Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  Satisfaction was inevitably short-lived. Peregrine didn't bother to straighten up, just grabbed Ross's leg and jerked him off balance. Even as Ross hit the carpet with painful force, he rolled and dragged his opponent off his feet.

  Both men were highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and they had sparred often enough to be able to anticipate each other's moves. The result was an intense, noisy, exhausting brawl. They rolled and pummeled each other back and forth across the library, smashing two wooden chairs and toppling the globe stand.

  A furious exchange of blows sent Ross into a corner of the desk. A lamp tipped onto the carpet, and flames raced along the spilled oil. Ross peeled off his coat and tossed it over the blaze. As soon as it smothered, he returned to the fray with grim determination.

  Peregrine avoided any blows or holds that could do serious damage, but Ross was less particular. Though he was not trying to kill, he wanted to harm the other man. He wanted Peregrine to feel some shadow of the pain that he had casually inflicted on Sara, and in his fury, Ross had never been more dangerous.

  When both men were battered, bruised, and near the end of their endurance, Peregrine managed to pin Ross to the floor and apply a chokehold across his windpipe.

  "Enough!" The Kafir's breath came in harsh, rattling gasps. "You're never going to win, I have had twenty years' head start in fighting for my life. But if this goes on much longer, one of us will be badly hurt. I'd rather it wasn't me, and if it's you, Sara will be even angrier with me than she is now. Pax?''

  Enough of Ross's fury had been burned off to make him amenable to reason. Now it was time to talk. "Pax," he agreed, his voice a hoarse rasp.

  After Peregrine released him, Ross lay still for a minute, his lungs laboring for breath. He ached from head to foot, and one eye was blinded by blood trickling from a laceration along his eyebrow, but nothing seemed to be broken. Painfully he rolled to his knees, stopping when a wave of dizziness almost flattened him.

  His erstwhile opponent grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet, then propelled him over to the leather sofa. Ross sank gratefully back into the cushions, thinking that the damned Kafir was made of steel and weathered oak. Anyone else would be lying on the floor in a gentlemanly stupor after absorbing so much punishment.

  Clinking sounds indicated that Peregrine had found the liquor cabinet. After a couple of minutes he sat on the arm of the sofa and started gently sponging the blood from Ross's face.

  When the blood was cleaned off, Peregrine poured some whiskey on his folded handkerchief, then pressed it against the laceration. The stinging helped clear Ross's head. He took the pad from the other man's hand and held it in place himself.

  The Kafir had already poured two glasses of whiskey. He placed one in Ross's free hand, then settled down at the other end of the sofa. "Feel better now?"

  "A little." Ross was pleased to see that Peregrine was going to have some lively bruises of his own, and even more pleased to see that his friend had dropped his maddening frivolity. Maybe now he would make sense. "I think it is time you were more specific about Charles Weldon's nameless vices. They will have to be impressive to justify what you did to Sara."

  Peregrine slouched down, his head tilted back against the sofa, and his long legs stretched out before him. "Weldon owns a number of brothels and gaming hells, and patronizes them all," he said wearily. "His own favorite vice seems to be ravishing young virgins. He probably murdered his first wife, and he is part owner of several ships engaged in slave trading." He cocked an ironic eye at Ross. "There's more, but that should give you the general idea."

  Ross was stunned into temporary silence. While he had never much liked Weldon, he had never imagined the man capable of such evil. "You can prove what you say?"

  "Some of it. Not all. You can see my files if you like, though I warn you, they don't make pleasant reading."

  Ross swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, welcoming its burn. Later he would want to see those files, but his friend's flat certainty was powerfully persuasive. "Are you sure about the slave trading? That has been illegal for over twenty years."

  "Which is why it is very lucrative for those who still engage in it," Peregrine said dryly. "The slave ships go mainly to the West Indies and South America, where disease creates a chronic shortage of labor."

  After Ross came to terms with the information, his scholar's curiosity was aroused. "How did you learn so much about Weldon?"

  "I made it my business to know," Peregrine said tersely.

  "That's not much of an answer. What did he do to you that makes you so determined to bring him to justice?"

  "That is bloody well none of your business." Peregrine's green eyes were bright and hard as emeralds. "Now will you agree that Weldon was an unsuitable husband for your cousin?"

  "You've convinced me." Ross rubbed his aching side and decided that he hadn't broken any ribs when he had crashed into the desk. "How much of this did you tell Sara?"

  The Kafir tossed back the last of his drink, then rose to pour more, bringing the bottle over and setting it on the end table. "Just about his first wife's death."

  "Why didn't you tell her the rest?" Ross asked. "If she knew what Weldon is like, you wouldn't have had to resort to seduction to break the betrothal. That was a despicable thing to do."

  "Sara is a strong and intelligent woman, but she has led a protected life. Would she have believed that a man of her social order, a friend of her father's, was capable of such wickedness?" Peregrine hesitated, at a rare loss for words. "And it's all so... so sordid. I didn't want to be the one to try to explain to her just how evil men can be."

  "You underestimate my cousin. Sara considers it her duty to be well-informed and is not easily shocked." Ross cautiously removed the pad from his forehead and found that the bleeding had stopped. "Why do you want to marry her? Guilt?"

  "I do not believe in guilt. It is an unproductive emotion." Peregrine hesitated again. "But I do regret that Sara was hurt by what happened, even though it was necessary."

  Ross sighed and handed his glass over to be refilled with whiskey. "At least in theory, marriage in this country is based on mutual affection, and for practical purposes it is until death do you part. Marrying Sara to save her from a scandal could be a disaster for both of you, especially her."

  "Is this a polite English way of saying that you oppose a marriage?"

  "I have grave doubts about the idea," Ross said bluntly. "Quite apart from cultural and religious differences, there is an unbreachable ethical abyss between you. About the most charitable thing I can say about your principles is that you believe that the end justifies the means."

  "But of course." Peregrine raised his brows sardonically. "What other principles are there?"

  "Sara believes in a higher standard," Ross said dryly. "It's called right and wrong."

  "That is all very abstract. On the practical level where daily living takes place, Sara and I get along very well."

  "Right and wrong aren't abstract to Sara." Ross saw from Peregrine's expression that the other man did not understand the point he was trying to make. Thank God for Sara's common sense. She would not let herself be pressured into a bad decision.

  "I do have one principle," Peregrine said unexpectedly. "I try not to injure people unnecessarily."

  "Not a bad principle as such things go," Ross allowed. "What bothers me is how you define what is 'necessary.'"

  "Why haven't you married Sara yourself?" Peregrine asked in an abrupt change of subject. "First-cousin marriage is permitted in England, isn't it? You share the same ideas and values and are obviously very close."

  Ross ran his fingers through his disordered hair. There were several answers to his friend's question, some of which he had no intention of discussing. Choosing the most basic reason, he said, "We're too much alike. I told you that our mothers were twins, but did I mention that they were identical? As children, Sara and I both made mistakes about which mama duchess was our own. Very confus
ing. We grew up like brother and sister, and that is the kind of love we have for each other. In fact, I feel far closer to her than to my real brother."

  "I have yet to meet your brother. Are you estranged?"

  "Not exactly. Lord Kilburn is actually my half brother. He's almost twenty years older than I, and the heir to the dukedom. He and his mother's family objected to my father remarrying because more children would reduce Kilburn's inheritance." Ross shrugged. "He's already rich as Croesus, but there's no reasoning with greed. My brother keeps his distance, and I keep mine. It's better that way."

  "Families seem like the very devil," his friend observed. "I count myself lucky not to have one."

  Ross gave him a quizzical glance. "What about your family in Kafiristan?"

  For a moment Peregrine seemed off balance. Then he said blandly, "Relatives who are five thousand miles away do not count because they can cause no trouble." He stood and stretched, wincing a little as bruised muscles complained. "I imagine that Weldon is already halfway to London, and that your guests are busy speculating about what happened under their very noses. It will be the better part of tact if I spend the night at Sulgrave."

  Ross groaned, thinking of the social chaos that lay ahead. "Coward."

  "True." His friend gave him a seraphic smile. "But it is also true that my absence will simplify the situation. When I call on Sara in the morning, I'll be discreet about it."

  "I'll turn everything over to Mother. She'll have all of the houseguests gone by noon tomorrow, and thinking themselves privileged to be the objects of her solicitude."

  Peregrine brushed his coat, restoring superficial neatness. "Am I forgiven my transgressions. Not the ones against Sara, but against you?"

  Ross's mouth quirked. "Does my good opinion matter to you?"

  Peregrine considered. "It seems to."

  Ross smiled reluctantly and got to his feet. "Then I suppose you're forgiven. But next time, why not just speak up rather than crashing around like a Greek Fury?"

  "What a novel thought. It sounds quite boring." Peregrine flashed a brief smile, then left the library.

  Ross sank back into the sofa, not yet ready to face he world outside. Thank God his mother was here to smooth things over. Though it had seemed unfortunate at the time, he was glad that a flare-up of gout had prevented his father from making the trip. No sense in upsetting the old boy unnecessarily.

  Briefly he considered going to Sara's room to see how she was, but he discarded the idea. She had been quite emphatic about being left alone, and they had always respected each other's privacy.

  He tried to imagine Sara married to his friend. On the face of it, the idea was ridiculous, but perhaps it might work. If anyone could break a wild hawk like Peregrine to the hand, it would be Sara. In her gentle way, she was every bit as stubborn as he was.

  Thinking back, Ross realized that Sara had subtly changed since meeting Peregrine. As a girl, she had been full of bright laughter, until the accident that had nearly taken her life. It had taken discipline and indomitable will to survive and learn to walk again, and somewhere along the way, Sara had lost her capacity for joy.

  Perhaps, with Peregrine, she might find it again.

  Chapter 12

  Sara managed to reach her bedroom without being observed by other guests, dismissing her maid with the comment that she was suffering from a touch of the headache and wanted to retire early. Finally alone, she sank into the deep wing chair, drawing her leg up and pulling her dressing gown tight in a vain at tempt to warm her chilled soul.

  She had the weak shakiness common after a dangerous near-accident, and when her eyes closed, she saw horrified faces staring at her. She heard Charles's furious condemnation, and flinched away from her father's anger and disappointment.

  But mostly she saw Peregrine, handsome as the devil and just as untrustworthy. He had not been surprised when they were discovered. Sara had sensed some other emotion, perhaps excitement or satisfaction, but definitely not surprise.

  She had known instantly, with a certainty beyond logic, that Peregrine had arranged the interruption. Ross had looked guilty and furious as well as shocked, but it had not been Sara he was angry with. Probably Peregrine had made him an involuntary accomplice. He would never knowingly have done anything to humiliate her.

  But why in the name of heaven would Peregrine do such a thing? She couldn't believe that he would stoop to ruining her from casual malice. While it would be flattering to think that he was madly in love with her and had arranged the scene as a desperate bid t win her, Sara didn't believe it. Peregrine had been far more surprised by his impulsive proposal than he had been by being caught kissing her.

  Having made the offer, he was prepared to stand by it. But why? And God help her, what was Sara to do? While she had been attracted to him from the first, she had believed that marriage was out of the question. That had been a sorrowful thought, but it was one that she had understood and accepted.

  Yet now the prince was hers for the taking, and the choice she faced was the most difficult of her life. Deciding to accept Charles had been easy by comparison, for she had had a fair idea of what marrying him would mean. But what on earth would marriage to her wild Kafir be like? Impossible to imagine.

  She rubbed her temples despairingly, her fingers raking through her thick hair as she wondered what had become of the sensible person Sara St. James used to be. When she was with Peregrine, she became a different woman, one that she had trouble recognizing and didn't much approve of. She had never felt so alive in her life as in his presence, yet to marry him would surely be disastrous.

  Hoping to break the circle of unprofitable thoughts before she gave herself a genuine headache, Sara wrote a short note to Eliza Weldon. After several attempts to explain, Sara settled on the simple statement that she would not be marrying Eliza's father because they had decided that they would not suit.

  When Sara stopped and read her words, she realized that she would miss Eliza more than she would Charles. She would have liked to continue to see the girl, take her out for tea and shopping and confidences, but there wasn't a chance that Charles would let a "filthy, disgusting slut" near his daughter.

  Sara picked up the pen again and wrote, I shall miss you. Best wishes and love always, Sara St. James. It seemed so inadequate. She bit her lip as she imagined the girl's shock and confusion at being abandoned by a woman she had already accepted as her stepmother.

  Poor Eliza, an innocent victim of adult conflicts. But there was nothing Sara could do to comfort her except send this note. With luck, it would reach Eliza before her father would think to forbid the girl from receiving a letter from Sara.

  It was getting cold, so Sara slid under the blankets, though she left a lamp lit. This was one night she didn't dare face the fevered uncertainties of the dark.

  * * *

  The next morning Sara's face and aspect were severe when she entered the small drawing room where Peregrine waited. Her reserve was a challenge, and he felt the excitement and heightened awareness that challenge always produced in him.

  She looked charming in periwinkle blue. The way her hair was parted in the center and drawn softly back to a chignon, made him want to nibble on her ears. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for that later.

  Yes, marrying Lady Sara was one of his better impulses, and he would do whatever was necessary to persuade her of the wisdom of accepting him. But the atmosphere would have to warm considerably. She did not offer her hand or suggest that he sit down.

  Even the sight of his bruised face evoked no more than a lift of her eyebrows. "What happened to you?"

  "Your cousin reproved me for my want of conduct," he explained.

  "He seems to have been very physical about it,' she said with disapproval. "I trust Ross was not seriously injured?"

  "He was not. We both benefited—very physical discussions are sometimes necessary to clear the air."

  Chattering voices sounded right outside the door a
s several women walked by. Sara tensed. "Is everyone talking about what happened last night?"

  "Not yet," he said, thinking that under her surface composure, Sara was as brittle as porcelain. "I spoke to Ross a few minutes ago. Apparently Weldon left without talking to anyone. With the guests of honor and the host all disappearing from the ball, people deduced that something happened, but no one knows quite what. Perhaps Weldon has reconsidered and decided to maintain a gentlemanly silence."

  Sara shook her head, rejecting his offered comfort. "Charles has a vindictive streak. The only thing that kept him from proclaiming my immorality last night was a desire to leave as quickly as possible. Half of London will know by tomorrow."

  More voices were heard, and Peregrine saw Sara tense again. "Since the house is bustling with people breakfasting and preparing to leave, why don't we walk in the garden?" he suggested. "It will be private there."

  After Sara agreed, they made their escape without being stopped by any of Ross's curious guests. As they went down the marble steps that led from the patio to the lawn, Peregrine took Sara's arm. She stiffened, though she did not quite pull away. "You're very nervous today."

  "Of course I am," she said crossly. "I've never before had to discuss the possibility of marriage with a man who has ruined me. I find the prospect taxing."

  "Perhaps, like Ross, you should assault me," he suggested. "Doing so relieved his irritation considerably, and I should quite enjoy it if you did."

  She glared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. "You really are quite impossible. What on earth am I to do with you?"

  "Marry me," he said promptly. "Then you can work on mending my manners at your leisure."

  "It is more than your manners that need mending," she said dryly, but the atmosphere was easier as they wandered through the magnificent gardens, which spanned some twenty acres and included a small, winding river.