Silk and Shadows (12 page)

"I think you are right." Sara's smile was rueful. "You are an alarming person, Your Highness."

His glance was narrow-eyed. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you have the power to change lives, quickly and casually. Certainly you keep changing my life."

He shrugged fatalistically. "Life always changes, it just changes faster sometimes. Are you not to marry soon? If you do that, nothing in your life will be the same."

With a sudden shift of subject, Peregrine motioned toward her fan. "I have heard that ladies use these to communicate with gentlemen. Do you know how that is done?"

"The language of the fan?" Her mind flashed back to her school days, when an older girl had demonstrated the gestures to Sara and her best friend Juliet. "It originated in Spain, I think, where young men and women were much more strictly separated than here." Remembering the females who clustered around the prince, she added with a touch of dryness, "These days, there are easier ways to send a message, but perhaps there will be an occasion when you will need to understand some of the language. Let me see if I can remember any of it."

She thought for a minute. "Bear in mind that it is not only the fan that speaks, but also the eyes and the whole body." She opened her fan. It was an elegant trifle of black Spanish lace mounted on carved ivory sticks, a gift from Charles.

Letting the fan rest against her right cheek, she said, "This means yes." She moved it to her left cheek, "And this means no." Then she drew the fan across her eyes, accompanying the movement with a soulful look. "This means 'I'm sorry.' "

The moonlight disclosed a gleam of amusement in Peregrine's eyes. "Can anything more complex be conveyed?"

Since an active performance would take Sara farther from his disquieting presence, she stood and crossed the balcony. "Carrying the fan in my left hand like this means that I desire to make your acquaintance."

"Better," he said approvingly. "But since we are already acquainted, what might come next?"

"If I carry the fan in my right hand in front of my face, it means 'Follow me.' " Walking toward him, she demonstrated, then turned away and cast a coy glance over her shoulder as if to see whether he was following.

Obligingly the prince stood and moved after Sara. She turned toward him and opened her fan very wide, accompanying the action with a burning gaze. "This means 'Wait for me.' "

"What am I waiting for?" he asked with interest as he stopped three feet away from her.

Sara drew the fan across her forehead, then hissed melodramatically, "We are watched!"

Peregrine glanced at the French doors. Inside the ballroom, another waltz was in full swing, the lush music flooding the night with sound. "Fortunately not," he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he turned back to her. "Apparently no one else feels the need for fresh air. Does the fan have anything to say when two people are finally alone, or do we now rely on words?''

"Some ladies are too shy or proper to say what they wish." A mad impulse drove Sara to do what she would never have dared do openly. Folding her fan, she touched the handle to her lips. "So this means 'Kiss me.'"

She did not believe he would accept her playful invitation, so when he stepped toward her, her heart leaped in panic. He was overpowering, almost frightening, in his strength and masculinity, and she nearly retreated, but did not. Instead she waited, half appalled at her brazenness, half aching to experience the result.

He lifted her chin with one finger, his intense gaze holding hers for an endless moment. Sara knew it was her last chance to retreat to respectability, but once more she stood her ground, waiting and wanting. Slowly he bent his head until his lips touched hers. His kiss was warm and subtle, as gentle as a butterfly wing, yet it moved her in wholly unexpected ways.

Her mouth worked against his, wanting more, yet when he responded, she drew back, shaken. She had wondered what his kiss would be like, and had found not an answer but more questions. Dangerous questions…

Breathlessly she said, "Carrying the fan in my right hand like this means 'You are too willing.' "

"Can one be too willing?" he asked softly. He bent forward again and brushed his lips against the sensitive skin between her eye and hairline. At the same time he drew his fingertips down her throat, then across her bare shoulders in a delicate, profoundly erotic caress.

Sara gasped. For the first time in her life, she experienced the sweet, melting female desire to yield to a man, to give herself to him as fully as she had when they waltzed, to follow wherever he led. Yet to surrender to desire would be utterly wrong. Bringing the fan up between them, she waved it briskly back and forth, sending cool air toward both their faces. "Fanning rapidly means 'I am betrothed.' "

"So you are," he murmured. His lean figure was silhouetted against the French doors, and she could not see his face. "More's the pity. Do you love your future husband, Lady Sara?"

She hesitated, as uncomfortable with his question as she had been with his kiss. Obliquely she said, "Twirling the fan in the right hand means 'I love another.' " But she could not bring herself to demonstrate that particular gesture.

When Peregrine's thoughtful glance drifted to her motionless right hand, she added with a hint of acid, "Twirling it in the left hand means 'I wish to get rid of you.' " Transferring the fan to her left hand, she gave it a quick swing.

"Do you really wish to get rid of me, sweet Sara?" He gave her a slow, intimate smile. Though he did not move a muscle, she felt as if he was reaching out to embrace her. His attraction was so powerful that if she surrendered to it, she would be drawn straight into his arms.

Unthinkable! She was a lady of mature years and steady temper, not a giddy girl. After a short, fierce mental struggle, Sara raised the fan and let the black lace rest against her left cheek. "No, I do not wish to be rid of you." Then she dropped her hand so that the fan hung by her side. Her gaze cool and level, she said, "This means that we are friends. No more."

"Dare I hope no less?" he said gravely. "I did not wish to offend you."

Perhaps it was dangerous to be his friend. Yet what had he done but give her the lightest and most harmless of kisses? The problem was not with him, but with her. She raised the fan and rested it against her right cheek in the gesture of assent.
Yes, I will be your friend
.

"Good." He nodded toward the ballroom, where there was a temporary lull in the music. "Are you prepared to dance again, this time in front of other people?"

As he spoke, the alarming current of attraction cut off as abruptly as a snuffed candle. For a moment Sara wondered if her wits had been wandering and only just returned. Once again the prince was just a man; admittedly a remarkably appealing one, but resistible. She sighed with relief. She had been suffering from no more than a few moments of moon madness, and now she was recovered. "I am game if you are, Your Highness."

He held the French door open for her and she went inside, blinking at the glittering light refracting through the prisms of the chandeliers. On the far side of the room she saw Charles, looking surprised and not pleased by the sight of her with Prince Peregrine. Then she dismissed the thought as the music struck up again, and the Kafir led her into another waltz.

This dance was as delightful as the previous one, and was unaccompanied by perilous longings. When the music stopped, Peregrine bowed to her, a picture of propriety. He, too, must have suffered from moon madness on the balcony, and was now recovered. "You must brace yourself, Lady Sara. Every man in the room will now wish to partner you."

Even as she laughed, Ross appeared by her side. "I've come to claim my cousin, Mikahl."

As the music struck up again, Ross swept her into another waltz. His voice full of teasing affection, he said, "Sara, you wretch, why would you dance for him and not for me?"

"He didn't allow me time to decline his invitation," she explained. "Then, once I started dancing, I realized that I didn't want to stop." As Ross deftly steered them away from imminent collision with another couple, she went on, "He has persuaded me to ride again as well."

Her cousin gave a soft whistle of astonishment. Better than anyone save Sara herself, he knew how much pain and fear lay behind her light words. "How did he do that?"

"I'm not quite sure," she admitted. "He just makes things seem…" she searched for a word, "possible."

His eyes intent, Ross said, "You like him?"

"Very much." Just how much, she would not admit. "As you said, Prince Peregrine is not like anyone else." Then Sara grinned, relaxed as she was only with Ross. "I think that's just as well. I don't think London could survive too many like him."

Besides being the handsomest man in the room, Ross was a superb dancer, and Sara felt as safe in his arms as she had in Peregrine's. Later, with other partners, she had a few minor problems, once stumbling with all the awkwardness she had feared, but she did not let the incident spoil her pleasure in her rediscovered ability.

She danced every dance for the rest of the evening, and by the time they left, she was in a state of happy exhaustion. As Charles took her home in his carriage, she rested her head against the soft leather upholstery, half asleep.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, my dear," Charles said as the vehicle began rumbling along the cobbled street. "I did not realize that your crippled leg would permit dancing."

Sara was too much in charity with the world to take offense at his tactlessness. Mildly she said, "Neither did I. It was Prince Peregrine who persuaded me to try."

"Ah, yes, the Kafir prince." A note of disapproval sounded in his voice. "I saw that you spent time alone with him on the balcony. I'm surprised at you, Sara."

"It was chance, not prearrangement, Charles." Fully awake, Sara raised her head from the seat back. "What do you suspect I was doing out there with him?" She was not used to having her actions questioned, and the lingering sense of guilt she felt at her shameless behavior was drowned by irritation at his tone.

"Of course I know that you would never behave improperly, my dear," he assured her, clearly surprised at how she had interpreted his remark. "But one must be wary of appearances. He is a foreigner, after all, and of dubious morals."

"You yourself suggested that I cultivate his acquaintance," she pointed out acerbically. "Have you changed your mind about wanting to do business with him?"

"Not at all. We had dinner last night, and he is most interested in a proposal I made. I have hopes that he will join me in a promising venture." After a pause, Charles continued, "But I have… heard things that suggest that he is not an appropriate companion for a female of refinement."

"Really?" she asked with interest. "What kind of things?"

"I would not sully your ears with such stories," he said stiffly. "But he is not a man whom you should be alone with."

"The prince is Ross's friend, and I have found him to be very gentlemanly," she said, making no attempt to conceal her irritation. "Unless you can be more specific about his shortcomings, I have no intention of cutting the acquaintance."

"I will not have my wife defy me, Sara." Though

Charles's voice was low, the darkened carriage pulsed with barely restrained fury.

"I am not your wife yet, Charles." Sara was startled by his anger, which seemed out of proportion to the cause. "And if you are going to be unreasonable, perhaps we should reconsider marriage. We may not be as well suited as we thought."

"No!" He stopped, then swore a quiet oath under his breath. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "Forgive me, my dear. I do not wish to seem unreasonable. But Asiatics are an encroaching lot. Since they keep their own women secluded, they assume that the greater freedom of European women means immorality. While the prince is an excellent man in his way, I am concerned that he might misinterpret your well-bred ease of manner as license." His voice softened and he took her hand. "You are very precious to me. I can't bear the thought of that—that foreigner offering you insult."

Sara was silent, letting her hand rest passively in his. Is that how the Kafir saw her, as a wanton Western woman who might be available for dalliance? Her mouth tightened. The notion was an unpleasant one, but of no real importance, for Peregrine was merely a passing acquaintance, a brilliant shooting star who would soon be gone from her life.

What was important was the question of her marriage. If she wanted to withdraw from the betrothal, now was the time to do it, before wedding plans were set and invitations sent.

A husband had the right to expect his wife to submit to his wishes and desires, which was one reason why Sara had never had a strong desire to marry. Did she really want to put herself in the power of Charles Weldon? A man like Ross, with humor and an open, questing mind, would make a far more congenial husband. Perhaps the fact that she had never found a man like her cousin was the real reason she had never married.

While Charles was wealthy, well-bred, and handsome, he was cut from more conventional cloth. There was very little humor in him, and though he had traveled widely in his youth, his experiences had merely confirmed his belief in the superiority of all things British rather than broadening his mind. Moreover, tonight's irrational display of anger hinted that he might be a more difficult husband than she had bargained for.