Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  "What would make them happier was if they blinked and I was gone. Perhaps they fear that I am Medusa and the sight of me will turn them to stone," Sara said, unable to repress a smile at her companion's irreverence. "Or, since at least half of the men here are relatives or acquaintances of mine, their shock might be that Lady Sara St. James is doing something so improper. It would be more understandable if I were an opera dancer."

  She glanced around with interest, determined to take advantage of this opportunity to see a masculine holy of holies. The famous yard had enough space for dozens of horses and carriages, and was surrounded by a covered arcade where horses could be shown in bad weather. Nodding toward the arcade, she added, "It looks rather like an equine cloister, doesn't it?"

  "Justly so," he agreed. "There are some splendid beasts here. You said it was an auction house. If I wish to buy, can I do so immediately, without waiting for the auction?"

  "I think so," she said uncertainly. "At least, if you are willing to pay a top price."

  "Which I am. What better way to establish myself as a fabulously wealthy foreigner, with great style and little sense?" He glanced down at her, a wicked gleam in his green eyes. "Besides, while you are carrying this off with great aplomb, I shouldn't think that you wish to stay too long."

  What a perceptive prince he was, Sara reflected. While she was capable of pretending the same confidence she had in her own drawing room, she didn't really enjoy being the target of so many scandalized eyes.

  As they crossed the yard to where a number of carriage horses were tethered, Sara saw a middle-aged man with a proprietorial air emerge from inside the building. Mr. Tattersall, she presumed. His eyes widened at the sight of her, but before he could react, another man whispered something in his ear, probably explaining that she was a duke's daughter.

  After that, the proprietor ignored her. Wise man. While Sara's relatives and acquaintances might not approve of her presence, it was likely that some of them would object to her being thrown out. After all, as Peregrine had said, there was no law forbidding her presence. Poor Mr. Tattersall. Caught on the horns of a dilemma, he prudently chose to do nothing.

  "Do you see anything you like?" Sara asked.

  After an encompassing survey, Peregrine said, "There," and led her over to a pair of perfectly matched bays.

  For the next several minutes, the prince communed with the beasts in a rippling foreign language while he ran his hands over them in a comprehensive check. Sara stayed in the shadows a discreet distance away. An old groom, who had watched her entrance with great appreciation, sidled over and murmured, "Your friend's got a good eye for 'orseflesh, milady. That's the best pair we've 'ad in weeks. Wouldn't be 'ere still 'cept the owner's been 'oldin' out for a long price."

  Mr. Tattersall came over to Peregrine and introduced himself, then commenced a discussion. Talking horseflesh eased the man's expression, though periodically he gave Sara a hunted look, clearly wishing her somewhere—anywhere—else.

  Within ten minutes, the pair of bays had demonstrated their paces and a deal was struck that cheered Mr. Tattersall greatly. "I think I can warrant that Lord Hatfield will be most pleased with your offer, Your Highness," he murmured. Then, his business instincts prevailing over his desire to get the female out of his establishment, he continued, "Might you be interested in acquiring any other horses today? A team, perhaps? You'll find none better matched anywhere. Perhaps a hunter or riding hack?"

  "Perhaps," Peregrine said, taking Sara's arm again. "Mr. Tattersall, are you acquainted with my most charming guide, Lady Sara St. James? It was she who said that your establishment was the place to come for horses."

  Resigned, the proprietor bowed to her and muttered a greeting. Then he took them for a tour of the available stock. Peregrine dismissed all of the teams with a single eloquent glance, and most of the riding horses were rejected just as swiftly. Then they came to the last loose box, which contained a large stallion of so pale a gray that it appeared almost white.

  "I own this horse myself," Mr. Tattersall said proudly. "Today he will be going up for auction. Splendid, is he not? He is of the line of Eclipse. His sire was..."

  Peregrine cut the proprietor off with a quick gesture of his hand. "Bring him out."

  A groom led out the young, high-spirited stallion. As it tossed its head, pulling at the halter, Sara nervously stepped back out of the way. Peregrine didn't notice. His face rapt, he circled the stallion, once more talking in the language he had used before. Soothed by his sure touch and hand, the gray steadied and watched him, bright-eyed with interest.

  Sara thought that the prince would request that the horse be saddled and put through its paces. Instead, he took the reins from the groom and, with one lithe movement, swung onto the stallion's bare back.

  "You will permit me?" Taking off his hat, the prince flipped it to Tattersall with a snap of his wrist. Then, under the stunned eyes of the proprietor, the grooms, and the gentlemenly clientele, he leaned forward over the stallion's neck, kicked it in the ribs, and they went bolting across the yard and out of Tattersall's Repository like silver lightning.

  Having had time to become accustomed to the Kafir's ways, Sara was slightly less stunned than the rest. Presumably her companion would return when he and the horse had ridden off their high spirits, but meanwhile Sara felt uncomfortably conspicuous.

  Then, to her relief, a familiar voice drawled, "My eyes say that it is you, Sara, but my mind flatly refuses to believe it. Pray clarify my confusion."

  Sara turned to see the stout, good-natured figure of a distant cousin, Sir Wilfred Whiteman. "Believe your eyes, Wilfred." She offered her hand. "How are you today?"

  "Prospering, my dear." He bowed gracefully. "Who is your energetic companion? A Red Indian from the American frontier? I understand that they prefer to ride without saddles."

  She shook her head. "He's a friend of Lord Ross's, Prince Peregrine of Kafiristan. He rides well, doesn't he?"

  "That he does," Wilfred replied with unfeigned respect.

  Sara smiled inwardly; if the prince wanted to become an instant legend, he was going about it very cleverly. Fashionable gentlemen like Wilfred might be startled by his actions, but in an approving way. Even Mr. Tattersall looked indulgent after his shock wore off, though he handed the prince's hat to a groom.

  For ten minutes or so, Wilfred amused Sara with scandalous gossip. Then Peregrine trotted in on the stallion, both of them looking vastly pleased with themselves. "Magnificent, Mr. Tattersall," he said as he reined the horse in. "What is your price to sell him before auction?"

  The proprietor's eyes narrowed as he speculated how much an ignorant foreigner might be willing to pay. "A thousand guineas."

  "Done."

  Sara almost laughed at Tattersall's expression when he saw that he might have gotten much more for the horse. However, she did not waste much sympathy on him; a thousand guineas was probably more than Mr. Tattersall could have gotten at auction.

  Then Peregrine rode over to Sara. His wavy black hair, which he wore a little long, was tangled from the wind, and he looked untamed and splendid and free, not at all like an Englishman. "His gaits are like silk, Sara." He extended one hand to her. "Come, ride with me."

  Sara felt the blood drain from her face. She looked up at him helplessly, knowing that he did not understand what he was asking. Then, as their gazes caught and held, his expression changed. He saw too much, damn him. His green eyes compelling, he said so softly that no one else could hear, "Trust me."

  She wanted to turn and run. Instead, before she could think too much about what she was doing, she took a deep breath and clasped the prince's hand. Effortlessly he lifted her onto the stallion, turning her in midair so that she landed crossways in front of him, her legs resting against his left thigh.

  He waited a moment for her to settle herself. Then, as she convulsively clenched the gray mane, he urged the stallion out into the street. It took only a few moments to trot through the tr
affic of Hyde Park Corner and bring them to the park proper.

  Peregrine turned the horse into the wide lane called Rotten Row, which was nearly empty at this hour, then put the stallion into a canter. At first the lack of a saddle made Sara's fear infinitely worse. Terror held her rigid, and she bounced against the horse with bone-rattling force. But gradually her fear began to subside, for the prince's warm, hard body held her more securely than any saddle. As she relaxed against him, she felt all the subtle movements he used to guide and control his mount.

  As Peregrine had promised, the stallion's gait was sweet and smooth. Sara began to soften into the rhythm of the horse's motion. As her body remembered and her fear ebbed away, she began to enjoy the almost forgotten touch of wind against her face. It had been so long....

  "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

  She nodded. "Now I am."

  "You have not been on a horse since your accident?"

  "No. The usual advice is to remount as soon as possible after a fall, but I couldn't, not for years. And by the time I had recovered physically"—she shuddered— "I couldn't make myself do it. I'm such a coward."

  "On the contrary, sweet Sara, you are very brave. Are you not here, defying custom and riding the wind like Pegasus?"

  "The credit for that belongs to you, not me," she said dryly. Her mind seemed split in two. On one side was the knowledge that she was behaving in an utterly irrational fashion by riding bareback through a London park with a wild man. Her father would be shocked, her friends disbelieving.

  Yet at the same time, she felt as if her actions were completely natural. The mysterious prince had been born on the opposite side of the world, raised with values and customs that were completely alien to hers. Yet no man but Ross had talked to her as directly as Peregrine did, or seen as deeply into her. Ross was very nearly her brother, but what was Peregrine?

  Sara's fingers tightened in the stallion's mane as she had a disquieting realization. From the beginning she had noticed how attractive the Kafir was—no woman could fail to notice—but her admiration had been dispassionate. Though Peregrine was splendid and beautiful and masculine, that knowledge had had no personal relevance to her. She was the daughter of a duke, respectably betrothed, of sober mind and habit. Yet here she was in the arms of a man who was in most ways a stranger, and she was reveling in the experience. There was a profound sensuality in their closeness, in the way their bodies moved together in time with the stallion's. It was the greatest physical intimacy she had ever had with a man. What would it be like to have still greater intimacy?

  Though Sara had never considered herself a prudish woman, the direction of her thoughts made her blush. What a shameless creature she was becoming! Thank heaven the prince thought of her only as Ross's cousin. Though he had been kind about her disability, he did not seem like the sort of man who would be attracted to a plain woman who was no longer young. But he seemed willing to be friends. That would be more than enough.

  Peregrine turned to go back. "Will you ride again now?"

  Without his comforting presence, it would be difficult at first, but still Sara nodded her head. "Yes. I have missed riding. I don't want to continue missing it."

  "There was a pretty little sorrel mare back in the yard, a fine ladies' mount. Shall I buy it for you?"

  "No!" she said sharply. "I couldn't possibly accept such a gift from you."

  "What would happen if you did?" he asked with his usual air of curiosity. "You would be disgraced? Ostracized? Refused admittance to the queen's drawing rooms?"

  As they halted at the edge of the park and waited for traffic to thin, Sara gave him a steely glance. "This time you will not be able to coax me into relenting. I neither need nor desire that mare, nor will I accept such a gift from you. Is that clear?"

  A wide, slow smile spread across his face. "Perfectly clear, your ladyship. I know when to yield to superior force."

  Laughing, they rode back to Tattersall's. Lady Sara delighted Peregrine with both her open mind and her occasional stubbornness. While his primary goal was to separate her from Weldon, he hoped that he would also be able to coax her into his bed. It would be a rewarding experience for both of them.

  Chapter 4

  The day after his excursion to Tattersall's, Peregrine met Sir Charles Weldon for dinner at the City of London Club. Benjamin Slade had said that this particular club was one where leaders of commerce mingled with the top men in government and society; Rothschilds rubbed elbows with prime ministers. Even without that explanation, Peregrine would have known why Weldon patronized the place, for the lofty, dignified building reeked of money, power, and genteel ruthlessness.

  In the days since their first meeting, Peregrine had tempered and buried his fury, and now he could meet his enemy with complete composure. In fact, he found the situation stimulating, like playing chess or some other war game. Weldon's objective was simple: to convince a foreigner to invest money. Peregrine's goal was much more complex; he wanted to foster a spurious friendship with his enemy. Then he would be in a better position to know Weldon's weaknesses, and to exploit them.

  They spoke of trivialities over the lavish and lengthy dinner, then withdrew to a quiet corner of the smoking room and settled down in leather-upholstered wing chairs with port and cigars. "If you want to invest in this country, Your Highness," Weldon said as he trimmed the end of his cigar, "I don't think you can do better than to put your money in railroads. Within the next decade, they will revolutionize modern society. Great fortunes have already been made in railway companies, and more will be made in the future."

  "Great fortunes have also been lost," Peregrine pointed out. An important move in the game was to prove that he was not a rich fool fit only for fleecing. "A couple of years back, there was something of a mania for railway stocks. Then the bubble burst and most of the prices collapsed. Too many small, badly managed companies were fighting each other, building duplicate tracks, wasting their capital, promising service and profits they couldn't deliver."

  Weldon raised his brows, a respectful look on his face. "I see that you have studied the subject. Yes, the industry is currently in a state of reorganization while investors wait and see, but capital is accumulating. In another two or three years, there will be an outburst of investment and building that will make the last mania look tame. For those with the courage to invest now, there will be great profits."

  "Perhaps." Peregrine took a small sip of his port. "Is there a particular railway or project you have in mind?"

  "The London and Southampton," Weldon said immediately. "Southampton is one of the most important ports in the country, and a railroad connecting it with London can't help but be successful. Part of the line was constructed before the company failed last year for lack of funds. Now most of the shareholders are desperate and will accept virtually any offer for their stock. It won't be hard to accumulate a controlling interest. After that, enough new capital will have to be raised to finish building the line, but when it is complete, the L & S will be the most profitable railroad in Britain."

  Elaborately casual, Peregrine knocked ashes from the tip of his cigar. "If the company is a guaranteed winner, why couldn't the present board attract new investment?"

  "A very pertinent question," Weldon replied. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he began to realize that this was a meeting of equals. "The fact is, investors have been wary of the London and Southampton because there has been a problem with lawsuits about the amount of compensation paid for taking rights-of-way. There is one particular landowner who was a ringleader in filing the lawsuits. However, I have reason to believe that he is now willing to be more reasonable."

  "I assume that you are looking for other investors to join you in buying up a controlling interest in the company, and you would become chairman of the board?''

  "Exactly. Immodest though it sounds, I assure you that no one else can turn the L & S around as well as I," Weldon said. "Why, would you prefer to be c
hairman yourself?"

  "Not at all. I have no interest in the daily operations of a business. I prefer to concentrate on finance and leave management to others." Peregrine leaned back in his chair. "I agree that there is great profit to be made in railroads, if one chooses the right companies. I'll need to study the figures and learn more about the legal situation before making a commitment, but I find your proposition most interesting. May I prevail on you to send the relevant information to my man of business?"

  Weldon's eyes gleamed. "I was hoping that you would say that, so I brought a summary with me." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded sheaf of documents. "If you want more detail, send me a list of questions."

  "Very good." Peregrine tucked the papers away. Now for a subject that was even more interesting. "I have a favor to ask of you, Sir Charles. Not concerning business, but pleasure. All great cities have places where gentlemen may find... shall I say discreet, sophisticated entertainment?"

  He paused to sip his port. "Unfortunately, the best establishments are difficult for a stranger to find, and often admittance is impossible without a personal introduction from an existing patron. While my friend Lord Ross Carlisle has been most helpful, he is too much the scholar to be well-informed on this subject. I assume that a man of the world like you can direct me to someone more knowledgeable about such things."

  Weldon could have disclaimed personal knowledge, or referred Peregrine to another man. Instead, a different kind of gleam came into his eyes, part calculation of the benefits of performing this kind of favor, and part something else, something dark and avid. "I would consider it a privilege to take you on a tour of he best establishments, Your Highness. London offers everything a man could desire, from simple peasant fare on the streets to the most exotic epicurean delights."