Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Something was amiss...

  She began by searching the shelves closest to the door. She searched the titles on the lowest shelf, trying to determine some sort of order for her search. There were so many titles that it seemed an impossible task for one single night, let alone for one person. The first title she made out was The History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the Spanish Armada, by J. A. Froude. Another title read, Studies in the History of the Renaissance, by Oxford classicist Walter Pater.

  Her gaze traveled upward, searching for some clue as to the order of his library. A shining brass plaque, when she read closer, said Nonfiction: Histories.

  Sarah decided to skip the section entirely, moving on to the next section, knowing that Mary had had very little interest in histories. Her cousin’s interests had lain in the mystic’s interpretations of life, in theology and in fictional classics.

  She scanned the shelves, examining them through Mary’s eyes...

  Peter Holland’s library was extensive, she realized. Her eyes caught titles of all sorts... from Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd to Mark Twain’s A Tramp Abroad and Bernard de Fontenelle’s De I’Origine des Fables. His collection of contemporary works was commendable.

  She reached to pull out the spine of The Origin of Myths, and froze at the sound of footsteps. Close, but too faint to be of any—

  “Late night reader?”

  Sarah started at the sound of Peter’s voice behind her, throwing her hands up in fright. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  She hadn’t realized he was so near! She cursed him for his lithe footfalls. She didn’t know what to do, or how to reply. She was caught and what could she say?

  “I seem to have lost my way,” she said lamely. Her voice trembled nearly as badly as her hands.

  “I see that,” he answered rather sarcastically.

  “I called for Mel... earlier,” she improvised. “She never came. I... I thought perhaps I might find her... myself.”

  His tone was dubious. “In my library?”

  “I-I wandered in... by mistake,” she persisted, and turned to face him.

  “And you stayed because...”

  “I... I... was trying to find my way back out,” she replied and cursed herself for sounding not only like a liar but an incompetent fool.

  “I see,” he replied. “So you were groping for the door just now, I presume?” He was looking straight at her, and even through the shadows she knew his gaze was focused on her eyes. She wasn’t wearing her spectacles.

  She swallowed convulsively as he took a step toward her.

  His magnificent shoulders were bare, and Sarah could scarcely keep her eyes from wandering over them. His face was cast deep in shadow, but moonlight glazed his shoulders bronze.

  God, but he was a beautiful specimen of man...

  And as terrible a liar as she was, she was in trouble!

  What could she say to him now?

  What excuse could she possibly give him for snooping in his library?

  “Good thing I came along... wouldn’t you say?” His tone was silky smooth, unnerving her all the more for its deliberate calm.

  “Y-yes,” Sarah agreed. “I-I was q-quite lost.”

  “Well, then... I would be most pleased to show you the way,” he told her, and took another step toward her.

  Sarah swallowed once more.

  He knew, she realized as he neared.

  He knew.

  “Th-That would be wonderful... I-I can’t seem to gain my bearings.”

  “The bloody hell you can’t,” he snapped suddenly. “It rather seems to me you find your way about quite well... for a blind woman.”

  “I...” She didn’t know what to say. “I do the best I am able.”

  “Do you now?” he taunted her, and his gaze raked her even through the shadows. He stood before her, and Sarah’s heart began to cartwheel within her breast. She backed against the bookcase, stopping only when she could not retreat any farther.

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “Yes, I do.”

  His face was entirely too close to hers now, his eyes too knowing, his mouth too near. Despite that her heart was beating madly and that she was frightened of the repercussions, she couldn’t seem to stop staring at his lips...

  “Who are you, Sarah Hopkins?” he whispered softly.

  The scent of him filled her lungs, dizzied her.

  He moved closer.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she answered fearfully.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, “very, very patiently for you to come and tell me what it is you are after...”

  Sarah couldn’t respond.

  Her throat constricted and her chest suddenly felt too tight to breathe.

  God, He knew!

  But what precisely did he know?

  She thought she might faint in fear. The expression on his face grew more ruthless as he stared at her, and her legs began to tremble. She hated herself for that weakness.

  “Who are you?” he repeated. “Why are you here?”

  Sarah sucked in a breath.

  In panic she tried to push past him, refusing to answer his questions.

  He seized her by the arm, dragging her back, forcing her once more against the bookcase. She smacked her head against a shelf and her knees buckled under her.

  “Look into my eyes,” he commanded her.

  Sarah turned away, unable to bear his scrutiny, unable to face him. At her sides, her hands clenched and unclenched nervously.

  He placed his hand behind her head and forced her to face him. “Sarah?”

  Sarah couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  She just couldn’t say it!

  Suddenly she felt so ashamed of the lies—and afraid! Afraid of the truth.

  He had let her into his home, trusted her, and she couldn’t even find regret for her deceptions.

  Someone was responsible for Mary’s death, but somehow she knew in her heart in that instant that it wasn’t him.

  Peter was innocent.

  She could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of the truth or even angry, only determined to know.

  And suddenly she was the villain here... suddenly she was the liar and the thief!

  Suddenly she didn’t know anything at all.

  She wanted to run, to take Christopher away and shield him from harm.

  But that wasn’t all she wanted.

  God help her, but there was something else she wanted more.

  Chapter 22

  She was like a frightened animal, caught in the hunter’s snare.

  Terrified.

  Frozen.

  Peter could see it in her face.

  Tears welled in her eyes and glistened by the light of the moon, reflecting the light like tiny diamonds. They were expressive eyes, eyes that revealed things her lips never would have spoken. Had he chanced to peer into them even once, he never would have believed her scheme.

  Christ, but she was a beautiful little liar.

  What the devil did she want?

  “Who are you?” he demanded once more, moving closer... needing the scent of her. He couldn’t help himself. The scent of her skin was more intoxicating than any drink had ever been. “Sarah,” he whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The first taste of her lips sent his pulse skittering.

  God, but her mouth was soft... so soft... and beautiful... and sweet...

  She didn’t fight him and the blood surged through his veins. His heart hammered.

  “Sarah,” he whispered once more, and she trembled beneath him. She turned her face from his kiss and her body shuddered.

  In fright?

  He didn’t give a bloody damn.

  He pressed his body harder against her.

  Somehow he didn’t give a damn about anything at all at the moment... only the sweet taste of her mouth, and the heady perfume of her female skin.

  He breathed i
n deeply, burying his face against the curve of her throat, filling his lungs with the alluring scent of her.

  He lifted his gaze to look into her eyes, a man drowning in his own passions.

  He was drowning and he didn’t care.

  Beautiful blue, even by the light of the moon.

  Christ, but a man could lose his soul in those eyes...

  Sarah’s heart thundered with fear... and something more ... something she didn’t dare acknowledge.

  He shifted, pressing himself against her, and she nearly went black with the sensation of his body so hard against hers.

  It was as though he were melting into her, his body seeking to fill every curve.

  “Look at me, Sarah!” he whispered fiercely, tilting his hips against her. Sarah’s breath caught at the suggestion of his body. Her own body responded with a flush of heat that dizzied her.

  She looked up at the ceiling, unable to meet his gaze. “I can’t!” she cried softly, desperately. “I can’t!”

  “Goddamn you,” he hissed, and slid his hand up the back of her head, forcing her to acknowledge him once and for all. His lips came down hard upon hers, insistent and feverish.

  “Dear God,” she whimpered into his mouth, and melted into his embrace. Her hands went about his neck, clinging to him, even as she loathed herself for her reaction to him.

  “Sarah,” he murmured, lifting his mouth from hers, and the single word was like a sigh.

  He tilted his head to lock his mouth over hers once more, and she moaned softly in the back of her throat.

  Nothing in her life had ever felt so heady as this.

  Nothing she’d ever known had ever made her body quiver so deliciously.

  His hand slid down her back. Sarah held her breath. Some part of her knew she should stop him... now... before it was too late... but she couldn’t speak to say so, didn’t dare utter a sound. Her body was no longer her own to command. Desire flooded her. His hand slid to cup her bottom and Sarah went weak in her knees. Something convulsed deep within her, an answer to his body’s silent question... a question her body instinctively understood and answered without any will of her own.

  God forgive her, but she wanted this—wanted her cousin’s husband with a passion she had never known.

  He shifted his weight into her, setting a knee between her thighs and prying her legs slightly apart, and her body convulsed once more. At the same time, he cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face. He kissed her lips, plundering the depths of her mouth with a sweet ferocity that took the air from her lungs and left her breathless.

  “I want you,” he whispered, cocking his hips fully against her. “I want you, Sarah...”

  His fevered declaration left her completely defenseless.

  Somehow her body understood what he’d meant with those heated words and the simple tilt of his hips, and she reacted with shameless abandon. Heat flowed through her, spilling into her most private places like a river of warmth. The tips of her breasts cried out for the pressure of his touch.

  In that instant it didn’t matter that he was her cousin’s husband.

  It didn’t matter that he might be her murderer as well.

  It just didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  God forgive her, but all that seemed to matter was the way he was making her feel.

  His hand squeezed her flesh just a little too hard, and Sarah sensed the hunger in the desperate gesture...

  Heaven help her... she wanted this too...

  Christ.

  Peter couldn’t think any longer. He tangled a hand in her hair, reveling in the feel of it sliding through his fingers... like the softest silk.

  The sensation melted his brain.

  It had been much too long since he’d felt this way... much too long...

  It didn’t matter who she was.

  His body didn’t give a damn.

  He wanted to bury himself inside her... wanted to drag her down to the floor and feel her wrap her legs about his waist. He wanted to... God help him, but he wanted to take her with all his lustful energy. No gentle intimacy as between longtime lovers. No meaningless tumble. He wanted to give her everything his body had to offer—everything, and not gently.

  His hand slid along her back and under the seam between her buttons. His fingers reveled in the feel of warm flesh, craving more. With one swift motion, he popped the buttons from her dress, scattering them over the shelves and floor. The sound of them spraying over the hard wood quickened the beat of his heart. She cried out softly, but didn’t protest, and the blood in his veins melted into his groin, setting him on fire.

  Had she ever known a man?

  Mel had said she’d had a fiancé—was that a lie as well? He hoped.

  Her body’s response was passionate and instinctive, and he was afraid to ask. If she had given herself to him... The notion somehow turned his gut. If she hadn’t... would he feel compelled to stop?

  He bent to kiss her once more, sliding his tongue across the seam of her lips... delicious... sweet... warm... everything he had imagined they would be and more. He craved the taste of her unlike anything he’d ever craved before.

  No whiskey, or port, or wine, had ever held such allure.

  If she didn’t deny him... if she didn’t protest... now... this moment... while he had a thread of sanity left in his fevered brain... he was going to strip her bare and lay her right here on his library floor.

  His body quickened at the thought.

  “I want to see you,” he told her, his voice shuddering with desire, and it was the only chance he intended to give her. It wasn’t much of a chance to stop him, but he was hardly a saint and he wasn’t in the bloody mood to earn points for Saint Peter.

  To hell with honorable intentions.

  To hell with the consequences.

  To hell with anything and everything that stood in his way.

  He tilted his hips once more, pressing her back into the shelves, and she clung to him.

  He looked into her eyes, and they were as lust- filled as his own. Her arms tightened about his neck.

  Peter didn’t need further encouragement.

  Greedily covering her mouth with his own, he thrust his tongue within, tasting the intoxicating warmth of her mouth. His tongue slid deeper, melding with hers, and his heart leapt with satisfaction as her sweet tongue began to spar with his own.

  Christ, he wanted this.

  His hands slid to her shoulders as he kissed her, and he couldn’t help himself. He gripped her shoulders, pressing her back against the bookshelves, cocking his hips without mercy and lifting it against the heat of her.

  No gentleman’s courtship was this, he wanted her to feel him.

  He wanted her to know... wanted her to feel all that he wished to give her.

  He wanted to possess her fully.

  Sarah gasped for breath as he rocked against her, revealing the depths of his hunger in the hard lines of his body. Her brain went fuzzy and her mouth entirely too dry, and she couldn’t even have protested had she tried.

  But she didn’t wish to.

  She wanted this.

  Her body cried out for all that he would give her and more.

  Instinctively her hands slid down his back, to his buttocks, her breath coming in tiny pants as she dared to take that firm flesh into her hands. As in a dream, she tilted her head for his kiss, reveling in the heat of his lips upon her mouth.

  He ended the kiss with a wicked but gentle lick upon her lips, then kissed her chin... then her neck. When his mouth opened upon her flesh and his teeth bit softly into her throat, she cried out in pleasure and instinctively dug her fingers into his buttocks, drawing him to her.

  She didn’t care how she might appear.

  For the first time in her life, she only cared about what she was feeling.

  His arousal hardened fully against her, pulsing, seeking... and Sarah thought she would swoon at the sensations that spiraled through her.

/>   She couldn’t think anymore... didn’t wish to... only feel...

  He lifted his lips to her lobe and growled softly, a rich animal sound that sent her pulse racing and scattered the last of her thoughts. She trembled with pleasure as his hands slid to her back once more, seizing her dress and drawing it open.

  Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hands down her spine, popping the remaining buttons and peeling her dress to reveal her. He pushed the bodice to her waist and slid his hands down, taking her rear into them. Without warning, he lifted her up against him. Sarah cried out as his mouth covered her breast through the material of her corset. Her arms tightened around his neck, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

  Oh, God... God... what was she doing?

  Nothing had ever felt so right in all her life.

  Never had she craved anything more than she did the feel of his lips upon her bare breast. She willed him to undress her... willed him to continue... willed him never to stop.

  She didn’t care just now what the blasted consequences were.

  He dragged her down to the floor.

  Sarah followed him without protest, accepting his mouth as it covered hers once more and he pulled her beneath him.

  Never would she have believed that two lips could feel so perfect.

  He rose above her, kneeling, staring down into her eyes. Sarah stared back without fear. His face, lit with moonlight now, was beautiful, his lips glistening from their kisses, and his blue eyes glittering feverishly.

  Sarah thought he might be trying to compose himself.

  She didn’t want him to.

  “Don’t stop,” she urged him in a whisper, and slid her hand into her corset, unable to bear the ache at her breast.

  “I had no intention of stopping,” he promised her, his eyes piercing her through the shadows. “No bloody way!”

  He watched her. Smiling slightly, he bent forward to take the tip of one breast into his mouth, biting her gently through the soft material. Sarah cried out in sheer pleasure, casting her head back and whimpering softly under the sweet assault of his mouth.