"Then I would transfer her to a specialized house. Flagellation, perhaps, or one where mechanical devices are used. Not in England—I will send her somewhere you will never find her." He twisted Weldon's wrist again, to a point just short of wrenching the joint apart. "How long will your delicately reared daughter last, hmmm? And I will be sure that she knows she is in hell because her father sent her there."
"You filthy bastard!" Weldon swore, his voice savage. "You are evil, truly evil."
Peregrine released the other man's wrist. "Like false gentility, I learned evil from a master of the art. Is it agreed—you will leave Sara alone, and I will spare Eliza?"
"Agreed. But that is the only agreement." Weldon rubbed his sore wrist, his blue eyes shimmering with mad violence. "You are going to be sorry that you ever tried your petty vengeance on me. You are no better than a common criminal, no match for me."
"On the contrary. I am no common criminal, but justice incarnate." Peregrine savored the moment, thinking that when this speech was done, he must find Sara and share his exultation with her. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "You have sowed the wind, Weldon. Now you will reap the whirlwind."
Chapter 19
Sara was beginning to wonder what had become of her husband when he appeared before her, his eyes brilliant with excitement. After greeting the great-aunt with whom Sara had been speaking, he said under his breath, "Come, sweet Sara. I have found a spot where we can dance without feeling like herring in a barrel."
She laughed and took her leave of her aunt. As her husband steered her across the ballroom, she asked, "Have you found another balcony where I can give you lessons on the language of the fan?"
"Better than that."
There was an odd note in his voice, and Sara looked at him askance, wondering if he had been drinking. She had never seen Mikahl intoxicated, but he was in a strange, volatile mood. He led her from the ballroom, then turned right into a dark corridor. In the middle of the passage, he opened a door on the right and ushered Sara into a sparsely furnished reception room lit by a single lamp.
She looked around doubtfully. "Should we be here?"
"Probably not." There was a key in the door lock, and he turned it before facing Sara. "I think this must be where unwelcome visitors wait, Not much furniture and all of it uncomfortable. On the positive side, there is some open space, and the ballroom is on the other side of that wall so the orchestra can be heard quite clearly." He made a deep bow. "Will my lady dance with me?"
"Of course." Smiling, Sara held her arms up in waltz position. "But I must tell you that this is most improper."
"To dance with my own wife?" He raised his brows comically as he swirled her across the floor.
"To steal away to a private room, lock the door, and hold a partner this close are all definitely improper." She relaxed in his arms, feeling that her feet scarcely touched the ground. Trust Mikahl to find a place where they could be private even though several hundred people were just a wall away. "Remember, the rule is at least twelve inches of space between partners."
"And I thought I had gotten the knack of correct behavior," he mourned, pulling her tight against his hard chest. "Truly this is a strange country."
Sara tilted her head back and laughed. "Of course this is a strange country. Two or three years ago, Lady Gough published an etiquette book saying that for true propriety, books by male and female authors must be placed on separate shelves."
"You are making that up!"
"God's own truth," Sara said solemnly, feeling deliriously pliant and yielding as they moved together almost as one body. "Unless the male and female authors are married to each other, in which case the books may rest side by side on the same shelf.''
"I shall never understand the English," he said, brimming with hilarity. "But doesn't the fact that I have been presented to the queen make me wholly respectable?"
"Nothing will ever make you wholly respectable," Sara said with conviction. He laughed and she felt the vibrations of his amusement from her breasts to her pelvis.
Mikahl slowed their waltz until they were drifting in a leisurely circle. Bending his head, kissed her. Sara welcomed his mouth, for dancing aroused every fiber of her being to tingling awareness. Soon they were turning around a single point, then they stopped dancing entirely, except for the passionate rhythms of lips and tongues and quickening breath.
When the music next door ended, Sara tilted her head back and whispered, "My yin energy is very strong now."