Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  As she picked her bundle up and followed her host upstairs, she marveled at what a strange night it had been. First Prince Peregrine and now Mr. Slade; she hadn't known men could be so nice. But then, she supposed, the nice ones didn't go in for ravishing little girls, so she'd never had the chance to meet any.

  In his way, Mr. Slade was even more surprising than the prince. Peregrine was one-of-a-kind, anyone could see that right away, but because she'd known from the first that he didn't want her, it wasn't a surprise that he'd kept his hands—and other things—to himself.

  But Mr. Slade did want her, she'd seen that straight off. Even so, he hadn't tried anything. He even gave her money so she could leave if she wanted to! Amazing. He wasn't the sort anyone would notice at first, or even second, glance, but there was a lot more to the bloke than she'd thought.

  Her room was clean and pleasant, and looked like it hadn't been used much. It could hardly have been more different from the whorehouse red room she'd lived in for years, and she liked it straight away. So tired from the after-effect of nerves that her hands were clumsy, Jenny washed up and put on a shift to sleep in. As she slid between the cool sheets, she told herself that she'd be damned if she'd ever again wear one of those ruffly baby girl nightgowns. She hadn't brought one with her.

  Even though she was exhausted, she didn't let herself go to sleep right away. Very deliberately, she thought back over her years in the whorehouse, from the one time she really was a virgin and the man who called himself "the Master" had raped her, right up until earlier tonight, when she'd been terrified that the fat sot wouldn't leave, and she wouldn't be ready if Peregrine really did come back for her. But he had come, and her old life was over now. Over.

  She'd never forget, no, nor forgive those who'd abused her, but she wasn't going to turn into a self-pitying slut, either. For some reason, she'd gotten lucky. She wasn't going to waste it.

  * * *

  The next day, Sir Charles Weldon received a terse note from Mrs. Kent, informing him that his favorite and most profitable whore had run away. He swore viciously and crumpled the message, then burned it. He'd made a fortune off Jenny Miller, and had always enjoyed her himself. She was a good little actress, and in spite of all the men she'd serviced over the years, she had a quality of innocence that had never failed to arouse him.

  Probably the little slut had persuaded a customer to make her his mistress, and she was gone for good. His fingers blackened as he crumbled the ashes of the burned note. If he ever came across Jenny Miller again, he'd make her rue the day she had decided to run away from him. And he would enjoy every moment of her punishment.

  Chapter 7

  Miss Eliza Weldon tossed a handful of shredded bread into the water, then laughed in delight as a dozen ducks and one swan hurled themselves raucously forward to grab a share.

  Sara laughed along with her. After a splendid session of shopping and eating ices, she and her future stepdaughter had decided to visit Hyde Park to enjoy the afternoon sun. When Sara learned that Eliza had never had the pleasure of feeding ducks, they had stopped to buy bread at a shop. Throwing fragments from her own chunk of bread to the squawking, ever-growing flock, Sara said, "There is something very satisfying about feeding ducks."

  "I think it is because they are so enthusiastic. It makes one feel wanted." Eliza's cheeks were rosy and wisps of flaxen hair curled charmingly from beneath her bonnet as she gave Sara a shy sideways glance. "I'm glad that you and Papa will be married so soon. I can hardly wait to move in with you."

  Since her mother died, Eliza had lived with the family of Charles's older brother, Lord Batsford. Sara had thought that the arrangement was an agreeable one, but perhaps there were hidden problems. "Are you unhappy living with your aunt and uncle?"

  "Oh, no," Eliza said, surprised at the suggestion. "They treat me just like one of their own. I'll miss them when I leave, but I want so much to live with Papa." Her blue eyes were wistful. "I've never understood why he wouldn't keep me after Mama died. Sometimes I've wondered if he was ashamed of me."

  "Of course not!" Shocked, Sara put her arm around the girl's shoulders. "What gave you an idea like that?"

  "He's so handsome and clever and important." Head down, Eliza carefully ripped off more bread and tossed it to the ducks. "There's nothing special about me. I'm just a girl."

  "You think that your father would have preferred a son?"

  "Isn't that what all men want?" Eliza said with a show of nonchalance, as if only one answer was possible.

  Sara frowned. No doubt the girl had once overheard adults lamenting the fact that Charles's wife had not borne him a son, and had been agonizing over the casual words ever since. "Back in the days when a man's land had to be defended by the sword, sons were very useful, but now it doesn't matter so much. My father once said that it would have been nice if he'd had a son to inherit the title, but only if the son was in addition to me, not instead of me. I know your father feels the same way."

  Eliza looked up, wanting to believe. "You really think so?"

  "I know so," Sara said reassuringly. "Your father has told me how much he is looking forward to having you again. But he's a very busy man, and he knew that after your mother died, you'd be lonely. That's why he agreed when your uncle offered to take you in. He thought you'd be happier with the company of your aunt and your cousins."

  "Sometimes there is too much of it!" Eliza remarked, her face brighter. "There are six of them, and only one of me."

  "But you'll miss them after you've moved. It's lucky that you aren't going far." Sara caught the girl's gaze with her own. "Never forget that your father loves you very much—more than he does me or anyone else."

  Eliza's first expression of happiness was replaced by anxiety. "If that's true, do you mind dreadfully?"

  "Not at all. Love isn't a competition, nor is it like a pot of tea, with only a certain amount to give away before it's all gone. Men love their wives and children in different ways. Perhaps love for a child is stronger because the child is part of you." Sara chuckled. "I sound like such an authority, don't I? Rather silly when I've never had either child or husband."

  Eliza wrapped her arms around Sara's waist in a quick hug. "But soon you'll have both."

  "Yes, and I'm so lucky to start with a grown daughter. If I have a baby, it will be years before we can go shopping together!"

  They were both laughing when a deep voice said, "Are these private ducks, or can I ask for an introduction?"

  Turning from the water in unison, the two females discovered Peregrine dismounting from the mist gray stallion he had bought at Tattersall's. He had been riding along Rotten Row, which at this point was only a few yards from the little lake. Though today he was in proper riding gear, he had disdained a hat and his wind-tousled black hair gave him a rakish air. Definitely a sight to warm the heart of any female. Certainly Sara's heart—or something in that vicinity—warmed at the sight.

  With a sigh of delight, Eliza sank into a curtsy deep enough to honor the queen herself. It was an even better curtsy than the first time she had met the prince; Sara suspected that the girl had been practicing. Not that Sara could fault Eliza's judgment, because Peregrine looked more worthy of royal honors than any member of the House of Hanover ever had.

  "These are public ducks," Sara replied with a smile. "They're a disorderly lot, so you'll have to introduce yourself to them. They've no respect for rank."

  "Ducks are nature's own democrats," the prince agreed. "Miss Weldon, did you know that it is possible to lure ducks onto land by laying a trail of bread from the water?"

  "Really?" Eliza immediately began coaxing ashore the braver—or greedier—waterfowl. Soon she was leading a waddling entourage down the bank of the Serpentine.

  "Well done, Your Highness." Sara stroked the velvety muzzle of his horse. "With Eliza surrounded by quacking ducks, you and I can converse in perfect privacy if you wish."

  "What a devious mind you have, Lady Sara," he said, givi
ng her a wounded look. "Do you think I am always so scandalous that I must enlist ducks to protect the tender ears of innocence?"

  Sara was fascinated by the way frivolity overlaid the prince's natural intensity. He had the dashing corsair appearance of a Byronic hero, yet he could tease about ducks. "I expect that when you want something, you will use whatever comes to hand, even greedy water birds."

  He stilled, as if her words struck him in an unexpected way. Then he glanced at Eliza. "She's a pretty child."

  "Yes, she favors her father in looks, but I'm told her disposition is more like her mother's. Charles adores her."

  "Really?" Peregrine cocked his thick brows quizzically. "He doesn't strike me as the sort to be a doting father."

  "You don't know him very well." Seeing that Eliza was out of bread, Sara called out to the girl, then tossed her own half loaf over so Eliza could continue playing Lady Bountiful.

  "Perhaps not, but I am trying to remedy that lack. An interesting man, Sir Charles." The gray stallion shied as a duck fluttered too close, and the prince ran a calming hand down the animal's neck. "Though I've nothing very scandalous to say, I do have a favor to ask of you, Lady Sara."

  When she gave him an inquiring look, he explained, "I want to buy a country house, and my lawyer has found a possible property called Sulgrave. It is down in Surrey, and I am going to view it tomorrow. I hope to persuade you to come with me."

  Sara hesitated, knowing that it was not a wise idea to be alone with the Kafir for an extended period of time because of the odd effect he had on her. After the kiss at the ball, she should have been embarrassed to see him today, but she wasn't. Instead she was pleased. Too pleased.

  Peregrine turned the full force of his potent charm on her. "Please? I have no idea what an English country house needs to be suitable for entertaining."

  Charles would disapprove of her jaunting off for a day with "a foreigner of dubious morals." But Charles had not been reasonable on the subject of Prince Peregrine, and she had no intention of catering to the prejudices of her betrothed. "I'll be happy to give my opinion if you want it."

  "Splendid," he said warmly. "Is ten o'clock a convenient time for me to call for you?"

  "That's fine." After a moment's thought, she added, "If you're agreeable, I'd like to ride rather than go by carriage. I've just had a horse sent up from the country and tomorrow will be my first chance to take her out.''

  His brows drew together. "It will be a long ride for someone who has not ridden for a decade."

  "True," she admitted, "but on my head be it."

  He grinned. "It won't be your head aching at the end of the day, but if riding is your preference, your wish is my command."

  A squeal of distress from Eliza saved Sara from having to think of a clever retort. They looked up to see that the girl had lured a swan ashore, then tried to touch it. Swans are notoriously evil-tempered, and this one had spread its wings and begun chasing Eliza, neck extended and hissing malevolently.

  "Oh, dear," Sara said, half laughing, half concerned. "An angry swan is alarming even for an adult, and can be terrifying to a child. Will you rescue Eliza?"

  "Of course." Peregrine handed the stallion's reins to Sara and went to the girl's aid, ducks flying in every direction as he cut through the flock. The swan swiveled its long neck and started for the intruder, then reconsidered when he clapped his hands together and barked out a sentence in a foreign language. After one last hiss, the bird hopped into the water and settled down, flicking its tail feathers angrily.

  Peregrine turned to Eliza and bowed. "Having slain the dragon, have I won the princess?"

  Her face was flushed, but after he spoke, she regained her lost dignity. "You have won my heart forever, brave knight." As they walked to where Lady Sara waited with the horse, Eliza asked, "What did you say to the swan?"

  "That if it did not cease and desist, it would end up as the centerpiece of a banquet," he said promptly.

  From the way the girl's blue eyes were shining, perhaps he had won a little of her heart. He looked away, thinking about what Lady Sara had said. If Weldon really was devoted to the child, Peregrine would have to find some way to use that against him. Lady Sara was quite right; when he wanted something, he would use whatever—or whoever—came to hand. He could think of no reason to be more merciful to Eliza Weldon than her father had been to a thousand innocents like Jenny Miller.

  * * *

  The next morning Sara breakfasted with her father. "I'm going riding to the country today," she said, pouring another cup of coffee, "but I should be home by late afternoon."

  "Riding?" her father asked, so surprised that his newspaper drifted down into a dish of coddled eggs.

  Sara stirred milk into her coffee. "Yes, I've decided that it's time I took up riding again. I've missed it."

  His stern features relaxed into a half smile. "Like your mother, you have a talent for saying important things in an offhand way." His smile faded. "Are you sure this is wise?"

  "Probably not," she admitted, "but I'm going to do it anyway. I've had Pansy brought to town. She's a nice, placid lady, perfect for someone who hasn't been on a horse for years."

  "Are you going with Sir Charles?"

  "No, Ross's friend, Prince Peregrine. He's asked me to advise him on a country house he is considering buying."

  The duke frowned. "I'm not sure that I like the idea of you going riding alone with this foreigner."

  Sara sighed. Except for Ross, aristocratic Englishmen really were an insular lot. "The prince is quite respectable," she said, though in fact she was not entirely sure of that. "Charles himself encouraged my acquaintance with him." Though not recently. She gave her father a teasing smile. "What's the point of being a duke's daughter if I don't sometimes defy convention? While I am no rebel, I am well past my salad days and have been going out unchaperoned for years."

  Her father's frown deepened for a moment. Then he shrugged. "If your future husband doesn't object to the company you keep, my dear, I suppose I have no right to." Lifting his paper again, he added, "Enjoy your ride."

  As she went up to dress, Sara didn't doubt that she would enjoy herself. The important thing was not to enjoy herself too much.

  Promptly at ten o'clock, a footman summoned Sara. She checked her appearance in the mirror. The rust-colored habit was a decade old and rather outdated, but it still fit perfectly, and the sweeping sleeves and full skirts made her small waist appear even smaller. Would her wild Kafir prince admire her appearance?

  She turned away from the mirror, telling herself that she had no business wanting to be admired by a man other than her affianced husband. Then she smiled a little at her priggishness. She was human, after all, and what normal woman did not want to see admiration in the eyes of an attractive man?

  She went into the hall and down the curving stairs, her left hand holding her wide skirts and her right gliding down the polished banister. The prince waited below, his green eyes focused intently on her. Momentarily Sara faltered, painfully conscious of her limp.

  Then she continued her descent. He was quite aware of her weakness, so there was no point in trying to conceal it. But as she reached the marble floor and greeted him, she realized that at that moment, she would willingly trade all her practical common sense to be flawless and beautiful.

  "Good morning, Your Highness," she said, offering her hand. "Do you never wear a hat?"

  "As seldom as possible," he replied as he took her hand. "Except during a blizzard, hats should be worn only by lovely ladies like you. That confection on your head now, for example." He touched the curling plume with one finger. "Most charming."

  "You are coming along very well in the art of flirtation." Then, as she tried to tug her hand free of his, she said, "Unfortunately, you have forgotten the rule about letting go of ladies' hands. Your memory seems highly selective."

  He chuckled as he released her. "You have found me out, Lady Sara. As a sundial marks only the sunny hours, I
prefer to remember only what suits me."

  "Really?" she said, suddenly wistful. "How pleasant it must be to forget the bad times."

  His humor evaporated. "It would be pleasant if it were possible," he said as he escorted her outside. "But alas, selective memory is a goal I have not yet achieved. The evil hours are always more memorable."

  She glanced at his strong profile, and wondered what his evil hours had been like, for even at the prince's most playful, there was always a dark edge to him. But she would never know what had made him the man he was. While he had been able to read her easily from the first time they met, she still had no idea what went on in his mind.

  When they reached the stable yard behind the house, Peregrine surveyed her chestnut horse, unimpressed. "For this you refused that lovely sorrel mare at Tattersall's?"

  "You must not criticize Pansy." Sara stroked the mare's Roman nose. "While she is not showy, she has been my very dear friend for many years."

  "'Not showy' is a staggering understatement." He laced his hands together to assist Sara in mounting. "This is not a horse, it is an animated sofa, broad and soft and shapeless."

  Sara had feared the moment when she first mounted again, but now laughter dissipated her tension. Clever of him to distract her. "Unkind but true. Pansy is as comfortable as a sofa, though she also has good stamina. That's why she is a perfect choice for someone returning to riding after years away."

  For a moment longer the prince stayed by her stirrup, watching her face keenly. She liked the way he was solicitous without fussing. After she gave an infinitesimal nod to let him know that she had gotten past the worst part, he went to mount his own horse.

  Sara's right leg was the bad one, and she could feel the strain in muscles and joints as she adjusted her thigh over the pommel of the sidesaddle. By the end of the day she would have shooting pains from hip to knee, but it would be worth it. Being on horseback again restored confidence that she had not even realized was gone. She laughed with sheer exuberance.