She did not believe he would accept her playful invitation, so when he stepped toward her, her heart leaped in panic. He was overpowering, almost frightening, in his strength and masculinity, and she nearly retreated, but did not. Instead she waited, half appalled at her brazenness, half aching to experience the result.
He lifted her chin with one finger, his intense gaze holding hers for an endless moment. Sara knew it was her last chance to retreat to respectability, but once more she stood her ground, waiting and wanting. Slowly he bent his head until his lips touched hers. His kiss was warm and subtle, as gentle as a butterfly wing, yet it moved her in wholly unexpected ways.
Her mouth worked against his, wanting more, yet when he responded, she drew back, shaken. She had wondered what his kiss would be like, and had found not an answer but more questions. Dangerous questions...
Breathlessly she said, "Carrying the fan in my right hand like this means 'You are too willing.'"
"Can one be too willing?" he asked softly. He bent forward again and brushed his lips against the sensitive skin between her eye and hairline. At the same time he drew his fingertips down her throat, then across her bare shoulders in a delicate, profoundly erotic caress.
Sara gasped. For the first time in her life, she experienced the sweet, melting female desire to yield to a man, to give herself to him as fully as she had when they waltzed, to follow wherever he led. Yet to surrender to desire would be utterly wrong. Bringing the fan up between them, she waved it briskly back and forth, sending cool air toward both their faces. "Fanning rapidly means 'I am betrothed.' "
"So you are," he murmured. His lean figure was silhouetted against the French doors, and she could not see his face. "More's the pity. Do you love your future husband, Lady Sara?"
She hesitated, as uncomfortable with his question as she had been with his kiss. Obliquely she said, "Twirling the fan in the right hand means 'I love another.' " But she could not bring herself to demonstrate that particular gesture.
When Peregrine's thoughtful glance drifted to her motionless right hand, she added with a hint of acid, "Twirling it in the left hand means 'I wish to get rid of you.'" Transferring the fan to her left hand, she gave it a quick swing.
"Do you really wish to get rid of me, sweet Sara?" He gave her a slow, intimate smile. Though he did not move a muscle, she felt as if he was reaching out to embrace her. His attraction was so powerful that if she surrendered to it, she would be drawn straight into his arms.
Unthinkable! She was a lady of mature years and steady temper, not a giddy girl. After a short, fierce mental struggle, Sara raised the fan and let the black lace rest against her left cheek. "No, I do not wish to be rid of you." Then she dropped her hand so that the fan hung by her side. Her gaze cool and level, she said, "This means that we are friends. No more."
"Dare I hope no less?" he said gravely. "I did not wish to offend you."
Perhaps it was dangerous to be his friend. Yet what had he done but give her the lightest and most harmless of kisses? The problem was not with him, but with her. She raised the fan and rested it against her right cheek in the gesture of assent. Yes, I will be your friend.
"Good." He nodded toward the ballroom, where there was a temporary lull in the music. "Are you prepared to dance again, this time in front of other people?"
As he spoke, the alarming current of attraction cut off as abruptly as a snuffed candle. For a moment Sara wondered if her wits had been wandering and only just returned. Once again the prince was just a man; admittedly a remarkably appealing one, but resistible. She sighed with relief. She had been suffering from no more than a few moments of moon madness, and now she was recovered. "I am game if you are, Your Highness."
He held the French door open for her and she went inside, blinking at the glittering light refracting through the prisms of the chandeliers. On the far side of the room she saw Charles, looking surprised and not pleased by the sight of her with Prince Peregrine. Then she dismissed the thought as the music struck up again, and the Kafir led her into another waltz.
This dance was as delightful as the previous one, and was unaccompanied by perilous longings. When the music stopped, Peregrine bowed to her, a picture of propriety. He, too, must have suffered from moon madness on the balcony, and was now recovered. "You must brace yourself, Lady Sara. Every man in the room will now wish to partner you."
Even as she laughed, Ross appeared by her side. "I've come to claim my cousin, Mikahl."
As the music struck up again, Ross swept her into another waltz. His voice full of teasing affection, he said, "Sara, you wretch, why would you dance for him and not for me?"
"He didn't allow me time to decline his invitation," she explained. "Then, once I started dancing, I realized that I didn't want to stop." As Ross deftly steered them away from imminent collision with another couple, she went on, "He has persuaded me to ride again as well."
Her cousin gave a soft whistle of astonishment. Better than anyone save Sara herself, he knew how much pain and fear lay behind her light words. "How did he do that?"
"I'm not quite sure," she admitted. "He just makes things seem..." she searched for a word, "possible."
His eyes intent, Ross said, "You like him?"
"Very much." Just how much, she would not admit. "As you said, Prince Peregrine is not like anyone else." Then Sara grinned, relaxed as she was only with Ross. "I think that's just as well. I don't think London could survive too many like him."
Besides being the handsomest man in the room, Ross was a superb dancer, and Sara felt as safe in his arms as she had in Peregrine's. Later, with other partners, she had a few minor problems, once stumbling with all the awkwardness she had feared, but she did not let the incident spoil her pleasure in her rediscovered ability.
She danced every dance for the rest of the evening, and by the time they left, she was in a state of happy exhaustion. As Charles took her home in his carriage, she rested her head against the soft leather upholstery, half asleep.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, my dear," Charles said as the vehicle began rumbling along the cobbled street. "I did not realize that your crippled leg would permit dancing."
Sara was too much in charity with the world to take offense at his tactlessness. Mildly she said, "Neither did I. It was Prince Peregrine who persuaded me to try."
"Ah, yes, the Kafir prince." A note of disapproval sounded in his voice. "I saw that you spent time alone with him on the balcony. I'm surprised at you, Sara."
"It was chance, not prearrangement, Charles." Fully awake, Sara raised her head from the seat back. "What do you suspect I was doing out there with him?" She was not used to having her actions questioned, and the lingering sense of guilt she felt at her shameless behavior was drowned by irritation at his tone.
"Of course I know that you would never behave improperly, my dear," he assured her, clearly surprised at how she had interpreted his remark. "But one must be wary of appearances. He is a foreigner, after all, and of dubious morals."
"You yourself suggested that I cultivate his acquaintance," she pointed out acerbically. "Have you changed your mind about wanting to do business with him?"
"Not at all. We had dinner last night, and he is most interested in a proposal I made. I have hopes that he will join me in a promising venture." After a pause, Charles continued, "But I have... heard things that suggest that he is not an appropriate companion for a female of refinement."
"Really?" she asked with interest. "What kind of things?"
"I would not sully your ears with such stories," he said stiffly. "But he is not a man whom you should be alone with."
"The prince is Ross's friend, and I have found him to be very gentlemanly," she said, making no attempt to conceal her irritation. "Unless you can be more specific about his shortcomings, I have no intention of cutting the acquaintance."
"I will not have my wife defy me, Sara." Though Charles's voice was low, the darkened carriage pulsed with barely restrain
ed fury.
"I am not your wife yet, Charles." Sara was startled by his anger, which seemed out of proportion to the cause. "And if you are going to be unreasonable, perhaps we should reconsider marriage. We may not be as well suited as we thought."
"No!" He stopped, then swore a quiet oath under his breath. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "Forgive me, my dear. I do not wish to seem unreasonable. But Asiatics are an encroaching lot. Since they keep their own women secluded, they assume that the greater freedom of European women means immorality. While the prince is an excellent man in his way, I am concerned that he might misinterpret your well-bred ease of manner as license." His voice softened and he took her hand. "You are very precious to me. I can't bear the thought of that—that foreigner offering you insult."
Sara was silent, letting her hand rest passively in his. Is that how the Kafir saw her, as a wanton Western woman who might be available for dalliance? Her mouth tightened. The notion was an unpleasant one, but of no real importance, for Peregrine was merely a passing acquaintance, a brilliant shooting star who would soon be gone from her life.
What was important was the question of her marriage. If she wanted to withdraw from the betrothal, now was the time to do it, before wedding plans were set and invitations sent.
A husband had the right to expect his wife to submit to his wishes and desires, which was one reason why Sara had never had a strong desire to marry. Did she really want to put herself in the power of Charles Weldon? A man like Ross, with humor and an open, questing mind, would make a far more congenial husband. Perhaps the fact that she had never found a man like her cousin was the real reason she had never married.
While Charles was wealthy, well-bred, and handsome, he was cut from more conventional cloth. There was very little humor in him, and though he had traveled widely in his youth, his experiences had merely confirmed his belief in the superiority of all things British rather than broadening his mind. Moreover, tonight's irrational display of anger hinted that he might be a more difficult husband than she had bargained for.
After a brief, intense period of thought, she gave a wry smile. Charles's protectiveness was irritating and unnecessary, but it was well-intentioned. And this marriage meant so much to her father; she remembered how earnest the duke had been when he urged her to accept Weldon's proposal.
Concerned by her long silence, her betrothed squeezed her hand. "Sara? Please say that you forgive me for my temper."
"There is nothing to forgive, for I know you spoke from concern. But in the future, remember that I am quite capable of dealing with male impertinence." That kiss had been a result not of Peregrine's impropriety, but her own. It would not happen again. "But, Charles, perhaps we should discuss what we will expect of each other when we are married."
He released her hand. "What do you mean?"
Sara paused to collect her thoughts. "I'm not a young girl—I have been mistress in my father's house for years now, and am used to some measure of independence. I need room to breathe. If you cannot accept that in me, you might be happier with a more conformable wife." When he didn't answer immediately, she added, "If that is your choice, I will release you from our betrothal. I don't want you ever to regret having chosen me."
"Your sense of honor does you credit, Sara," he replied, his voice rich and soothing. "You are exactly what I want in a wife, for I value your maturity and experience. But while I am willing to grant you considerable independence, surely you admit that in some things a woman must accept her husband's guidance? It is a man's duty to protect his wife from the sordid side of life."
Sara was not sure that she agreed, but his moderate tone calmed the doubts his spurt of anger had raised. She had made too much of what was a brief spat between two tired people. As the carriage drew to a halt in front of Haddonfield House, she said, "Then it seems we understand each other—if you will forgive my independence, then I will forgive your temper."
"Excellent." He helped her from the carriage, then escorted her up the wide granite steps, holding her arm solicitously.
To Sara's surprise, as they waited for a servant to admit her, Charles pulled her close and kissed her. This was not like the rather messy embrace he had given her on their betrothal. It was more like the light kiss Peregrine had given her on the balcony. Yet she experienced nothing like the reaction she had felt then. Indeed, she felt nothing at all.
* * *
As his carriage drove away from Haddonfield House, Weldon's trembling hands clenched and unclenched, mute testimony to his fury. It was true that Lady Sara St. James was exactly what he wanted in a wife. Her enormous dowry would be very useful and, while her appearance was rather subdued, she had a refined beauty that would do him credit. Her cool, passionless nature aroused him, and he was generously prepared to overlook the fact that she was crippled.
Most important of all was her birth and breeding, which would help him attain the rank he had desired for so long, the rank denied him because he was a younger son. But how dare she defy her future husband! He was appalled by the willfulness she had shown tonight. It was not at all what he expected of a lady. He must appease her until they were wed, but then she would learn the folly of opposing him. A gentleman's wife was to be cherished and protected; in return, she must be obedient to his will in all things.
And Lady Sara would be, very soon.
Ironic that their disagreement had been over a filthy, immoral foreigner. He knew better than to think that a lady of Sara's refinement would behave improperly with a man who was little better than a savage, a man who had boldly requested a tour of the London flesh-pots. On that tour, he had shown his baseness.
An Englishman knew how to separate the sacredness of the marital relation from the profane lust one felt for prostitutes, but the prince—if indeed he was a prince—had proved that he had no such understanding. God help the wife of a beast like him, for she would be used like a whore.
Tonight had confirmed Weldon's belief that Lord Ross Carlisle was a bad influence on Lady Sara. It was he who had asked his cousin to befriend the Kafir, and doubtless he encouraged her in other immodest behavior. After the marriage, the intimacy between the cousins must be severed. It would be wrong to cut the connection entirely, for Lord Ross was the son of a duke, but it would be made clear that his lordship was not welcome in the Weldon house. Lady Sara would obey her husband in that, as in all other things.
Weldon took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his face. Knowing that he would not sleep tonight unless he found release, he rapped on the roof of the carriage to get his driver's attention, then gave orders for a new destination.
The carriage turned toward Soho, to Mrs. Cambridge's flagellation establishment. She had a brother and sister there, twins, both of them very pretty. He would punish them for Lady Sara's sins. Weldon smiled into the darkness. It would be a most satisfying end to the evening.
Chapter 6
Rescuing Jenny Miller from the whorehouse turned out to be a simple business. After leaving the ball, Peregrine had returned to his hotel and changed from formal evening wear to something equally dark but more anonymous.
Earlier in the day, Peregrine and his servant, Kuram, had made a discreet scouting expedition around Mrs. Kent's brothel so that no time would be wasted in finding the correct place. Kuram had also arranged to hire a hackney for the night. The vehicle was like a thousand other London carriages, and it would take a discerning eye to notice that the dusty horse was much better quality than would usually be found at such work.
Peregrine let Kuram drive while he himself rode inside the hackney, thinking about Lady Sara St. James. She was a constant surprise to him, unlike any other woman he had ever known. Besides her intelligence and quiet courage, she had the same directness that Lord Ross did. That quality meant she should be easy to manipulate, because those who are naturally direct do not usually assume others to be devious.
It would be an interesting challenge to end Lady Sara's betroth
al in a way that would be easy for her and painful for Weldon. But instead of considering ways and means, he found himself thinking back to the kiss they had shared. When she had responded with a potent blend of innocent wonder and sensuality, he had realized that underneath her proper exterior and inexperience was a passionate woman.
Over the years, Peregrine had learned that he could attract a woman's attention and interest by sheer force of will. It was a matter of concentration, of focusing all his intensity and desire. When he made the effort, even the least receptive females became very aware of him, while the most susceptible could be lured to his hand like a trained hawk.
Fortunately, Lady Sara had proved to be very susceptible indeed. Even when he made no special effort, there was a powerful current of attraction between them, but when he had consciously set out to capture her interest, she had softened and opened like a flower. If they had not been in a public place, he would have been delighted to continue what they had begun. Though she had demurred, he did not doubt that she could have been easily persuaded to change her mind.
But her innocence bothered him. While he had promised Ross not to hurt her, innocents were notoriously fragile. That was why he preferred to avoid them. Even though Lady Sara was twenty-seven and levelheaded, there was a strong likelihood that she would suffer some emotional bruising as a result of being caught between Peregrine and his enemy.
Peregrine's expression hardened. He would rather not betray Ross's trust, but even his own promise would not be permitted to come between him and his goal. While it would be regrettable if her ladyship's delicate sensibilities were injured, any damage he inflicted would be trifling compared to the disaster that would befall her if she were to become Weldon's wife.
He dismissed her from his thoughts as the hackney rumbled through an alley they had scouted earlier in the day. Kuram stopped the carriage just within the alley's mouth, so that horse and vehicle were hidden in the shadows. If there was any pursuit, they would be able to pull away quickly.
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