Silk and Shadows (54 page)

Feeling that he was suffocating, he untied his cravat and pulled it off, drawing it restlessly through his fingers. "That is a fascinating set of thoughts you have invented to put into my head. However, you seem to have missed a point. I have not left you, nor do I have any intention of doing so. It is you who are threatening to leave me, not vice versa."

She buried her face in her hands, the hair falling away from her fragile nape. "Ironic, isn't it?" she whispered. "I knew that you would break my heart. It just seems that I was wrong about how it would happen."

"If your heart is breaking, don't blame it on me," he snapped. "I have tried to be a good husband, and until tonight you have had no complaints."

She raised her head at that. "I still have no complaints—you could not have treated me better if you did love me. What I find intolerable is how you are treating the rest of the world. Because of your private vendetta, Ross almost died today."

"Do you think I don't regret that?" he said savagely.

"I'm sure you do, but you are still responsible." She looked at him pleadingly. "Don't you see how you have let your passion for revenge corrode your life and mind? Yes, Weldon behaved with appalling savagery, but was what he did to you any worse than what was done to Jenny Miller when she was put in that brothel? Your vengeance comes at too high a price, for it has cost you your soul."

He was struck by a sudden image of Jenny as she might have looked her first night in the brothel; her childlike face mirrored everything he himself had felt as Weldon's victim.

"That is hardly an argument for sparing Weldon," he said harshly. "Dear Charles is the man who took Jenny's virginity. She was so pretty that he had to have her himself. Then he made her play the part of virgin over and over for whatever man had the price. He used to visit her regularly. If I gave Jenny a knife and held Weldon down for her, I think she would cheerfully cut him into ribbons herself."

Sara's mouth twisted. "How many other Jennys suffered the same fate in the weeks you have been spinning your web around Charles Weldon? Was prolonging your revenge worth their pain?"

There was no answer he could give in return, for finally he understood why Sara was so profoundly upset. Nonetheless, she was being naive. He could not change the world's evil, but he could see that Charles Weldon paid a price commensurate with his crimes. Tiredly he said, "It was been a long and difficult day, and both of us have been half out of our minds with worry about Ross. Let's go to bed now and finish this discussion in the morning. All we are doing now is hurting each other."

"Nothing will be different in the morning." Sara stood and turned away from him. "But you are right, it is far too late to start packing. I will sleep in one of the guest rooms."

He had not believed that she seriously intended to leave. How could she, when there was so much between them?

Catching her by the shoulders, he spun her around before she could reach the door. "Oh, no, sweet Sara," he said softly. "You married me for better and for worse. There were no special clauses in the marriage service to cover philosophical differences. You promised to be my wife, and I am not releasing you from your vows. The fact that you had the mad notion that I would leave you does not justify your leaving me."

She simply looked at him, her great eyes bleak with sorrow. "This is not an Asiatic harem, Mikahl. You can't stop me if I want to leave. At least, not for long."

He opened his mouth to talk, then stopped. There had been too many words already. Instead he pulled her close and kissed her, using all his strength of will, all of his mesmerizing ability to attract, to make her yield.

For a moment Sara was stiff in his arms. Then she made a low, despairing sound and opened her mouth under his. "I love you," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. "May God forgive me, in spite of all you've done, I can't help loving you."

When her arms went around him, triumphant desire flared, for he knew that he had won. He had been a fool to argue; what bound them was beyond words and philosophy. His hands as hungry as his mouth, he kneaded and shaped her gentle curves.

As Sara moaned and pressed closer, he untied her blue robe and let it drop to the floor, then pulled her nightgown over her head. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed. Her slim, graceful body was overpoweringly erotic, and his fingers were rough with impatience as he stripped off his clothing. In a lifetime of intensity, he had never desired a woman as much as he desired Sara now.

He lay down beside his wife and bent over to kiss her, then stopped, shocked to see that she was crying. As her gaze locked with his, soundless tears ran down her cheeks, and every one scalded him like acid.

He had never seen Sara cry, not after her rough initiation to passion, not on their wedding night when he had laid bare her hidden scars, not even when she feared Ross was dying. But her tears were not a sign of reluctance, for her desire was as urgent as his. She caught his shoulders and pulled him down so that his body pressed against hers. Then she branded her husband with mouth and nails, alternately fierce and tender as she proved her love without words.

He had never before made love to a weeping woman, and he used every art at his command to dry her tears with passion. She responded without reservation, and when he gave her the most intimate of kisses, it took only moments to bring her to a shuddering climax. She cried out, then lay still for half a dozen ragged breaths, one arm thrown across her eyes.

Then, for the first time in their marriage, Sara boldly returned the intimacy. After pressing him back against the pillows, she used mouth and tongue to cherish what might have been sliced away when he was a child. With uncanny instinct, she teased and aroused, then slowed to prolong the ecstasy.

When he was on the verge of disintegrating, Sara lay back, then caught his arm and drew him into the ultimate joining. As he drove into her, she whispered his name over and over, like a broken prayer. Yet still she wept, even as her body thrust and clashed against his. Her tears were a potent aphrodisiac, inflaming him to madness, urging him to fill her with passion until there was no more room for grief.

After desire and grief had culminated in blazing rapture, they lay twined together, hearts pounding in tandem. At length he wordlessly rolled to his side and pulled her close, burying his fingers in her thick, tangled hair. Sara's light breath caressed his damp skin as she drifted into exhausted slumber.

He did not allow himself to fully relax until she lay still and pliant in his arms. Finally he slept, secure in the knowledge that his wife had forgotten ever having harbored foolish thoughts of leaving him.

Sara slept for perhaps three hours. When her eyes opened, there was light in the room, and she guessed that it was a little after dawn. Mikahl lay on his stomach, one arm thrown across her waist, both protecting and imprisoning. His face was just inches away. Relaxed in slumber, his stern features became handsome and youthful. Seeing the long black lashes against his cheek filled her with tenderness.

Though she was saturated with leaden fatigue, Sara's mind was quite clear. Perhaps it would be easier if she left later in the day when he was out, but she had a frantic need to escape as soon as possible. Leaving would get no easier with time, and knowing she could not stay would make every moment agony.

Sara slid out of the bed. When her husband shifted uneasily, she slipped a pillow under his arm. He settled down again, pulling the pillow against his chest.

She wanted to kiss her husband good-bye, but did not dare for fear of waking him. They had already said everything there was to say; another excruciating argument would change nothing.

Though she loved him as much as ever, perhaps more, she knew she could not continue living with a man who heedlessly caused so much suffering. She did not believe that anything would deter him from his vengeful course, which meant that it would be impossible to ever be happy with him again—unless she blinded herself to what was right and wrong, and became someone she did not want to be.

Silently Sara turned and walked to her dressing room, but she had to stop for one last look at the stranger she had loved and married and lost. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

Turning, she entered her dressing room and closed the door quietly behind her. After dressing, she began to pack. Some of her clothing was in London, so very little was needed.

She was almost finished when Jenny entered the dressing room from the corridor. The maid stopped, her blue eyes widening.

Sara touched a finger to her lips for silence. "I'm leaving, Jenny," she said in a low voice. "Do you want to come with me? The choice is up to you."

"You mean you're leaving the prince? Not just going to London for a few days of shopping?" Jenny asked in disbelief.

"Exactly."

The maid swallowed but asked no questions. "Then I had better go with you. You need someone to care for you."

"Very well. I'll arrange for a carriage to be ready in half an hour. You had better go pack your own things and make any good-byes you need to."

Jenny gave her a sharp, questioning glance, then bobbed her head and left, taking one of her mistress's two bags.

Sara wondered if her maid had spent the night with Benjamin Slade, but preferred not to know. It was hardly the usual case of an innocent young maid being seduced by an older man; Jenny was no innocent, and Slade was no callous seducer. Sara had seen the two talking together; in spite of the differences in age and background, the mutual caring had been obvious. Perhaps they would be luckier or wiser than she and Mikahl.

She lifted her other bag and went into the corridor, stopping to look in on Ross. Both he and Mrs. Adams were sleeping. Her cousin's color was better, and he looked almost normal again. She kissed him but he did not wake, so she let him sleep. It seemed wrong to leave Ross without a word, but Mikahl would see that he was well cared for. Mikahl did a fine job of taking care of people whom he knew and liked.

She woke the housekeeper with a hand on her shoulder and gestured her out into the hall. There Sara explained that she was going to London and that Mrs. Adams was now in full charge of the household. Since Ross did not seem to need a full-time attendant, Mrs. Adams was free to go to her own bed, but would she first order a carriage, please?

After the bemused Mrs. Adams went off to obey, Sara went down to the study and wrote Mikahl a brief note. After putting the envelope in her dressing room, she was ready to leave the home where she had been completely happy for a handful of weeks.

Weldon's parlor maid Fanny was the unlucky person. One of her jobs was to scrub the outside steps and polish the knocker first thing in the morning, when the streets were almost empty. Yawning, she cleaned the front steps all right and tight. Then she made her way to the back door, which opened off the kitchen.

Fanny opened the door and tripped right over the long bundle lying across the back steps. She was not the quickest of girls at any time, especially not early, and she had no inkling of what she had found. Tentatively she poked at the bundle with her toe.

The blanket fell away, revealing the slashed throat and rigid corpse of Kane.

Fanny began screaming, making up in volume for what she had lost in speed. Within two minutes, most of the household had gathered in the kitchen, where Fanny was still shrieking.

Besides servants, the racket also brought Weldon, wearing a hastily donned dressing robe. Impatiently he elbowed his way through the jabbering group to learn what the problem was.

Finding the body of his right-hand man shocked him to the marrow. He had wondered why his secretary had not returned the night before, but Kane moved in mysterious ways, and Weldon had thought little about the absence. Now Kane had carelessly gotten himself killed. What would Peregrine do next?

Weldon's paralysis was broken by the sound of Eliza's light voice. "What has happened?" she called out as she entered the kitchen. "Why is Fanny screaming?"

Weldon snapped to his butler, "Shut the silly wench up." Then he ushered his daughter out of the kitchen so she would not see the grisly sight on the steps. "There's been an accident, but it doesn't concern you, my dear."

His mind raced as he tried to come to terms with this latest event. Now that Peregrine had brought the war to Weldon's very doorstep, perhaps Eliza should be sent back to his brother's household. Yes, Weldon decided, that would be for the best. She would be safe there until this wretched business was settled.

Peregrine awoke slowly and reached for Sara, then came fully conscious when he realized that she was not there. The angle of the sun showed that he had slept later than usual, so it was not surprising that she was up already. He pulled on his caftan, then went to see if Sara was still in her dressing room. If she was, perhaps he could persuade her back to bed.

The dressing room was empty, and he turned to leave. Then he saw an envelope with his name on it propped up against the mirror of the tall chest of drawers. His skin prickling with unease, he lifted the envelope and opened it.

When he pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper, a small object fell to the carpeted floor. Before picking it up, he read the note. It said simply
Mikahl—Passion is not enough. Even love is not enough. I wish one of us were different. May God keep you and grant you peace. Love, Sara
.