Silk and Shadows (20 page)

Sara had assumed that she was too refined, or too cold, to succumb to such folly. Obviously she had been wrong, though she could not blame herself for wanting to yield to passion now that she had experienced its awesome power. If she had felt such desire for Charles, she would have welcomed it as an extra blessing for their marriage. But instead, on the eve of her wedding,she had become infatuated with another man. And, humiliatingly, he was a man with no special interest in her.

Though Peregrine had said that she was the only woman he wanted, she discounted that as the tactful lie of an experienced seducer, in the same league as the fool's gold compliments he had given her. "Gold and silk and ivory, warmed to wondrous life," indeed! As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she saw a small female of unremarkable appearance, overserious and—she forced herself to think the word—crippled.

Oddly, she had believed Peregrine when he said that he did not want to ruin her, and that he was not interested in her simply as a conquest. The thought made her smile faintly, for there was nothing simple about him. But she could think of only two other reasons why a handsome prince would choose her above the beautiful, experienced women he had met in London society, and neither reason was flattering.

Possibly it was her rank that attracted him, making her more alluring than her modest physical attractions warranted. Far more likely, her real appeal was that she was fool enough to make herself available. She had put herself in a position where the Kafir had reason to believe that she would accept his advances. Then, after acting like a wanton, she had retreated like a nervous schoolgirl. He could have humiliated her at the least, ravished her at the most, and she was grateful for his restraint.

No doubt she had Ross to thank for that, because the friendship between the men seemed the most likely reason that Peregrine had not taken advantage of her foolishness. Pray God that Ross, Charles, and her father never learned what had happened today. Her cousin might understand, or at least be tolerant of her weakness. But her father and her betrothed would be profoundly, and justifiably, appalled by her behavior.

Convulsively Sara buried her face in her hands, no longer able to face her image in the mirror. Even if the men in her life never learned what she had done, she could not escape the worst punishment of all: the knowledge that she had failed to live up to her own standards of right and wrong. She had thought herself a virtuous woman, but clearly her virtue was merely a result of never having been tempted.

Fortunately for Sara's composure, Hoskins returned to say that the bath was ready. Numbly Sara walked to the bathroom, stripped off her green velvet robe, and lowered herself into the large tub. The steaming, rose-scented water came up to her chin, and her aching muscles reacted with a relief so intense that it was nearly pain. It was pleasure almost as acute and sensual as what she had experienced in Peregrine's arms.

Exasperated, Sara tried to banish her unruly thoughts, but without success. Immodest though it was, she could not deny her taut, yearning awareness. Hesitantly she opened her hands and stroked down her torso, her palms gliding over her smooth feminine curves. Her skin was satin-sleek under the hot water.

Peregrine's hands were long-fingered and dexterous, hardened by work, yet gentle, so gentle. What would it be like to feel those strong hands on her bare flesh? The thought made her shiver with embarrassing longing, but she wasn't embarrassed enough to stop thinking and wondering.

Consideringly she cupped one breast. It was soft and almost weightless in the water. Remarkable things, breasts; men were intrigued by them, and even through her heavy clothing she had nearly melted with pleasure when he touched her there.

Her hand skimmed lower across her ribs, along the curve of her waist, then lower yet, toward parts of her body for which she did not even have a name, but which pulsed with yearning. As her fingertips brushed curling gold hair, she had a vivid image of his dark hand in the same place. A few short hours ago, she had been pressed against him, their loins straining together…

She blushed violently and withdrew her hand, but the thought of Peregrine touching her intimately was not the major cause of her discomfort. The real problem was knowing that in her mind and emotions, she had been—was still—disloyal to the man she had promised to marry. She doubted that Charles had lived a chaste life since the death of his first wife, but that did not excuse Sara's failing.

Deliberately she studied her right thigh and traced the ugly, twisting scars left by the surgeons. There had been infection, and they had wanted to amputate her leg, but her condition had improved while they were still trying to decide if the operation would be more likely to kill or cure her. The scars were part of her, along with all the limitations they represented. It would be well if she remembered that.

The water was beginning to cool. With a sigh, she took the bar of French soap and began lathering, then stopped because the slick pressure was stimulating improper thoughts again. Damn Peregrine for invading her mind and imagination so thoroughly!

Her mouth grim, Sara asked herself another difficult question. She had faced her self-deception and had acknowledged her physical attraction to the mysterious Kafir. While she was fascinated by him, she was reasonably sure that his interest in her was minor and fleeting. But what if things were different? What if she were not betrothed to Charles, what if Peregrine asked her to marry him? What would she do then?

The last shreds of her control vanished, and she began to cry, hopeless tears that stung her eyes and rolled down her face into the cooling water. And she didn't even know why.

It was late evening, not quite full dark, as Peregrine rode to Benjamin Slade's home for what should be a very interesting meeting. But instead of thinking about business, his mind kept turning to Lady Sara St. James, as it had done repeatedly in the last week. He still could not understand why he had restrained himself the afternoon they had gone to Sulgrave. He had desired her with overwhelming intensity, and she herself had been three-quarters willing. One more kiss and she would have surrendered completely. Yet he had stopped.

Perhaps it was because of his promise to Ross, perhaps because of the desperate vulnerability in Lady Sara's eyes as she begged him not to continue. Much as he wanted her, he had found himself unable to do something that would make her despise herself afterward.

The trouble was that he liked the blasted woman, liked her intelligence and humor and wise, gentle spirit. He also could not avoid a certain grudging respect for the fact that she tried to live up to her principles of right and wrong. Such principles were the luxuries of people who had led easy lives, but they were not without a certain charm.

His mouth curled with self-disgust as he considered the repercussions of his moment of misguided restraint. It would have been far kinder to have tumbled her. By now he knew Lady Sara well enough to be sure that her conscience would have driven her to break her betrothal if she had been intimate with another man. Weldon would have lost his rich, highborn wife, Peregrine's goal would have been enjoyably achieved, and the lady herself would have been much better off in the long run.

Because Sara's own desire had been aroused, she would have been too honest to put all the blame on her seducer, and in the aftermath she would have suffered from guilt and self-reproach. But she would have been saved from Weldon, and it would not have been long before she came to terms with her lapse from virtue, for she had too much common sense to punish herself forever.

He had been a softheaded fool, and he and Sara would both end up paying a high price for his weakness. The betrothal
must
be broken, but since she would not see him except in a crowded social setting, he would have to find another way to achieve his end. The vague plan in the back of his mind was thoroughly dishonorable, but he would resort to it if necessary. And next time, he would not let Sara's honest, accusing brown eyes keep him from his purpose.

Benjamin Slade settled his reading glasses on his nose with lawyerly precision and lifted a paper from one of the files stacked on the desk in front of him. "Following your suggestions, I have compiled a remarkable dossier on Sir Charles Weldon. I would not have believed a gentleman could be guilty of such wickedness and hypocrisy had I not seen the evidence myself."

He paused and peered over the top of his glasses. "Bear in mind that there are two categories of evidence here. Some of it is so conclusive that any judge or jury in Great Britain would be convinced. However, there are other crimes that Weldon is surely guilty of, but where the evidence will not stand in court."

"I understand the distinction," Peregrine said, lounging back in his chair and crossing his legs. "It is neither necessary nor possible to prove all his crimes. I just want to know that we have enough to hang him." Correctly interpreting Slade's doubtful expression, he added with a humorless smile, "I speak metaphorically. Frankly, I think hanging is too good for Sir Charles Weldon."

Slade blinked. Then, surprisingly, he said, "I'm inclined to think you are right." His gaze returned to the paper in his hand. "To summarize, Weldon owns all the brothels you listed. He also appears to own several other brothels and two or three illegal gaming hells, though I can't prove it in most cases because the transfer of money is in cash, with minimal records. Except for Mrs. Kent's house, he seldom makes a personal visit to his own bawdy houses, preferring to channel funds through intermediaries. The most important of these is a man called Kane, who lives in Weldon's household and is described as a personal secretary."

Peregrine nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. I met Kane a couple of times. Silent and dangerous, not at all deferential, and looks like a former soldier."

"He could be. I have been unable to learn anything of his history before he began working for Weldon some fifteen years ago." Slade set one paper down and lifted another. "While Kane's background is mysterious, his criminal talent is vital to Weldon's illicit businesses. He collects money, terrorizes anyone who doesn't cooperate, and generally keeps things running smoothly. Each brothel has at least one guard who has been recruited from the London underworld and who reports directly to Kane. Rather like a private army. Overt violence is committed either by Kane or one of the brothel guards, which makes it difficult to connect Weldon directly with criminal activity."

The lawyer gave a slight, satisfied smile. "However, I have been able to acquire some useful affidavits. For example, in the case of Mrs. Kent's appalling establishment, Miss Miller not only overheard Weldon and Kent discussing his ownership, but she herself saw money change hands and will testify."