Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  Furious though he was, Peregrine could not deny the wisdom of Slade's words. For too many years he had walked alone, needing to be concerned for only his own survival. But since arriving in England, he had fallen prey to a sticky web of relationships: friends, dependents, relatives by marriage.

  And Sara. If Weldon wanted to hurt Peregrine, Sara was the logical target, for Weldon already hated her for her betrayal. Gentle Sara, who had only the vaguest knowledge of the evil men could do.

  The thought of what Weldon might do made Peregrine's blood chill. It was time for another change of plan. "Find half a dozen men who are trained in arms to act as guards. Former soldiers by preference, men who are not easily bribed. I'll make loyalty worth their while."

  But that was only a partial answer. Slade was right, it was impossible to completely protect Sara short of keeping her locked in a tower, which she would not like. And if Weldon could not get at Sara directly, he might strike at those Sara loved, for hurting Sara would hurt Peregrine. There were too many people involved, particularly since it would be best to keep this business a secret.

  With a sigh, he reached an inevitable conclusion. "I suppose I must end my cat-and-mouse game more quickly than I had planned."

  "The sooner the better," Slade agreed.

  A few minutes more were spent discussing other business. Then Peregrine left.

  After his departure, Slade spent a long time staring out the window, his face dark with foreboding. He could not help but feel that his employer's carefully orchestrated vengeance might spin awry in the final phases. Peregrine might be playing cat and mouse, but Weldon was more a rat than a mouse. And a cornered rat with nothing to lose was a vicious creature indeed.

  Chapter 18

  Cousin Leticia's husband, Lord Sanford, was very rich and very influential in Whig politics, so his oldest daughter's coming-out ball was one of the grandest events of the autumn social season. As they waited in their carriage to be dropped in front of the Grosvenor Square mansion, Sara said hesitantly to her husband, "Charles Weldon will probably be here tonight. He is related to Letty's husband."

  "I'd be amazed if he wasn't." Mikahl glanced out at the line of carriages before and behind them. "From what I can see, the whole of fashionable England is either inside or waiting to get in." He turned to Sara, his expression becoming serious. "Will it bother you to see him again?"

  "We must meet sooner or later. London society is not large enough to avoid someone." Sara began toying with her Chinese fan, rippling the tortoiseshell sticks open and shut across her shimmering green skirt. She had wronged Charles. It was not a fact she was proud of, even though she could not regret the ending of her first betrothal. "The first time will be the worst."

  "Will it help if I stay with you all evening?" he asked, his voice gentle.

  She shook her head. "That's not necessary. Charles has too much pride to make a scene. Besides, I know that my father wants to introduce you to some of his old cronies."

  "Publicly put his seal on his son-in-law?" Mikahl's mouth quirked up. "I thought that sponsoring me for presentation to the queen had taken care of that."

  "Father wouldn't want anyone to think that he doesn't approve of his son-in-law. The pride of the St. Jameses, you know." Sara gave her husband a fond look. "Was the presentation dreadful? All you said after was that you hadn't disgraced my father or yourself."

  "It was an interesting experience, though not one I would care to repeat. There must have been at least two hundred men presented at the Levee—I felt like a camel in a caravan." He grinned. "Would it be treasonous to say that if I had met her anywhere else, I would have said that your Victoria is a wench with a roving eye?"

  "It might be true, but for heaven's sake, don't say so to anyone else." Sara chuckled. "Drina is only twenty years old and has always enjoyed the sight of a handsome man. Whichever of her royal German cousins she decides to marry, it is a safe bet that he will be good-looking."

  "Drina?"

  "That was her childhood nickname, for Alexandrina," Sara explained. "It was a surprise when she decided to use one of her middle names when she became queen. But Queen Victoria does have a ring that Queen Alexandrina does not."

  "You did not mention that you know the queen well," Mikahl remarked with interest.

  "When she was a child, I used to visit her sometimes at Kensington Palace. I was wellborn enough to be considered a suitable companion for a royal princess." Sara sighed. "Even though I'm seven years older, Drina and I became quite fond of each other. She was a sweet child. I used to feel very sorry for her because her mother, the Duchess of Kent, kept her almost a prisoner. When the duchess saw that Drina was becoming attached to me, my visits were no longer allowed."

  "It doesn't sound like good training for a future queen."

  "No," Sara admitted, "but in spite of everything her mother did, Drina has turned out very well. She has a mind of her own and is very conscientious. When she became queen, she began to pay off her father's twenty-year-old debts out of the Privy Purse."

  Her husband raised his brows. "A Hanoverian who pays her debts? Her royal uncles must be spinning in their graves. Perhaps she's a changeling."

  Sara chuckled. "That is something else you had better not say in public. Drina is a good person, and she will be a good queen. She asked me to become one of her ladies, and I almost accepted, but court life is very tedious and requires much standing around, so I declined on the grounds that my leg was not strong enough. Lameness is not without its advantages."

  The carriage lurched forward another few feet, then halted again. Mikahl said, "I don't know about the court, but the aristocratic social life is definitely tedious. I'll be glad to go back to Sulgrave."

  "You're so patient with all this nonsense. Do you ever long for the simple primitive life?''

  "Primitive does not mean simple. Most tribes have social systems and rules that make London look uncomplicated." Mikahl lifted her hand and peeled back the edge of her glove so he could kiss the inside of her wrist. "Besides, if I become bored, I shall refresh myself with thoughts of those delectable black silk pantalets that I gave you earlier this evening. You did wear them tonight?"

  Tingling from the touch of his lips, Sara blushed and nodded. "You have the most improper mind."

  He raised his brows. "Of course. Isn't that one of the things you like about me?"

  Sara blushed even more and nodded again.

  "And you, sweet Sara, have the most enchanting blushes," he said with approval. "Do we have to stay very late? I would like to investigate those blushes further."

  "We needn't stay more than an hour," Sara reassured him, being not uninterested in the subject of the blushes herself.

  Their turn had finally arrived, so they climbed from their carriage and went into Sanford House to wait again, this time in a receiving line. Lady Sanford was pleased to see Sara and positively ecstatic at meeting Sara's husband.

  Mikahl exerted some of his charm, kissed the hands of both Letty and her debutante daughter, and left both females glowing. Sara was used to women reacting that way to her husband. As long as he didn't glow back at them, she didn't mind.

  The huge ballroom was beginning to fill. Under the sparkling chandeliers, the black-clad formality of the men provided stark contrast to the drifting flower-bright gowns of the women. Sara had a dance with Mikahl, wanting one good waltz before the room became too crowded for easy movement. Orchestra music competed with a babble of voices, and the air was filled with the mixed scents of perfumes and active bodies.

  After their waltz, Mikahl dutifully went off with the Duke of Haddonfield, and Sara began visiting with other guests. But she kept a watchful eye on the crowd. If she and Charles were to meet tonight, she wanted to be prepared for the encounter.

  * * *

  A group of men were clustered in one corner of the ballroom, and from that vantage point Charles Weldon saw Lady Sara and her husband enter. His mouth hardened. Much as he disliked the idea, he
intended to talk to Peregrine before the night was over in the hope that a fulsome apology would persuade the Kafir to forgive the unpleasantness of their last meeting. If the breach were healed, perhaps Peregrine might lend the money needed to stave off financial disaster.

  Weldon's expression eased when he saw Lord Melbourne, the Whig prime minister, arrive. Though the two men were not personal friends, Weldon's support for the Whig party always assured him of a cordial welcome from the prime minister.

  Thinking that it was a good time to ask about his barony, Weldon made his way across the overheated ballroom. On seeing him, the prime minister said, "Good to see you, Sir Charles. Bit of bad luck about the lawsuits filed against your railroad."

  Irritated at how quickly bad news traveled, Weldon waved his hand dismissively. "Spurious charges by a man deranged from the tragic death of his son. Everything will be resolved within a week. Meanwhile, since the price is temporarily depressed, it's an excellent time to buy L & S stock."

  "I'll bear that in mind," Melbourne said vaguely. His eyes began scanning the ballroom. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

  "A moment, please." Choosing his words carefully, Weldon said, "About that matter we discussed last year when you visited my estate. I've been expecting to hear about the outcome. Have you any definite news?"

  The prime minister shook his head. "Drop a note to my secretary. He might have some information."

  "I did." Weldon's voice was edged. "He referred me to you."

  Melbourne's eyes became opaque as he weighed his response. "I'll look into the matter, but I can't promise anything. The political situation is difficult just now, very difficult. The Tories are baying at our heels, and my ministry may fall within a matter of weeks. This isn't a good time to do something that could give the appearance of impropriety." He gave a quick, meaningless politician's smile. "Best to let it rest for the time being, Sir Charles. Now I really must go. There's a gentleman I must speak to."

  As the prime minister vanished, Weldon stood still, numb with shock, not noticing the buffeting of the guests around him. Bloody, bloody hell! He knew enough of politicians to recognize that his expectation of a barony had just received a deathblow.

  In theory, the government granted honors for outstanding service to the nation; military heroes were routinely ennobled. If honors also went to men whose greatest service was their financial support of the political party in power, well, that was the way of the world.

  Weldon's baronetcy had cost him twenty thousand pounds, plus other favors over a number of years. Since then, he had contributed another hundred thousand pounds to the Whigs with the unspoken understanding that he would receive a peerage in return.

  A hundred thousand pounds was an enormous fortune, more than large enough to save him in his current difficulties. Now the money was gone, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it because—in theory—he had contributed from his love for the Whig party, with no expectation of reward.

  The excuse Melbourne had given was nonsense. The Whig ministry had been weak for some time. If it was on the verge of falling, the Whigs would use the final hours to pass out honors with a liberal hand. That also was the way of the world.

  Only after Weldon had worked through to that point did he ask himself what had gone wrong. It wasn't like a politician to alienate an important contributor. Though nothing had ever been stated bluntly, Weldon had been assured he would receive his barony. What the hell had gone wrong?

  The question rapidly broadened to embrace his whole life. At the beginning of the summer, he had been on top of the world: his businesses were prospering, the title he had always craved had been within his grasp, and he had been betrothed to a highborn woman whose status and fortune would enhance his.

  Now, like Job, he was seeing everything turn to ashes. His betrothed had betrayed him, he was on the verge of personal bankruptcy, and his most important business would collapse if the legal problems were not solved very soon. It was as if some malign fate had chosen to destroy his personal and public lives.

  The realization that other guests were giving him concerned glances reminded Weldon where he was. He rearranged his expression to conceal his inner turmoil. When business was bad, one must always look confident. Fear would bring the jackals to gnaw on his bones.

  He began to make his way along the edge of the ballroom, trying to look purposeful, when suddenly the swirling currents of the party brought him face-to-face with Prince Peregrine. There was a suspended moment while the two men looked at each other. The prince's expression was guarded, but not unfriendly.

  Remembering his earlier plan to make peace with the barbarian, Weldon forced himself to smile politely. The barony might be gone, but his financial situation could still be salvaged. "Good evening, Your Highness."

  "Good evening." The Kafir nodded toward the center of the ballroom. "This reminds me of a riot in Calcutta."

  Thinking that the other man's civility was encouraging, Weldon said, "It certainly is a crush. The Sanfords don't do anything by halves." He put a dash of manly regret in his voice. "I owe you a considerable apology. The last time we met—well, I said some unforgivable things. Quite unforgivable."

  Peregrine gave a deprecating flick of his fingers. "You were distraught. Who could blame you for speaking intemperately under such difficult circumstances? To find your woman in another man's arms—every man's greatest nightmare."

  "Exactly." Weldon seized on the other man's offered excuse, even as it infuriated him. "Especially when the man is a good friend. Besides being upset for my own sake, I was concerned for Lady Sara. In her innocence, I feared that she might have fallen victim to a casual seducer. But it wasn't simple seduction, was it? The fact that you married her leads me to suppose that it was love rather than mere lust. Since that is the case, I must wish you both happiness."

  Peregrine's expression was satirical, but he said only, "I also owe you an apology, for betraying our friendship."

  "Friendship often ends where a woman begins." Weldon shrugged. "My loss is your gain. I hope that you and I can put that behind us and be friends again.''

  "But of course," the Kafir said, a disturbing gleam of humor in his lazy green eyes. "Incidentally, I'm curious about the lawsuits just filed against the railroad."

  Weldon's growing sense of well-being suffered a check. Trying to sound confident, he said, "All the charges are spurious and will be resolved very soon."

  ''Oh?'' Peregrine's brows raised skeptically. ''The City doesn't think so. The fall of the stock price is nothing short of disastrous. Compensation suits against a company are common, but criminal charges are rare. If they are proved, you might be sent to prison yourself."

  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 will see you burn 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.

  Most of all, he was mesmerized by the Kafir's green, green eyes, which watched him with mocking malice. Weldon hid 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.