Silk and Shadows

  "She has the quality of a fine Arab mare," the Pathan admitted, "but good women are the worst kind. A man need not take a wife to have his bed warmed."

  "You are a cynic, Kuram," Peregrine said, refusing to be affected by the other man's opinion.

  Yet as he drove through the quiet country night, he found himself reflecting on the strangeness of what he was doing. For twenty-five years, personal pleasure had always been subordinated to his mission. Now that the end was in sight, he found himself impatient for the future that lay beyond vengeance. He wanted to put down roots, create a place where he belonged— and to have someone who belonged to him.

  It would have been wiser to wait until Weldon was destroyed, for a home and wife would be distractions. But delay might have lost him Sara and Sulgrave. Both moved him deeply, and he had learned early that one must seize the gifts of the gods when they were offered, for one seldom received a second chance. Sulgrave was like a dream home of the imagination that had been made physical in stone and earth. And Sara...

  Ah, Sara, how could one describe Sara? She was a living symbol of his first victory over Weldon, but so much more: wit, warmth, honesty, and the quiet courage of a tempered blade. Though he regretted how he had treated her, he did not regret discovering the steely strength she had revealed in adversity.

  Caring for Sara would be a pleasure, for simply being in her presence was a delight. When they were finally married, he would atone for his clumsiness, would teach her the mysteries of passion with the same care a connoisseur would use with fine porcelain. He was amazed by her willingness to accept him despite his mistakes, and he made a mental pledge that she would not regret her generosity.

  As he turned into Sulgrave's long drive, he realized that all the things he had ever wanted—revenge, roots, a passionate companion—were now within his grasp. And with the confidence that carried a warrior invincible through battle, he knew that nothing and no one would deprive him of his prizes.

  Chapter 14

  During the drive to his brother's house, Charles Weldon reviewed his day with vicious satisfaction. In the morning he had visited his clubs, in the afternoon he had called on society women with notoriously loose tongues, and everywhere he had spread the news of his broken betrothal.

  A pity, he mused, that he could not describe her misconduct in detail without seeming ungentlemanly, but he was a master of the innuendo, the raised brow, the suggestive glance. The story of Lady Sara St. James and her savage had been received with avid delight, for many society beauties had resented the prince for spurning their lures. Now they took feline pleasure in the knowledge that Lady Sara, who had always been above reproach, was no better than the rest of them, and perhaps a little worse.

  Yes, it had been a good day. If Lady Sara's reputation was not quite ruined, it was certainly tarnished, a good first step in making her pay for betraying him. Once more his mind's eye saw the vivid image of Sara panting in that bastard's embrace. At the thought, Weldon balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it into his left palm. And to think he had believed her so pure, so well-bred! It sickened him to think of the disgrace she would have brought on his name if he had married her.

  He was beginning to believe that there was no female who was worthy of trust. When he had first married Jane Clifton, she had adored him, and had been as obedient as any man could want. She had also behaved like a lady in bed, combining a becoming distaste for the marital act with the submission a wife owed her husband. Then one day, without warning, she had announced that she was taking his daughter and going back to her family, as if she had a perfect right to leave him.

  He ground his fist into his palm as he thought of how she screamed when she fell down the stairs. It had all been Jane's fault, for she should have known better than to make him angry. A woman should not defy her husband; if she did, she deserved whatever consequences befell her.

  He had taken his time choosing a second wife, wanting one who was well-bred and attractive as well as rich, for he was destined for great things and needed a woman worthy of him. Sara St. James had seemed such a woman, until she had proved that she did not deserve the title Lady.

  The knowledge of her lechery was perversely, itchily arousing, and his loins had been burning ever since he had discovered her in her shame. First thing this morning he had sent his man Kane to Mrs. Kent with an order to procure a virgin with Sara's slim figure and dark gold hair. The girl would be waiting tonight, and when he ravished her, he would close his eyes and think of the woman he had almost married.

  Someday, he swore, he would ravish Sara herself, even though it was too late to take her maidenhead. He reveled in the prospect of battering into her until she pleaded for mercy.

  A pity that he must let some time pass before having her kidnapped, but it would not do to have anyone connect him with her disappearance. In such things he was cautious, for meticulous care and matchless cunning were what made it possible to live a shadow life under the very noses of society and law.

  As always, thought of his cleverness restored his equanimity. Most men were fools, blind to the dark grandeur of living beyond society's narrow limits. His licit and illicit worlds complemented each other, point and counterpoint, each richer for contrast with the other.

  He considered keeping Sara a prisoner for his own use, but decided that a brothel would be greater punishment. He would send her where no one would ever find her, to Brussels, perhaps.

  If she survived the first year, he would visit and ask if she still lusted for her heathen lover after thousands of men had vented their lust on her. All her aloof dignity would be gone and she would beg for him to release her, but he would not, for she had degraded herself by her own unforgivable conduct.

  Weldon felt a kind of sorrow when he contemplated the Kafir's treachery; he had done so much for the man, treating him almost as if he were an Englishman. The only mitigating factor was that one could expect no better from a savage. For that reason, perhaps Peregrine would be allowed to die quickly when the time came.

  Unfortunately, this revenge would also have to be delayed because death would throw the Kafir's finances into disarray and endanger the L & S Railway. It was almost a pity that the company was doing so well, for it was maddening to know that Peregrine would profit from Weldon's own efforts. But his money had been essential for recapitalizing the company, so there was no way to get rid of him yet.

  Thank God he'd had the foresight to arrange matters so that Peregrine had no real say in running the railway, even though he was the largest shareholder. Later, when the new stock offering was completely sold out, Weldon would find a way to force the Kafir out of the company. Meanwhile, he would look for other, subtler ways to make the savage pay for his disloyalty.

  Weldon's pleasant thoughts were interrupted by his arrival at Lord Batsford's town house. He had intended to talk to his sister-in-law first, then Eliza, but his daughter must have seen the carriage, for she came racing down the stairs as the butler admitted him, her long blond hair flying.

  "Papa!" she said excitedly. "I didn't expect you. Did you come to take tea with me?"

  "Show more decorum, Eliza, don't run like a beggar child." As his daughter slowed down, abashed, he feasted his eyes on her. She was enchanting in a full-skirted pink dress with lacy pantalets beneath, and she had the pure sweetness of an angel. Here was true innocence.

  Perhaps the only female a man might trust was his daughter. Batsford and his wife were dull, utterly without grace and unworthy of the title they bore, but he had to admit that Eliza was flourishing under their care.

  He touched her shining hair. "I must talk to you, my dear, so let us go to the drawing room and order tea."

  Several letters lay on a silver tray on the hall table, and before leading her father up to the drawing room, Eliza cast a hopeful eye over them. With an exclamation of delight, she picked up one of the envelopes. "Look, Papa, it is a note for me from Lady Sara! I recognize her writing."

  "Give that
to me!" Weldon snatched the letter from his daughter's hand as fury swept through him. How dare the slut write Eliza, sweet Eliza, the only truly pure female in his life! As his daughter stared in bewilderment, he crumpled the envelope and shoved it in his pocket. He would read it later to see just what kind of poison the slut was trying to put in Eliza's mind, and he would give orders to all the servants that nothing should be accepted from Haddonfield House.

  "Is something wrong?" Eliza faltered.

  Not wanting a servant to hear, he did not answer until they had climbed the stairs to the drawing room. As soon as the door was closed, he said harshly, "Don't ever mention that woman's name again. You must forget her, forget everything she ever told you, forget that you ever knew her."

  Eliza's eyes widened with shock. "But... but aren't you going to marry Lady Sara?"

  "Never! She has disgraced herself, and is not fit to be my wife or your mother."

  "But what happened? What did Lady Sara do?" Eliza's brow creased with confusion. "She has always been so kind to me."

  "That woman never cared about you, she was just trying to please me," he snapped, losing patience with the girl. "Now do not speak of her again, Eliza, I absolutely forbid it."

  As his daughter's eyes filled with tears, he felt remorse. She was just an innocent child, the most precious being in his life. More calmly, he said, "Sit down and I'll ring for tea."

  Eliza perched on the sofa, frightened that she might anger her father again. "Does this mean I can't live with you?"

  Weldon started to agree, then stopped. Perhaps it was time to remove his daughter from this house, for her female cousins were getting old enough to be marriageable. They were empty-headed chits, and soon they would be babbling about men, filling Eliza with improper ideas.

  Worse, soon the whole household would be buzzing with talk about Lady Sara. In fact, appalling thought, Sara might be able to persuade Lady Batsford to let her see Eliza. The slut had always been able to charm his brother and sister-in-law.

  No, Eliza belonged with her father, who knew what was best for her. Unlike her mother or the slut, his daughter was devoted to him, and to reward her for her devotion, he must guide her properly, ensure that no wickedness came her way. He would take her out of school and get her a governess, one who knew what was proper. "No," he said decisively, "I want you to move in with me again as soon as possible. I've missed you."

  As Eliza's face brightened, he went over and gave her a rare hug. "It will be just you and me, my dear," he said softly. Soon he must find another rich wife to give him a son, but next time he would choose more wisely. "We don't need anyone else."

  "Oh, Papa, that's wonderful." Eliza returned his hug with delight. She had always dreamed that someday her father would show that he loved her, and now he had.

  When the tea tray arrived, Eliza carefully poured her father's tea, just like a proper lady, for soon she would be his hostess. As she sipped tea and nibbled on tiny iced cakes, Papa explained his plans for her. Of course he would still be busy, but finally she would have him all to herself for some of the time. She would not even have to share him with Lady Sara, though it would have been worth sharing to have Sara for a mama.

  But later, when her father had gone, Eliza made a resolution. Even though Papa was the wisest, handsomest man in the world, he was wrong about Lady Sara. They must have had some misunderstanding, like the characters in the romances she and her cousins read. That didn't mean Lady Sara was a bad person.

  In spite of what Papa had said, Eliza knew that Lady Sara had been genuine in her affection. Sooner or later, Eliza promised herself, she would find an opportunity to speak to Lady Sara. Perhaps the misunderstanding could be cleared up so Sara and Papa would resume their marriage plans?

  Eliza sighed, knowing that life did not always work out as neatly as books. But even if reconciliation was out of the question, at least Eliza could talk to Sara and tell her that she missed her, and find out what was in the letter Papa had taken away.

  * * *

  When Jenny Miller was ushered into the morning room of Haddonfield House, her expression was not precisely fearful, for the girl had an air of resilience that implied that she was not easily frightened. But her blue eyes did show anxiety as she curtsied in front of Sara.

  Subconsciously Sara had expected that years in a brothel must leave some sort of mark, and Jenny's delicate loveliness was a distinct surprise. In her simple, high-necked navy gown, she looked like a schoolmaster's daughter, not a reformed prostitute. "Have a seat," Sara said. "I don't bite."

  Jenny obeyed with a nervous smile. "Thank you, my lady."

  "I understand you have not worked as a lady's maid before," Sara said. "Are you sure that you will like the work?"

  "Oh, yes, my lady. I'm ever so good with hair, and love fine clothing. I know what is quality, you see, and what is flattering." Then she colored and ducked her head shyly. "I'm sorry, my lady, I can see that you aren't one who needs advice from a maid, but I promise I will take good care of your gowns, and slippers, and jewels, and linens, and everything else, and I'll always do exactly what you want."

  Sara smiled at the rush of words. "Relax, Jenny, I'm looking to hire you, not buy you."

  Pain flashed through the girl's eyes and Sara realized what she had said. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, that was appallingly thoughtless of me. You were effectively a slave, weren't you?"

  Jenny regarded her warily. "The prince told you about me?"

  "Not in detail. He just said that you'd been kept in brothel against your will."

  Jenny flushed scarlet. "You don't mind?"

  "I mind for your sake," Sara said softly, her heart aching at the thought of what the girl must have endured—and what thousands of other girls in London were enduring still. "I can't tell you to forget the past, for the past is as much a part of us as our bones. But if you want to work for me, the subject will never be mentioned again unless you raise it yourself. None of the other servants need know."

  "Now I know what a real lady is." Jenny swallowed hard, fighting tears. "If you'll have me, Lady Sara, I swear I'll be the best maid you ever had."

  Making a quick, instinctive decision, Sara said, "I'd love to have you. My former maid had the temper of a pickled onion, but I think you and I will deal together very well." She rose to her feet. "Let me show you where you will be living and working."

  "Wonderful!" Jenny bounded up, a beaming smile across her face. Then she hesitated. "Lady Sara, might you be wondering about how Prince Peregrine and I met?"

  It was Sara's turn to blush. "I don't suppose it any of my business what he does before we're married."

  "It wasn't what you think, my lady," Jenny said earnestly. "He came to the brothel as someone's guest and I knew as soon as I saw him that he didn't want to be there. He didn't touch me, just asked me questions. When he found out that I didn't want to be there either, he helped me escape. He's a real gentleman just like you're a real lady."

  "Thank you for telling me that, Jenny." Sara felt surge of happiness, not just because the girl wasn't Mikahl's mistress, but because her enigmatic betrothed had been the one to rescue Jenny from servitude. He was a better man than he was willing to admit. "Though it might not be my business, I must admit I'm glad to know that. Are you ready for your tour?"

  Jenny nodded eagerly and followed her new mistress upstairs to the wonderful world that was going to be hers.

  * * *

  Alert for the sound of Mr. Slade's key, Jenny bounced out of the drawing room to meet him as soon as he entered his house. Ever since returning from Lady Sara's, she had been waiting impatiently to give him the good news.

  The lawyer greeted her with a smile. "I don't need to ask how the interview went. I can see by your face that Lady Sara gave you the position."

  Jenny nodded an enthusiastic confirmation. "She's lovely, and so kind. And she's not much larger than I am, and has fair coloring, and she said that most of her clothing would look good on me, if I did
n't mind wearing hand-me-downs. As if I'd mind!"

  Slade laughed. "This calls for a celebration. I have no champagne, but we can toast your success in Madeira."

  He escorted her into the library and solemnly poured small amounts of Madeira into two glasses. Raising his glass in salute, he said, "To Jenny! May all your dreams come true."

  In spite of his genuine pleasure in her success, Slade drained the glass with a sense of melancholy. Peregrine had said that Jenny had wanted to become a lady's maid, to work for a pleasant lady whose discarded clothing would fit her, and eventually to marry a handsome footman. Now that the girl's first dreams had been realized, it was just a matter of time until the last one was. If and when a lovely girl like Jenny decided to marry, she would have her choice of husbands, in spite of her past. And they would be young, handsome men, not boring lawyers almost twenty years her senior.

  Jenny had held her own glass while he toasted her. Now she raised it. "To you, Mr. Slade, for making it possible."

  He was pleased but too punctilious to accept an undeserved tribute. "It is Prince Peregrine you should be toasting, for it was he who set you free."

  "I surely don't mind drinking to him or his lady, but you're the one who spent time with me, showed me how proper females behave, found me a teacher, trusted me with your money, and kept saying that I could better myself." She poured more Madeira for both of them. "While the prince gave me the chance, it's you who made it mean something."

  "Thank you, Jenny," he said gravely. "It has been my privilege to be of assistance."

  After the toast to Peregrine and his lady, Slade asked, "When will you begin with Lady Sara?"

  "Tomorrow. She is sending her carriage for me."

  So soon? Slade sipped his Madeira, thinking that he had not noticed how dull the house was until she came to brighten it up. With her departure, his home would be bleak indeed, for darkness is always deeper after one has known light. "Since her ladyship is preparing her trousseau, you'll be very busy."