Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  The prince turned away, and Sara released her breath shakily, realizing that she had hardly been breathing. While he entered a front bedroom, opened a window, and called down to the driver, she walked as quickly as she could to the main staircase.

  Clinging to the banister for support, she was just starting her descent when Peregrine rejoined her. For a moment she feared that he was going to carry her downstairs, but he correctly interpreted her warning look.

  "So fierce!" he said with amusement. "Don't worry, sweet Sara, you are safe from me."

  "The correct form of address is Lady Sara. I have not given you leave to be informal." Suddenly furious, she stopped and glared at him. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? I wish we had never met, for you have turned my life inside out, and it means nothing to you."

  "This is not a game, and it is not meaningless to me." He stopped two steps below and turned to face her, his brief humor vanished. For once completely serious, he asked, "Can you honestly say that you have not benefited, at least a little, from my 'turning your life inside out'?"

  Sara thought of how he had led her through her fears to the heady freedoms of riding and dancing. And there had been a different, more dangerous freedom when she had discovered passion in his arms, a freedom that could quickly lead to disgrace and subjugation.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes, I have benefited, and I am not really sorry to have met you," she said quietly. "But I can't see you alone in the future. Don't call on me, or ask me to ride or drive with you, because I won't accept."

  "You do not trust me?" His eyes were level with hers, the green depths fathomless, impossible to read.

  "No," she said bluntly. "Nor do I trust myself. I will not risk another episode like this one."

  There was a long pause before he spoke. "Of course I must assent to your wishes, Lady Sara." His eyes darkened, something subtle and dangerous moving in the depths. "For the time being."

  * * *

  It was a long, tiring ride back to London. Sara was intensely grateful that the prince chose to ride Siva rather than join her in the small hired carriage. Spending two hours in close proximity, where every jolt might knock her against him, would have been more than she could bear. Even so, it took all of her strength to maintain her composure.

  When they arrived at Haddonfield House, he behaved with impeccable politeness, returning Pansy to the stables, escorting Sara into the house with a strong impersonal hand under her elbow, and taking his leave after thanking her for her invaluable assistance. Even the stiff-rumped Haddonfield butler, who watched, did not notice anything amiss.

  Sara had just enough endurance left to climb the stairs to her room without aid, though it was a slow, painful ascent. Thank heaven her father was out for the evening. Sara's sour-faced maid, Hoskins, made several acid comments about having warned her ladyship not to try to ride, and only subsided when Sara forcefully told her to hold her tongue.

  Blissfully free of her riding habit and corset, Sara would have preferred to lie down and fall into exhausted slumber, but from experience she knew that she would feel much better in the morning if she soaked in a long, hot bath. Besides, there was something else she must do.

  After sending Hoskins off to draw the bath, Sara seated herself at the dressing table and stared at her reflection as she drew the pins from her hair, freeing it to fall around her shoulders. It was time to face some unpleasant facts, and looking at the mirror would make it harder to be dishonest.

  For she had been profoundly dishonest; from the moment she had seen Prince Peregrine, she had lied to herself over and over and over, denying how much he fascinated her. She had believed herself impervious to his dangerous allure, and that self-deception had led her to today's humiliating scene at Sulgrave.

  She ran her fingers through her thick hair, loosening it and easing the tension in her scalp. A pity that her mental tension could not be eased so simply. The cheapest trollop in Covent Garden would have been more honest than Lady Sara St. James had been.

  Ignorance was no excuse, for she had made a point of educating herself about what happened between men and women, her best teacher being an uninhibited cockney maid. Yet in spite of her knowledge and worldly experience, she had walked straight into a situation that could have ruined her, because in her secret heart, she had wanted passion more than honor.

  Sara had assumed that she was too refined, or too cold, to succumb to such folly. Obviously she had been wrong, though she could not blame herself for wanting to yield to passion now that she had experienced its awesome power. If she had felt such desire for Charles, she would have welcomed it as an extra blessing for their marriage. But instead, on the eve of her wedding, she had become infatuated with another man. And, humiliatingly, he was a man with no special interest in her.

  Though Peregrine had said that she was the only woman he wanted, she discounted that as the tactful lie of an experienced seducer, in the same league as the fool's gold compliments he had given her. "Gold and silk and ivory, warmed to wondrous life," indeed! As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she saw a small female of unremarkable appearance, over-serious and—she forced herself to think the word—crippled.

  Oddly, she had believed Peregrine when he said that he did not want to ruin her, and that he was not interested in her simply as a conquest. The thought made her smile faintly, for there was nothing simple about him. But she could think of only two other reasons why a handsome prince would choose her above the beautiful, experienced women he had met in London society, and neither reason was flattering.

  Possibly it was her rank that attracted him, making her more alluring than her modest physical attractions warranted. Far more likely, her real appeal was that she was fool enough to make herself available. She had put herself in a position where the Kafir had reason to believe that she would accept his advances. Then, after acting like a wanton, she had retreated like a nervous schoolgirl. He could have humiliated her at the least, ravished her at the most, and she was grateful for his restraint.

  No doubt she had Ross to thank for that, because the friendship between the men seemed the most likely reason that Peregrine had not taken advantage of her foolishness. Pray God that Ross, Charles, and her father never learned what had happened today. Her cousin might understand, or at least be tolerant of her weakness. But her father and her betrothed would be profoundly, and justifiably, appalled by her behavior.

  Convulsively Sara buried her face in her hands, no longer able to face her image in the mirror. Even if the men in her life never learned what she had done, she could not escape the worst punishment of all: the knowledge that she had failed to live up to her own standards of right and wrong. She had thought herself a virtuous woman, but clearly her virtue was merely a result of never having been tempted.

  Fortunately for Sara's composure, Hoskins returned to say that the bath was ready. Numbly Sara walked to the bathroom, stripped off her green velvet robe, and lowered herself into the large tub. The steaming, rose-scented water came up to her chin, and her aching muscles reacted with a relief so intense that it was nearly pain. It was pleasure almost as acute and sensual as what she had experienced in Peregrine's arms.

  Exasperated, Sara tried to banish her unruly thoughts, but without success. Immodest though it was, she could not deny her taut, yearning awareness. Hesitantly she opened her hands and stroked down her torso, her palms gliding over her smooth feminine curves. Her skin was satin-sleek under the hot water.

  Peregrine's hands were long-fingered and dexterous, hardened by work, yet gentle, so gentle. What would it be like to feel those strong hands on her bare flesh? The thought made her shiver with embarrassing longing, but she wasn't embarrassed enough to stop thinking and wondering.

  Consideringly she cupped one breast. It was soft and almost weightless in the water. Remarkable things, breast. Men were intrigued by them, and even through her heavy clothing she had nearly melted with pleasure when he touched her there.

&nbs
p; Her hand skimmed lower across her ribs, along the curve of her waist, then lower yet, toward parts of her body for which she did not even have a name, but which pulsed with yearning. As her fingertips brushed curling gold hair, she had a vivid image of his dark hand in the same place. A few short hours ago, she had been pressed against him, their loins straining together...

  She blushed violently and withdrew her hand, but the thought of Peregrine touching her intimately was not the major cause of her discomfort. The real problem was knowing that in her mind and emotions, she had been—was still—disloyal to the man she had promised to marry. She doubted that Charles had lived a chaste life since the death of his first wife, but that did not excuse Sara's failing.

  Deliberately she studied her right thigh and traced the ugly, twisting scars left by the surgeons. There had been infection, and they had wanted to amputate her leg, but her condition had improved while they were still trying to decide if the operation would be more likely to kill or cure her. The scars were part of her, along with all the limitations they represented. It would be well if she remembered that.

  The water was beginning to cool. With a sigh, she took the bar of French soap and began lathering, then stopped because the slick pressure was stimulating improper thoughts again. Damn Peregrine for invading her mind and imagination so thoroughly!

  Her mouth grim, Sara asked herself another difficult question. She had faced her self-deception and had acknowledged her physical attraction to the mysterious Kafir. While she was fascinated by him, she was reasonably sure that his interest in her was minor and fleeting. But what if things were different? What if she were not betrothed to Charles, what if Peregrine asked her to marry him? What would she do then?

  The last shreds of her control vanished, and she began to cry, hopeless tears that stung her eyes and rolled down her face into the cooling water. And she didn't even know why.

  Chapter 9

  It was late evening, not quite full dark, as Peregrine rode to Benjamin Slade's home for what should be a very interesting meeting. But instead of thinking about business, his mind kept turning to Lady Sara St. James, as it had done repeatedly in the last week. He still could not understand why he had restrained himself the afternoon they had gone to Sulgrave. He had desired her with overwhelming intensity, and she herself had been three-quarters willing. One more kiss and she would have surrendered completely. Yet he had stopped.

  Perhaps it was because of his promise to Ross, perhaps because of the desperate vulnerability in Lady Sara's eyes as she begged him not to continue. Much as he wanted her, he had found himself unable to do something that would make her despise herself afterward.

  The trouble was that he liked the blasted woman, liked her intelligence and humor and wise, gentle spirit. He also could not avoid a certain grudging respect for the fact that she tried to live up to her principles of right and wrong. Such principles were the luxuries of people who had led easy lives, but they were not without a certain charm.

  His mouth curled with self-disgust as he considered the repercussions of his moment of misguided restraint. It would have been far kinder to have tumbled her. By now he knew Lady Sara well enough to be sure that her conscience would have driven her to break her betrothal if she had been intimate with another man. Weldon would have lost his rich, highborn wife, Peregrine's goal would have been enjoyably achieved, and the lady herself would have been much better off in the long run.

  Because Sara's own desire had been aroused, she would have been too honest to put all the blame on her seducer, and in the aftermath she would have suffered from guilt and self-reproach. But she would have been saved from Weldon, and would soon have come to terms with her lapse from virtue, for she had too much common sense to punish herself forever.

  He had been a softheaded fool, and he and Sara would both end up paying a high price for his weakness. The betrothal must be broken, but since she would not see him except in a crowded social setting, he would have to find another way to achieve his end. The vague plan in the back of his mind was thoroughly dishonorable, but he would resort to it if necessary. And next time, he would not let Sara's honest, accusing brown eyes keep him from his purpose.

  * * *

  Benjamin Slade settled his reading glasses on his nose with lawyerly precision and lifted a paper from one of the files stacked on the desk in front of him. "Following your suggestions, I have compiled a remarkable dossier on Sir Charles Weldon. I would not have believed a gentleman could be guilty of such wickedness and hypocrisy had I not seen the evidence myself.''

  He paused and peered over the top of his glasses. "Bear in mind that there are two categories of evidence here. Some of it is so conclusive that any judge or jury in Great Britain would be convinced. However, there are other crimes that Weldon is surely guilty of, but where the evidence will not stand in court."

  "I understand the distinction," Peregrine said, lounging back in his chair and crossing his legs. "It is neither necessary nor possible to prove all his crimes. I just want to know that we have enough to hang him." Correctly interpreting Slade's doubtful expression, he added with a humorless smile, "I speak metaphorically. Frankly, I think hanging is too good for Sir Charles Weldon."

  Slade blinked. Then, surprisingly, he said, "I'm inclined to think you are right." His gaze returned to the paper in his hand. "To summarize, Weldon owns all the brothels you listed. He also appears to own several other brothels and two or three illegal gaming hells, though I can't prove it in most cases because the transfer of money is in cash, with minimal records. Except for Mrs. Kent's house, he seldom makes a personal visit to his own bawdy houses, preferring to channel funds through intermediaries. The most important of these is a man called Kane, who lives in Weldon's household and is described as a personal secretary."

  Peregrine nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. I met Kane a couple of times. Silent and dangerous, not at all deferential. Looks like a former soldier."

  "He could be. I have been unable to learn anything of his history before he began working for Weldon some fifteen years ago." Slade set one paper down and lifted another. "While Kane's background is mysterious, his criminal talent is vital to Weldon's illicit businesses. He collects money, terrorizes anyone who doesn't cooperate, and generally keeps things running smoothly. Each brothel has at least one guard who has been recruited from the London underworld and who reports directly to Kane. Rather like a private army. Overt violence is committed either by Kane or one of the brothel guards, which makes it difficult to connect Weldon directly with criminal activity."

  The lawyer gave a slight, satisfied smile. "However, I have been able to acquire some useful affidavits. For example, in the case of Mrs. Kent's appalling establishment, Miss Miller not only overheard Weldon and Kent discussing his ownership, but she herself saw money change hands and will testify.''

  Peregrine smiled, amused. Jenny might have seen what she claimed, but he considered it more likely that she had made the incident up as a way of getting back at Weldon. Better not to mention the latter possibility to Benjamin, who might be shocked at the prospect of someone lying under oath. Peregrine was less scrupulous. All he cared about was that if the girl lied, she would do it convincingly, and he suspected that she would.

  As he knew from experience, it was hard to be over-concerned with the niceties of the law when one has lived outside it. "I imagine that all this information has cost a fortune in bribes."

  "I prefer not to use the term bribe," Slade said blandly, "but, yes, substantial amounts have been expended. You did give me the authority."

  "I'm not complaining. Spend whatever is necessary." Though Peregrine seldom smoked, he leaned forward and took a cigar from the box on his host's desk. "Were you able to establish if Weldon is involved with those ships I told you to investigate?"

  Slade nodded, his gray eyes like chipped ice. "I was. The ownership is indirect, and I had to follow a convoluted trail through several sham companies. However, because of the laws and gove
rnment registrations involved, his guilt can be proved beyond doubt, unlike most of the brothel ownerships."

  As exultation surged through him, Peregrine trimmed the end of the cigar. So he was right—his enemy was as evil as expected, and stupid or arrogant enough to leave a trail for anyone clever enough to know where to look. "What about Weldon's legitimate businesses?"

  "Though he has a reputation for wealth and success, the reality is rather different. He's undeniably clever, but too often rash. If it were not for the income from his illegal enterprises, he might have gone bankrupt some time ago."

  The lawyer opened a new file. "In the last eighteen months, he has made a number of bad decisions and is now overdue on repaying several personal loans. The bank holding his paper is nervous, but assumes he will recover soon. It helps that Weldon recently announced his betrothal to an heiress, Lady Sara St. James. They will marry quite soon. Perhaps you have met her at one of your social affairs? She's the only child of the Duke of Haddonfield."

  "I've met her." Eyes narrowed, Peregrine lifted the shade from the candle lamp and lit his cigar. "What would it do to Weldon's financial situation if the betrothal ended?"

  Slade's brows rose. "It certainly wouldn't help him. Do you have reason to believe the marriage will not take place?"

  "I'm sure it will not." The prince drew in a mouthful of smoke, then slowly exhaled it. "You may drop a few discreet hints in financial circles that Lady Sara, who is a woman of taste and perception, is in the process of reconsidering her decision to marry Weldon."

  The lawyer regarded him thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that the less I know about that, the better. Rest assured that soon it will be known that Weldon might not receive the financial settlement he is planning on. Of course, he can find another heiress, but these things take time, even for a handsome man with a distinguished reputation."