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 was fraught with wild living and the flouting of convention. Gossip branded the marquess and marchioness of Stanford outrageous and extravagant. No one was surprised when Stanford died in a carriage accident during an extremely high-stakes race.
The ton generally agreed that 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 he jumped down. 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 tail, powerfully built 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 dock worker 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 sort of servant he envisioned the serene, reserved Lady Stanford to have.
Wills did his job well. Sabrina’s jewels fetched more than enough to finance her quest. And even better, he’d found her old partner as well, 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 to travel 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, and 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 into 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 couldn’t foresee the need for such a dress on this trip; still, it would do no harm to take it along.
Sabrina snapped the case closed and moved to her dressing table. Her gaze skimmed the note she had written to her incompetent solicitor, advising him that 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 underway, Sabrina pulled open her door to find Wills’s 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 an eyebrow. “No message for Lady Belinda?”
Sabrina folded her arms stubbornly and stared at the floor. “We have already said our good-byes.” 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’s death I’ve done for her. My activities before we returned to London and literally how I’ve lived my life since have been for her. God knows, I had quite a reputation to live down, and I did it.” 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 mat 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.”
“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 carried it to his lips. “Lady Stanford.”
His lips brushed the back of her hand and his ebony gaze bored into hers. A thrill shot threw 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 that 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 to 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. Um, 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 farther, but as you are a lady, and one without benefit of male guidance, I feel it is my duty to pursue this.”
Sabrina struggled to keep her smile plastered firmly on her face. Struggled not to clench her teeth and ball her fists in tight little knots. Struggled not to tell this pompous, arrogant, sanctimonious ass exactly what he could do with his male guidance.
He bestowed upon her what could only be called a condescending smirk. “As your daughter is about to marry my son, I consider that you as well are becoming a member of my family. And as the head of the family, I’m afraid I simply cannot permit you to depart London with only your vague assertion that your purpose is private.”
His words did not completely shatter her self-control. Sabrina was well used to restraint, well used to dealing with the inherent arrogance of the male of the species and well used to doing just as she wished. She had hidden her emotions behind a composed facade for years, polishing that skill to a high gloss finish. A finish Wyldewood’s comments had marred with only a small nick, the merest scratch, a tiny crack, nothing Sabrina could not handle. She drew a deep breath.
“Lord Wyldewood, while I am truly grateful for your consideration, you must understand, I have been without my late husband for thirteen years. In that time, I have lived an independent life without benefit of... what was the term you used? Oh, yes—male guidance.” She flashed him yet another practiced smile. “And even you must admit, I have succeeded in handling my affairs quite successfully. So, while your concern is appreciated, it is also misplaced.”
She took his elbow and escorted him toward the door. “I fear my time is extremely limited today. I am set to sail within the hour, so—”
“No!” Wyldewood interrupted, halting their forward progress, and glared at her with annoyance. “I am afraid you do not understand. I have no intention of allowing you to sail with or without an appropriate explanation.”
“Really?” Sabrina stared at him pleasantly. “I believe you have very little choice in the matter.”
A myriad of expressions played across his face, and Sabrina’s irritation turned to smug satisfaction. He had no legitimate control over her actions, no legal rights, and his moral obligation was vague to say the least. Whether he liked it or not, there was nothing he could do to stop her.
“In that case ...” his dark eyes smoldered and a trickle of delicious fear shivered through Sabrina, “... I shall simply have to accompany you.”
“What?” Sabrina blurted. “I hardly think—I can’t believe—” What on earth was he proposing? She couldn’t possibly take him along. It simply would not work. This trip would take months. Months of being together every day, on board ship and in the desert. Could she possibly be around him day after day without revealing her true self, her real feelings? More to the point, could she resist the unexpected temptation this man presented?
Her eyes widened with the impact of the questions hurtling through her head and she stared. Wyldewood looked for all the world like a fox who’d successfully raided the hen house, confident, satisfied and, God help her, triumphant. Few people knew Sabrina well enough to know this was not a wise attitude for him to adopt, guaranteed to inflame her anger, charge her spirit and increase her determination.
She composed herself, tossed him her sweetest look and savored the indecision and doubt that flickered across his face in response. “Very well, then. It’s time to leave.” She nodded and stepped briskly toward the door, leaving him to trail in her wake.
“Wait!” he called, in a voice well used to issuing commands, a voice used to being obeyed without question.
Sabrina paused and tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Is there a problem?”
“A problem? Of course there’s a problem! I cannot be expected to go traipsing off on some ill-advised voyage without a moment’s notice!”
Sabrina turned and favored him with the same patient look she would give a cranky child. “Lord Wyldewood, I do not expect you to go anywhere at all. I do not expect you to accompany me on this trip or anywhere else. I expect you to climb back into your carriage and return to your comfortable home. I further expect you to tell my daughter—and your son, for that matter—that I am a responsible adult, fully capable of handling my own affairs. And lastly, I expect you to understand that regardless of who marries whom, I shall be a member of your family by the tenuous bonds of marriage only.”
She took a deep breath and stared him straight in his bottomless eyes. “And to me that means you have absolutely no right to tell me what I may and may not do.” She nodded pleasantly and stepped into the foyer. Wills stood with her traveling case in hand.
“Very well,” Wyldewood said calmly, one step behind her. She turned and gazed up at him. A fist knotted deep in her stomach at the gleam in his eye and the expression on his face. It was the look of a man who had just accepted a challenge. A look, God help her, of a man confident of victory.
“I believe we should be off if we are to sail on time.”
Sabrina refused to show her dismay, struggling to maintain a pleasant, aloof expression. Especially when she noted Wills’s still holding the portmanteau and realized the men’s clothes she’d waited so long to wear again would have to wait much, much longer.
“Wills, please give my bag to Lord Wyldewood. He will be accompanying me.” Wills’s lips quirked at the corners and amusement flashed through his eyes so swiftly, Sabrina alone noticed. Her back to Wyldewood, she shot the butler a quick scowl. “Take care of everything while I’m gone. I shall post a letter to Belinda as soon as possible.”
It was not the good-bye she’d imagined, but with this intruder along, it was the best she could do.
“Wills.” Sabrina nodded at her old friend and breezed out the door with an air of confidence, determined not to let Wyldewood’s presence effect her quest.
“Wills,” Wyldewood echoed, and followed close behind. He assisted her into his town carriage and directed his driver to the docks.
Wyldewood settled in next to Sabrina, and she glanced at his firm, strong profile. His face gave no indications of his thoughts. Was he irritated? Annoyed? At least inconvenienced? She certainly hoped so. It would serve him right. She was definitely irritated, annoyed and inconvenienced enough for the both of them. This was not the adventure she’d envisioned, Sabrina thought with a mental huff, and leaned back in the cushioned seat.
The carriage rolled forward, and Sabrina gazed at the upstairs window of Belinda’s room. Her daughter stood behind the glass, holding back the curtains. Sabrina lifted a hand in farewell. Without acknowledgment, the figure at the window let the curtains fall back into place. A lance of pain pierced Sabrina, and she blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. She thrust the ache and accompanying guilt away and resolved not to dwell on thoughts of Belinda. She was, after all, doing this for her daughter, to ensure her future.
Wasn’t she?
What was this woman up to? Nicholas wondered, studying her lovely face. Her expression was serene now, but he hadn’t missed the anguish that touched her lovely features when she’d looked at her daughter’s window. What was so important it would take this woman away from the child who obviously meant so much to her? Envy stabbed through him, followed by momentary remorse. What would it be like to care for one’s child that much?
Of course he was fond of Erick, even loved him in the reserved way a proper parent should. He simply hadn’t been around him much. Hadn’t watched him grow up, and, if the truth were told, didn’t know his son at all. More and more these days, Nicholas was surprised to note, he regretted that. Regretted that the only reason he and Erick got along better than he and his own father had was because they were practically strangers.
Still, Erick was a good son. Nicholas could leave his affairs in his heir’s hands with confidence and made a mental note to send word to Erick as to his unexpected journey the moment they reached the docks. In the two years since Nicholas’s return to England, the boy had given him no cause for concern. He’d selected a more than acceptable bride. He hadn’t really inconvenienced him at all. Erick treated him with respect and never asked for anything in return.
Except this. This request to talk to Lady Stanford. And look where it had brought him. Off on a voyage to who knows where with a glorious woman who obviously had far more spirit to her than he had first imagined. He wondered if his initial impression was correct, after all. If indeed there was far more to her than she let on. Nicholas smiled to himself and settled deeper in the carriage seat. There would be time enough to find out. Time enough to ferret out the secrets of the future countess of Wyldewood.
He would have to remember to thank Erick for this intriguing opportunity. Even though he was really doing all this for his son, to make up for the past.
Wasn’t he?
Sabrina swept up the gangplank well in advance of Lord Wyldewood. During the ride to the docks she’d decided she would be pleasant and polite to him, but no more. Neither would she tell him their eventual destination nor the ultimate purpose of the trip. The decision brought her a small measure of satisfaction. If he wanted answers, let him figure them out.
She glanced over her shoulder. Wyldewood was still engaged in conversation with his carriage driver, no doubt giving the poor man the benefit of all that male guidance. The phrase still grated in her mind. At least his extended discussion gave her the chance she needed to board the ship before he did.
“Lady Bree!”
Sabrina whirled about at the enthusiastic cry.
“Simon!” She clasped the American’s hands in hers. Tall and robust, in spite of the gray mingling with the sun streaks in his light auburn hair, the seaman’s eyes sparkled in greeting.
“Welcome to the
Lady B
.”
“Simon, how wonderful! I was very much afraid, after all these years, there would be no one I knew in the crew.” She cocked her head and surveyed him critically. “And still as handsome as ever, I see.”
Simon MacGregor threw his head back and laughed. “It’s good to see you’ve not changed. Not your saucy tongue nor your pretty face. It’s good to see you, lass.”
Sabrina narrowed her eyes in teasing speculation. “The last time I saw you, you were going to give up the sea and go home to your wife and all those children; in Maine, I believe. You were going to become a fisherman.”
The big man shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “By the time I got around to it, the young ‘uns were nearly grown. And the wife decided she liked being married to me a whole lot more when I weren’t around than when I was. Seeing her a couple of times a year seems to make both of us a sight happier than being together all the time.”
She laughed and shook her head. “You really haven’t changed.” Her gaze skimmed the rest of the ship and the crew. She craned her neck to see around him. “Is Matt here?”
“The capt’n had business to see to in Paris. We’re to pick him up in a few weeks in Marseilles.”
“Oh, dear.” She drew her brows together in disappointment and dismay.
“But don’t you worry none. He’d be more than happy to know you were on board. He always said, if you ever had need of it, you could consider this ship your own.”
“Mine?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Simon grinned. “The capt’n‘s talked of you a lot through the years. Always said he’d see you again someday.”
Simon leaned low, his words soft against her ear. “He named this ship the
Lady B
, you know.”
“I noticed,” she said wryly.
“It’s an honor.” His gruff tone chastised her.