“I don’t have to listen to this!” she shouted up at him suddenly, her nerves near to shattering under his anger. She couldn’t bear it!
“You do,” he said softly, calmly, though with no less determination. “You do have to listen to this and you owe me and my son an explanation, Miss Hopkins?”
She tried to rise once more, yet he jerked her down easily with a shift of his hand to her breast. “Please!” Sarah beseeched him. “Can’t you see... I had to know!”
He continued to glare down at her.
“That is my cousin’s child, Peter! And I loved her more than anything,” she swore, trying to make him understand. “I loved her truly and I betrayed her once already... can’t you see?”
He said nothing, and Sarah begged him with her eyes to understand. “I needed to be certain,” she said again, trying not to cry. “I needed to know. Please...”
Still he said not a word, and Sarah had only once before felt such terrible shame... the day she’d learned of Mary’s death—that day she’d realized she’d forever betrayed the one person in her life, besides her uncle, who had ever mattered to her.
“Peter,” she pleaded.
He didn’t answer.
This had been her one chance to absolve herself and she’d failed—failed because in trying to redeem herself, she’d betrayed once again...
How could she possibly have grown to care so deeply what this man thought of her?
Why did she suddenly feel as though she wished she could crawl into some hole in the ground and never come out? Why did her heart suddenly feel empty and cold? Why did he have to look at her so sadly? Why couldn’t he simply be angry and ease her conscience?
Anger, she could deal with—she was angry with herself.
Why did she have to feel such an overwhelming urge to hold him?
Why did all of her reasons for all of her actions suddenly pale before the look of pain in his eyes?
Because she’d spied the love there when he’d watched his son, and heard the adoration in his voice as he spoke with him. Because somehow every gesture between the two had endeared them to her—father and son. Because her body didn’t seem to know that her heart was reluctant. Because he hadn’t held blindness against her, but had given her flowers in the park when he’d thought she couldn’t see them.
Because she remembered the sound of his voice, reassuring her as he’d carried her from the flames and then after...
Because she was a bloody fool.
Because if he told her he wasn’t guilty, she would believe him.
Because her heart cried out for his caresses.
Because... because...
She had for the first time in so long felt the warm embrace of a family, and she wanted it back—with him!
“Are you?” she dared to repeat. “Guilty?”
“No,” he answered, and Sarah released a breath she’d not realized she held. He turned away from her then, and Sarah reached up with a shuddering breath to touch her hand to his cheek.
The look in his eyes as he’d made love to her had made her feel more of a woman than anything had before in her life.
She smiled softly, though he couldn’t possibly see her, his gaze once more upon the window.
“I believe you,” she told him. “I want to believe you,” she confessed.
His gaze returned to her, and this time there was evidence of tears glistening in his eyes. “We both failed her, Sarah,” he said out of the blue.
Sarah blinked at his confession and nodded, her lip trembling softly.
He bent to kiss her suddenly, a soft peck on the lips, and Sarah drew her arms around his neck, daring to embrace him. She pressed her quivering mouth to his, offering her tongue. He cried out a low, keening, tortured sound and took her offering into his mouth, kissing her back with a passion she had thought already spent.
“Sarah,” he whispered against her mouth, and deepened the kiss. She could taste the tears that coursed from his eyes onto her face.
Or were they her own?
She didn’t know anymore... didn’t care.
She didn’t have to ask him. He knew what she needed. He made love to her once more, this time with all the slow sweetness their first mating had lacked, and Sarah dared to accept his comfort and his tenderness...
She dared to accept his caresses and his kisses...
Dared to return them, as well.
For the first time in her life, she opened her heart. Though she might regret it come the morning light, tonight she dared.
This instant it didn’t matter that he was her cousin’s husband—nor did it matter that she had condemned Mary for loving this man!
All that mattered at the moment was that he filled a place in her heart that had long been empty. Selfish or not... Sarah was going to greedily take every piece of his heart he was willing to give.
Mary’s lesson in death had been clear; life was entirely too short.
Chapter 24
It wasn’t until the wee hours that either of them stirred.
Lying on the library floor, cuddled with Peter in a tangle of clothing and limbs, Sarah awoke to a brightening sky. Through the window lace, the glow of morning crept in like a lover returning for the night, swiftly but quietly bestowing his embrace.
In the gentle light of morning, the arms around her seemed less a dream. She waited for a sense of regret to assault her, but it never came. His arm about her waist merely left her content in a way that she had never known possible. He snuggled sleepily at her back, drawing her nearer to him, and she could only smile at that simple gesture he had done so often throughout the night. It was as though he couldn’t seem to draw her near enough, and it left Sarah feeling connected in a way she had yearned for so desperately.
It left her smiling.
He nuzzled his face into her hair and Sarah sighed contentedly, refusing to think of the consequences of last night’s actions. Save one... as she remembered where they lay...
She peered up and over his shoulder at the door. It was open. Blast, they had not even given a single thought to who might walk in on them.
“Peter,” Sarah whispered, stiffening in his arms.
He mumbled sleepily at her ear.
Sarah elbowed him. “Peter!” she said, and tried to wiggle free of his embrace.
That alone managed to wake him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, allowing her to sit upright. She snatched up her bodice and replaced it as best she could, covering herself. The back of it gaped open, her buttons scattered about the room.
Well, it couldn’t be helped, she told herself, though her face heated.
He looked so like a little boy in the morning light, she thought, with his rumpled hair and sleepy eyes. She loathed to think what she must look like to him. He was staring up at her, his lips turned slightly at the corners, as though he knew her thoughts.
“We should dress,” Sarah said in a frantic whisper.
He grinned up at her, a lazy grin that was no less mesmerizing for its lack of intent. “Says who?”
Sarah narrowed her gaze at him and resisted the urge to smack his arm. “Says me! What if someone should find us here?”
He shrugged. “Then we tell them the truth...”
Sarah lifted a brow.
His grin widened. “We tell them you lost your way and that I, being a good host, was helping you find it.”
Sarah frowned at him as she gathered the remains of her clothing, and made to rise.
He was up on his feet too swiftly for her even to realize his intent, until he had swept her into his arms and was carrying her out into the hall.
She shrieked in alarm. “What are you doing? Put me down!”
His grin was infectious. “Make me,” he said, sounding so like a little boy that Sarah laughed despite her mortification.
He carried her all the way to his room, opening the door, and then straight to the bed.
“Not here!” Sarah squealed as he went to place her down upon the
bed.
He stopped abruptly and drew her back up, staring down at the bed. Sarah followed his gaze to the sweet little child who lay curled within his sheets.
“Damn,” he said in a whisper.
“He’s beautiful,” Sarah said, clinging to his father’s neck as she stared down at Christopher’s angelic face.
Peter was frowning. “He must have had a nightmare,” he whispered back, and Sarah could hear the concern in his tone. “He has them on occasion. He claims the boogeyman comes into his room at night.”
He turned from the bed suddenly and carried her into the adjoining room, shoving the door closed behind him. He leaned back on it, with Sarah still in his arms.
“Poor child,” Sarah said with a sigh. She couldn’t help the image that accosted her suddenly of herself and Peter asleep in bed... and little Christopher climbing in beside them. Wouldn’t she love to put her arms around him and draw him into their embrace...
The image left her longing for something she hadn’t ever dared to...
“Sarah,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “Please don’t regret last night. Tell me that you don’t.”
Her heart might not, but her conscience did. She couldn’t help it. What would Mary say?
“I’m certain you’re exhausted,” he said suddenly, seeming to understand her hesitation. He pushed away from the door and carried her to the bed, his expression troubled.
He froze midway across the room.
“Sarah?” he whispered, his brows drawing together.
Sarah remembered at once—Mellie! Oh, God, what was she going to say to her? How would she explain? Her face flushed with heat. “Put me down!”
He did, and Sarah took a deep breath and turned to push him out the door.
He didn’t budge.
“It’s best I tell her,” Sarah said with growing panic, urging him to go. He seized her by the arm, holding her still. Something about the way he gripped her drew her gaze to his face. He was staring at the bed. Sarah tried to look, but he didn’t let her.
Panic struck her.
She jerked away from him and turned to the bed. The sight that greeted her stole the blood from her face, and the words from her lips.
She blinked once, then twice, then passed out.
Peter had only left Sarah’s side long enough to speak with the police. He’d hoped they wouldn’t wish to disturb her. She’d suffered enough with her loss. Not surprisingly, she’d been perfectly stoic, only clinging to him while they’d come to remove the body, and he’d held her, feeling both helpless and responsible at once. Her grip on his arm had been the single clue to her state of distress, because to look upon her, one would have thought her perfectly composed.
She’d walked away the instant the body had been removed, closed his door, and burst into tears, and this time, when Peter heard her sobs, he hadn’t walked away from that damned door. He’d pushed it open and gone to her. He’d held her and comforted her.
It hadn’t been enough.
She’d wept on his shoulder until he was certain she hadn’t any tears left at all, and still she’d sobbed. Ruth had sedated her, and she had been asleep ever since.
He was beginning to wonder if she’d ever wake up.
Damn these cops.
They were not going to leave until they spoke with her—as though they thought he might find a way to rid himself of her as well. God damn them to hell. Even after all this time, they were too willing to see him hang. It was as though they’d thought to set him as an example all those years ago, and when that had failed, they’d held their grudges and bided their time. The looks they gave him now told him clearly that they would like to see him nailed for this.
They might just get their wish, because Sarah was his only alibi and he didn’t wish to ruin her reputation.
He sat on the bed beside her, wishing he could somehow lift her up into his arms, along with his son, and just leave...
But would she go with him?
He doubted she would.
And why should she?
He wanted to protect her. Something had snapped inside him when she’d fallen into his arms after seeing her friend lying so still upon the bed, her eyes open in death.
The image would haunt him for some time, he thought.
His conscience would prick him until the day he died.
How the hell could he have allowed two women to die in his home?
His wife... and he shuddered to think the second might have been Sarah.
Poor Mel.
He stared down at Sarah as she slept, reluctant to wake her, though he knew he must. The detective sergeant was still waiting.
God, but she was beautiful in slumber...
He’d made her sleep in his own bed—he hardly expected her to rest in the other after what had transpired there.
The last thing he wished to do was wake her... she slept so peacefully... like an angel, and he thought he could watch her this way forever.
Looking down at her now... he understood what it was about her that had seemed so familiar. She was like Mary in so many ways, though there wasn’t the least family resemblance between them—except in the shape of their eyes. In temperament and wit, however—all of those things he had loved in his wife—she was much the same. And yet... the one way they were very different was that Peter could never see Mary perpetrating such a scheme as this for any reason whatsoever. Sarah had one thing his wife had not—pluck—and he chuckled inwardly at that observation.
Nor could he see Sarah hiding her feelings... couldn’t see her moving her bed into the nursery... couldn’t see her dwelling on her suspicions, rather than facing them. No, Sarah would march into his bloody office, box his ears, and ask him what the hell he was doing.
That was what he had needed all those years ago, when he’d buried himself so completely in his work that he’d neglected everything and everyone around him. He had needed someone to come in and tell him so—to assure him that even if his business failed, he would not fail them—that it didn’t matter how much money he made, or where they lived, or who their friends were.
Instead, Mary had crawled away to her little sanctuary, and Peter had let her. He hadn’t understood her turmoil at the time. And yet, staring down at the woman lying within his bed, it occurred to him for the first time ever...that perhaps he’d had reason to feel his own anger as well. No, it had not been the right thing to do... to let Mary slip away. And yet he was human, too, and he’d needed her to come to him as well.
And she never had.
He’d needed her to understand the incredible sense of responsibility he’d borne and had needed her to reassure him. He hadn’t been fighting so bloody hard for the money. He’d struggled so hard to give his young wife the one thing that had always seemed out of his reach—a respectable name.
Mary had come from a wealthy and respectable family, and now that he thought about it, perhaps that in itself was part of the reason he had married her. He’d wanted the respect of his peers, something he had never received, though in all aspects he was their equal. His own father had worked himself into an early grave trying to gain it.
Instead, Peter had felt as though he’d dragged Mary down to his level.
Every time he’d looked at his wife, he’d thought about how lonely she must be. Her friends had drawn away. Invitations had dwindled to a minimum. And what had he gone and done? He’d drawn away from her as well, in guilt and in shame.
Damn it all to hell!
They’d been so bloody young.
They had hardly had a chance.
And yet...here in his bed was another...
Sarah was all the good things that Mary had been—but Sarah was more.
In the short time he had known her—God, but it was true—he was growing to love her. Sarah had somehow found a way into his closed heart. He’d watched her with his son, and his heart had swelled with undeniable emotion. She dealt with Christopher with genuine love—yes, love, he realized, now th
at he knew who she was. And now he understood her concern and her sincerity toward Christopher from the very first day.
God, and he’d watched her stand up to him and had admired the hell out of her even as she’d infuriated him. He shook his head. Even when she’d smacked him with her cane, he had chuckled to himself.
Crazy, but he smiled now just thinking of her in a fit of temper.
Damn, he wanted her.
But not just in his bed.
He wanted her for his wife.
“Sarah,” he whispered, reaching out and placing a hand at her shoulder to wake her. “Sarah...”
She opened her eyes sleepily, still very sedated, and then closed them again. He had to wonder in that moment how much laudanum Ruth had given him to administer in her tea. He hoped Ruth knew her doses, but was certain she must, because she used the opium-laced serum for every ailment, it seemed. Peter suspected it was addictive, but what the hell did he know? It seemed to him that Ruth walked about in an endless anesthetic state. And God only knew, she didn’t need the damned laudanum to draw her into that distant world of hers. The only time he knew his sister’s thoughts, it seemed, was when she was railing at him.
“Sarah,” he said, and shook her gently.
She tossed her head, as though trying to regain consciousness, and finally opened her eyes to stare up into his face. She said nothing, and Peter frowned at the dazed look in her eyes.
“The police are here,” he warned her. “They’ve asked to speak with you.”
Her lips parted to speak, but she couldn’t seem to manage. She lapped at her lips with her pink tongue... and the sight of it filled his loins with instant heat, despite the gravity of their situation.
Damn, what the blazes did she do to him? “Police?” she asked, almost drunkenly, and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. She looked so like a little girl that he had the urge to bend forward and kiss her on the nose.
She filled him with such a myriad of emotions. He reached out to touch her brow, his heart hammering at the flush of her skin beneath his fingertips. “They wish to speak... with me?’ ‘
“Yes,” he told her. “Shall I allow them in? Or can you manage to go to them?”
Three Redeemable Rogues Page 70
