Silk and Shadows (25 page)

"Enough!" Ross said sharply. "I know you are shocked, but I will not let you speak of Sara that way."

Weldon shook Ross's hand from his sleeve and turned to the duke, who watched gray-faced and silent. "Your little cripple didn't know when she was well-off, Haddonfield. If she had been able to keep her legs together, I might have made her a countess some day. Fortunate that I discovered what she is in time."

"You have reason to be angry, Charles, but you are making too much of this. Sara was just kissing him. Girls on the verge of marriage are often curious about other men. That doesn't mean they will not become virtuous wives." The duke's voice was almost pleading. "There is no reason to end your betrothal because of an innocent experiment.''

"
Innocent experiment
! Her dress was half off—if we had come in five minutes later, they would have been coupling! I wouldn't marry her if she was the last female on earth." Weldon's handsome face was distorted with malevolence. "You'll both regret this— after I tell people what happened tonight, you won't be able to buy the doxy a husband even if you throw in your title and whole fortune."

His seething gaze went back to Peregrine. "I knew it was a mistake to have anything to do with a filthy savage. You're no better than an animal, not fit to be allowed near decent women.''

"Not a savage—a barbarian. Savages know nothing of civilization. We barbarians know what civilization is, though we may have a low opinion of it." Peregrine's tone was distinctly ironic. "But of course a civilized, honorable English gentleman like you would know nothing of savagery or barbarism, would he?"

Weldon's blue eyes flickered, as if wondering whether the remark had deeper meanings. Then his gaze narrowed. "To think that I did you the honor of treating you as a friend."

"Were you treating me as a friend?" Peregrine asked with interest. "I thought it was my money that attracted you."

For a moment it appeared as if Weldon would attack him, but, to Peregrine's regret, his enemy thought better of it.

"You belong in the gutter," he snarled. Then he spun around and stalked out of the library, slamming the door with ear-numbing force.

In the strained silence that followed, the duke turned to his daughter, who still sat on the sofa, her hands knotted in her lap. "I am appalled by your conduct, Sara. I would never have believed that you could behave so wantonly when you were betrothed to another man. What have you to say for yourself?"

Sara flinched as if he had struck her. "Nothing at all, Father. There is no excuse for my behavior." There was a tremor in her low voice. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

Ross had been standing by Sara, and as she spoke,he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't put all the blame on Sara, Uncle Miles," Ross said. His hard stare at Peregrine made it clear what he meant.

"I do not deny that most of the fault is mine," Peregrine agreed, "though surely you noticed that Sara was not unwilling."

Ross accepted the words with cold fury as powerful as Weldon's anger and more dangerous for being controlled. There would be a reckoning between them, and soon. But not quite yet.

Haddonfield turned to Peregrine. "I hope you're pleased with yourself," he said bitterly. "For a few moments' selfish sport, you have ruined my daughter's life."

Peregrine glanced at Sara, who had not looked at him since they were interrupted. Her head turned and for a moment her stark gaze met his. In the sibylline depths of her eyes was bleak knowledge, and he knew that she had guessed that the intrusion was no accident.

Then she turned away, asking and expecting nothing of him. "The gossips will be delighted to say that prim Lady Sara is no better than she should be and deserved to be jilted, but to say that my life is ruined is an exaggeration, Father," she said, her voice under control. "It will be a nine days' wonder, half forgotten in a month. And as for marriage—I've never been sure that I wanted a husband."

"Perhaps your life isn't ruined, but your reputation is, and that's almost as bad." Haddonfield's face was set in hard, angry lines. "You'll never be received at court again. The only thing that could save you is a respectable marriage, but Charles was right—who would have you now?"

Sara's face went dead white at her father's condemnation, but she said nothing more. She had apologized for hurting those close to her, but she had too much pride to grovel or weep or beg forgiveness for what could not be undone.

Peregrine studied the taut line of her profile. If he had not seen her aching eyes, he would have thought her almost unaffected by what had happened. But he had seen, and the sight made him deeply uneasy.

This was a night of triumph, and he took avid delight in the knowledge that his enemy was suffering. The wound to Weldon's masculine pride was just the beginning; when his temper cooled, he would realize that ending his betrothal had dealt a mortal blow to his financial empire. He had not just lost a woman, he had ruined himself.

Yet now Peregrine found that his pleasure was tarnished by the sight of Sara's pain. Knowing that she was better off without Weldon, he had had no compunctions about compromising her. But he had not realized how much it would hurt her to be humiliated in front of her family, nor had he expected to be so affected by the sight of her suffering. Reminding himself that she would benefit by this night's work did not ease the strange, constricted feeling in his chest.

Sara's silk gown was rumpled and a loosened strand of lustrous dark gold hair had fallen over her bare shoulder, but she had not lost a shred of her aristocratic dignity. It was hard to decide which of his feelings was stronger: admiration for her stoic courage, or desire.

Peregrine was troubled in a way very rare to him. Yet even so, it was a complete surprise when he heard his own voice saying, "If Lady Sara needs a husband, I would be happy to volunteer for the position."

The stunned silence that followed rivaled the one that had occurred when he and Sara had been discovered. All three of the Britons stared at him in blank astonishment.

As startled as the others, Peregrine swiftly reviewed his rash statement. Usually he weighed decisions carefully, but sometimes he acted on pure impulse, as when he had decided to take Jenny Miller from the brothel.

Now impulse had struck again, skipping his brain entirely and going direct to his lips.

Yet even after fast, furious thought, he found that he did not regret his offer. A wife had never been part of his plans, but a wise man altered plans to suit unexpected circumstances. Marriage would help atone for what he had done to Sara, and as he watched the startled rise and fall of her breasts, he knew that marrying her would be no sacrifice.

He raised his brows, a little amused by the expressions of the other three. "When you said that Lady Sara needed a respectable marriage, Your Grace, you meant to a wellborn Englishman. While I am not that, I am very rich, which should counter some of my other failings."

The duke scrutinized his face before saying grudgingly, "I suppose you would do. If the marriage takes place soon, the gossip will die down quickly."

Ross said, a hard edge in his voice, "Is this what you've wanted all along, Mikahl?"

"No, the idea just occurred to me," Peregrine said blandly. "But now that I've thought of it, I find it appealing. Sara?"

Her voice rich with sarcasm, she said, "Your powerfully romantic proposal leaves me speechless."

Peregrine grinned in appreciation, but the duke said roughly, "You're not going to do any better, Sara. Accept him quickly, before he changes his mind."

"Better a scandal than a disastrous marriage," Ross snapped.

"It would be a mistake to decide anything tonight," Peregrine said soothingly. "Sara and I need to talk when she's had a chance to rest."

"That is the first sensible thing anyone has said," Sara replied, her tone brittle.

"May I call on you at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?" Peregrine asked.

"Very well." She stood, tugging the gaudy engagement ring from her finger. Handing it to her father,she said, "Will you see that this is returned to Charles?" After he nodded, Sara continued, "I'm going up to my room, Ross, and I don't want to talk to anyone else tonight. Not
anyone. "
Her limp was more pronounced than usual as she crossed the library, but her spine was erect. She left without looking back.

"Uncle Miles, will you please ask my mother to take care of the guests on my behalf?" Ross asked. "I have a few things I wish to discuss with my esteemed friend."

Seeming grateful to have something to do, Haddon-field agreed, then left the room.

"You arranged that nasty little scene deliberately, didn't you?" Ross growled as soon as the door closed behind the duke. "If I didn't owe you my life, I would have already wrung your neck. Just what kind of game are you playing, Mikahl?"

"You are very quick to assume the worst. Isn't it possible that it was an accident of passion, that Sara and I were overcome by our feelings and lost track of the time?" Peregrine seemed totally at his ease, faint amusement visible on his dark face.

"No," Ross said flatly, fighting the urge to wipe the amusement off the other man's face. "That kind of accident doesn't happen to you. I've always known that you were devious, but I thought that in your own way, you were honorable. Instead you betrayed my trust and deceived me so that I became the instrument of injuring Sara. If that is your idea of friendship, may God preserve me from any more such friends."

"But the goal has been achieved," Peregrine said, refusing to be drawn. "Lady Sara is now free of a dangerous man."

"I've never liked Weldon, even less so after tonight, but I'd trust Sara to him sooner than to a scheming bastard like you." Ross took a firm hold on his raveling temper. "What you did to her tonight was unforgivable."

"It is Sara's choice to give or withhold forgiveness,not yours." Peregrine's expression grew thoughtful. "I wonder whether she will accept my offer of honorable matrimony. My guess is that the odds are about even. What do you think?"

His flippancy about Sara's future snapped the last frail threads of Ross's control. Without warning, he swung a furious fist at the Kafir. "You bloody-minded…"

Luckily Peregrine had a warrior's superb reflexes, or the blow might have broken his jaw. He twisted quickly, and his shoulder took most of the impact, but before he could recover, Ross's second blow connected solidly in his opponent's midriff.

As the Kafir doubled over, Ross felt a moment's profound satisfaction in the collision of muscle and bone. Satisfaction was inevitably short-lived. Peregrine didn't bother to straighten up, just grabbed Ross's leg and jerked him off balance. Even as Ross hit the carpet with painful force, he rolled and dragged his opponent off his feet.

Both men were highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and they had sparred often enough to be able to anticipate each other's moves. The result was an intense, noisy, exhausting brawl. They rolled and pummeled each other, back and forth across the library, smashing two wooden chairs and toppling the globe stand. Another furious exchange of blows sent Ross into a corner of the desk. A lamp tipped onto the carpet, and flames raced along the spilled oil until Ross peeled off his coat and tossed it over the blaze. As soon as it smothered, he returned to the fray with grim determination.

Peregrine avoided any blows or holds that could do serious damage, but Ross was less particular. Though he was not trying to kill, he
wanted
to harm the other man. He wanted Peregrine to feel some shadow of the pain that he had casually inflicted on Sara, and in his fury, Ross had never been more dangerous.

When both men were battered, bruised, and near the end of their endurance, Peregrine managed to pin Ross to the floor and apply a choke hold across his windpipe.

"Enough!" The Kafir's breath came in harsh, rattling gasps. "You're never going to win, I have had twenty years' head start in fighting for my life. But if this goes on much longer, one of us will be badly hurt. I'd rather it wasn't me, and if it's you, Sara will be even angrier with me than she is now. Pax?"

Enough of Ross's fury had been burned off to make him amenable to reason. Now it was time to talk. "Pax," he agreed, his voice a hoarse rasp.

After Peregrine released him, Ross lay still for a minute, his lungs laboring for breath. He ached from head to foot, and one eye was blinded by blood trickling from a laceration along his eyebrow, but nothing seemed to be broken. Painfully he rolled to his knees, stopping when a wave of dizziness almost flattened him.

His erstwhile opponent grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet, then propelled him over to the leather sofa. Ross sank gratefully back into the cushions, thinking that the damned Kafir was made of steel and weathered oak. Anyone else would be lying on the floor in a gentlemanly stupor after absorbing so much punishment.

Clinking sounds indicated that Peregrine had found the liquor cabinet. After a couple of minutes he sat on the arm of the sofa and started gently sponging the blood from Ross's face.

When the blood was cleaned off, Peregrine poured some whiskey on his folded handkerchief, then pressed it against the laceration. The stinging helped clear Ross's head, and he took the pad from the other man's hand and held it in place himself.