Silk and Shadows(64)

When Sara stopped and read her words, she realized that she would miss Eliza more than she would Charles. She would have liked to continue to see the girl, take her out for tea and shopping and confidences, but there wasn't a chance that Charles would let a "filthy, disgusting slut" near his daughter.

Sara picked up the pen again and wrote, I shall miss you. Best wishes and love always, Sara St. James. It seemed so inadequate. She bit her lip as she imagined the girl's shock and confusion at being abandoned by a woman she had already accepted as her stepmother.

Poor Eliza, an innocent victim of adult conflicts. But there was nothing Sara could do to comfort her except send this note. With luck, it would reach Eliza before her father would think to forbid the girl from receiving a letter from Sara.

It was getting cold, so Sara slid under the blankets, though she left a lamp lit. This was one night she didn't dare face the fevered uncertainties of the dark.

* * *

The next morning Sara's face and aspect were severe when she entered the small drawing room where Peregrine waited. Her reserve was a challenge, and he felt the excitement and heightened awareness that challenge always produced in him.

She looked charming in periwinkle blue. The way her hair was parted in the center and drawn softly back to a chignon, made him want to nibble on her ears. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for that later.

Yes, marrying Lady Sara was one of his better impulses, and he would do whatever was necessary to persuade her of the wisdom of accepting him. But the atmosphere would have to warm considerably. She did not offer her hand or suggest that he sit down.

Even the sight of his bruised face evoked no more than a lift of her eyebrows. "What happened to you?"

"Your cousin reproved me for my want of conduct," he explained.

"He seems to have been very physical about it,' she said with disapproval. "I trust Ross was not seriously injured?"

"He was not. We both benefited—very physical discussions are sometimes necessary to clear the air."

Chattering voices sounded right outside the door as several women walked by. Sara tensed. "Is everyone talking about what happened last night?"

"Not yet," he said, thinking that under her surface composure, Sara was as brittle as porcelain. "I spoke to Ross a few minutes ago. Apparently Weldon left without talking to anyone. With the guests of honor and the host all disappearing from the ball, people deduced that something happened, but no one knows quite what. Perhaps Weldon has reconsidered and decided to maintain a gentlemanly silence."

Sara shook her head, rejecting his offered comfort. "Charles has a vindictive streak. The only thing that kept him from proclaiming my immorality last night was a desire to leave as quickly as possible. Half of London will know by tomorrow."

More voices were heard, and Peregrine saw Sara tense again. "Since the house is bustling with people breakfasting and preparing to leave, why don't we walk in the garden?" he suggested. "It will be private there."

After Sara agreed, they made their escape without being stopped by any of Ross's curious guests. As they went down the marble steps that led from the patio to the lawn, Peregrine took Sara's arm. She stiffened, though she did not quite pull away. "You're very nervous today."

"Of course I am," she said crossly. "I've never before had to discuss the possibility of marriage with a man who has ruined me. I find the prospect taxing."

"Perhaps, like Ross, you should assault me," he suggested. "Doing so relieved his irritation considerably, and I should quite enjoy it if you did."

She glared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. "You really are quite impossible. What on earth am I to do with you?"

"Marry me," he said promptly. "Then you can work on mending my manners at your leisure."

"It is more than your manners that need mending," she said dryly, but the atmosphere was easier as they wandered through the magnificent gardens, which spanned some twenty acres and included a small, winding river.

When they passed through the rose garden, Peregrine picked a white rose and presented it to his companion. "This flower reminds me of you— thorny but very beautiful, and with an irresistible scent."

Sara accepted the rose, remembering that he had given her flowers like it the day they went to Tattersall's. "You say the most outrageous things," she said, inhaling the rose's fragrance.

"It is not right to be romantic? I thought that was what women liked."

She lifted her head and gave him a level stare. "What happened last night was no accident, was it?"

Peregrine considered lying, then discarded the notion since he doubted she would believe a protestation of innocence. "No, it wasn't. As I told you, Weldon is a dangerous man. I am sorry you were distressed, but I could not permit you to marry him."