“I understand, Sarah. But it just doesn’t make sense to me at all. Peter Holland hired you to tutor his son. Why in blazes would he wish you out of the way so soon? You only just got here. What possible reason could he have to resort to such measures as drugging you and roasting you alive? It just doesn’t make sense to me.” She continued to shake her head.
Sarah had to agree. “No, it doesn’t.” Her brows knit as she contemplated the puzzle.
There was silence between them, both deliberating possible motives.
“Unless he’s mad,” Sarah announced, frustrated by the turn of events. “A madman who lures innocent women to his home and murders them.” She frowned. “I’ll bet he hides the bodies in his wine cellar,” she added viciously, and knew at once that it was a ridiculous notion.
She couldn’t imagine that the man who had dragged her from the inferno of her room and then held her so lovingly on the street was any sort of villain at all.
It was dangerous to soften toward him, Sarah reminded herself. Hers and Mel’s lives might well depend upon her remaining strong. But he was somehow tearing away her armor, leaving her with doubts and more questions than answers.
Mel tilted her head a little in reproach. “I hardly think he is a madman. He might be a greedy bastard, and perhaps even a murderer as well, but mad... I do not think so. In fact, he seems quite deliberate to me.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Well, neither do I. But these thoughts do enter my head. Particularly this morning. Perhaps he knows who I am. Are you certain you were not followed?”
“Absolutely,” Mel replied, without reservation. “I was very careful. No one even knew I had gone, until I’d returned.”
Sarah was quiet a long moment, digesting the information. “But someone doesn’t want us here, Mellie.”
Mel nodded. “I agree.”
Sarah shivered, recalling the blaze in her room. This morning it had held a certain dream quality that was terrifying in itself. God, what if she hadn’t awakened? What if she had not smelled the smoke?
“The question is who?”
“That I don’t know,” Sarah replied, “but I’ve a feeling we’ve not heard the last from them.”
Mel sucked in a breath at that. “I’ve that notion, too.”
Sarah reached out to pat her friend’s hand. She laid her own gently down upon it. “Mellie ... you needn’t stay, you realize. If you wish to go, I shall understand. I do not wish to put you at risk.”
Mel turned her hand to grasp Sarah’s. She squeezed it gently. “And if I go, will you go with me?”
Sarah shook her head without even considering it. “Even more than before, I’ve no choice. I cannot go, Mellie. That is Mary’s child I would abandon, and I will not do so—not now when I am finally in a position to help him. I owe it to them.”
“But are you in a position to help him?” Mel asked, forcing her to reconsider. “Are you truly?”
Sarah shrugged stubbornly. “I don’t know, but I do know this ... last night I held that child in my arms and rocked him to sleep while he cried. I comforted him when he whimpered in fear, and promised him all would be well. I will not walk away from him now, Mel. I will not!”
“Then neither shall I,” Mel declared. “We shall do this together. You need me, Sarah. And I’m staying!”
Sarah was hardly in a position to argue. Had it not been for Mel, she would be left now with no clothes, no spectacles, nothing at all. It was Mel who had thought far enough ahead to replace those items for her, and it was Mel who gave her the courage to continue. Sarah squeezed her friend’s hand in return, and smiled up at her gratefully.
“I know you don’t like me to say so... but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“For better or worse, we’re in this together,” Mel said, and smiled down at her, her eyes twinkling. “In payment, I shall only require your firstborn child.”
“Imagine that!” Sarah said, and laughed softly. “And what if I shall never have a firstborn child?”
Mel’s brows lifted. “What if?”
Sarah’s cheeks heated.
“Hmmm,” Mel said. “Only a week ago you would have sworn to me that I was out of luck entirely.” She narrowed her gaze, studying Sarah. “What has happened since then?”
Sarah glowered up at her. “Not a blasted thing!” she denied vehemently. And then glanced about the room, taking in her surroundings for the first time. “God! I realize this may be a silly question, but... where the devil am I?”
Mel pursed her lips. “Pulled out of the fire and cast into the frying pan,” she answered cryptically, and then explained, “In the master’s suite, Sarah.”
Chapter 13
It was unfortunate that it had taken a fire to get her into this room, but Sarah decided every bruise and burn was worth it.
While the room adjoining the nursery had held very little of Mary, this one hoarded a wealth of her memories. Sarah moved from piece to precious piece, recognizing some, exploring others. It was only when she came to a small portrait that stood upon a dressing table that she understood the depths of Mary’s anger toward her. It had once been a sketch of the two of them together, their backs to each other, both looking at the artist. In the portrait, only Mary’s half was visible; the other half that had been Sarah, was gone, cut away. Why had Mary displayed only half of the portrait? or had Peter? Sarah lifted up the picture and sat upon the bed, clutching it in her hands, contemplating once more the folly of their estrangement.
How was she to know, when she’d stood her ground in protest over Mary’s marriage and had refused to return, that she would never again see her cousin alive? Such silliness it all seemed now. She’d been wrong to do so—had thought she might make a difference in Mary’s decision. But when she looked back at it now, her motives were less noble and all the more clear.
She had thought she’d protested for Mary’s good, but the truth was... Sarah had been afraid to be alone. She’d made up her own mind that she didn’t wish to marry and had counted upon her cousin to be her life companion. Strange, even now, to think about it, but they’d had such a perfect friendship, and she just hadn’t wished to give it up.
Selfish.
When Mary had chosen a life with Peter Holland over one with Sarah, Sarah had felt betrayed, and she’d reacted just like a spoiled brat. Mary had responded by cutting her completely out of her life, and the portrait in her hand was indisputable evidence of that fact.
When Sarah looked back on it now, she could scarcely blame Mary at all.
And yet... how alone Mary must have felt.
Sarah certainly had.
Sarah lay upon the bed and rolled onto her belly, reaching over to set the little portrait on the nightstand beside the bed. She doubted anyone would notice she’d displaced it. And then she rose from the bed to look into Mary’s wardrobes. Opening the doors, she discovered an extravagant selection of dresses, most of them designed with the long, slim lines that were popular in the early eighties. That was most definitely something she and Mary had not shared in common. Mary had always been the model of the latest fashion. Sarah had never cared a whit for the opinions of others. Perhaps that was a failing of hers as well. She thought it was, and yet she couldn’t feel the least concern over it. She did, however, quite appreciate the style of these dresses and wished the bustle had never come back. She sighed. One could scarcely find these styles any longer.
She closed the wardrobe doors and continued searching the room.
Where might Mary have hidden her last journal?
Did it even exist?
Had she become so depressed that she’d stopped writing at all?
God, Sarah hoped not, for in those journals Sarah hoped to find answers to her darkest questions.
A stack of books sat on a small table beside a blue silk tapestry chair. Mary had been an avid reader, and it didn’t surprise Sarah in the least to find a place set aside for her passion within her own private sanctuary. She lifted
the book on top of the stack: The Return of the Native, by Thomas Hardy. Beneath it was Creole Days, by George Washington Cable.
Setting the books down, she studied the room.
The bed, while it was big enough to sleep two, was entirely too small, it seemed, for Peter Holland’s frame.
Had he ever spent a night here? She couldn’t help but wonder, and the images that came to mind set her cheeks on fire.
She thrust them away, refusing to acknowledge them.
The paper on the wall was done in an ice blue with lavender sprays and cream-colored ribbons, and the heavy draperies in a deeper blue that hid the sun from view. She wondered how late it was. Through the crack in the curtain, fading sunlight crept into the room. Dust particles danced in its wake. As in the nursery, the carpet was a striking blue, covering brilliantly polished wood floors. Mary had loved the color blue, and her preferences were reflected throughout this room, as well as the nursery, and the house itself, though this room bore a decidedly feminine touch. Sarah surmised it must be part of an adjoining suite of rooms. The lack of men’s clothing in the wardrobe suggested that fact as well. And there were indeed two sets of doors: one through which Mel had departed... and another that remained closed...
She stared at it, wondering if it led to Peter’s room. She swallowed at the mere thought and ventured to the door.
Certainly she had no intention of opening it just now, though at some point she knew she would. That, however, she would leave for a time when everyone was out and she was left alone to explore. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for sounds of movement. She could barely hear someone moving behind it in the distance, and she leaned a little closer to better hear.
The door wasn’t completely shut. The latch had not completely caught and when she leaned on it, it shifted, opening slightly.
Leaping away from the door, Sarah stared at it a moment in startle, and then realizing that if someone was inside, she would only have an instant to prepare herself, she turned and ran toward the bed. Her heart racing, she hurriedly crawled beneath the covers. And then seeing her spectacles, she reached out to snatch them from the bedside and put them on just as the door opened.
Sarah didn’t look at the door. In fact, she closed her eyes and lifted her head to the sound. Her heart beat madly against her ribs, and she willed her breath to still. “Is someone there?”
“Me... Peter.” Sarah’s heart lurched a little as she heard his footsteps come nearer to the bed.
Cunning little vixen.
Peter hadn’t intended to disturb her so soon. She’d been up practically all of the night, and her condition when he’d left her this morning was questionable. And yet, other than inhaling a lung full of smoke, she had seemed unharmed, and he hadn’t seen the need to call a physician. Apparently neither had her assistant.
“I trust you slept well enough?”
“Oh... yes, thank you.” She pulled the blankets up just a bit.
Peter was feeling a bit ruthless perhaps, but he thought it long past his turn to enter the game. He sat upon the bed, taking immense pleasure in her little gasp of surprise. “Do you always wear your spectacles to bed?”
Her brows lifted above the rim of her dark lenses. “Well! No, of course not,” she said, and then rushed to explain, “But I am not in my own home, of course, and I know it makes some people uncomfortable—Mellie woke me some time ago. She brought them to me.”
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation—the beautiful little liar.
She was quite a resourceful actress. Her eyes were closed, he thought, though he couldn’t be certain. Her spectacles were so dark that it was difficult to see through them. “Not everything was lost in the fire,” he told her, “but we’ll not be able to go inside until they clean up the debris and make certain the structure is not damaged. Tomorrow perhaps, but for now they are still working on it.”
“I see,” she replied.
“The wardrobe is in one piece, though I cannot vouch for its contents. In the meantime, you are quite welcome to use whatever you find in this room. They were my wife’s,” he said matter-of-factly. “If I am not mistaken, the two of you are quite similar in build.”
Her head lowered just a bit. “How generous, but I’m not certain I would feel very comfortable doing such a thing. They were your wife’s after all.”
“I can assure you, Sarah, she’ll not mind.”
She stiffened at his morbid attempt at humor. “Thank you, but it will hardly be necessary. My assistant brought me some of my own clothes.”
He must be certain to be more aware of their comings and goings in the future. Somehow he’d missed a perfect opportunity to follow Mel. “How prudent of her,” he said.
“She is quite foresight—”
He knew the very instant she opened her eyes, and he smiled softly at her reaction. She gasped at the sight of him.
“—ful...”
Sarah choked on her words.
Good God! It was all she could do not to shriek and glance away. He was dressed only in his trousers, no shirt at all, and she thought she would die with mortification. And yet what the blazes could she say to him? Not a blasted thing! Because she wasn’t supposed to know he was seated before her—good Lord! on her bed! half naked! She couldn’t even look away lest he wonder.
Her face heated to such a degree that she knew he must see her blush, but he didn’t say a word, he merely sat there conversing with her much too pleasantly. Sarah didn’t understand a word he was saying. His voice was a drone in her ears, overwhelmed as it was by the thundering of her heart.
She swallowed the knot in her throat and tried to focus on his words.
“I sincerely hope last night’s fire will not frighten you away,” he was saying to her. “I am committed to my son’s education, Miss Hopkins, and am quite impressed with both your knowledge of the code and the way you have dealt with my son.”
The words were recognizable, though they didn’t seem to register. “What?”
His lips curved into a wicked little smile. “Will you stay?”
If Sarah didn’t know better, she would think he was taunting her. She blinked behind her spectacles. “Where?”
“Here,” he answered too patiently, and his eyes glittered with what Sarah thought was amusement at her expense. And yet it couldn’t possibly be. “Will you stay and teach my son?”
“Of... course.”
“He’s growing quite fond of you, I’m afraid.”
“I... I should love to,” Sarah maintained, trying not to gape at his lack of dress, “stay... and... and teach him.”
“If you do not mind the move... this room is completely at your disposal,” he told her. “It was my wife’s, as I said.”
“Oh,” was all Sarah could think to say. “Well, no... I-I don’t suppose...” She turned her head slightly. “But... does your room... a... a...”
“Adjoin it?”
He was staring at her quite intently now, Sarah thought, and it was beginning to unnerve her. “Why, yes, it does,” he said. Sarah didn’t miss the strange note to his voice. Some odd sense of satisfaction? Was he toying with her?
“I shall give you my word, however, to respect your privacy.”
Suddenly she felt uncertain. That, she thought a little wryly, might just as well be attributed to the fact that she was alone in a room—in a bed at that—with a half-naked man who was rumored to be her cousin’s murderer!
Then of course, there was the simple fact that no matter how worldly she considered herself, and she was certainly no country cousin, she had never before seen a man unclothed, but she knew... she knew what happened between men and women... when they were attracted so.
And this man was most assuredly not just any man.
Mel was right, she suddenly knew for certain: She was not blind to the hunger in his gaze.
Sarah’s heart beat wildly against her ribs.
She was conscious of each and every breath she took and of every
gesture he made. God help her, he might be a murderer, but he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes upon in her life. His chest was broad and smooth but for a sprinkle of hair about his pectorals and a thin line leading downward into his... trousers.
The images that tumbled through her brain heated her face and body until she was as warm as the blaze she had so narrowly escaped.
Her gaze lifted to his face... to his lips... and she couldn’t help herself... she tried hard not to imagine what it might be like to kiss them. She had never kissed a man before, and hardly wondered about it, but this instant she found herself trying to imagine what it would feel like for him to press his lips against hers…
Peter could scarcely keep a straight face as he sat before her, though somehow he managed.
He watched the flush creep from the collar of her nightgown to her cheeks and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his fingers to the heated skin.
His amusement faded abruptly when her expression changed from surprise and chagrin to something like desire, and his body responded with a vengeance.
Christ, she was lovely.
She was still wearing her soiled nightgown, and he wanted nothing more than to relieve her of it. Curiosity mingled with desire and drove him mad.
Were those breasts as supple as they appeared?
Her skin as soft?
Her cheeks as warm?
Her mouth as sweet?
He might not know who the hell she was, but his body didn’t seem to give a damn. His blood heated merely at the sight of her. He felt his own flush begin to creep from his loins, up his belly, to his throat and face, and didn’t bother to conceal his arousal. It was manifest now within his trousers... if she only dared to look.
He willed her to... for that wicked part of him that didn’t seem to need a reason to want her, it simply did.
His heart began a savage beat against his ribs as his body quickened.
Who was this lovely woman in his house?
And what did she want?
And Christ, did he want her!
There was no denying it. The evidence was pulsing hard between his legs.
Three Redeemable Rogues Page 62
