Silk and Shadows

by Mary Jo Putney

  "I didn't think so." Peregrine hesitated for a moment, for it was very hard to say what he felt out loud. "I value you, Benjamin, and I don't want anything to happen to you."

  Slade looked as embarrassed as Peregrine felt. "Thank you. I appreciate hearing that." He smiled, his eyes briefly touching the young woman at his side. "My life has become so much more interesting since I met you."

  Peregrine's mouth quirked wryly. "The Chinese have a curse that says 'May you live in interesting times.' I hope you don't come to think that meeting me has been a curse."

  * * *

  Slade was impressed when Lady Sara welcomed him to Sulgrave without so much as a hint of surprise. The lawyer thought that boded well for the marriage; a woman married to Peregrine had better be unshockable.

  He was allotted two comfortable adjoining rooms, one for an office and the other for sleeping. Right after dinner he excused himself and withdrew to his rooms, wanting to take care of the work that had not been done because of the break-in and move to Sulgrave.

  The evening was well advanced when a soft knock sounded at the door. He invited the visitor to enter, thinking it must be Peregrine. Instead, Jenny came in with a tray and an uncertain expression. "Would you like some tea, Mr. Slade?"

  He couldn't suppress his smile of pleasure. "You really shouldn't be here," he said as he rose from his chair. "It's not proper, and Lady Sara might object."

  "I've finished my work for the evening, so she won't mind." Jenny set the tray down and poured two cups full. "In fact, she won't even notice. All she really sees is her husband."

  "They're happy?" Slade pulled a chair out for Jenny.

  She nodded as she sat down. "There's kind of a glow between them. I've never seen anything like it." Jenny's brows drew together as she offered a plate of cakes to her companion. "But I don't think he's telling her what's happening. That's not right. She should know because she's part of it."

  "I understand why Peregrine doesn't want his wife involved. I doubt if anyone except he and Weldon will ever know the full story. He certainly isn't telling me."

  "He's making a mistake," Jenny said darkly. "Lady Sara may have led a protected life, but she's not a child. She's going to be angry when she learns everything he's been up to. And it could be dangerous for her not to know."

  "Tell him that, if you're brave enough," Slade said with a small smile. "I'm not."

  "I'm not either," Jenny said ruefully. "I expect it will be all right. But there's trouble coming—I can feel it in my bones. When I heard that someone had tried to burn your house down..." She shuddered. "You could have died in your bed."

  "But I didn't. Now I'm here and safe, and everything will be over soon."

  Jenny just shook her head, her face grave. "Weldon and Peregrine—they're like two cocks fighting, and they won't stop till one or both of them are dead. And God have mercy on anyone who gets in the way."

  Slade fell silent, uneasily aware that the girl was probably right. He had been caught between the two men, and it might have killed him if Peregrine hadn't thought to supply the guards.

  Deciding that the conversation was too serious, he began asking questions about Jenny's life in the country. Her descriptions of a London girl's introduction to cows and harvests was hilarious, and the evening went quickly.

  A clock striking midnight finally reminded Slade of the lateness of the hour. "Time for bed, Jenny. Thank you for coming. I've missed our evening talks."

  "So have I." She stood and gathered the cups and plates onto the tray, but instead of leaving, she began toying with the lid of the teapot. Not looking at him, she said, "Remember how you said that lying together should mean something?"

  Slade tensed, not sure what was coming. "I remember."

  She darted a quick glance at him. "If we did now— it would mean something." Her eyes flicked back to the tray. "If you still wanted to."

  He swallowed hard, not sure what to do or say. This was different from the first time she had propositioned him, but he was not sure how. Then he realized. Jenny was no longer the young woman who had calmly offered her body to pay a debt. She was shy, fearful of rejection, because this time her feelings were involved.

  "Oh, yes, Jenny, I want to," he said softly. "But I'm still not sure that it's the right thing to do. What about your new life and the handsome young footman?"

  "I've met all kinds of men here," she said simply. "Grooms, footmen, guards, and gardeners. Most have given me the eye, and some of them are handsome, but none of them are you."

  He felt that he had been given the greatest gift of his life. Beyond caring if his actions were right or wrong, he reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers tingling at the feel of her delicate skin.

  "Ah, Jenny, you are so lovely," he whispered. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, very gently. While he was not without some experience of women, he had never been a womanizer, and he knew that he was not a dashing, expert lover. But he wanted, with every particle of his being, to please this young girl who had known so little of pleasure.

  Jenny's lips worked under his, slow and experimentally, as tentative as Slade himself. Then she gave a soft sigh and raised her hands to his shoulders to draw him closer. And as the night flowed on, the man with little experience and the girl with too much found magic together.

  After they had made love, she began weeping. Horrified, Slade propped himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong, Jenny? Did I hurt you?"

  He thought that she might draw away, but instead she burrowed against him, wrapping her arms around his chest. "I didn't—I didn't know it could be so sweet."

  He cuddled her close, stroking her flaxen hair with one hand, awed that such a lovely young woman was happy in his arms. There had been moments of awkwardness, and they had much to learn about each other, but she was right: there was great sweetness between them.

  Quietly he said, "I know that this is too soon, but would you at least consider marrying me?"

  Shocked, she drew her head back, tears glinting on her cheek in the lamplight. "Marry you?" she faltered.

  Carefully he brushed the tears away with the tip of his finger. "I know that I shouldn't ask. I'm almost twice your age and not a very interesting person, but I'm rather well-off, and I swear I'll take good care of you. As my wife, you'll never be cold or hungry or bullied by anyone again."

  "You're the most interesting man I've ever met," she retorted. "But you can't marry me! You're a gentleman."

  He smiled, "I can marry any woman I can persuade to say yes, Jenny, though I've never wanted to marry before."

  "What would people say?" she asked miserably. "Gentlemen don't marry whores. I would embarrass you."

  "Don't say that! You are not a whore, You're a brave and beautiful young woman who has survived and flourished in the midst of great adversity. Like a perfect rose that miraculously has bloomed among the weeds."

  She giggled. "That's not very romantic."

  "Probably not. I don't have a very romantic nature," he admitted, glad she was laughing again. "Don't worry about not fitting in—you are so quick at picking up accents and manners that people will never know that you don't have the same boring background that they do."

  She smiled but shook her head. "I think you're being romantic now, Mr. Slade. You don't have to marry me just because you think you should after what we've done."

  "I think we've gotten to the point where you could call me Benjamin." He lay back against the pillow, pulling her head down on his shoulder and stroking her pale silken hair. "Once upon a time, Jenny, I always did exactly what I thought I should. I studied hard, worked hard, obeyed all the rules, thinking that all that sober virtue would be rewarded. I went into the East India Company, determined to make a success of myself."

  He sighed, thinking of what had happened in India, and how close he had come to destroying himself from despair. "After all my hard work, I was made the scapegoat for my superior's embezzling. I lost my job, my reputation, most of my friends, a
nd very nearly my freedom. If Peregrine hadn't come along and saved me in an illegal but very effective way, I would be in prison or dead now."

  He bent his head and kissed her on the end of the nose. "After that, Jenny, I no longer much cared what the world expected of me. I decided that in the future, I would please myself first. It would please me greatly to marry you—but only if that would please you as well."

  Jenny was silent, knowing that if she tried to speak, she would begin crying again. Tentatively she flattened her hand on his chest. She had known many male bodies, with indifference at best, sometimes with fear and loathing. But she had never wanted to be close to a man like this. Benjamin had a nice body, fit and wiry, not large and frightening.

  Joining with him had made her feel happy, cherished like fine porcelain. She had been told that women could feel passion the same as men, but had never quite believed it. Now she did, dimly sensing that someday she would respond with more than sweetness. "It would please me," she said. "It's too soon, but maybe later, if you don't get bored with me..."

  "I'll never get bored with you, Jenny. But I won't press you for an answer. Marriage is a serious business, and you should take time to think about it. In the meantime..."

  He kissed her, this time seriously. And when she kissed him back, he knew that he had never felt so much a man in his life.

  Chapter 23

  Kane lay flat on his stomach in the high grass, his spyglass trained on the two horsemen galloping heedlessly along the crest of the hill. He couldn't believe his luck. He had come out today only to scout the land around Sulgrave, yet here were the very men Weldon wanted killed, racing along without a care in their foolish heads.

  While his employer might prefer to stay the execution for a few days, Kane refused to waste such a perfect opportunity. He might never have as good a chance to get both men at the same time. Weldon would be angry, but the idea did not bother Kane. The pleasure of the kill would far outweigh his employer's irritation. And Weldon needed Kane far more than vice versa.

  Stealthily he crawled down from the top of his hill, staying low so that he would not be silhouetted against the sky. He smiled with contempt. Given how careless his quarry was, such precautions were probably unnecessary.

  In his left hand he carried a light, ultra-accurate Prussian sporting rifle. He would work his way along the hill until he found a good ambush site. The two riders would almost certainly return by the same route that they had taken. And when they did, Kane would be ready for them.

  * * *

  Siva needed no encouragement to go flying along the North Downs. As they tore along the ancient hilltop trail, Peregrine leaned over the stallion's neck, the feel of the wild wind blowing away some of his restless frustration.

  The two days since the Sanfords' ball had been uneasy. Peregrine studied Sara, wondering if there would be a subtle change in her behavior now that she knew about his background, but she acted exactly the same. She scarcely raised an eyebrow when he introduced Benjamin Slade as an indefinite houseguest, and she went out of her way to make the lawyer feel welcome.

  Yet underneath the surface, there was an odd combination of closeness and sizzling tension between Peregrine and his wife. He knew that she was waiting for him to tell her about the missing years and his vendetta against Charles Weldon. Half a dozen times he was on the verge of speaking, yet always he shied away at the last minute.

  There were two reasons why he held his tongue. One was a profound distaste for revealing what he had never told another living soul. In fact, he was not sure he could speak of it in any but the most general terms. And while he knew that he could trust Sara's compassion and generous heart, she was the last person on earth he wanted to know about his humiliation.

  The other reason was that he was not sure what he wanted to do next. He must decide soon, for it was dangerous to let his enemy have the initiative. But it would be even more dangerous to act without knowing exactly what he wanted to accomplish.

  For that reason, he had been glad when Ross rode over from Chapelgate and suggested Peregrine join him for a ride on the Downs. Ross knew more about the situation than anyone else. He was also the one man Peregrine knew who could understand both the world of law-abiding citizens and the twilight zone of violence, where Peregrine and Weldon were locked in mortal combat.

  Siva was beginning to become winded, so Peregrine pulled the stallion back to a moderate canter. A few minutes later Ross caught up with him.

  Peregrine called out, "Is that lazy hack of yours related to Sara's Pansy?"

  "Those are fighting words." Ross laughed as he reined in his mount with the grace of the born horseman. "If you want to race, we can try again someday when my horse hasn't already been ridden hard. If we make it a steeplechase, I guarantee that Iskander will show his heels to that park saunterer of yours."

  "Probably," Peregrine admitted. "Siva goes like the wind over a flat course, but is only a moderate jumper."

  The two men turned their horses back the way they had come, riding companionably side by side. Peregrine's temporary sense of well-being began to fade. He scanned their surroundings, his brow furrowed. "We really shouldn't be out here. Too exposed. It would be very easy for a sniper to pick us off. I'm getting careless—I don't even have a gun with me."

  Ross's brows drew together. "You really think Weldon will try to murder you outright?"

  "Yes, though I think he will not want to do so just yet. It will make more sense to try to trace Slade and my business connections first." Peregrine glanced at his friend. "After the ball, I'm afraid he will come after you as well. Did you see his expression when you stepped in and vouched for me?"

  Ross nodded. "I think the man is more than a little mad, and your vendetta is revealing the worst in him."

  "The evil that has always been inside him is getting closer and closer to the surface." Peregrine frowned. "By speaking up, you deflected the disgrace from my head to his. Being incapable of admitting an error in judgment, Weldon will put the blame squarely on you and Sara."

  "You could have talked Victoria around once you got over your shock." The path narrowed as it circled a small pond. Ross went ahead until the path widened and they could ride abreast again. "I was surprised to see you thrown for a loss. It was just his word against yours. As Sara's thwarted suitor, he had an obvious motive for malicious mischief."

  "Perhaps," Peregrine said dryly. "But I thought that if it came down to the word of a wellborn Englishman against a foreigner, Weldon was the one who would be believed. I didn't expect my friends to lie for me."

  "I didn't lie," Ross said, his expression innocent. "I did, indeed, meet you in Kafiristan, and while it is stretching a point to call your house a palace, it was the grandest building in the village, and the Kafirs thought very highly of you." After a moment, he added reflectively, "Can't say that Sara lied, either. It's just that her idea of what constitutes a husband of suitable rank is considerably broader than Victoria's."

  Peregrine had to laugh. "You two are as bad as I am!"

  Ross grinned. "Were you really born in London?"

  "Indeed I was." Peregrine gave his friend an abbreviated version of the story he had told Sara. At the end he said, "You don't seem very surprised."

  "I'm not. Even in Kafiristan, I thought that you were either of mixed blood or not a native son," Ross said. "Since you came to England at the beginning of the summer, I've come to the conclusion that you were probably at least partially European. And if European, why not English?"

  "How did I give myself away?"

  Ross pondered for a while. "Subtle things. Underlying patterns of thought that seemed more Western than oriental. I can't be more specific than that."

  "Considering how widely you've traveled, I suppose if anyone was going to guess, it would be you." Peregrine's voice acquired an edge. "Does it matter to you that I'm a slum bastard?"

  Ross gave him a cool glance. "Are you proud or ashamed of your background?"

&nbs
p; Peregrine was taken aback. "Not ashamed. I suppose, in an odd way, I'm proud. If I had been raised in a softer environment, I never would have survived what came later."

  "Then don't be defensive about what made you what you are," Ross said crisply.

  That seemed to close the question of his background rather thoroughly. There was no shortage of class prejudice in British society, but it was Peregrine's great good fortune that his wife and his best friend had none.

  As they rode along the trail in silence, Peregrine's gaze continued to scan the trees and hills around them, and he saw that Ross was equally watchful. At length, Ross said, "What are you going to do about Weldon?"

  "I honestly don't know," Peregrine admitted. He described the break-in at Slade's house. "If the fire had been successful, Benjamin would be dead and many of his records destroyed. Weldon must die. He is dangerous to too many people. The question is how. I don't think the law would give a guaranteed result."

  Ross gave him a sardonic look. "Why are you talking about the law? Aren't you going to kill him yourself?"

  Peregrine glanced at the other man, his face impassive. Yes, his friends were definitely too perceptive. "I prefer to think of it as an execution."

  "So what is stopping you?"

  Peregrine's brows arched. "What, no lecture on morality?"

  "I don't like the idea one damned bit," Ross said, his voice clipped, "but I don't see an alternative. It is obvious that you and Weldon are locked in a till-death-do-you-part feud, and if one of you must die, I would prefer it to be Weldon."

  "If and when I kill Weldon, I intend to do it in a way that can't be traced back to me," Peregrine said, grateful for his friend's pragmatic acceptance of the situation. "But if something goes wrong, and I have to leave England—I want to know that you will look out for Sara." He stopped, then started again. "You will anyhow, but I'll feel better knowing that at least one person here understands what really happened."

  Ross's dark eyes flashed. "So you intend to desert your wife?" he snapped, far more angry than he had been at the prospect of his friend's committing murder.