Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  After three drinks, Weldon decided that it was time to go home and consult Kane about what must be done. He was on his way across the ballroom when he saw Lady Sara and Peregrine emerge from a corridor on the far side of the room.

  He stopped and stared, his expression darkening. From the way they looked at each other and unobtrusively touched, Weldon guessed that they had been kissing in a back room. Or worse—they positively reeked of sex. What a shameless slut she was!

  The couple separated, Peregrine going one way, Sara the other. That was when the brilliant idea struck Weldon. He did not dare injure Sara physically, but he could tell her a few things about her precious husband: things that would humiliate the bitch and quite possibly destroy her marriage.

  Best of all, he could do it with impunity, because prim little Sara would never be able to repeat what Weldon told her. It would be perfect justice in return for what Peregrine had done, with the added bonus of making Sara herself miserable.

  Swiftly Weldon cut through the milling crowd, overtaking his prey just as the orchestra began again. "Sara, my dear," he said smoothly, taking her hand. "Will you dance with me?"

  Sensing her reluctance, he said under his breath, "People are watching. If we have a nice, civilized waltz together, it will reduce any lingering scandal."

  "Very well." Sara stepped into his arms, holding her body stiffly away from him and looking past his shoulder.

  Weldon noted a slight reddening on her throat, as if a man's bewhiskered face had rubbed against the tender skin. And as he had guessed, the faint musky scent of sex hung around her. It added to his fury, but he kept his voice controlled. "Try to look as if you are enjoying yourself, my dear," he admonished. "And don't sulk. Remember, I am the injured party, not the villain of the piece."

  She looked up at him, her brown eyes grave. "I know. That is why it is hard to face you. I owe you a great apology, Charles. I am thoroughly ashamed of my behavior. I have no excuse except that... I could not help myself.''

  Her words only inflamed him further. His fingers tightened on her left hand. "Wantons always say that," he said pleasantly. "It sounds better than admitting to promiscuity."

  Sara's face flamed, but she did not try to defend herself.

  Deciding that it was time to get down to business, Weldon said, "You know, the first time I met Prince Peregrine, I thought that he looked familiar. It's those green eyes. Quite striking. Unique, in fact. Don't you agree?"

  Reluctantly she nodded.

  "But while the eyes were familiar, I had trouble placing him," Weldon continued. "It has been so many years and miles that I did not make the connection. Then earlier this evening we talked, and I remembered."

  He had caught Sara's unwilling attention, and she watched him intently as he guided them out of the path of another couple. "He hates me. Did you know that, my dear?"

  "I know that there is something between you two," she said slowly. "But I don't know what."

  "No, he would not want to admit it," Weldon said. "We met in North Africa, in Tripoli. I was making my Grand Tour. He was not called Peregrine then. God knows where he picked up that name. He's probably had a hundred names."

  "He said that Peregrine is merely a translation of what he is called in Kafiristan," Sara said defensively.

  "Perhaps, though he is not Kafiri, and he is a liar if he claims otherwise." He smiled down at Sara and pulled her into another turn. "Your husband is such a superb liar that anyone can be forgiven for believing him."

  Sara's eyes flashed. "You go too far," she said as she tried to tug away from him. "I will not stay here to listen to you insult my husband."

  "But you will stay to learn more about him, won't you, my dear?" Weldon said with an undertone of viciousness, keeping a firm grip so that she could not escape.

  Sara quieted, wary but watchful.

  Reminiscently Weldon said, "He was such a pretty lad, and so amiable at first. We were on our way to being great friends. Our falling out was all my fault, I fear."

  "Charles, will you get to the point?" Sara said sharply. "What are you trying to tell me?"

  "I am explaining why your husband hates me, darling Sara." Enjoying himself, Weldon spun the moment out. "You see, he was a whore, and he has never forgiven me for kicking him out of my bed."

  Chapter 20

  Stunned by Charles's accusation, Sara felt the blood drain from her face. A fortnight before, she would not have understood what he meant, but Jenny's lecture had been very enlightening.

  Her former betrothed gave her an ironic glance. "Do you know what that means, my dear, or do I have to explain?"

  "I know what you mean," she said in a soft, furious undertone, "and I don't believe a word of it. My husband said that you are evil, and he was right. You do yourself no credit by spreading such lies."

  For a moment Sara experienced an unnerving sense of déjà vu, for the scene reminded her of when Mikahl had tried to convince her of Charles's wickedness. She thrust the thought aside. "You are raving from drunkenness. I can smell the liquor on your breath."

  "Of course you don't want to believe me, Sara," Charles purred, "but that does not mean I'm lying. Did you ever notice the scar on his left hip?"

  Sara tensed. "He has a number of scars."

  "This one is shaped like an irregular M. Quite distinctive. He cut it himself with a stiletto as a proof of how much he adored me, or so he said. Personally I thought he was a little deranged."

  Though Sara tried to conceal her shock of recognition, Weldon saw her flinch. He continued, "M for Master. He claimed that he wanted to return to England with me as my slave of love." Weldon's eyes grew dreamy. "I was rather tempted, but of course I couldn't bring him back to England. For me, your husband was just a passing experiment, a local North African custom that I felt like trying. Still, he was a lovely youth, much better-looking than he is now, and so passionate. Surely you have noticed how passionate he is?"

  "You are disgusting," Sara said furiously as she tried to jerk her hand free. But Charles held her hand and waist too tightly for her to escape without making a major scene. "The fact that you know of a scar is not proof.''

  "Proof is hard to come by after so many years," he conceded. "A pity that I didn't keep his love letters, for you would have found them quite convincing. Almost illiterate, of course, but rather touching in their intensity and very explicit about what he wanted me to do to him. Shall I tell you more?"

  Without waiting for Sara to reply, he proceeded to recite several examples, using gutter language that she barely understood. Dizzy with agitation, she stumbled on her bad leg and almost fell.

  Weldon's cruel grip held her upright. "Don't faint on me, Sara," he said sharply. "Use that fine logical brain of yours. The way he hates me—haven't you ever heard that hell has no fury like a lover scorned? He used to say that I was the love of his life. I thought that was just boyish enthusiasm and would soon be forgotten, but apparently he has spent years stalking me. And now, like a lover scorned, he wants to destroy me."

  Thinking of what Mikahl had said about Weldon's first wife, Sara shook her head vehemently. "No, it's not just a personal feud. He has other reasons for hating you."

  "Oh? Has he given you any proof of my wickedness?" He smiled as he read her expression. "I didn't think so. So it is my word against his. Have you ever heard anyone besides him impugn my reputation? Yet what is he but an adventurer that your cousin found somewhere in Asia? He used Lord Ross to gain entry to society, and now he is using you."

  Not wanting to concede an inch, Sara said stubbornly, "If I must choose between you, I choose to believe my husband."

  "Your husband," Charles sneered. "Why do you think he married you, Sara? Certainly not for your looks. Your fortune isn't reason enough for a man of his wealth."

  "He married me because he loves me," Sara retorted. Though Mikahl had never said so, it was what she wanted to believe, and he did behave like a man who cared greatly.

  "He's very good a
t telling people what they want to hear." Charles's mouth curled with contempt. "What an innocent you are. Listen closely, you foolish bitch! He married you because he couldn't have me, and you were the closest he could get. He hoped that stealing my future wife would hurt me. He was wrong, of course—losing you wounded only my pride. But, I must give him credit for imagination."

  "I knew that you were interested mostly in my birth and fortune," Sara said, trying to keep her voice and mind steady under Charles's stream of vitriol. "But Mikahl is not like you. He did not seduce me, nor did my father force him to marry me. In fact, he had trouble convincing me to accept him."

  "So you had doubts even then? You should have listened to them and not tied yourself to a madman." Charles squeezed the fingers of her right hand until they hurt. "Did you know that he and I talked earlier this evening? He made a number of threats about what he would do if I would not become his lover again. When I denied him, he dragged you off into another room and worked his angry frustration off on you. How does it make you feel to know that you are the receptacle of his warped desires?''

  Dear God, would the dance never end? Sara felt dizzy from the spinning, almost nauseated. Though she loved Mikahl, she did not feel that she knew him well, nor did she wholly trust him. Much as she wanted to dismiss Charles's charges as pure malice, she could not quite do so.

  The fact that Charles knew of the M-shaped scar was hardly proof that they had been lovers, but it was unusual for a man to be so familiar with another man's body. Mikahl's reaction to her discovery of the scar had been anguished and irrational. He had used Sara physically to drown the past on that occasion; he might have done so again tonight.

  The very idea made her ill, but it was undeniably true that her husband had been in a strange, wild mood earlier in the evening. An encounter that had been passionate and loving was now unbearably tainted by Charles's accusations.

  But what really undermined Sara's faith in her husband was Charles's evil, all-too-convincing explanation for why Mikahl had married her. Mikahl did not need her money, he cared little for her status, and had never said that he loved her. He did desire her, but lust was not love.

  Though she did not want to believe it, the way Mikahl had spoken of Charles could have been the obsessive hatred of a lover scorned. If there had once been love between the men, it was horridly possible that Mikahl had married her either for revenge or as a substitute for the person he really wanted. Perhaps both.

  Charles had been watching her expression, and now he gave a nod of satisfaction. "You are beginning to believe me, aren't you? Very good. Your intelligence is one of the things I always liked about you. When confronted with facts, you listen rather than have an attack of vapors. You may take comfort in the fact that your husband is surely a bigamist who will abandon you when he is ready to leave England. Then you will be free of him."

  In the remote corner of her mind that was still capable of thought, Sara realized that Charles had an uncanny ability to trigger the hidden fears that her husband did not love her and would eventually leave her. But she would not admit that. "You have not given me facts, Charles," she said as evenly as she could. "Merely showed me what a vulgar mind you have."

  He shook his head pityingly. "You will learn the truth, but it is already too late. By marrying him, you have ruined your life and reputation."

  The music ended and with a final flourish, he released her. After bending over her gloved hand for a mocking kiss, he said, "I would advise you not to rush home to discuss this with your dear husband. He is a dangerous man and might react very badly to your knowledge of his past. You would be wise to find excuses to spend as much time as possible away from him."

  Charles turned and marched away.

  Sara stood very still and concentrated on her breathing. After a minute, her nausea began to subside. When she decided that she would be able to walk without falling, she began to make her way to the door where she was to meet Mikahl.

  She would have given anything she owned not to have to face her husband until she had had time to think through what she had just been told. When Mikahl had tried to persuade her that Weldon was evil, she had not believed him. She had put the whole subject out of her mind once she and Mikahl became intimate, and had not thought about it since.

  Tonight Charles's malice had been unmistakable, and it was easy to believe that he might have pushed this first wife down the stairs in a fit of rage. Nonetheless, though he had clearly been doing his best to hurt her and injure her marriage, Sara could not escape the horrible belief that somewhere in his tissue of lies was a grain of excruciating truth.

  * * *

  Ross was part of a group of men discussing colonial policy, and Peregrine had to wait a few minutes before he could separate his friend for a private talk. When they were alone, Peregrine said only, "The cat is among the pigeons."

  Ross raised his eyebrows as he considered the statement. "You mean that you have shown your hand to Weldon."

  "Exactly. I decided that it is time to bring the game to a conclusion. Weldon could be dangerous. I don't think he will threaten you, but be careful—the man is like a loose cannon on a ship's deck."

  "What about Sara's safety?"

  Peregrine smiled humorlessly. "Weldon agreed to one condition: he will not hurt Sara. In return, I will not hurt his daughter Eliza."

  Ross frowned. "This is getting very ugly."

  "It has always been ugly," Peregrine retorted. "But soon it will be over. Sometime in the next few days, I'd like to talk to you again. I'm hiring some guards, former soldiers, and it might be good if you took one. You've got frontier experience of your own, but no one can look all ways at once."

  "Do you really expect matters to get that bad?"

  "Expect the worst. That way you are never disappointed." Then Peregrine said good night and turned to look for his wife. With his height, he was able to see over the crowd, and his mouth tightened when he saw her dancing with Charles Weldon.

  The music stopped and Weldon bowed deeply, then left his partner. Sara stood still for a moment, then turned and slowly made her way toward the door where her aunt had been earlier. Wondering what Weldon had said, Peregrine worked his way through the thick crowd. To his intense irritation, several people stopped him to talk, and it was several minutes before he was able to reach Sara's side.

  His wife flinched when he touched her arm, then looked up at him with a blind, unseeing stare. Mentally cursing his enemy, he said quietly, "I saw you dancing with Weldon. Did he threaten you? Frighten you in some way?"

  She shook her head and managed a thin smile. "No, Charles had the admirable motive of showing people that we are on polite terms. I am merely suffering from a guilty conscience. As I said earlier, I knew it would be difficult the first time we met again. I'll be fine in a few minutes."

  Peregrine frowned, sure that Weldon must have said something to upset Sara. But he would not ask her again until later. Taking her arm, he said, "Come, let us go home."

  "We must take our leave of Letty first."

  He would rather have ignored the amenities, but knew Sara would never be so rude. After scanning the room, he was glad to see that Lord and Lady Sanford were holding court by the main entrance, so making a polite farewell would not take long.

  When they were almost to the Sanfords, a new party entered the ballroom, and there was a sudden flurry of surprise. The music stopped, and guests began turning toward the door. Lady Sanford dropped into a curtsy, and her husband bowed deeply.

  Peregrine gave a soft whistle of surprise when he identified the new arrivals. "Believe it or not, Queen Victoria has just walked in with a sizable party of courtiers."

  His comment pierced Sara's abstraction. "Drina is here?" she said, startled. She stood on her toes and craned her neck, but could not see over the heads of taller people. The murmur became a babble of excitement as everyone turned to the queen.

  "She certainly is. Does the queen often come to private balls?"
>
  "Almost never," Sara replied, "but the Sanfords are very active at court, and they are dedicated Whigs. I've heard that the queen is afraid that soon a Tory government will come to power. Melbourne is the only prime minister she has ever worked with, and she is very attached to him. Coming here might be a way of showing support for the Whigs."

  "Clever wench," he said admiringly.

  "For heaven's sake," Sara said, sounding more like herself, "don't say that to anyone else! What is happening?"

  "Melbourne has joined her. Perhaps he knew she was coming?" Peregrine said in an under-the-breath commentary. "Now the queen is moving in this direction. She stops to say a few words to someone, then moves on. More like a politician than a Royal." Peregrine watched Victoria's progress with interest. She was tiny, scarcely five feet tall, but she certainly had great presence. She was also pretty, though she was already plump and would likely be quite stout in later years.

  Since the queen knew Sara, probably she would stop to say a few words. A great honor, no doubt, but Peregrine could not help wishing he and Sara had left before the queen's unexpected visit.

  * * *

  Like everyone else, Weldon was immobilized by the queen's presence. It was rather like being at one of her drawing rooms. He chafed at the delay, then scowled when he saw that the queen was about to speak to Peregrine and Lady Sara. Not only was Victoria the ruler of the British empire, but was also a pure, modest young woman. Appalling to think that the queen would be tainted by contact with that imposter.

  Then Weldon had his second inspiration of the night. He wanted to discredit his enemy. What better way to do that than by denouncing him in front of the most influential woman in England? He would not even have to lie; the truth was quite bad enough.

  Yes, Weldon's luck had turned. Once more the world was falling into his hands. He began forcing his way to the front of the group.