Silk and Shadows(47)

Fortunately for Sara's composure, Hoskins returned to say that the bath was ready. Numbly Sara walked to the bathroom, stripped off her green velvet robe, and lowered herself into the large tub. The steaming, rose-scented water came up to her chin, and her aching muscles reacted with a relief so intense that it was nearly pain. It was pleasure almost as acute and sensual as what she had experienced in Peregrine's arms.

Exasperated, Sara tried to banish her unruly thoughts, but without success. Immodest though it was, she could not deny her taut, yearning awareness. Hesitantly she opened her hands and stroked down her torso, her palms gliding over her smooth feminine curves. Her skin was satin-sleek under the hot water.

Peregrine's hands were long-fingered and dexterous, hardened by work, yet gentle, so gentle. What would it be like to feel those strong hands on her bare flesh? The thought made her shiver with embarrassing longing, but she wasn't embarrassed enough to stop thinking and wondering.

Consideringly she cupped one breast. It was soft and almost weightless in the water. Remarkable things, breast. Men were intrigued by them, and even through her heavy clothing she had nearly melted with pleasure when he touched her there.

Her hand skimmed lower across her ribs, along the curve of her waist, then lower yet, toward parts of her body for which she did not even have a name, but which pulsed with yearning. As her fingertips brushed curling gold hair, she had a vivid image of his dark hand in the same place. A few short hours ago, she had been pressed against him, their loins straining together...

She blushed violently and withdrew her hand, but the thought of Peregrine touching her intimately was not the major cause of her discomfort. The real problem was knowing that in her mind and emotions, she had been—was still—disloyal to the man she had promised to marry. She doubted that Charles had lived a chaste life since the death of his first wife, but that did not excuse Sara's failing.

Deliberately she studied her right thigh and traced the ugly, twisting scars left by the surgeons. There had been infection, and they had wanted to amputate her leg, but her condition had improved while they were still trying to decide if the operation would be more likely to kill or cure her. The scars were part of her, along with all the limitations they represented. It would be well if she remembered that.

The water was beginning to cool. With a sigh, she took the bar of French soap and began lathering, then stopped because the slick pressure was stimulating improper thoughts again. Damn Peregrine for invading her mind and imagination so thoroughly!

Her mouth grim, Sara asked herself another difficult question. She had faced her self-deception and had acknowledged her physical attraction to the mysterious Kafir. While she was fascinated by him, she was reasonably sure that his interest in her was minor and fleeting. But what if things were different? What if she were not betrothed to Charles, what if Peregrine asked her to marry him? What would she do then?

The last shreds of her control vanished, and she began to cry, hopeless tears that stung her eyes and rolled down her face into the cooling water. And she didn't even know why.





Chapter 9





It was late evening, not quite full dark, as Peregrine rode to Benjamin Slade's home for what should be a very interesting meeting. But instead of thinking about business, his mind kept turning to Lady Sara St. James, as it had done repeatedly in the last week. He still could not understand why he had restrained himself the afternoon they had gone to Sulgrave. He had desired her with overwhelming intensity, and she herself had been three-quarters willing. One more kiss and she would have surrendered completely. Yet he had stopped.

Perhaps it was because of his promise to Ross, perhaps because of the desperate vulnerability in Lady Sara's eyes as she begged him not to continue. Much as he wanted her, he had found himself unable to do something that would make her despise herself afterward.

The trouble was that he liked the blasted woman, liked her intelligence and humor and wise, gentle spirit. He also could not avoid a certain grudging respect for the fact that she tried to live up to her principles of right and wrong. Such principles were the luxuries of people who had led easy lives, but they were not without a certain charm.

His mouth curled with self-disgust as he considered the repercussions of his moment of misguided restraint. It would have been far kinder to have tumbled her. By now he knew Lady Sara well enough to be sure that her conscience would have driven her to break her betrothal if she had been intimate with another man. Weldon would have lost his rich, highborn wife, Peregrine's goal would have been enjoyably achieved, and the lady herself would have been much better off in the long run.

Because Sara's own desire had been aroused, she would have been too honest to put all the blame on her seducer, and in the aftermath she would have suffered from guilt and self-reproach. But she would have been saved from Weldon, and would soon have come to terms with her lapse from virtue, for she had too much common sense to punish herself forever.