Silk and Shadows (27 page)

Yet now the prince was hers for the taking, and the choice she faced was the most difficult of her life. Deciding to accept Charles had been easy by comparison, for she had had a fair idea of what marrying him would mean. But what on earth would marriage to her wild Kafir be like? Impossible to imagine.

She rubbed her temples despairingly, her fingers raking through her thick hair as she wondered what had become of the sensible person Sara St. James used to be. When she was with Peregrine, she became a different woman, one that she had trouble recognizing and didn't much approve of. She had never felt so alive in her life as in his presence, yet to marry him would surely be disastrous.

Hoping to break the circle of unprofitable thoughts before she gave herself a genuine headache, Sara wrote a short note to Eliza Weldon. After several attempts to explain, Sara settled on the simple statement that she would not be marrying Eliza's father because they had decided that they would not suit.

When Sara stopped and read her words, she realized that she would miss Eliza more than she would Charles. She would have liked to continue to see the girl, take her out for tea and shopping and confidences, but there wasn't a chance that Charles would let a "filthy, disgusting slut" near his daughter.

Sara picked up the pen again and wrote,
I
shall miss you. Best wishes and love always, Sara St. James
. It seemed so inadequate; she bit her lip as she imagined the girl's shock and confusion at being abandoned by a woman she had already accepted as her stepmother.

Poor Eliza, an innocent victim of adult conflicts. But there was nothing Sara could do to comfort her except send this note. With luck, it would reach Eliza before her father would think to forbid the girl from receiving a letter from Sara.

It was getting cold, so Sara slid under the blankets, though she left a lamp lit. This was one night she didn't dare face the fevered uncertainties of the dark.

The next morning Sara's face and aspect were severe when she entered the small drawing room where Peregrine waited. Her reserve was a challenge, and he felt the excitement and heightened awareness that challenge always produced in him. She looked most charming in that shade of periwinkle blue, and the way her hair was parted in the center, then drawn softly back to a chignon, made him want to nibble on her ears. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for that later; he certainly hoped so.

Yes, he decided, marrying Lady Sara was one of his better impulses, and he would do whatever was necessary to persuade her of the wisdom of accepting him. But the atmosphere would have to warm considerably; she did not offer her hand or suggest that he sit down. Even the sight of his bruised face evoked no more than a lift of her eyebrows. "What happened to you?"

"Your cousin reproved me for my want of conduct, '' he explained blandly.

"He seems to have been very physical about it," she said with disapproval. "I trust Ross was not seriously injured?"

"He was not. We both benefited—very physical discussions are sometimes necessary to clear the air."

Chattering voices sounded right outside the door as several women walked by, and at the sound Sara tensed. "Is everyone talking about what happened last night?"

"Not yet," he said, thinking that under her surface composure, Sara was as brittle as porcelain. "I spoke to Ross a few minutes ago. Apparently Weldon left without talking to anyone. With the guests of honor and the host all disappearing from the ball, people deduced that
something
happened, but no one knows quite what. Perhaps Weldon has reconsidered and decided to maintain a gentlemanly silence."

Sara shook her head, rejecting his offered comfort. "Charles has a vindictive streak. The only thing that kept him from proclaiming my immorality last night was a desire to leave as quickly as possible. Half of London will know by tomorrow."

More voices were heard, and Peregrine saw Sara tense again. "Since the house is bustling with people breakfasting and preparing to leave, why don't we walk in the garden?" he suggested. "It will be private there."

After Sara agreed, they made their escape without being stopped by any of Ross's curious guests. As they went down the marble steps that led from the patio to the lawn, Peregrine took Sara's arm. She stiffened, though she did not quite pull away. "You're very nervous today."

"Of course I am," she said crossly. "I've never before had to discuss the possibility of marriage with a man who has ruined me, and I find the prospect taxing."

"Perhaps, like Ross, you should assault me," he suggested. "Doing so relieved his irritation considerably, and I should quite enjoy it if you did."

She glared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. "You really are quite impossible. What on earth am I to do with you?"

"Marry me," he said promptly. "Then you can work on mending my manners at your leisure."

"It is more than your manners that need mending," she said dryly, but the atmosphere was easier as they wandered through the magnificent gardens, which spanned some twenty acres and included a small, winding river. When they passed through the rose garden, Peregrine picked a white rose and presented it to his companion. "This flower reminds me of you— thorny but very beautiful, and with an irresistible scent."

Sara accepted the rose, remembering that he had given her flowers like it the day they went to Tattersall's. "You say the most outrageous things," she said, inhaling the rose's fragrance.

"It is not right to be romantic? I thought that was what women liked."

She lifted her head and gave him a level stare. "What happened last night was no accident, was it?"

Peregrine considered lying, then discarded the notion since he doubted she would believe a protestation of innocence. "No, it wasn't. As I told you, Weldon is a dangerous man. I am sorry you were distressed, but I could not permit you to marry him."

"Distressed? What a pallid word for shattering someone's life." She was not angry; her cool, ironic expression was beyond anger. "You had no right to interfere as you did.''

"If you saw a child rushing out in front of a carriage, would you have no right to stop it?" As soon as he uttered the words, he knew that he had picked a poor example.

Sara's lips thinned. "That's an inappropriate and insulting analogy. I had some doubts about marrying Charles because of his domineering personality, but based on the evidence, you would be much worse."

"Do you truly regret that you will not be marrying Weldon?" He knew the answer to that question, but perhaps Sara did not.

"Don't try to change the subject," she said sharply. "The issue is not what I feel for Charles, but your contemptible behavior. What you did was wrong, no matter how noble your motives. How can I ever trust a man who is so high-handed?" Not waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and resumed walking toward a footbridge that arched over the little river.

His long strides easily kept him apace with Sara. "I am beginning to understand something Ross told me last night," he said thoughtfully. "Your cousin said that the best that could be said of my principles is that I believe that the end justifies the means, and that you would find that unacceptable because you believe in right and wrong."

"Ross was correct," she agreed, her voice cool. "The result you wanted did not justify the means you chose to attain it."

"I thought that it did." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully because he must win her mind as well as her body. "That is a difference between us, Sara, but not an irresolvable one. I am not usually highhanded, and I do not expect you always to agree with me. If you have a conflicting opinion, I will not beat you or lock you in your room with bread and water. There will be times when you disagree with my methods, and there will be times when I disagree with your judgments. But surely we can live with the fact that sometimes we will disagree?"

Sara could do worse than marry a man who acknowledged a woman's right to her own opinions— always assuming he was sincere, which was a rather large assumption. She stopped in the middle of the small bridge and leaned against the railing, gazing at the flowing water rather than her companion. "You make that sound simple, but principles are not," she said slowly. "Differences of opinion can tear people and nations apart. And in marriage, men have the ultimate power, physically, legally, and financially. If your methods include forcing me to do things I believe are wrong, what advantage is there in my having your permission to disagree?"

"Legally a husband may have the power, but practically speaking, the situation is much more complicated. You have great personal strength, as well as a powerful family that is concerned for your welfare, and that will protect you from me, if you ever feel you need protection. But I doubt that will be necessary— we are talking about marriage, not war.''

"Some say there is little difference between love and war." Sara turned to look at him, her voice challenging. "Why do you want to marry me? Charles was interested mostly in my fortune and social rank. Is that what you want, too?"

"Not particularly." He leaned on the railing, silhouetted against the glowing, light-drenched leaves of the trees that overhung the river. "Wealth is a fine thing, much better than the lack, but I have sufficient now. If you doubt my motives, a settlement can be drawn up reserving your fortune to your 'sole and separate use.' I believe that is the legal phrase. As to social standing…" He shrugged. "If I stay in England, it will be useful, but it is of no real importance tome."

"
Do
you intend to stay in England?" Sara plucked a leaf from the stem of the white rose and dropped it in the water, then watched it whirl away. Would he expect her to accompany him back to those mountains at the edge of the world, to live under primitive conditions with no knowledge of the language and customs? "I'm not averse to travel, but England is my home. I can't imagine myself in the wilds of Kafiristan."

"Nor can I. It is a hard life and wouldn't suit you."

Rather than being gratified, Sara was perversely irritated by the implication that she was a frail, helpless creature. "So you will abandon me and return to your home alone?"

He shook his head. "Perhaps I'll visit Kafiristan, but I will never live there again."

"You would exile yourself from your own country and people?" Sara said, incredulous.

"It is a hard thing to be born in a place that does not suit one's spirit," he said obliquely, not looking at her. "My birthplace was never my home. I don't even want it to be."

For Sara, whose spirit was as deeply rooted in English soil as any oak, it was a strange idea. Tentatively she said, "Did you know that the word Peregrine means wanderer or pilgrim?"

"I know," he said tersely.

Sara was silent for a time, thinking that his words gave her some insight into his complex nature. "Have you ever had a real home?"

"I have owned property in many places, but I don't think any of them were what you would call a home.''

He glanced at her, his eyes as green as the sun-saturated leaves above his head. "I envy your sense of place. You are utterly English. I can't imagine you thriving anywhere else."

"You are right," she admitted. "Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know." He gave a faint, rueful smile. "Do you?"

"I am glad that I know where I belong, but surely I must seem boring to a man who has seen and done as much as you."

"You could never be boring, Sara," he said slowly. "You see below the surface of things. While it may not be a comfortable trait, it is an interesting one."

She turned away from the railing and continued over the bridge, wondering just what it was that she wanted from him. No one could guarantee another person happiness. Even if Peregrine should try to convince her that they would live in endless bliss if they married, she knew better than to believe him. Perhaps what she wanted was to know that he cared for her a little, enough to try to make a marriage work.

On the far side of the river, enormous efforts had been expended to make the gardens look like natural countryside, only better. After a few minutes more of silent walking, the path curved and entered a long, high wall of clipped yew. "Have you ever been in a maze?" Sara asked. "This one is at least two centuries old, probably older."

"No, I've never been in a maze. There is something very fitting about finding one now." Peregrine glanced down at her, his eyes intense. "We have been wandering aimlessly long enough. Now it is time to face the ultimate question. Will you marry me, Sara?"

Unsettled, she turned away from him again. "Before I answer, we must delve into the heart of the maze."

"I sense that there is a metaphor loose between us," he said, amused. "Or do I mean an allegory?"

Sara smiled and entered the maze, quickly whisking out of her companion's sight around a corner and leaving him to find his own way through. She and Ross had played hide-and-seek here as children, and she still remembered the correct turns.

The center of the maze was an oval clearing of short," lush grass, as soft as a living carpet. It was one of the most private spots on the estate and a favorite retreat of Sara's. This time, however, there was no relaxation to be found. She prowled the clearing, too tense to sit on the stone bench while she waited for her companion to find her.