Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  Peregrine wheeled the gray stallion, a magnificent man on a magnificent horse. "Are you ready to brave the dangers of the London streets, Lady Sara?"

  "Lead on, Your Highness," she said, saluting her companion with her riding whip.

  As they trotted into the street side by side, Sara was pleased to learn that her riding skills had survived ten years of disuse. Effortless balance, the subtle control of reins and body, were still as natural as breathing. Still, it had been wise to start with dependable, placid Pansy, though she could not prevent a sigh of longing as she admired the gray stallion's silken elegance. "What have you named your horse?"

  "Siva," the prince replied, slowing his mount to let a delivery cart cross in front of them.

  "Shee-va?" she said experimentally, trying to get the vowels exactly as he had pronounced them. "What does that mean?"

  "Siva is one of the gods of the Hindu pantheon," he said. "That aspect of the divine that rules destruction and regeneration, to be exact."

  "Goodness! That is a lot of symbolism for a horse to carry," she said. As he laughed, she continued, "Though I suppose only humans worry about the weight of intangibles. Are you a Hindu? I had assumed you were Muslim."

  "No, I'm neither Hindu nor Muslim. Kafiristan is an island of paganism surrounded by a sea of Islam. To a Muslin, a kafir is an unbeliever, which is where the name Kafiristan comes from."

  "What do you mean by paganism?" she asked cautiously. "Or should I not ask?"

  "Ancestor and nature worship," he explained. "Quite a lot of gods of all types. Wooden statues of the ancestors stand outside Kafir villages. Very colorful, not unlike the statues of war heroes that the British are so fond of putting in parks."

  Sara laughed, and laughter was the theme of their ride across the river and through southern London. They had reached the rolling hills of Surrey, and subsided into amiable silence before Sara realized that she had done most of the talking, and the subject had been her life. Artful comments and questions from Peregrine had led her to talk about her childhood, her accident and slow recovery, even her relationship with Charles.

  She gave her companion an exasperated glance. She had voiced thoughts that she had never before spoken aloud, but apart from the fact that she now knew that Kafirs were pagans, she knew no more about Peregrine than she had at the beginning of the ride. Now that she thought of it, she did not actually know if he subscribed to the religious beliefs of his people, for his attitude had been rather detached.

  Sara sighed and rubbed her aching leg. Her companion was certainly a master of gaining information without giving anything away about himself. But while the idea that the prince knew much more about her than vice versa made Sara a little uncomfortable, there was no harm in it. Obviously he hadn't been raised in the English tradition of reserve and restraint, and he asked questions to satisfy his natural curiosity about a country and people that must seem very strange to him. Nobody had compelled her to answer, but the man was diabolically easy to talk to. Perhaps it was because she knew he did not see things as an Englishman did.

  As they neared their goal, Peregrine's formidable curiosity turned to the country they rode through. His gaze probed and assessed everything they passed, and he spoke only to ask Sara an occasional question.

  Finally she said, "You are studying Surrey the way Wellington must have watched the field of Waterloo. Do you expect wild tribesmen to attack us?"

  He gave her a startled glance, then chuckled. "Not at all. It is just that I have never seen rural England. I sailed up the Thames at night and have been in London ever since."

  He gestured at their surroundings. "I had not realized what I was missing. England is like a vast garden, where everything has been designed to please the eye."

  She followed his gaze, and for a moment saw her country with fresh eyes, as he must see it. The lush grassy lane they followed was bounded by low, flower-strewn hedges. Beyond lay a quilting of neat fields whose crops colored them in shades from pale gold to vivid green. The square Norman tower of a parish church punctuated the horizon, and above floated the mysterious, hazy blue ridge of hills called the North Downs.

  And it was not just the eye that was pleased, but all the senses, for a murmuring of insects and bird song soothed the ear, and scents of healthy growing things wafted through the air.

  Sara caught her breath, feeling as if blinders had fallen from her eyes to reveal heart-stopping serenity and loveliness. "You're right, England is rather like a great garden. Did you know that Ross's estate, Chapelgate, is only about a half hour's ride from here? Because I know the area well, I was taking this beauty for granted." She smiled at her companion. "Thank you for making me see this for the wonder it is. But doesn't Surrey seem very tame compared with the mountains where you grew up?"

  "While it is tame, it is also very..." he hesitated, "very appealing. Surprisingly so."

  As she spoke, they rounded a curve and came upon the iron gates of Sulgrave. A pull at the bell eventually produced a gatekeeper, who let them in after the prince showed his authorization from the lawyer handling the property sale.

  The house appeared only in glimpses as they cantered up the winding, tree-lined drive. Near the top of the road there was finally a clear view, so they reined in their horses. The manor was set on a gentle rise, and its red brick glowed with warmth in the noonday sun. The house was long and low, not grand but well proportioned and rich in classical detailing.

  Sara turned her head to make an approving comment, then held her tongue. Peregrine was staring at the house with an intensity best described as hunger, as if he had caught a glimpse of his soul's desire. It was fortunate that the seller was not present, or the price would have doubled, for Sara had a powerful suspicion that no inadequacies of kitchen or drainage would prevent the prince from buying Sulgrave Manor.

  Sensing her gaze, he turned his head, his brief fierceness veiled. "What do you think of the house?"

  "It's very handsome. About two hundred years old, isn't it?" When he raised his brows in question, she said, "Those curving Flemish gables are the clue. They were very fashionable in the mid-seventeenth century."

  "I knew you would be invaluable today. I would not know a Flemish gable from a Grecian temple."

  "I'm surprised that the agent handling the property did not come with you to explain everything," she remarked as they started their horses forward again.

  "He wanted to, but I preferred to see the place without him peering over my shoulder and telling me what to think."

  "That would have been an exercise in futility on his part," Sara said with amusement. "It seems to be a working estate, not just a house. Why is it being sold?"

  "The property was owned by an elderly widower," Peregrine explained. "His heir lives in America and has no desire to return to England. I'm told that the house needs refurbishing, but is basically sound. Besides the home farm, there are several tenant farms, about two thousand acres all together."

  They followed the drive around the house to the stables. Though no farm workers were in sight, the yard was well kept and there was a pleasant scent of fresh hay. Peregrine dismounted in front of the stables' open double doors. After tethering the gray stallion, he came over to help Sara down from her horse.

  Her right leg had progressed from pain to numbness, and she had to use one hand to lift her leg over the pommel. Sara clenched her teeth as she slid into the prince's grasp, but she was not prepared for the shaft of pure agony that blazed through her thigh and hip. She gave an involuntary cry as her right leg buckled under her, and she began falling.

  Instantly Peregrine caught her, pulling her tight against him. "Your leg isn't working?"

  She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying out again. He turned her so that her back was against him. Then he wrapped his left arm securely around her waist and leaned over to massage her thigh, his fingers kneading deep into the cramped muscles.

  Sara was unable to prevent herself from moaning as waves of ago
ny pulsed through her. "I'm sorry," she said, on the verge of tears. "I didn't think it would be this bad."

  "No need to apologize," he said, his deep voice calming. "If you did not demand much of yourself, you would still be in an invalid chair."

  Under his expert ministrations, the pain began subsiding to a bearable level. Sara's breathing steadied, though she was grateful for her companion's solid support.

  After he had massaged away the worst of the pain, Peregrine moved his hand down to her knee and began working his way upward. His touch was lighter as his hand moved back and forth across her thigh with slow, thorough strokes. Sara began to feel sensations that were more than the recovery of abused muscles and joints. Even through the heavy layers of riding habit, her body tingled under his probing fingers as pain was replaced by pleasure.

  When he reached the top of her leg, stroking from her hip around to her inner thigh, warmth uncurled deep inside her, and a longing she had never known and did not understand. Sara inhaled, shockingly aware of the intimacy of what he was doing. As the mysterious warmth expanded through her body, she wanted to melt back against him, limp and receptive. Instead she pulled away, saying, "I think I can walk now."

  Peregrine caught her arm, steadying her as she put weight on her right leg. Sara faltered but managed to stay upright, waiting for the renewed pain to subside before she tried another step.

  "You are a glutton for punishment, your ladyship." Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the stables.

  While Sara had always been conscious of his strength, before it had been a recognition of the mind. Now she was aware with every fiber of her being. She was shaking when he set her down on a bench inside the stable. Physical pain was not the problem, for she had survived a great deal of that in her life. Far more disabling was her helpless, involuntary reaction to his virility.

  Oblivious to her mental turmoil, Peregrine said, "With a little rest you should be able to walk, but you won't be riding back to London today."

  "I'm sorry to cause so much trouble." She looked down, unable to meet her companion's gaze.

  "Don't apologize. This is merely a nuisance, not a disaster. I'll ride down to the gate house and tell the gatekeeper to hire a carriage and driver to take us back when we are ready." He touched her cheek. "Isn't the pain more tolerable than the fear of pain was?"

  She nodded, arrested by what she saw in the clear depths of his vivid green eyes. Usually Peregrine was enigmatic, veiled in mystery, but for an instant he let her see deeper. And when he did, she saw a man who knew all there was to know about pain.

  That insight helped her master her disordered emotions, and she managed a faint smile. "Remarkable how much you understand."

  "Not remarkable in the least." He straightened. "I will be back in a few minutes." After bringing Pansy into the stables, he swung onto Siva and trotted out of the yard.

  When the prince was out of sight, Sara leaned her head back against the wooden wall and closed her eyes, feeling weak and foolish. She had been hurting, and the prince had helped her with kindness and efficiency. And because she was vulnerable and grateful, she had responded with that intense physical awareness of him. It had been a momentary aberration, no more.

  Determinedly she turned her attention to her throbbing leg. Tomorrow she would hardly be able to get out of bed, but as she cautiously prodded her thigh, she decided that no permanent damage had been done. In a few days she would be back on Pansy. At first she would ride only to the park and back, but in time, she vowed with grim determination, she would be able to ride twenty miles without a second thought.

  Lifting her head, she saw that a tabby cat had materialized a yard away, sitting on its haunches and acting as if it had been in the same spot for hours. Amused by its world-weary air, she said, "Well, Furface, did you see me make a fool of myself?"

  Taking that as an invitation, the feline made a flying leap onto her lap. Sara winced as it landed on her aching leg, but she couldn't resist the way the cat bumped its head against her ribs in a demand for attention. Scratching the velvety throat, she asked, "Did you see the man who might be your new master? You had better catch mice well for him, because I don't think he will tolerate idlers in his employ."

  The cat turned around twice in her lap, then curled up and gave her a smile of imbecilic pleasure as it began purring. There was something very soothing about a cat. In addition, the creature made a good substitute for a warming bottle.

  After a few minutes, Sara sighed and put the indignant cat back on the floor. Then she stood and began making her slow way through the stables, her right hand skimming the wall for support. It was easier to concentrate on the mundane business of walking than to think about the man whose casual touch could change her into a woman who was a stranger to herself.

  Chapter 8

  After sending the gatekeeper to arrange for a carriage, Peregrine remounted Siva and rode back to the house, taking his time as he reconsidered his strategy. He had intended to make a major move in his campaign to detach Lady Sara from Weldon today.

  From the beginning she had been attracted to him, though she was both too innocent and too ladylike to act on her interest. He had moved slowly, careful not to alarm her until he was sure that she was ripe for seduction. Not that he was sure he would allow matters to go that far, for seducing a noble English virgin was likely to cause complications he didn't need. But he suspected that Sara's attachment to her betrothed was not very deep. A little judicious love-making should help persuade her that marriage would be a mistake.

  However, while Peregrine had confidence in his skills, a woman who was in pain was a poor subject for seduction. He should have insisted that they come by carriage, but he had admired her courage and determination. He still did, even though her desire to come on horseback had produced a result that would balk his plan for the day.

  Once more he stopped at the top of the drive and regarded Sulgrave Manor with brooding eyes. Buying a country estate had merely been part of his plan to establish himself in English society, with the added benefit of providing an excuse to be alone with Lady Sara. It had been a surprise, and not a pleasant one when he had reacted so strongly to his first sight of the manor. It was dangerous to want something so much, because desire and affection made a man vulnerable.

  After a minute he flicked the reins impatiently and continued on. He was making too much of this. Sulgrave was just a house, albeit a handsome one, and available at a bargain price. Perhaps someday, in that dim future beyond the accomplishment of his mission, he would be free to glory in pride of possession. In the meantime, buying the property was just another step toward his goal.

  To his surprise, he found Lady Sara walking with reasonable ease, though her limp was much worse than usual. As he dismounted and led Siva into the stables, he said, "You recovered quickly."

  "Practice improves all skills," she said dryly. "Were you able to persuade the gatekeeper to order a carriage?"

  "Eventually. He was reluctant at first, until it occurred to him that I might be his next employer. Then he became most obliging." After tending the horses, Peregrine suggested, "Would you like to wait in the gardens while I go view the house?"

  "I didn't come all this way to watch butterflies. I'm looking forward to seeing the inside of the manor." Taking his arm, Sara added, "Though my guess is that you will buy Sulgrave even if it is less than perfect for entertaining."

  He glanced at her, not best pleased. "Am I that obvious?"

  "Not usually. This time you were."

  She leaned on his arm more than usual, but showed no other sign of distress. Perhaps he might achieve today's goal after all. He would let events be his guide.

  The lawyer had given Peregrine a key that let them in a back door. Lady Sara pronounced the kitchens hopeless, saying that they must be completely redone with modern stoves and ovens. Even an inexperienced male eye could see that she was right.

  But apart from the kitchens
, the house had no drawbacks. Most of the chambers were large and well proportioned, with richly carved ceilings and moldings. The dining and drawing rooms were gracious, the library magnificent, and there were other chambers that could be used for activities such as music and billiards.

  Their exploration of the ground floor ended in the hall, where exquisite antique mosaics were embedded in the floor. Peregrine knelt and brushed his fingers over the abstract floral pattern. "The lawyer told me about these mosaics. They were discovered in the ruins of the old Roman town of Silchester."

  "The house is superb," Lady Sara said, her gaze lingering on the mosaic. "A great deal of cleaning and redecorating will be required, but when you are done, Sulgrave should suit your purposes exactly. Does the furniture come with it?"

  He stood, brushing dust from his hands. "Yes, the heir does not want the bother of selling it separately. Am I right that many of the pieces are very good quality?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Some things will need refinishing, and others are not worth keeping, but if you like the styles of the last century, you'll have a good start on furnishing the house."

  "I hope that you will also lend me your advice about decorating," he said. "Are you ready to see the upstairs?"

  As she gave the stairs a calculating look, Peregrine found himself very aware of her profile, the pure line of face, throat, and breast, like the ancient sibyl she had first reminded him of. Suddenly he wanted her with a fierceness that shocked him. Shaken, he took a deep breath, knowing that too much desire could play havoc with his plans. When he was sure that touching her would not make him act like a lust-crazed youth, he leaned over, scooped her up, and began climbing the carved oak stairs.

  "You are a little too quick to sweep me off my feet, Your Highness," Lady Sara said rather breathlessly as she clung to his arm. "I could have climbed the stairs on my own."

  "No doubt, but the price of proving it would have been too high. Show some consideration for your ill-used leg."