Another dance ended in the ballroom, and the loudest sound was of their own panting breath and pulsing blood. The frantic tension drained from Sara like water from a spilled glass.
Gently Mikahl disengaged himself, then lowered her feet to the floor and embraced her. For long minutes they clung together, savoring closeness and regaining strength as the wall supported them both.
At length Mikahl said, "And you told me this ball would be a dull affair."
Sara gave an unsteady giggle. "I've never been to a ball quite like it." Stepping away from her husband, she accepted his handkerchief to dry herself, then began to check her appearance. "Do I look all right?"
Mikahl buttoned his trousers and straightened his coat, then brushed Sara's petticoats and skirts down smoothly. "Your gown is a bit rumpled, but no more than expected at a ball." He tucked a wayward lock of hair back into her chignon. "You look absolutely beautiful. As always."
It amazed Sara how cool and gentlemanly he could appear when just a few minutes before he had blazed with demanding passion. She knew that her own cheeks glowed with good health and bad deeds, and wondered if anyone would guess what she had been doing.
After drawing his gloves on, her husband offered his arm. "Shall I return my lady to the ball?"
The door rattled as someone tried to enter, then two gruff voices started discussing the situation.
Mikahl turned the key in the lock and opened the door to find two middle-aged men holding unlit cigars. Blandly he said, "My wife was a bit faint and needed to rest for a few minutes. But she's feeling better now, so we will leave you gentlemen to your smoking."
Then he led Sara away before the men could comment. She bowed her head and clung to his arm, barely managing to suppress her laughter until they were around the corner. "You have a rare talent for duplicity, husband mine."
"Nonsense," he replied as they reentered the ballroom. "Didn't you once tell me that social lies to spare other people from embarrassment were not only permitted but required?"
"Whoever wrote the book of proper conduct never imagined anyone like you," Sara retorted.
Mikahl paused. "I see Ross. I'd like to talk to him for a moment, then leave. Unless you prefer to stay longer?"
"To stay later would be very anticlimactic," she answered, then blushed beet red when she heard her own words.
"Sweet Sara, what a splendid double entendre," he said with delight. "If we weren't in public, I would kiss you again. But I am being very proper. I trust you will give me credit for how proper I can be." Scanning the ballroom again, he said, "Your Aunt Marguerite is by the door. Shall I meet you there after I've talked to Ross?"
Sara nodded. After giving her husband's fingers a quick squeeze, she started around the edge of the room. Proper, indeed. Mikahl could make a stone saint blush. And she loved him, dear God, how she loved him.
* * *
After the shattering confrontation with Peregrine, Weldon needed some whiskey to steady his nerves. Fortunately that could be found in one of the smaller rooms where men retreated for serious drinking. As he drank, he began to plan. Learning who his enemy was had restored Weldon's confidence, for it was easier to destroy another man than to overcome blind bad luck.
Piece by piece, a strategy emerged. The Duke of Haddonfield would probably lend enough money to repay the personal loans, for the duke would not like London society to learn what kind of man his son-in-law was. Then Peregrine must be discredited so that any accusations he made later would not be taken seriously. Weldon shook his head as he poured a second whiskey. The bastard had been a fool to tip his hand. If he had stayed in the shadows, he might have been successful, but now he was doomed.
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.