Silk and Shadows(26)

She thought for a minute. "Bear in mind that it is not only the fan that speaks, but also the eyes and the whole body." She opened her fan. It was an elegant trifle of black Spanish lace mounted on carved ivory sticks, a gift from Charles.

Letting the fan rest against her right cheek, she said, "This means yes." She moved it to her left cheek, "And this means no." Then she drew the fan across her eyes, accompanying the movement with a soulful look. "This means 'I'm sorry.'"

The moonlight disclosed a gleam of amusement in Peregrine's eyes. "Can anything more complex be conveyed?"

Since an active performance would take Sara farther from his disquieting presence, she stood and crossed the balcony. "Carrying the fan in my left hand like this means that I desire to make your acquaintance."

"Better," he said approvingly. "But since we are already acquainted, what might come next?"

"If I carry the fan in my right hand in front of my face, it means 'Follow me.' "Walking toward him, she demonstrated, then turned away and cast a coy glance over her shoulder as if to see whether he was following.

Obligingly the prince stood and moved after Sara. She turned toward him and opened her fan very wide, accompanying the action with a burning gaze. "This means 'Wait for me.' "

"What am I waiting for?" he asked with interest as he stopped three feet away from her.

Sara drew the fan across her forehead, then hissed melodramatically, "We are watched!"

Peregrine glanced at the French doors. Inside the ballroom, another waltz was in full swing, the lush music flooding the night with sound. "Fortunately not," he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he turned back to her. "Apparently no one else feels the need for fresh air. Does the fan have anything to say when two people are finally alone, or do we now rely on words?"

"Some ladies are too shy or proper to say what they wish." A mad impulse drove Sara to do what she would never have dared do openly. Folding her fan, she touched the handle to her lips. "So this means 'Kiss me.'"

She did not believe he would accept her playful invitation, so when he stepped toward her, her heart leaped in panic. He was overpowering, almost frightening, in his strength and masculinity, and she nearly retreated, but did not. Instead she waited, half appalled at her brazenness, half aching to experience the result.

He lifted her chin with one finger, his intense gaze holding hers for an endless moment. Sara knew it was her last chance to retreat to respectability, but once more she stood her ground, waiting and wanting. Slowly he bent his head until his lips touched hers. His kiss was warm and subtle, as gentle as a butterfly wing, yet it moved her in wholly unexpected ways.

Her mouth worked against his, wanting more, yet when he responded, she drew back, shaken. She had wondered what his kiss would be like, and had found not an answer but more questions. Dangerous questions...

Breathlessly she said, "Carrying the fan in my right hand like this means 'You are too willing.'"

"Can one be too willing?" he asked softly. He bent forward again and brushed his lips against the sensitive skin between her eye and hairline. At the same time he drew his fingertips down her throat, then across her bare shoulders in a delicate, profoundly erotic caress.

Sara gasped. For the first time in her life, she experienced the sweet, melting female desire to yield to a man, to give herself to him as fully as she had when they waltzed, to follow wherever he led. Yet to surrender to desire would be utterly wrong. Bringing the fan up between them, she waved it briskly back and forth, sending cool air toward both their faces. "Fanning rapidly means 'I am betrothed.' "

"So you are," he murmured. His lean figure was silhouetted against the French doors, and she could not see his face. "More's the pity. Do you love your future husband, Lady Sara?"

She hesitated, as uncomfortable with his question as she had been with his kiss. Obliquely she said, "Twirling the fan in the right hand means 'I love another.' " But she could not bring herself to demonstrate that particular gesture.

When Peregrine's thoughtful glance drifted to her motionless right hand, she added with a hint of acid, "Twirling it in the left hand means 'I wish to get rid of you.'" Transferring the fan to her left hand, she gave it a quick swing.

"Do you really wish to get rid of me, sweet Sara?" He gave her a slow, intimate smile. Though he did not move a muscle, she felt as if he was reaching out to embrace her. His attraction was so powerful that if she surrendered to it, she would be drawn straight into his arms.

Unthinkable! She was a lady of mature years and steady temper, not a giddy girl. After a short, fierce mental struggle, Sara raised the fan and let the black lace rest against her left cheek. "No, I do not wish to be rid of you." Then she dropped her hand so that the fan hung by her side. Her gaze cool and level, she said, "This means that we are friends. No more."