Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  He peered down at the outline of her limbs stretched long beneath the covers and reached down impulsively, laying a hand atop hers. She stiffened at his touch.

  “Sarah,” he began, and halted abruptly, uncertain what to say.

  If he didn’t leave right now, this instant, he was going to frighten her away ... that much was certain.

  And then he would never discover the truth.

  He willed himself to rise from the bed but somehow found himself seated still, unable to leave her, though he was well aware of the impropriety of his visit.

  Then again, she had lost all rights, as he saw it, to worry about her honor, when she had come into his house like a thief in disguise.

  Peter had once been an honorable enough man, but honor had gotten him nowhere: If you told your wife you cared for her deeply but didn’t love her, she ended up a stranger in your house and suspected you of adultery. If you refused to open your personal life to the scrutiny of the press, they labeled you a sneak and a murderer, and somehow managed to plaster the most intimate details of your life upon the front pages of their yellow papers. You couldn’t win.

  No, Sarah had lost all claims to honor, and he didn’t intend to play fair.

  And yet he didn’t want her scampering off with her tail between her legs either... not just yet, at any rate. He didn’t even plan to tell Ruth what he’d discovered—not anyone, not until he knew what he was dealing with.

  “I suppose I should leave you to rest,” he said, though reluctantly. “You needn’t worry about lessons tonight. It’s much too late. You’ve suffered quite an ordeal.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied, and her hand unconsciously fanned her throat. Peter wondered if she realized how telling the gesture was. He wondered, too, if she understood how hungry it made him ... for the taste of her flesh upon his tongue.

  He licked his lips gone dry and willed himself to stand. “I’ve taken the liberty of having a bath run for you,” he told her, and watched, with satisfaction, as she forced a swallow. “Shall I call Mrs. Frank to help you or... can you manage on your own?” The very notion of having her naked within his bath hardened him fully.

  “Please call Mrs. Frank,” she answered, her voice more than a little trembly.

  Not that he expected it to, but her gaze did not follow him as he rose from the bed. She was too smart for that.

  “Sleep well, Sarah,” he said, and left her before he could be tempted to stay.

  Chapter 14

  “I swear to you, Mellie, I think he must know!”

  “Poppycock!” Mel replied. “If he did, I can assure you you’d not still be here in his home.”

  “I’m telling you, I think he does.”

  “Did he say anything to make you think so?”

  Sarah winced as Mel began to scrub her back. Even as gently as she washed her, it stung. When she’d spilled the curtains from the window, flames had sprayed upon her, burning her. “Ouch! No, he said nothing,” Sarah replied, “but I sensed it nevertheless. He was looking at me very strangely, as though he knew.”

  “Well...” Mel dipped the washcloth into the bathwater and then squeezed the warm water over Sarah’s wounded back, rinsing off the suds. “That, of course, would have nothing to do with the fact that you were sitting half undressed before him,” she suggested, her tone wry. “Maybe you should have a doctor look at this, Sarah.”

  “No doctor!” Sarah exclaimed. “That’s all I need. For some physician to come in, examine me, and proclaim me quite healthy and capable of seeing!”

  “You do have a point.”

  “And me? What about me? I am not the only one who sat there half clad. He was practically nude! Good Lord, Mellie, you should have seen him!”

  Mel giggled. “I rather wish I had.”

  “Gawd! You are wicked!” Sarah exclaimed. “It was unbearable.”

  “Wicked?” Mel replied. “No, wicked is what I would call the person who started that fire last night. And you cannot tell me that not a single untoward thought crossed your mind, murderer or not, Sarah Woodard.”

  “It was all I could do not to die of mortification,” Sarah swore, raising a hand. “Ouch!” she said again, as Mel washed a particularly sensitive spot.

  Mel poked her head about to peer into Sarah’s face.

  “I swear it!” Sarah exclaimed. “I was absolutely horrified.”

  “If you say so,” Mel relented. “You know... he certainly does have somewhat of a ruthless look about him, but I am having a devil of a time imagining him a murderer, I must tell you.”

  Sarah knit her brows. “How can you make such a supposition after so short a time, Mellie? The measure of a man’s depravity is not written upon his face; even beautiful men are corrupt.”

  “So you think him beautiful?”

  “I will not answer that. It has no bearing here.”

  “I beg to differ,” Mel said at once. “And a man’s soul is most certainly reflected within his eyes, Sarah. I have seen that man with his son...”

  “Well, he can certainly love his son, yet still be a murderer,” Sarah persisted.

  “Perhaps,” Mel agreed, “but I don’t believe for one minute that he set that fire last night. Someone else did. The question is who.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t either,” Sarah countered stubbornly.

  “Of course not,” Mel suggested. “Because he’s a man, and you’re quite determined to think the worst of him—and not just any man. He’s the man who took Mary from you.”

  Sarah froze in startle at Mel’s declaration and then reminded her, “You read the diary entries that were posted in the tabloids, Mellie. I sent them all to you. How can you forget them so easily? You certainly have a point about the fire, and his lack of motive there, and yet I cannot so easily forget what he has done.”

  “What has he done?”

  Sarah’s temper rose. “How can you ask that? He made Mary miserable and quite possibly killed her!”

  “But what do you know for certain that man has done? Should a man not be held ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”

  “Not when we are searching for my cousin’s murderer!”

  “Well, but you’ll certainly not find your murderer until you open your mind to the possibility that perhaps someone else is responsible,” Mel reasoned. “And then there is always the possibility that Mary’s murder was simply the misfortune of a robbery gone bad. Just because the press was so quick to condemn Peter Holland does not make him guilty, Sarah.”

  “Shhh!” Sarah demanded, frustrated by Mel’s logic. “What if they hear us!”

  Mel lowered her voice to an angry whisper. “What if he is telling the truth? What if he is innocent, Sarah? Have you considered why it is you seem to need to blame him?”

  “I don’t need to blame him,” Sarah denied vehemently.

  “Don’t you?” Mel asked, and then changed the subject abruptly. “Tell me ... does he look as delicious unclothed as he does dressed?”

  Sarah’s face heated at the bold question.

  He did, but good Lord, she wasn’t about to confess such a thing!

  It bedeviled her enough that she had been so flustered by him. “How can you ask me that?” It provoked her that Mellie was defending him, and even more so that she was making sense.

  “How can I not?” Mel replied evenly. “It is not I who swore off men, remember. I am hardly alone by choice, you realize.”

  “So you say... and yet I know it is not because you’ve had none courting you in the years since Andrew’s death. What about that professor you were telling me about?”

  “Which?” Mel asked, much too conveniently forgetting his name.

  “The one at the Institute. John... John...”

  “Oh,” she said, as though she hadn’t given it another thought, “him...”

  “What was his name?” Sarah persisted, trying not to smile.

  “Cock. John Cock,” Mel relented. “Good God, can you imagine be
aring a name like that? Mrs. Cock? I hardly think so!”

  Sarah couldn’t restrain her laughter. “I rather see your point.”

  “Lord, I can see it now... if they should happen to announce us at some gala... the Professor and Mrs. John Cock!”

  The two of them giggled over the thought.

  “I think I would die!” Mel declared. Then she confessed, “Actually, I have been thinking quite a lot about him. And I have thought that perhaps... well... I am not getting any younger, Sarah.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Only that I don’t think I wish to spend all of my years alone. John is actually a very good man. I could do worse than to be Mrs. Cock.”

  They laughed together once more at the prospect. Sarah grew quiet, listening, uncertain what to say. She had taken a stance once before against marriage, and it hadn’t ended very well. The last thing she wished was to be a part of someone else’s unhappiness.

  Mel sensed her disapproval nonetheless. “You might have resigned yourself to a life without love, Sarah Woodard. And perhaps you don’t need anyone at all, but I do. It isn’t any fun to go to bed alone every night, when you know how gentle a man’s touch can be.”

  “Ack!” Sarah exclaimed. “Not you too!”

  Mel shoved her down into the water unexpectedly, wetting her hair. Sarah came up sputtering.

  “Why not me?” Mel demanded to know, sounding quite offended.

  “Because you are sooo... well, it surprises me enough that you, as bloody independent as you are, with a successful career, despite that you have not had the financial backing that I have been privileged to have, would feel you needed a man. And furthermore, I just cannot imagine you relenting to—”

  “Desire?” Mel began to soap Sarah’s hair with a vengeance. “Good Lord, Sarah! Are you made of stone? Have you never stared at a man’s lips and imagined how they might feel upon your own?”

  Sarah gasped, her cheeks heating with mortification.

  “Have you never wished for him simply to take your hand? Have you never looked into his eyes and spied his hunger and felt your body respond to it?”

  Sarah’s hands went to her ears. Blast, had there been a spy in her room? She couldn’t bear the thought of Mel knowing her guilty fantasies. “No!” she lied. “I have never allowed it!”

  “Hold your breath,” Mel commanded her, and when Sarah did, she dunked her under the water once more. “Then you are, indeed, made of stone,” she said as Sarah came sputtering up out of the water. She came about to the front of the bath then and wrapped the soap within the washcloth, then dropped them both into the water. “There,” she said, “that’s as far as I go.”

  Sarah peered up at her, her brows knitting.

  “But let me say only this to you, Sarah. Forgive me for speaking so freely, but I think we know each other well enough by now that I shall take this liberty, no matter that you may be angry with me after.”

  “I shall not be angry with you,” Sarah swore.

  “Yes, well, we shall see.”

  “And anyway,” Sarah interjected, “when have you ever not spoken your mind?”

  Mel’s hands went to her hips. “You were young, Sarah. So you made a mistake. You stood your ground against your cousin’s decision to marry, and so you feel guilty about it. Well, get over it, confound it all! You cannot punish yourself for the rest of your life by clinging to some prideful stance you took in your youth. It is not a weakness to yearn for a mate. It is not a crime to love a man. Mary is dead and that is not your fault. She would scarcely blame you if you changed your bloody mind now!”

  Mel didn’t seem to understand. It was not just any man she was drawn to, but Mary’s husband—the very man who might be responsible for Mary’s death, and the notion was unthinkable!

  “Let yourself feel, for God’s sake, Sarah! And stop! Stop being such an angry young woman—stop before you end up an angry old woman as well!”

  Sarah stared at her friend with growing horror over her words.

  “And,” Mel declared, “stop judging others so harshly for not abiding by your own infernal rules!”

  Sarah simply stared at Mel, unable to speak in her own defense. “Is that all?” she asked, torn between anger, sadness, and fear.

  “Quite!” Mel assured. “I shall be back when you are through,” she announced, and turned and stalked out of the bathroom, slamming the door in her wake, leaving Sarah without a towel, or clothes, or even a self-defense against the ugly truths Mel had flung at her so ruthlessly.

  Chapter 15

  Was that really what she was doing?

  Punishing herself for taking a stance against Mary’s marriage?

  Did she truly need to blame Peter?

  As much as Mel’s accusations galled Sarah, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of them since Mel had left her. Mel had been her dearest friend for as long as Sarah had known her. She was only the third person, after her uncle and Mary, in Sarah’s entire life, to whom Sarah had ever opened up. Sarah doubted Mel would say such things if she didn’t truly believe them.

  Mel hadn’t returned as she’d said she would, and Sarah supposed she was still perturbed over their discussion. Left to fend for herself, Sarah had found her way out of that monstrous tub that belonged to Peter Holland, and had rushed through his room and into her own, cursing Mel beneath her breath the entire way. Her cheeks burned now when she thought of herself tiptoeing through Peter’s private bedroom—naked as the day she was born!

  It wasn’t until she’d shut the door behind her that she’d breathed a sigh of relief.

  In the back of her mind she wondered if Mel had left her there to prune in that bath so that Peter might discover her there. God only knew, after their discussion, Sarah wouldn’t put it past Mel, because Mellie did indeed have a wicked streak as long as the bloody Nile—no matter that she denied it.

  Even after Sarah was safely ensconced in her room, her heart continued to hammer. Peter had certainly barged in upon her once; she didn’t think he would hesitate to do so again. She didn’t bother to dress, however, as it was late already. Instead she drew on a fresh nightgown and crawled into the bed, despite the fact that the last thing she was, was sleepy.

  She lay in her cousin’s bed, and thought of her cousin’s husband.

  How wicked was that?

  God forgive her, but for the first time in her life she allowed her thoughts to drift in that forbidden direction...

  The memory of that look upon his face as he’d gazed at her made her heart beat just a little faster. A vision of him sitting here before her accosted her once more, and her breath quickened at the thought of his beautiful bare male flesh.

  She hadn’t been able to keep herself from peeking.

  What would it be like to kiss him?

  Did she dare even dream of it?

  Something fluttered within her belly at the merest thought of him touching her, and her hand swept down, brushing herself gently over her gown. Her breath caught and she grew dizzy over the sensations that swept through her.

  Was she truly such a prude?

  Was she so afraid of letting down her guard that she could not even allow herself a private moment of appreciation for a man’s beauty?

  Her heart beat a little faster.

  Why had Mel’s observations angered her so?

  And why couldn’t she admit without so much guilt that she did indeed find Peter Holland appealing?

  He was a beautiful man.

  Her breath quickened at the mere image of him, and her body responded with a flush of heat that flooded through her, leaving her breathless in its wake. There was a slight dampness between her legs. Wide-eyed, Sarah reached down in shock to clasp a hand over it, denying it even as she felt the moistness seep through her gown.

  Dear God...

  She took a shuddering breath and swallowed a bit nervously as she arched upon the bed, stretching her legs, bracing herself against the sensations that threatened to overwhe
lm her.

  Outside, the sun had completely faded to dusk. The curtains were almost completely drawn but for a sliver, and the room was darkening moment by moment...

  With every breath she took, the next came more rapidly.

  She turned to look at her cousin’s portrait at her bedside and stared... not thinking, only staring, only feeling...

  Her heart hammering fiercely now, she reached out and turned the picture down against the night- stand and stared at the ceiling.

  What, dear God, was she thinking?

  What was she doing?

  Closing her eyes, she dared to picture his face once more... that look in his eyes as he had so wickedly gazed at her breasts beneath her gown. If she imagined it, if she only dared... she could swear she felt the weight of his hand upon her breast, pressing her down into the bed.

  Daring to slide her hand down to the hem of her gown, she clutched it as though she would strangle temptation.

  Let yourself feel, for God’s sake, Sarah!

  She heard Mel’s words as though it were a challenge.

  His face materialized before her once more... so real she imagined reaching out and touching his cheek... his jaw... the feel of his skin beneath her touch...

  Dare she?

  Warmth enveloped her at the very thought, and her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she lifted up her gown to her belly.

  Oh, God... dare she?

  She swept her hand down to brush her dark curls, and the sensation left her wanting. Something deep within her ached to be touched. Something she could not deny. Something she didn’t want to deny.

  Strange as it seemed, she could smell him in this room, though he’d been here only a short time.

  Stranger yet was the notion that she should know his scent, but she did. She could swear that she did...

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Sarah slid her hands back down... and dared to feel.

  The last thing Sarah expected to see upon entering the nursery was Peter Holland seated on the floor with his son.

  Despite that he hadn’t spied her as yet, her face heated at the sight of him.