Silk and Shadows(59)

"Innocent experiment! Her dress was half off! If we had come in five minutes later, they would have been coupling! I wouldn't marry her if she was the last female on earth." Weldon's handsome face twisted with malevolence. "You'll both regret this! After I tell people what happened tonight, you won't be able to buy the doxy a husband even if you throw in your title and whole fortune."

His seething gaze went back to Peregrine. "I knew it was a mistake to have anything to do with a filthy savage. You're no better than an animal, not fit to be allowed near decent women."

"Not a savage—a barbarian. Savages know nothing of civilization. We barbarians know what civilization is, though we may have a low opinion of it." Peregrine's tone was distinctly ironic. "But of course a civilized, honorable English gentleman like you would know nothing of savagery or barbarism, would he?"

Weldon's blue eyes flickered, as if wondering whether the remark had deeper meanings. Then his gaze narrowed. "To think that I did you the honor of treating you as a friend."

"Were you treating me as a friend?" Peregrine asked with interest. "I thought it was my money that attracted you."

For a moment it appeared as if Weldon would attack him, but, to Peregrine's regret, his enemy thought better of it.

"You belong in the gutter," he snarled. Then he spun around and stalked out of the library, slamming the door with ear-numbing force.

In the strained silence that followed, the duke turned to his daughter, who still sat on the sofa, her hands knotted in her lap. "I am appalled by your conduct, Sara. I would never have believed that you could behave so wantonly when you were betrothed to another man. What have you to say for yourself?"

Sara flinched as if he had struck her. "Nothing at all, Father. There is no excuse for my behavior." There was a tremor in her low voice. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

Ross had been standing by Sara, and as she spoke, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't put all the blame on Sara, Uncle Miles," Ross said. His hard stare at Peregrine made it clear what he meant.

"I do not deny that most of the fault is mine," Peregrine agreed, "though surely you noticed that Sara was not unwilling."

Ross accepted the words with cold fury as powerful as Weldon's anger and more dangerous for being controlled. There would be a reckoning between them, and soon. But not quite yet.

Haddonfield turned to Peregrine. "I hope you're pleased with yourself," he said bitterly. "For a few moments' selfish sport, you have ruined my daughter's life."

Peregrine glanced at Sara, who had not looked at him since they were interrupted. Her head turned and for a moment her stark gaze met his. In the sibylline depths of her eyes was bleak knowledge, and he knew that she had guessed that the intrusion was no accident.

Then she turned away, asking and expecting nothing of him. "The gossips will be delighted to say that prim Lady Sara is no better than she should be and deserved to be jilted, but to say that my life is ruined is an exaggeration, Father," she said, her voice under control. "It will be a nine days' wonder, half forgotten in a month. And as for marriage—I've never been sure that I wanted a husband."

"Perhaps your life isn't ruined, but your reputation is, and that's almost as bad." Haddonfield's face was set in hard, angry lines. "You will never be received at court again. The only thing that could save you is a respectable marriage, but Charles was right. Who would have you now?"

Sara's face went dead white at her father's condemnation, but she said nothing more. She had apologized for hurting those close to her, but she had too much pride to grovel or weep or beg forgiveness for what could not be undone.

Peregrine studied the taut line of her profile. If he had not seen her aching eyes, he would have thought her almost unaffected by what had happened. But he had seen, and the sight made him deeply uneasy.

This was a night of triumph, and he took avid delight in the knowledge that his enemy was suffering. The wound to Weldon's masculine pride was just the beginning. When his temper cooled, he would realize that ending his betrothal had dealt a mortal blow to his financial empire. He had not just lost a woman, he had ruined himself.

Yet now Peregrine found that his pleasure was tarnished by the sight of Sara's pain. Knowing that she was better off without Weldon, he had had no compunctions about compromising her. But he had not realized how much it would hurt her to be humiliated in front of her family, nor had he expected to be so affected by the sight of her suffering. Reminding himself that she would benefit by this night's work did not ease the strange, constricted feeling in his chest.