded itself closer to his. What that something more was, she had no idea.
Locked in his embrace, at this moment all thought of her mother’s behavior vanished, obscured beneath a haze of mysterious and elusive desire.
Sabrina tugged on the bellpull by her bed and impatiently awaited the arrival of her butler. She’d slept soundly after translating the letter and was now eager to set her plans in motion. The directions to the gold were both concise and clever. It was no wonder the treasure had never been located. It did bother her that she had only the second page of the missive, and she wondered if there was anything of importance on the first page, anything that would bear on her search. But she waved the thought away. This was all she had, and it would have to do.
Right now, though, she faced a more immediate challenge: Simply getting to Egypt would cost a frightful amount of money. She was by no means destitute, but neither did she have the extra funds such an expedition would require. As much as she hated to do it, as much as the thought distressed her, she would have to sell her jewels.
Sabrina sat down before her dressing table and pulled open the bottom left drawer. A large Italian marquetry box filled the space. She tugged it out and hefted its substantial weight onto the table. 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, watching 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-breed 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 the smile escaped to dance on her lips. “There’s no money to be made smuggling these days.”
She quirked an eyebrow and 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’d moved to London she’d 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.
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 herself 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 and 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, Sabrina 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 and handed it to Wills. She sank back in her chair and took another sip of the amber liquid. “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 brandy, though not quite quickly 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 an eyebrow 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, wrinkling 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 as if 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 particularly 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? Who 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 leapt. 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 whether he’s in England.” He tossed back the last of his drink and shot her a warning glare. “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. He 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 asked him last night to have a talk with her, it 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.