Free Silk and Shadows by Mary Jo Putney

their wives only for the sake of having children."
    "If that is how English gentlemen think," Peregrine said dryly, "brothel owning must be a very profitable business."
    After a cold silence Weldon said, "If it is a business you wish to enter, remember that in England it's illegal for a man to live off the earnings of prostitution."
    "As I said earlier, I have no interest in the day-today running of any business, even one so deliciously decadent," Peregrine said lazily. "That was merely a general observation. Now, what is this last treat that you have saved for me?"
    "An establishment that specializes in young virgins. I would advise wearing the mask again when entering and leaving." Weldon smiled, his teeth a pale flash in the darkness. "Regular brothels are largely ignored, but reformers sometimes kick up a dust about houses like this one. It is wise to be discreet."
    After a moment he spoke again, his words surging with excitement. "There is nothing quite so stimulating as a virgin. Knowing that one is the first to see, to touch, to possess…" He stopped, then gave a self-conscious laugh. "But I'm sure that you are as familiar with that pleasure as I. Isn't the Muslim paradise a place where a warrior is promised a harem of ten thousand virgins whose maidenheads regrow every night?"
    "So they say, though I know of no one who can attest to the truth of that." Peregrine was not surprised to learn that Weldon considered their last stop the high point of the evening; brothels specializing in virgins and children were the dregs of the prostitution trade, despised even by other brothel keepers.
    He donned his mask as the carriage rumbled to a halt. When he climbed out, his nostrils flared at the familiar, distinctive smell of the docks. This was one of the most dangerous sections of the city. After Weldon knocked on the door, a small panel slid open, and they were inspected before being granted entry. There was still another burly porter of the dangerous-looking type that seemed to be standard in London brothels.
    This house's madame, Mrs. Kent, was a tall, sinewy woman with a thin mouth and cruel eyes. After greeting Weldon with familiarity, she said, "I've exactly what you like tonight, my lord." She glanced at Peregrine, then shared a meaningful look with Weldon. "And something special for your friend as well."
    Weldon turned to his guest. "Be my guest tonight I insist. You will not regret it, for there is not another house in London that can match the delights of this one."
    Peregrine hesitated, knowing that more was at stake than simple debauchery. Touring the fleshpots together had taken the two men beyond a business relationship into a tenuous illusion of intimacy. Peregrine had hoped for that because it would bring him closer to his enemy. But now Weldon wanted a companion in wickedness, and to refuse the offer would cause his enemy to withdraw to a more formal distance, probably for good. "That is most gracious of you," Peregrine said in a warm tone that disguised his aversion. "I accept with pleasure."
    Mrs. Kent said, "I will be with you in a moment, my lord," and led Weldon away. As he waited alone in the drawing room, Peregrine realized how silent the house was, even the street noises failing to penetrate. The walls must be insulated to muffle sounds inside the building.
    Slowly Peregrine turned in the middle of the room, his neck tingling with disquiet as he absorbed the atmosphere of Mrs. Kent's house. Though it was usually danger that roused him to such heightened awareness, what he felt now was not threat but pain and despair. It reminded him of a blood-drenched pass in the Hindu Kush, a place of ambushes and old bones.
    Deliberately he suppressed his reaction. Mrs. Kent's house was just another step on the long road to vengeance. He could, and would, do whatever was required to carry him further toward his goal, even if that meant deflowering a young girl to win Weldon's trust. Not an admirable deed, but at