Silk and Shadows(141)

Still, Jenny couldn't put the scene out of her mind. There had been something familiar about the man, though she couldn't place what it was. And it made her neck prickle when she realized that the girl had been about the same size and coloring as Jenny herself. The streets weren't safe anywhere.

* * *

The girl was mute with terror, her blue eyes huge in her white face. After locking the chit in a bedroom, Mrs. Kent came downstairs and scowled at the two men who had delivered her. "That ain't the girl the master wanted, you loobies. He's going to be furious. What if she's some rich man's pampered daughter?"

The two men exchanged an uneasy glance. "She fit the description," one of the men said. "I think she's just a maid. Ain't dressed like a swell, and she was walking alone."

Mrs. Kent considered. It was true that the clothing was respectable, but not extravagant, so the girl was probably a servant. Weldon would still be mad that it wasn't Jenny, but maybe it would mollify him to know the girl could be used in the house. She was just the right sort, young and pretty and scared. She would be worth at least fifty pounds this very night.

They didn't usually abduct girls—no need to—but in this case, it would be best to keep the chit. If they let her loose, she'd raise holy hell. Even though the girl would never be able to find her way back to the house, it was bad business to get the police looking for kidnappers.

Mrs. Kent sat down and wrote her employer a note, explaining that they had the wrong girl and suggesting that they keep her.

Within two hours, Weldon sent a reply saying to put the new girl to work that very night, and not to send the guards back to Haddonfield House until the next day. Mrs. Kent smiled with satisfaction, glad that a mistake had turned out so well. The new girl was exactly the type one of her best customers, a rich merchant, always asked for. She'd send the merchant a discreet note, and he'd be around this very night.





Chapter 27





Peregrine was received politely at Haddonfield House. He hoped that was a good sign, but probably it meant nothing. Sara would never give orders for servants to be rude.

When he asked to see Lady Sara, the butler inclined his head and said, "I will see if her ladyship is in."

It was all horribly formal for visiting one's wife. One's estranged wife.

Rather than taking a seat in the receiving room, Peregrine stayed on his feet, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. He wished he could speak to Sara somewhere other than under her father's roof. Perhaps she would consent to go for a drive, or even go back to their house where they could talk more freely. Probably she would be reluctant to do that, for fear that he would try to seduce her.

She was right; he would try. Even though he knew their differences must ultimately be resolved with the mind rather than the body, he craved her physical closeness as an opium eater craved his drug.

When the door opened, he turned swiftly, his body braced for confrontation, but it was the Duke of Haddonfield who entered. The men regarded each other in silence. They had always been civil for Sara's sake, but there was no love lost between them.

The duke spoke first. "Sara is not in."

"Is she really out, or is that a polite excuse?"

The duke raised a brow at such bluntness. "Really out. Visiting friends, I believe. I imagine she will be back sometime this afternoon, but I don't know just when. I've hardly seen her since she arrived."

"I see." Peregrine considered waiting, but he would go mad with nothing to do for hours. Besides, Slade wanted them both to go to a magistrate to present the evidence on Weldon. A warrant would be issued for his arrest this very day, and the long nightmare would be over. "Please tell Sara I wish to see her. She can send a message to me at the town house. If I don't hear from her today, I will call again."

Haddonfield gave a faint, sardonic smile. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

"A request." Then, though he knew he should not, Peregrine asked, "Has Sara said anything to you about us?"

The duke shook his head. "No, though I gather you are having problems. Would you care to enlighten me?"

"Philosophical differences," Peregrine said tersely. Deciding that it was time for a change of subject, he said, "Yesterday I received a draft for eighty thousand pounds from Charles Weldon, in payment of notes that I hold. He implied that you gave him the money primarily to thwart me. Is that true, or did he blackmail it out of you?"

The duke blanched. This was bluntness with a vengeance. For a moment his expression fluctuated between anger and guilt. Then he sighed and sat down, his face weary. "One could call it blackmail. It was equally a form of self-punishment."