Silk and Shadows (11 page)

Leaning out, Peregrine saw that a dark, noisome alley separated the brothel from the building next door. All the brothel's windows were heavily curtained, so it was unlikely that anyone would look out and see that an inmate was escaping. He counted windows so that he would know the correct one when he returned, then he had Jenny lower and raise the stiff sash to be sure she could manage it alone.

Anxiously she said, "If I'm not alone when you get here, will you wait for me?"

"For half an hour or so. If you still can't leave, I'll come back the next night, and the night after if necessary. The rope I toss up will have knots every foot and a half or so. Do you think you will be able to climb down without a problem?"

"I'll manage," she said tersely.

Deciding that he had been with the girl long enough to make it seem that he'd done what was expected, Peregrine crossed to the door. "I'll go now. I assume that you will make the sheets look convincing so that your mistress won't be suspicious of what has happened—or rather, what hasn't happened?"

Jenny gave him an indignant glance. "Of course I will. I know a lot more about this kind of thing than you seem to."

"I defer to your greater experience," he said, amused. Then his slight smile faded. "You are sure you want to leave? You know nothing of me. I might be a worse monster than Mrs. Kent."

She shrugged. "Aye, you might be. But it's a risk I'm willing to take. There's no future for me here, and I may never have another chance like this."

"You're a brave girl."

"Or a stupid one," she answered with cockney tartness. In the subdued light she looked like a child ready to be put to bed by her nurse, but the expression on her small face was thoroughly adult. Peregrine smiled, glad that he had obeyed his impulse. The girl was intelligent and resilient, and she deserved a chance to forge a better life for herself. He guessed that she would make good use of her opportunity.

Later that night, after a sated, self-satisfied Weldon had dropped his guest off at the Clarendon Hotel, Peregrine sat up until he had recorded all the details of his night's tour. The names and addresses would prove useful to Benjamin Slade's investigations.

It was rather small as fashionable balls went; there was still room to draw a deep breath, for which favor Sara was duly grateful. After she and Charles arrived, they had worked their way through the crowd, greeting friends and acquaintances. Then he had found her a quiet seat, half-concealed behind a potted plant, and they had enjoyed a glass of punch together.

As Sara drained the last of her cool drink, Charles asked, "Are you comfortable here, my dear? If you don't mind being left alone, I'd like to go to the card room for a while."

Sara handed him her empty punch glass. "Go and enjoy yourself. When I feel the need for company, I will have no trouble finding it."

"Admirable Sara." He touched her cheek with possessive fingers. "I am the most fortunate of men, for you will make the best of wives." Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Pleased by the compliment, Sara watched his broad back retreat, thinking that her betrothed looked wonderfully distinguished in formal evening wear. Then her gaze went to the dancers crowding the floor as her mind drifted back to her own first Season. Though she had always had a serious turn of mind, she had enjoyed her first foray into adult society, and had laughed and danced and flirted as much as any of the young girls before her now. It seemed a lifetime ago.

The ballroom was warm, so she spread her fan and absently wafted cool air toward her face. On the far side of the room, she caught a glimpse of Ross and Prince Peregrine. She had talked to both men briefly earlier. Then Ross, with his usual thoroughness, had taken his friend off for further introductions.

As she watched the Kafir critically, Sara decided that he no longer needed a guide to London society, if he ever had. He moved among the British aristocracy with utter confidence, and they in turn accepted him, at least on this social level. Indeed, society had welcomed him; at the moment no less than three beautiful women were listening raptly to his every word.

Sara snapped the ivory sticks of her fan shut, feeling stifled by the heat of massed candles and active bodies. To the left, French doors led out to a wide balcony, so she slipped out for some fresh air. The balcony was blessedly cool and empty, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the fragile scent of the garden below after the heavy atmosphere of the ballroom.

Her body swaying to the rhythm of the music, Sara watched the dancers inside, their bodies abstract blurs through the translucent draperies. Since her accident, watching was the closest she came to dancing.

Turning her back on the ballroom, she looked up at the full moon, which gilded Mayfair with silver serenity. There was no point in envying those who could still dance; it was more productive to consider her wedding plans. There was much to be done, and most of the work would fall on her own shoulders. Aunt Marguerite, Ross's mother, would help, but that was not the same as having a mother of her own to take charge of the event.

Caught up in planning, she did not hear the French doors open and gave an unladylike jump when a deep voice said in her ear, "Is playing truant proper behavior at a London ball?"

She whirled, her heart pounding from surprise even though Prince Peregrine's soft, accented voice was instantly recognizable. "It is acceptable to slip away for fresh air, but not to startle other guests out of their wits," she said severely. "You could give a cat lessons on silent stalking."

"On the contrary, I once took stalking lessons from a cat." He smiled reminiscently. "A snow leopard, to be exact."

Black-haired and dark-garbed, he belonged to the night, as intensely alive as he was irresistibly attractive. No, not irresistible; Sara was a woman grown, in control of her emotions. "Did you stalk the leopard, or did it stalk you?"

"Both, in turn. At the end I could have killed it, but could not bear to. It was too beautiful." He chuckled. "Don't tell anyone I said that—I don't think noble savages are supposed to be so sentimental."

Sara considered his remark. "You may be many things, but savage is not one of them. A savage knows nothing of the rules of civilization. You know them, I think, but do not always choose to follow them."

"As usual, you are uncomfortably perceptive," he said after a moment. "But enough of seriousness. Will you dance with me?"

"No, thank you." She looked down and smoothed a wrinkle from the lace trim of her low-cut bodice. "I do not dance."

"Do not dance, or cannot dance?"

"Do not," she said shortly. Then, fearing that she sounded rude, Sara glanced up and added, "I could probably manage most of the steps, but I prefer not to invite the pity of old friends who remember that I was once graceful."

"In that case, you are a perfect partner for me," Peregrine said, his velvet voice coaxing. "I have had some instruction in European dancing, but have not yet dared my skills in public. Come, we can dance gracelessly together."

Before she could protest, he drew her into waltz position, his right hand at the waist of her turquoise silk gown, his other hand clasping hers, a correct twelve inches between them. As they began moving to the music, she said with amused resignation, "I can't believe that there is anything you don't dare."

"To dare is the last resort. I prefer arranging matters so that the outcome will not be in doubt."

Though the prince did not dance with the unthinking ease of long practice, he had been well taught and his natural physical grace compensated for minor flaws in technique. Sara could not say the same for herself. Though she tried to relax, she was rigid and awkward, convinced that disaster was just a step away.

Her fears were confirmed when she stumbled on a turn, her weak leg unequal to the sudden shift of weight. But instead of a humiliating fall, there was only a slight irregularity in their progress as the prince's strong clasp carried her through the moment of weakness. He smiled down at her. "Was that so bad?"

Sara did not answer out loud, just tilted her head back and laughed. Now she relaxed, her body soft and pliant as she yielded to his lead. When Peregrine had taken her up on his horse, he had freed her of the fear of pain. Now he was freeing her again, this time of the fear of making a fool of herself. Why had she let pride prevent her from dancing? The risk of being thought clumsy was a small price to pay for this pleasure.

As they swirled across the flagstones, he said teasingly, "I'm disappointed in you, Lady Sara. I expected gracelessness. Instead your dancing is the equal of any other lady here."

"You were also flying false colors, Your Highness," she retorted, "for you could be giving lessons, not receiving them."

"Not quite, but I thank you for the compliment."

As they spun across the rectangles of light cast by the French windows, the sheer sensual pleasure of dancing filled Sara's being. In the months and years after her accident, she had done her best to detach her mind from her body as the only way to survive the endless pain. Now, in the joy of the waltz, her spirit and body were one again for the first time in a decade.

They had finished one dance and were halfway through the next before she became aware that another, more focused joy was growing inside her. She was intensely conscious of Peregrine's nearness. In spite of her gloves, she tingled where they touched. He was so strong, so attractive, so close…

Too close, the distance between them was less than half what it should be, at this rate she would soon be pressed against his broad chest. And shamelessly Sara wanted that to happen. She wanted to raise her face to his and discover if there was more to kissing than she had yet experienced, she wanted to feel his body moving against hers.

In the darkness her face flamed as she realized that once more she was falling under the spell of his compelling masculine presence. The man was dangerous, and he wasn't even trying to be. She stopped and released him. "I must catch my breath, I am unaccustomed to so much exertion."

She sat down on a stone bench by the railing and opened her fan, needing to cool her burning face. Her temperature problem was not helped when the prince sat down beside her. Though he was a respectable distance away, he was still too close for comfort, for she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the cool evening air.

"Clearly dancing, like riding, is another activity that should be part of your life again," he remarked.