Sara's belief in her betrothed faltered briefly under the force of the Kafir's conviction. Then she shook her head. "Charles has been a friend of my father's for a dozen years. Why should I believe your unsupported word against him?"
"When I am a foreigner, and he is an English gentleman? Indeed, why should you believe me?" His voice dropped, became rich with intimacy. "Don't you know the answer to that, Sara?"
His grip loosened as his hands skimmed down her arms in a sensual caress, then went around her waist. When he bent to Sara's upturned face, she tried to pull away, but he would not release her. "Believe me, Sara," he said huskily. "I am many things, most of them bad, but in this I tell the truth. Charles Weldon is evil."
She shivered as his lips touched a sensitive spot below her ear, then made a leisurely journey down her throat. "Weldon delights in destroying innocence," he murmured, the subtle touch of his breath another caress. "I won't let you become another of his victims."
As he kissed the juncture of throat and shoulder, his forefinger traced the curve of her ear. Sara gasped as melting sensations flowed and shifted deep inside her. How was he able to evoke such a reaction when she had not known herself capable of feeling it? From the beginning she had been aware of his mesmerizing allure, but never had it been this shatteringly strong. She felt immersed in a river of fire that dissolved her will, leaving her helpless.
"Stop doing that," she said weakly, wanting to push him away but unable to summon any resistance.
His embrace tightened, pulling her against the hard length of his body. As he stroked and shaped her back and hips, igniting wants and wishes, he said, "You wish me to stop? All you have to say is that you don't desire me."
"I—I can't say that I don't want you, but don't think that you will change my mind with kisses when words didn't work." Without conscious volition, she reached up and slid her hands around his neck. Her fingers brushed under his silky black hair before linking over the taut, masculine muscles. "And you can confuse me, but I will never be so confused that I will forget that I promised fidelity to another man."
"I know that, sweet Sara, and I value your maddening, incorruptible sense of honor," he said, his voice as soothing as his hands were not. "But though I cannot seduce you, for a few moments I want to hold you close, no matter what you believe, no matter what the future brings."
His words unleashed a rush of longing, doubt, and confusion, somewhere between dream and nightmare. The sin was in wanting one man when she was pledged to another, but she could not deny her desire. So if the sin was already committed, why not continue doing what she so much wanted for just a little while longer? Knowing that the house was full of people would keep her from losing what remnants of sanity and morality she still had. "I know this is wrong," she whispered, her eyes clouding with desire and despair, "but for just a moment more, because there can never be another time..."
Decision made, Sara stood on tiptoe so her mouth would reach his, and kissed him with the fierceness that he had taught her. Her eyes closed, and her hands tightened convulsively on his shoulders at the first touch of tongues.
Peregrine had guessed at her potential for passion, but even so he was startled by her intensity. As his own desire flared out of control, he forgot why he had brought her here and what would happen soon, forgot everything but her yielding body and painful honesty. He had not been so aroused since he was a lustful boy. Ah, God, she was sweet, with all the dangerous fire of innocence. And dangerous Sara certainly was, for she dimmed his sense of mission.
The thought helped restore his control. Breaking the kiss, he guided Sara's pliant body back to the sofa and lowered her onto the leather as waves of amber silk spilled around her. Then he lay on his side next to her, their bodies meeting in a full-length embrace, one of his knees between hers.
She squirmed against him, burying her fingers in his hair and pulling his head closer as he spread one hand across the smooth, bare flesh above her décolletage. She was as sleek as her own silk but far warmer, and she shimmered with response, her breathing quick and rough.
He slid her dress off her shoulder and kissed the tender curve revealed. Dancing had left her skin flavored with delicate saltiness, and a sweet floral fragrance from her loosened hair mingled with the musky scent of leather.
His hand glided under the neckline of her gown, beneath the constraints of corset and chemise, and molded the soft warmth of her breast. Her nipple instantly tightened when his fingers found and teased it, and he felt the rapid beat of her heart under his palm.
In a distant corner of his mind, he admitted that he was glad that words had not changed her mind. He had wanted an excuse to do this, and not just because passion was a surer way of separating Sara from his enemy.
He tugged her gown still lower, baring the gentle swell of her breast. Then he took the dusky nipple in his mouth, delighting as it grew harder yet under the pressure of his tongue. As Sara moaned softly, once more he came perilously close to losing himself in desire, even though he knew it was a self-indulgent mistake.
The clock in the back of his mind was warning that the half hour was almost over, and he knew that he must conceal this lovely curving breast again. In just one more moment he would...
The squeal of the opening door hit with the impact of icy water. They both looked up to see the horrified faces of Ross, the Duke of Haddonfield, and Sir Charles Weldon.
Chapter 11
It was a moment from hell, time suspended and saturated with emotion. Sara gave a choked cry of dismay, her slim figure going rigid as stone. Peregrine swore softly. While he had intended to compromise her, he hadn't meant her to suffer the additional shame of being discovered half-undressed. Under his breath he said, "I'm sorry, Sara."
Instantly changing from lover to warrior, he yanked her gown back into place. Then he sat up and pulled Sara to a sitting position next to him, his left arm protectively around her.
The three intruders seemed frozen by the unexpected scene. The duke was appalled and unbelieving at the sight of his virtuous daughter in the throes of passion, while Ross glowered with a fury that must be rooted in the suspicion that his friend had deliberately deceived him.
But Peregrine noted Ross and the duke only in passing, for most of his attention was on Charles Weldon. His enemy's expression of shock, disbelief, and annihilating rage was everything Peregrine had ever hoped for, and he exulted in the sight. The first blow had been struck—but not the last.
Then the moment shattered. As Ross closed the door to give them privacy, Weldon fixed his furious gaze or Sara and snarled, "You filthy, disgusting little slut!"
Though Peregrine could feel Sara trembling under his arm, she did not try to avoid the accusing eyes of her betrothed. "I'm sorry, Charles," she said, her voice unsteady. "I did not mean to hurt you."
Her apology inflamed him rather than mollified him. "Instead you meant to betray me behind my back." Weldon exploded across the room, his expression murderous. "My God, to think that I believed you were pure, a genuine lady. But you're just another little whore. I'm going to..."
Peregrine stood and stepped in front of Sara, but it was Ross who stopped Weldon, grabbing the older man's arm. "Control yourself! I don't care how outraged you are, you can't take it out on a woman half your size."
Weldon spun against the restraining grip, and for a moment seemed on the verge of attacking Ross. Then common sense put a fragile check on his madness. He glared at Peregrine, who stood only a yard away. "I told Sara to stay away from you, that you couldn't be trusted, and the little slut pretended to be shocked at the very idea of you touching her," he said viciously. "How long has she been spreading her legs for you?"
"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 twisted 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 will 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 a
sked. "I have a few things I wish to discuss with my esteemed friend."
Seeming grateful to have something to do, Haddonfield 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..."
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.
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