His face hardened again. "She will not be amused if she discovers that a bastard commoner was formally presented to her."
Exasperated, Sara said, "Mikahl, the founder of the noble house of St. James was a cockney actress called Nellie James, one of the many mistresses of Charles II. She was a round-heeled wench and Charles had some doubts about whether he was actually the father of her son. Being a generous man, he compromised by making the boy an earl rather than a duke, which is what he did for some of the sons he was more sure of."
"Really?" Mikahl asked, startled.
"Really. The first few Earl St. Jameses were notable mostly for their ability to marry daughters of rich merchants. My great-grandfather Nigel was a clever fellow who must have inherited some business ability from the maternal side of his family. He developed a swamp on the edge of London into a community of expensive squares and houses, and was created Duke of Haddonfield for his efforts. The vast amounts of money he made enabled my father to marry for love rather than fortune. My mother came from a family of respectable but impoverished Scottish gentry. No grand aristocrats in that branch of the Montgomerys, just farmers and soldiers."
Mikahl shook his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I presume your father knows all this family history."
"Of course, though he prefers not to dwell on Nellie James. I once found a picture of her in an old book. She was not at all a respectable-looking wench."
"Charles probably wouldn't have liked her if she was."
"Very true." Sara sighed. "Since meeting you, I've discovered that I have more than a dash of the old girl's blood in me. But think about it, Mikahl. I, too, am descended from a cockney and a bastard, as well as assorted tradesmen and farmers, so stop prickling like a hedgehog about your background."
"A hedgehog." He blinked. "I stand corrected. Your ancestors sound more disreputable than mine."
Sara smiled back at him, but the moment of levity ebbed away. "There is a great deal you haven't mentioned," she said quietly. "Such as how you got from shipboard to caravan, and what is between you and Charles Weldon."
"I owe you an explanation." Her husband closed his eyes, a spasm of exhaustion crossing his face. "It's going to be... very difficult. I would rather not go into it tonight, though I will try if you ask it of me."
It was a measure of how much the events of the evening had drained Mikahl that he would make that oblique request for her to be patient. Sara had also had quite enough drama for one night; more might shatter them both.
Rising from her chair, she went to her husband and slipped her arms around his neck. When he opened his eyes again, she saw that they were gray-green with strain.
Laying her cheek against his, she whispered, "Another time, Mikahl. Now let's go to bed. And tomorrow, please take me home to Sulgrave."
He pulled her into a fierce embrace. "Ah, God, Sara," he murmured, his voice unsteady, "what have I done to deserve you?"
She did not answer, just closed her eyes and relaxed against him, profoundly grateful that they had weathered this storm.
Perhaps their marriage might have a future. In the weeks since the wedding, they had shared laughter and talk and astonishing physical pleasure. But never had Sara felt more married than at this moment.
Chapter 22
Weldon was in a blazing rage when he arrived at his house. He had told the truth about the sly bastard and been humiliated for his pains, in front of the queen and the cream of London society. While Peregrine was the root of the problem, he could not have carried off his imposture without the help of Lady Sara and Lord Ross. They had told barefaced lies in support of Peregrine, and they would pay. By God, they would pay!
Weldon had already intended to wreak vengeance on Sara, but now he added Ross Carlisle to the list of those who must be punished.
Though it was past midnight, he summoned Kane. Within ten minutes Kane appeared, fully dressed and showing no signs of sleepiness. Fleetingly Weldon wondered if the man ever slept, or whether he really was the passionless, blue-eyed weapon that he always appeared to be.
Wasting no time, Weldon said, "I've found that the man who calls himself Peregrine is behind all of my current problems. All of them. He came to England to destroy me. He must die."
"Easily done." Kane did not even blink. "When— tomorrow? Any particular method, or can I do whatever is easiest?"
Such ready acquiescence made Weldon pause to think the matter through. "Better to wait a few days," he decided. "I need to learn how wide a net the bastard has cast. Set watchers on his houses in town and the country. I want them in place by tomorrow morning, or rather, by this morning. I want Peregrine followed. I need to find out who his associates are, particularly the man or men who have been acting for him in the City. As for the best method of killing..."