Silk and Shadows (28 page)

Peregrine joined her in an impressively short time. "Are we at the heart of the maze yet?"

"Nowhere near it." She clasped her hands in front of her, trying to look composed, but her fingers twined tightly. "How can I marry a man who is in most ways a stranger, and a rather alarming one at that? For all I know, you have a wife in Kafiristan. Or a dozen wives, or concubines in half the cities of the Orient."

He shook his head, his face becoming as serious as her own. "No, Sara. I have never taken a wife, nor even considered it. While I have had mistresses in the past, there is no woman but you who has a claim on me now."

"Is that how you think of me, as an obligation to be met because you ruined my reputation?"

"No," he said calmly. "That is the advantage of my un-noble principles. I would never marry because of any abstract sense of obligation—I simply like the idea of having you as a wife."

There was some comfort in that answer. Shifting to another subject, Sara asked, "What about religion? I don't know what, if anything, you believe in. I was raised in the Church of England and want to be married in it. Would you object, or would that offend your own beliefs?"

"I will not be offended by an Anglican wedding ceremony." He regarded her with a glimmer of humor. "As I said, the people of Kanristan are pagans. I can talk with some understanding on Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, and several less-known Eastern religions, and have some knowledge of Christian theology and Jewish law as well. Twice in my life, when the alternative was to be executed on the spot, I accepted forcible conversion to Islam, but I do not consider such conversions binding."

Startled and a little shocked by his recitation, Sara said, "But what do you
believe
? Don't you have any kind of faith?"

"I have faith in myself, sweet Sara." He took two steps closer, and the familiar current of attraction pulsed into potent, irresistible life. "And I have faith in you."

 He was so close she could touch him, and she wanted to, wanted to so much it hurt. But far more than passion, she needed understanding; she needed to feel that there existed a foundation on which a marriage could be built. Since Ross had once explained that the European concept of love was alien to Orientals, Sara doubted that Peregrine would ever speak of love, but she would settle for less. For much, much less. Softly she asked, "What kind of faith do you have in me?"

"I believe that you will be good." He cupped her chin in one hand, his vivid gaze holding hers. "I don't imagine that it will always be comfortable, but perhaps your honorable nature will improve me."

She didn't know whether to laugh or weep. "You make me sound like some kind of medicine, to be taken from necessity rather than choice."

"Both, Sara." There was a rueful note in his voice. "You are my choice, and perhaps also my necessity."

Then he lowered his head and kissed her. At first his mouth was light, almost playful, but as she yielded, sliding her arms around him, the kiss became demanding. She responded in kind, hungry for the nourishment only he could give her. His arms around her felt so good, so right…

Then she remembered why they were here, and broke away from his embrace. Nothing had been settled; it was answers she needed, not lovemaking. Her breathing unsteady, she tried to formulate questions that might elicit what she needed to know.

Before she could think of a single worthy question, he stretched his hand out to her. "Don't deny your desire, Sara." His deep voice was soft and rich, as tantalizing as the forbidden fruit of Eden. "And don't run from me. I will not harm you."

The pull he exerted was as inexorable as a river sweeping toward the sea. Involuntarily she took a step forward, then stopped. Something was wrong, for what she felt was more than desire, it was compulsion. "Stop doing that!" she burst out.

His dark brows arched. "Stop doing what?"

She stammered with embarrassment, knowing how foolish her words must sound. "Sometimes it seems as if you… you cast a spell over me, an enchantment that robs me of my willpower."

Rationally she knew it was impossible, but emotionally she felt that he was trying to coerce her. Perhaps he had some subtle Oriental power unknown to Europeans. "It happens whenever you want me to do something I have doubts about. I feel like… like a mongoose hypnotized by a cobra."

She saw that she had startled him, and briefly the magnetic pull diminished. "What a very original idea," he said, an enigmatic gleam in his eyes. "Hypnotizing people to do my bidding would be a useful skill, if it were possible. But alas, I do not think it is." As he spoke, the pull intensified, becoming stronger than ever.

Sara fought that potent attraction. To yield and go into his arms would be to give up her ability to choose, because once he embraced her, she would be lost. "Why do you want to marry me?" she asked again, shifting her eyes because his gaze weakened her resolve. "Me in particular, rather than anyone else? If not for money, social position, or guilt, is it because you want an English wife and I am convenient?"

"You are missing the most obvious reason of all." Lightly he placed his hands on her shoulders. "I want to marry you because you are you, unique and fascinating, unlike any other woman I have ever known. Isn't that reason enough?"

Then he drew her to him, and her resistance crumbled and vanished like dust in the wind. Before when they kissed, her sense of honor and obligation to her betrothal had protected her. But now that obligation was gone, and there was nothing to save her from her own dangerous longings.

Wherever he touched, her body sang in response and found echoes throughout her whole being. And while he was not offering love, did his words not mean that he cared, at least a little? Surely that would be enough?

"In the language of Genghis Khan, the word
sira
meant silk.
Sira
Sara—silken Sara," he breathed as his lips drifted from her temple to her hair. "Like the finest silk, you have a subtle, sensuous beauty that shimmers with hidden fire."

He caught her lobe teasingly between his teeth, not hard enough to hurt. The delicately judged pressure made her shiver in response, and she turned her face, seeking his mouth with hers and finding it. Her eyes closed, and her world narrowed to the hot, moist touch of tongues and teeth, of breath and taste, depths and sliding surfaces. Dimly she was aware that he was bringing her gently to the ground, lowering her onto the soft, sun-warmed turf, but reality was the dark fire of his kiss.

He warmed her even as he blocked the sunlight, lying beside her, his hard body half over hers. His hands roamed over her, deft and knowing, leisurely in their knowledge. Even through her heavy clothing, his touch aroused her. She arched her breast against his palm, wanting to feel him on her bare flesh as she had the night before. But this dress was not so easily defeated as her ball gown, and his questing hand roved lower, from breasts to waist to hips, an endless caress that roused and tantalized.

When he first touched where her thighs and abdomen joined, she flinched, momentarily grateful for the protection of her clothing. Then the warmth of his hand melted away her disquiet, as answering warmth slowly flowered inside her, and she rubbed against him like a cat being petted.

He raised her skirt and petticoats, and she felt almost naked with only the sheer muslin of her drawers between his questing hand and her yearning flesh. The delicate fabric added a rustling sensuality as he caressed her, massaging her calf, her knee, moving ever upward.

When he reached the exquisitely sensitive inside of her thighs, she gasped with fearful pleasure, breaking the kiss in her need for breath. His broad palm came to rest between her legs, motionless while she became accustomed to the intimacy. Then he began rotating his hand in a slow circle. Her breathing roughened as her inchoate longings began to focus into a swirl of sensation beneath his palm.

"You like that, don't you, sweet Sara?" he murmured. He shifted from general pressure to a delicate, more specific exploration, his fingers searing through the thin muslin.

She pulsed against him in wordless answer. When the stroking ended, she almost cried out at the deprivation before realizing that he was only pausing to untie the ribbon that fastened her drawers around her waist. She knew she should protest, but instead she shamelessly raised her hips to help, no longer knowing or caring what was proper, or what the consequences might be.

The air was cool on her heated skin when he tugged the flimsy garment off. Shyness was not yet gone, and she tensed when his fingers skimmed across the subtle, satin curve of her belly, then traced a path through the soft curls to the mysteries below. When at last he touched her bare flesh, she was startled and embarrassed at the moist heat of her response.

He held her close with one encircling arm. "Relax, sweet Sara, relax," he whispered. "Your body was made for love. Let me teach you."

At first she was unbearably sensitive, fearful of such intimate invasion. But he knew her body better than she did herself, knew exactly where and how to touch, easing her disquiet even as he inflamed her senses.

She was aware of his soothing voice, but not the words he uttered, was aware of the scratchy feel of his wool coat against her cheek, of the subtle, musky male scent of him in her nostrils. Her hips began moving involuntarily, and her breathing was ragged, desperate, as waves of need threatened to drown her.

"Yes, Sara, yes. Yield and be free." His voice was husky and uneven, and she felt a hot, hard bulge where her leg pressed against him. The last of her inhibitions were dissolved by the knowledge that he was also aroused by her. She lost control of her body entirely, crying out as shattering urgency overwhelmed her. She was falling, falling, frightened yet joyous.

In the aftermath, she felt as if she had been fragmented and was only slowly being reassembled. She lay on her side, and Peregrine held her against him, one hand cradling her head while he whispered gently in a language she did not understand. His other hand still rested on her, calming the heady throbbing of her most private parts.

She raised her head to look at him, struggling for a measure of composure. "That is what you wanted to teach me?"

"That was only the beginning, silken Sara, the first step on a road with no end." He smiled, unsteady brilliance in his eyes, and began caressing her again.

She had thought her body was sated, but he knew better. Under his expert touch, tendrils of pleasure began to coil deep inside her, first slowly, then with growing intensity. Her eyes drifted shut in blissful, wondering appreciation.

As he lowered her to the yielding turf, she heard the brushing sound of fingers manipulating fabric and buttons. Then he touched her again, his fingers sliding inside her, then spreading the delicate folds of flesh. She should have known what was happening, but she was too dazed, too disoriented by the newness and the pleasure to really understand.

Sara's discovery of her capacity for rapture resonated within Peregrine, touching chords of wonder he had long forgotten or had never truly known. When she gazed at him, warm with wanting, delicious in her openness and vulnerability, she touched his spirit as deeply as she kindled his body.

He reacted with primitive male possessiveness, overwhelmed by the irresistible need to make her his own. Intimacy was not something Sara would give or accept lightly, and if she would be his lover, she would also be his wife. He wanted her, by all the gods that men worshiped, he wanted her, and her response was irrefutable proof that she also wanted him.

He separated her legs and positioned himself between them. Though he yearned to plunge heedlessly into her sweet body, he restrained himself. His eyes closed as all his iron discipline focused on maintaining a fragile curb on unruly desire. While it was impossible to eliminate pain entirely, he pressed against her with slow care to minimize her discomfort.

The implacable pressure shattered Sara's desire, and she cried out, as much in shock as discomfort. Her eyes flew open. Above her, his dark face was sweat-sheened, and his breath came in rasping gulps. She shook her head, wanting to say no, not now, not yet, but her voice had vanished in her confusion. She caught at the hard arms braced around her, but she had no strength, and he was too deep in his own needs to notice her feeble resistance.

Abruptly the frail membrane sundered, and he slid into her moist, welcoming depths. For him, the sensation would have been paradise if he had not felt the spasm of pain that moved through Sara. "I'm sorry," he said raggedly, his lips near her ear. "There was no way that could be avoided."

His supporting arms shaking with strain, he ordered himself to be still until she adjusted to the feel of having him inside her. Though he had never done it before, he knew the technique for initiating an innocent; when she was more relaxed, he would begin to move, first slight, almost indiscernible strokes, then deeper and deeper as he led her into the dance of intimacy. But restraint proved impossible. He trembled with need, his control disintegrating until with a groan he involuntarily thrust deeper.

She made a raw, choking sound, her whole body going rigid as she whispered a tormented, "No!"

In a distant part of his mind, he heard and understood her protest, and knew that he should stop. But he could not, for passion had splintered his prized discipline, and his need was far greater than his ability to control it.