Silk and Shadows (42 page)

Weldon's voice dropped. "Confidentially, I believe that a rival railroad group is behind this. Because they know how profitable the L & S will be, they want to cause trouble so later they can step in and claim our route. Crawley, the farmer who is accusing us of criminal harassment, has disappeared, along with his whole family. I fear foul play."

"Indeed?" Peregrine's brows lifted.

"You must have heard about some of the vicious things that have been done when several companies are competing for the same routes—some railroads have been forced to buy off rivals in order to stay in business," Weldon said, elaborating on his story. "I would rather avoid that because it's a poor use of stockholders' funds, but in this case, buying the plaintiffs off may be the best solution."

"One must be practical," the Kafir agreed.

Weldon finally reached his key point. "Because of these legal problems and the drop in the value of the stock, the company is facing a temporary cash shortage. Might you be interested in increasing your investment? That will protect your existing stake in the L & S and repay you well later."

Peregrine drew his dark brows together thoughtfully.

Weldon held his breath, trying not to show his anxiety. He feared that he might have moved too quickly, but the Kafir's expression was encouraging.

Then Peregrine looked right into Weldon's eyes and said pleasantly, "I'll see you in hell first."

Not believing his own ears, Weldon stammered, "Wh-what?"

Obligingly the other man repeated, "I'll see you in hell before I will save you from the disaster you so richly deserve."

It was a moment when every impression was razor vivid. Weldon was acutely aware of the waltz music pulsing around them, the scents of sweaty bodies and heavy perfumes. A woman's wide skirt brushed his leg as she whirled by. But most of all, he was mesmerized by the Kafir's green, green eyes, which watched him with mocking malice. Weldon had never seen eyes so green.

No, he
had
seen eyes like that once before. There had been a nagging sense of recognition the first time he'd met Peregrine. When and where had he seen such eyes? A long moment of intense thought produced a shattering answer.

"Tripoli," Weldon gasped. He scanned the face of the man in front of him, looking for traces of an almost forgotten boy. "No, it's impossible. You can't be…"

Still mockingly polite, the Kafir said, "What is impossible—that justice has finally caught up with you? You said it was impossible then, too. One would think that the evidence of your eyes would convince you otherwise."

The words were an echo from a distant time and place, and they instantly resolved Weldon's doubts. Suddenly everything made horrible sense, for all of Weldon's problems had begun when Peregrine had come into his life.

Suffused with fury, Weldon hissed, "It hasn't been bad luck, has it?
You
miserable bastard, you've been stalking me for months, persecuting me in every way possible. Lady Sara, the railroad, maybe even the barony."

"Precisely." Peregrine kept his voice level, but inside he vibrated with exultation. This was the moment he had been anticipating for twenty-five years, the moment when Weldon realized that his doom had found him. "I decided to give you a hint because I was growing weary of waiting for you to identify me on your own." And also, as he had told Slade, it was time to draw the game to a close.

Weldon's face was a study in emotions: shock, rage, and best of all, fear. Then his features hardened, the mask of a gentleman crumbling to reveal the viciousness within. "You certainly have changed." His insulting gaze scanned Peregrine from head to foot. "I would never have believed that a filthy brat like you would ever be able to ape the manners of a gentleman. For that is all you are doing: aping."

"I learned to ape gentility from an expert," Peregrine said with barbed civility.

The swelling of violins announced a new waltz, the lush music curling sensuously around the two men. Weldon's face twisted into a sneer. "How did you make your fortune? I suppose you began by selling that nice, tight little…"

Before the sentence could be completed, Peregrine exploded, his vision going blood crimson. His left hand shot out to seize his enemy's throat as his right balled into a fist. Through his murderous rage, he felt the pulse of the other man's veins beneath his fingers.

Then he saw the triumphant expression in Weldon's eyes, and had enough sanity left to know that he had been goaded into just such an action. Startled eyes were being turned in his direction, and in a moment the two men would be in the center of a scene—a scene where Peregrine would be the villain.

Instantly he released his grip and brushed at Weldon's upper shoulder, making the gesture casual, as if he was flicking something from the other man's coat. The curious bystanders turned away, thinking that they must have misinterpreted what had been briefly visible from the corners of their eyes.

With an easy, lying smile, Peregrine said, "You'll not catch me like that again, Weldon. You were damned lucky—I might as easily have slit your throat as tried to throttle you. That would have gotten me into trouble with the law, but you would have been quite dead." His smile widened. "A delightful prospect, except that it would be far, far too swift."

His own expression equally insincere, Weldon said, "What do you want of me, you bastard?"

"Oh, surely you must know that, Weldon." Peregrine's smile faded, and his voice rang like tempered steel. "In the name of all your victims, I am here to destroy you. I have already taken away much of what you value, but I will not be satisfied until you drink from the chalice of death."

"You're mad," Weldon said contemptuously. "That is the melodramatic babble of the East. This is England. In spite of the problems you have caused, I still have power and influence that a gutter rat like you can never match. Now that I know what you're doing, I can defend myself against your wild schemes. More than that, I will destroy you for your insolence."

"My wild schemes have been quite effective so far, have they not?'' Peregrine murmured, thinking that it was bizarre but somehow appropriate that they were having this confrontation in the midst of a crowd of revelers.

Weldon's eyes narrowed as a new thought struck him. "The personal loans—are you the one who bought them and is demanding payment?"

Peregrine gave a slight, derisive bow. "I have that humble privilege."

"In that case, it will give me great pleasure to default," Weldon snarled.

"Sorry to deprive you of your amusement," Peregrine said with spurious sympathy, "but the day you default, I'll have the bailiffs on you. I'll attach every bit of property you own: the town house, the Hertfordshire estate, the buildings in the City." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if I can also put a lien on the whorehouses. They are illicit businesses, of course, but they are part of your assets, and I can prove you own them."

Weldon blanched. "How much do you know about me?"

"Everything," Peregrine said softly. His reply hung in the air between them. A laughing couple danced by, leaving a scent of lilies and sweat in their wake.

Weldon's eyes became feral. "Then it is war. Since you mean to ruin me, I have no choice but to ruin you first."

"You can try, but you will not succeed. Even if you manage to kill me, I will reach from the grave to bring you down."

"Bah, spare me the cheap dramatics. You have as much to lose as I do, and lose it you will," Weldon said viciously. "By tipping your hand, you have doomed yourself, for I will stop at nothing to destroy you."

"There is one line you will not cross," Peregrine said with cold menace. "If you hurt Sara, I swear that you will regret the day you were born.''

Weldon gave a genuine smile. "What a fool you are. You have just put the perfect weapon in my hands. Hard to believe that a cold little cripple like her can interest any man, but since you seem to want her, the slut will pay for your crimes."

Weldon started to turn away, but Peregrine caught his wrist. "Listen very carefully.
You will not hurt Sara
. If you do, it is Eliza who will suffer for your wickedness."

Weldon's face went white. "You wouldn't kill a little girl—even you are not such a monster as that."

"Very true, I would not kill her." Peregrine's voice was soft with menace. "But you and she will wish that I had. No matter how hard you try, you will never be able to hide Eliza from me—and when I find her, I will put her in a brothel."

When Weldon recoiled in horror, Peregrine twisted his wrist with punishing force. His voice pitched below the clamor around them, he whispered, "I would send her to a virgin house first—just think, Weldon, your darling little girl being ravished by a brute like you. I think I would specify that she be given to a man looking for a virgin to cure his syphilis.

"Then I would transfer her to a specialized house— flagellation, perhaps, or one where mechanical devices are used. Not a house in England—I will send her somewhere you will never find her." He twisted Weldon's wrist again, to a point just short of wrenching the joint apart. "How long will your delicately reared daughter last, hmmm? And I will be sure that she knows she is in hell because her father sent her there."

"You filthy bastard," Weldon swore, his voice savage. "You are evil, truly evil."

Peregrine released the other man's wrist. "Like false gentility, I learned evil from a master of the art. Is it agreed—you will leave Sara alone, and I will spare Eliza?''

"Agreed. But that is the only agreement." Weldon rubbed his sore wrist, his blue eyes shimmering with mad violence. "You are going to be sorry that you ever tried your petty vengeance on me. You are no better than a common criminal, no match for me."

"On the contrary. I am no common criminal, but justice incarnate." Peregrine savored the moment, thinking that when this speech was done, he must find Sara and share his exultation with her. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "You have sowed the wind, Weldon. Now you will reap the whirlwind."

Sara was beginning to wonder what had become of her husband when he appeared before her, his eyes brilliant with excitement. After greeting the great-aunt with whom Sara had been speaking, he said under his breath, "Come, sweet Sara. I have found a spot where we can dance without feeling like herring in a barrel.''

She laughed and took her leave of her aunt. As her husband steered her across the ballroom, she asked, "Have you found another balcony where I can give you lessons on the language of the fan?"