Silk and Shadows

He nodded. "Yes. I liked the Kafirs a great deal. I was adopted into Malik's family. They accepted me as no other people ever had, and I found that I rather liked having a family. Even though I knew I must leave eventually, Kafiristan became my base of operations for the next dozen years."

  "Were you really made a prince?" Sara asked curiously.

  "There is no hereditary aristocracy in Kafiristan. What makes a man prominent is wealth and fighting skill. Especially wealth. After I led the expeditions to the lost city of Katak, I was the wealthiest man in Kafiristan. Ergo, I was in some ways the most prominent, so saying that I was a prince has a certain metaphorical truth."

  He sipped more brandy, his face thoughtful. "I had an odd status, rather like a favorite cousin who had come for an extended visit. I spent several months a year there, the rest traveling, making my fortune. Malik and his family always made me welcome. Largely because of me, they had become rich in their own right. They always said that their house was my house, and they meant it quite literally."

  "Where did you meet Kuram?"

  "In India. He was a scout for the Indian Army. After he had a falling out with authority, I helped him escape the consequences. He felt a strong sense of obligation to me and offered to serve me as a way of repayment. Also, Kuram wanted to travel and see the world. In six months or a year, he will be ready to return home for good. When he does, he will visit Malik and his family, to assure them that I am well and that they are in my thoughts. Which they are."

  Sara leaned her head against the back of the chair. "So many things make sense now," she said quietly. "For example, you said that you never belonged where you were born, and you did not even want to belong there. Now I understand why."

  "No one with a choice would ever return to the poverty and violence of the East End." His eyes narrowed. "Any comments, now that you've heard the story of my unsavory origins?''

  Not an easy question to answer. Groping for the right words, she said, "While you have become a citizen of the world, I like the fact that you spent your formative years here in England. It makes you seem more comprehensible. Less alien."

  His mouth quirked humorlessly. "Aren't you shocked to learn that you, the daughter of a duke, have been sharing your bed with a cockney bastard?''

  "My life has been one shock after another ever since I met you, so learning that you were born in London isn't worth much more than a raised eyebrow," she said tartly. "The only reason I mentioned 'suitable rank' earlier was because Drina is very conscious of birth, and I wanted to say something that would convince her to decide in your favor.''

  His face hardened again. "She will not be amused if she discovers that a bastard commoner was formally presented to her."

  Exasperated, Sara said, "Mikahl, the founder of the noble house of St. James was a cockney actress called Nellie James, one of the many mistresses of Charles II. She was a round-heeled wench and Charles had some doubts about whether he was actually the father of her son. Being a generous man, he compromised by making the boy an earl rather than a duke, which is what he did for some of the sons he was more sure of."

  "Really?" Mikahl asked, startled.

  "Really. The first few Earl St. Jameses were notable mostly for their ability to marry daughters of rich merchants. My great-grandfather Nigel was a clever fellow who must have inherited some business ability from the maternal side of his family. He developed a swamp on the edge of London into a community of expensive squares and houses, and was created Duke of Haddonfield for his efforts. The vast amounts of money he made enabled my father to marry for love rather than fortune. My mother came from a family of respectable but impoverished Scottish gentry. No grand aristocrats in that branch of the Montgomerys, just farmers and soldiers."

  Mikahl shook his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I presume your father knows all this family history."

  "Of course, though he prefers not to dwell on Nellie James. I once found a picture of her in an old book. She was not at all a respectable-looking wench."

  "Charles probably wouldn't have liked her if she was."

  "Very true." Sara sighed. "Since meeting you, I've discovered that I have more than a dash of the old girl's blood in me. But think about it, Mikahl. I, too, am descended from a cockney and a bastard, as well as assorted tradesmen and farmers, so stop prickling like a hedgehog about your background."

  "A hedgehog." He blinked. "I stand corrected. Your ancestors sound more disreputable than mine."

  Sara smiled back at him, but the moment of levity ebbed away. "There is a great deal you haven't mentioned," she said quietly. "Such as how you got from shipboard to caravan, and what is between you and Charles Weldon."

  "I owe you an explanation." Her husband closed his eyes, a spasm of exhaustion crossing his face. "It's going to be... very difficult. I would rather not go into it tonight, though I will try if you ask it of me."

  It was a measure of how much the events of the evening had drained Mikahl that he would make that oblique request for her to be patient. Sara had also had quite enough drama for one night; more might shatter them both.

  Rising from her chair, she went to her husband and slipped her arms around his neck. When he opened his eyes again, she saw that they were gray-green with strain.

  Laying her cheek against his, she whispered, "Another time, Mikahl. Now let's go to bed. And tomorrow, please take me home to Sulgrave."

  He pulled her into a fierce embrace. "Ah, God, Sara," he murmured, his voice unsteady, "what have I done to deserve you?"

  She did not answer, just closed her eyes and relaxed against him, profoundly grateful that they had weathered this storm.

  Perhaps their marriage might have a future. In the weeks since the wedding, they had shared laughter and talk and astonishing physical pleasure. But never had Sara felt more married than at this moment.

  Chapter 22

  Weldon was in a blazing rage when he arrived at his house. He had told the truth about the sly bastard and been humiliated for his pains, in front of the queen and the cream of London society. While Peregrine was the root of the problem, he could not have carried off his imposture without the help of Lady Sara and Lord Ross. They had told barefaced lies in support of Peregrine, and they would pay. By God, they would pay!

  Weldon had already intended to wreak vengeance on Sara, but now he added Ross Carlisle to the list of those who must be punished.

  Though it was past midnight, he summoned Kane. Within ten minutes Kane appeared, fully dressed and showing no signs of sleepiness. Fleetingly Weldon wondered if the man ever slept, or whether he really was the passionless, blue-eyed weapon that he always appeared to be.

  Wasting no time, Weldon said, "I've found that the man who calls himself Peregrine is behind all of my current problems. All of them. He came to England to destroy me. He must die."

  "Easily done." Kane did not even blink. "When— tomorrow? Any particular method, or can I do whatever is easiest?"

  Such ready acquiescence made Weldon pause to think the matter through. "Better to wait a few days," he decided. "I need to learn how wide a net the bastard has cast. Set watchers on his houses in town and the country. I want them in place by tomorrow morning, or rather, by this morning. I want Peregrine followed. I need to find out who his associates are, particularly the man or men who have been acting for him in the City. As for the best method of killing..."

  He pondered. "If you take him in the country, a shooting accident would be best. If it happens in London, make it appear like a robbery that went awry. Needless to say, don't do anything that can be traced back to me. Use some of the guards from the whorehouses if you need extra help. And if Lord Ross Carlisle is with Peregrine, you can kill them both."

  Kane nodded. "What about Lady Sara?"

  "Don't shoot Lady Sara," Weldon said, his tone ugly. "I have other plans for her."

  * * *

  The Duke of Haddonfield was not surprised when Sir Charles Weldon called the day after the Sanfords' ball. It had
been obvious that something dark and dangerous connected Weldon and Prince Peregrine; like it or not, Haddonfield and his daughter were now reluctant players in the same game. And the blame for that must be laid squarely on the duke's own shoulders.

  When Haddonfield entered the morning room, he saw that his visitor looked strained and had a dangerous gleam in his eye. The two men had not met privately since the disastrous night at Chapelgate when Sara had let herself be compromised by Peregrine.

  "Good morning, Charles," the duke said with dry courtesy. "Dare I guess that there is a connection between your visit and what happened last night at the Sanfords?"

  "There's a connection, all right," his visitor growled. "What I said about your son-in-law was the truth. If your nephew and daughter hadn't interfered, Peregrine would have been exposed for what he is."

  The duke sat in a straight-backed wooden chair. "I suspect that your references to my son-in-law, my nephew, and my daughter means that you hold me responsible for their actions."

  "If you had raised your daughter properly, she would be my wife now, and I would not have a tenth of the problems," Weldon said, sitting without an invitation. "But because she's a trollop, she married a baseborn criminal who is doing his best to destroy me."

  "Indeed?" Haddonfield's face showed only aristocratic boredom, for he had learned that showing genuine feeling to Weldon gave the other man dangerous power.

  His visitor scowled. "Have you fallen under Peregrine's spell, too? So much so that you don't care what he is?"

  "No matter what else he might be, he is my daughter's husband, and for her sake I want to stay on good terms with him. And I must say that he is always polite, which is more than can be said of you," the duke said with a trace of acid.

  "You will regret the day you ever met him, Haddonfield," Weldon sneered. "Let me tell you about how I first met your son-in-law, in Tripoli."

  It was difficult for the duke to keep his face blank as he listened to the story. No doubt Weldon was embroidering the truth for malicious effect, but it was still appalling to think that gentle, well-bred Sara had married a man with such a sordid history. Haddonfield kept his thoughts to himself; he had forfeited the right to judge his daughter's actions.

  When Weldon was finished, the duke said only, "That is neither here nor there. Let us stop bandying insults and go directly to whatever it is that you want from me. I assume that is why you are here—because you want something?"

  "I need eighty thousand pounds immediately," Weldon said. "Peregrine secretly bought up all my outstanding loans, and is demanding payment within the next few days. He has almost ruined both my personal and business finances, so no one will lend me that kind of money." He gave a mirthless smile. "Then I thought of you, my friend and almost father-in-law."

  "Were we friends?" the duke murmured. "Looking back, I feel more like I was your victim."

  Weldon laughed nastily. "That is a role you relish."

  Haddonfield flushed as his visitor's barb struck home.

  Weldon continued, "There is still a debt between us, Haddonfield. You said you would give me Sara, and you didn't."

  "I never promised to 'give you' my daughter. I said that I would encourage her to accept your proposal, which is not the same thing," the duke corrected. "Though it shames me to admit it, I fulfilled my part of the bargain. Thank heaven Sara broke the betrothal, though I wish she had done it a different way."

  Weldon's eyes flashed with fury. "If you had raised her to obey her father's wishes as a daughter should, we would both have been spared a great deal of unpleasantness. However, since I'm a flexible man, I will allow you to recompense me with money. If you don't..." His voice traded off menacingly.

  "The world will learn a number of unappetizing things about me, and perhaps about my son-in-law as well?" the duke said, his voice ironic. "That sounds remarkably like blackmail. However, I will do as you ask this once. Just remember that while silence may be golden, it is not infinitely valuable."

  Weldon's face eased, triumph coming into his eyes. "It's valuable enough." After a brief discussion to arrange the transfer of the money, he left.

  Haddonfield stayed in the morning room, his gaze unfocused. There was something fitting about paying Weldon blackmail, for the duke deserved punishment. And since the money was going to Peregrine, at least it would be staying in the family.

  At length he shook his head, and rose. God only knew what Peregrine was, but he could not be a worse husband to Sara than Weldon would have been.

  * * *

  Before leaving for Sulgrave the next morning, Peregrine visited Benjamin Slade and described the latest developments.

  The lawyer's brows rose when he heard what had happened at the Sanfords' ball. "Was it wise to let Weldon know that you are behind his problems?"

  "Not wise, perhaps, but essential," Peregrine said tersely. "What would it take to hang Weldon?"

  Slade considered. "It would probably require ironclad evidence that he had personally murdered someone. But I thought you were more interested in killing him yourself than in having Her Majesty's courts do it for you."

  Peregrine ignored the remark, though inwardly he decided that the people closest to him were beginning to know him too well. "Of the eight guards you hired for me, I'm assigning two to you personally. Take them along whenever you go out, and make sure that they stand watch in your house at night."

  Slade was taken aback. "You really think that's necessary?"

  "My guess is that before Weldon comes after me, he will try to remove pressure on the railroad. If he traces the lawsuits back to you, he might decide that killing you will help him and inconvenience me." Peregrine gave a sardonic smile. "The former assumption may be wrong, but the latter is certainly correct."

  The lawyer's face shuttered. "Since you put it like that, I'll welcome the guards. Is there any chance that Weldon could eliminate both you and me, and get away with it?"

  "No chance at all. I had a third set of copies made of the evidence we have on Weldon, and gave it to someone that Weldon will never connect with me. No matter what, he will be brought to justice for his crimes." Seeing Slade's expression, Peregrine continued, "Don't look so doomed. I am merely considering all possibilities. Weldon is not invincible. He is only a madman with a few thugs working for him. With luck, he'll never find you, and he may do nothing to you personally even if he does."

  Then he turned on his heel and left, his mind already on what other precautions must be taken.

  Across the street, a nondescript man had already learned from a shopkeeper who lived at that address. When Peregrine left, the nondescript man resumed following him.

  That afternoon, a report of Peregrine's morning visit reached Charles Weldon. By luck, Weldon's railway secretary recognized the name of Benjamin Slade. A few more inquiries in different directions established that Slade was undoubtedly Peregrine's man of business. For a quiet man who worked from his home, Slade was surprisingly well-known in the business community. He was also respected to a point just short of awe.

  As the pieces came together, Weldon rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Yes, luck was still on his side. In a week, he would have closed the book on Michael Connery, the fool who thought he could defeat Charles Weldon.

  That night, two men broke into Benjamin Slade's town house. The intruders were in the process of starting a fire when they were surprised by two armed defenders. Shots were exchanged in the darkness and one of the intruders was wounded, leaving blood on the floor and the windowsill. Slade arrived on the scene in time to assist in putting out the fledgling fire, which did no serious damage.

  Considerably disquieted, the lawyer sent a message to his employer first thing the next morning. Shortly after lunch, Peregrine arrived at Slade's house. After a guard let him in, Slade came into the hall to greet his guest, and was almost smothered when Jenny Miller hurled her small self into his arms.

  "When she found that an urgent message had come from you, she bullied me
until she learned what it said," Peregrine explained with a faint smile. "Then she wouldn't let me leave the house without her."

  "Are you all right, Mr. Slade?" the girl said anxiously, scanning him as if looking for scorch marks.

  "I'm fine, Jenny," the lawyer assured her. Dressed in the clothing Lady Sara had given her, the girl would not have looked out of place in the highest society. With considerable reluctance, he removed her clinging hands. Glancing at his employer, he said, "Did you wish to speak to me alone?"

  "Jenny might as well come with us," Peregrine said dryly. "She'll just listen at the door if we try to exclude her."

  "Right you are, mate," she said with a defiant gleam in her eyes. Following Slade into his office, she sat next to him on the hard, horsehair-covered sofa and clutched his hand as if her presence would guarantee his safety.

  As soon as the door was closed, Peregrine said, "Pack everything essential and close the house. You'll be safer at Sulgrave. It would only be for a few days. Whatever is going to happen will happen soon."

  Slade frowned. "Can the guards stay here? I would rather not have my house burned down."

  "Fine, though if you leave conspicuously enough, there probably won't be another attempt."

  The lawyer gnawed on his lower lip. "How do you think Weldon located me so soon?"

  Peregrine grimaced. "Probably he had me followed yesterday morning. I thought I had come early enough so that he would not have had time to arrange that. Instead, I must have led him here myself." He shook his head in self-disgust. "I should have known better than to underestimate him for even a moment."

  "Your guards prevented anything serious from happening," Slade pointed out.

  "I was half a move ahead of Weldon this time. Barely enough." His face was set like granite. "I will not let my friends suffer for my lack of foresight."

  "Are we friends? I thought I was your employee."

  "Would you have done all the strange and sometimes dubious things I've asked of you just for money?"

  "No, I suppose not."