Silk and Shadows(37)

Sara sighed. Except for Ross, aristocratic Englishmen really were an insular lot. "The prince is quite respectable," she said, though in fact she was not entirely sure of that. "Charles himself encouraged my acquaintance with him." Though not recently. She gave her father a teasing smile. "What's the point of being a duke's daughter if I don't sometimes defy convention? While I am no rebel, I am well past my salad days and have been going out unchaperoned for years."

Her father's frown deepened for a moment. Then he shrugged. "If your future husband doesn't object to the company you keep, my dear, I suppose I have no right to." Lifting his paper again, he added, "Enjoy your ride."

As she went up to dress, Sara didn't doubt that she would enjoy herself. The important thing was not to enjoy herself too much.

Promptly at ten o'clock, a footman summoned Sara. She checked her appearance in the mirror. The rust-colored habit was a decade old and rather outdated, but it still fit perfectly, and the sweeping sleeves and full skirts made her small waist appear even smaller. Would her wild Kafir prince admire her appearance?

She turned away from the mirror, telling herself that she had no business wanting to be admired by a man other than her affianced husband. Then she smiled a little at her priggishness. She was human, after all, and what normal woman did not want to see admiration in the eyes of an attractive man?

She went into the hall and down the curving stairs, her left hand holding her wide skirts and her right gliding down the polished banister. The prince waited below, his green eyes focused intently on her. Momentarily Sara faltered, painfully conscious of her limp.

Then she continued her descent. He was quite aware of her weakness, so there was no point in trying to conceal it. But as she reached the marble floor and greeted him, she realized that at that moment, she would willingly trade all her practical common sense to be flawless and beautiful.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said, offering her hand. "Do you never wear a hat?"

"As seldom as possible," he replied as he took her hand. "Except during a blizzard, hats should be worn only by lovely ladies like you. That confection on your head now, for example." He touched the curling plume with one finger. "Most charming."

"You are coming along very well in the art of flirtation." Then, as she tried to tug her hand free of his, she said, "Unfortunately, you have forgotten the rule about letting go of ladies' hands. Your memory seems highly selective."

He chuckled as he released her. "You have found me out, Lady Sara. As a sundial marks only the sunny hours, I prefer to remember only what suits me."

"Really?" she said, suddenly wistful. "How pleasant it must be to forget the bad times."

His humor evaporated. "It would be pleasant if it were possible," he said as he escorted her outside. "But alas, selective memory is a goal I have not yet achieved. The evil hours are always more memorable."

She glanced at his strong profile, and wondered what his evil hours had been like, for even at the prince's most playful, there was always a dark edge to him. But she would never know what had made him the man he was. While he had been able to read her easily from the first time they met, she still had no idea what went on in his mind.

When they reached the stable yard behind the house, Peregrine surveyed her chestnut horse, unimpressed. "For this you refused that lovely sorrel mare at Tattersall's?"

"You must not criticize Pansy." Sara stroked the mare's Roman nose. "While she is not showy, she has been my very dear friend for many years."

"'Not showy' is a staggering understatement." He laced his hands together to assist Sara in mounting. "This is not a horse, it is an animated sofa, broad and soft and shapeless."

Sara had feared the moment when she first mounted again, but now laughter dissipated her tension. Clever of him to distract her. "Unkind but true. Pansy is as comfortable as a sofa, though she also has good stamina. That's why she is a perfect choice for someone returning to riding after years away."

For a moment longer the prince stayed by her stirrup, watching her face keenly. She liked the way he was solicitous without fussing. After she gave an infinitesimal nod to let him know that she had gotten past the worst part, he went to mount his own horse.

Sara's right leg was the bad one, and she could feel the strain in muscles and joints as she adjusted her thigh over the pommel of the sidesaddle. By the end of the day she would have shooting pains from hip to knee, but it would be worth it. Being on horseback again restored confidence that she had not even realized was gone. She laughed with sheer exuberance.