“I should let you rest,” he said, and rose from his knees, releasing his hands at his sides.
He left her quickly.
Why had he thought she would agree to it?
With his past, what had he to offer any woman... except his heart... and his goddamned money... though why the hell should Sarah believe in him when he had failed Mary so miserably?
She didn’t need his money.
He had nothing to give.
Chapter 26
It was a beautiful day for a funeral.
The sun was shining through the budding trees—no shade because the oaks were not yet adorned in their verdant green coats, but Sarah was certain it would be a perfect place on a hot summer day to come and visit.
She listened to the drone of the pastor’s voice as he gave his graveside service, hardly absorbing a word he spoke. She was aware only of the hands upon her shoulders: strong hands, Peter’s hands. He stood behind her, as though bracing her... as though he thought she would crumple if he released her.
And she might.
She stared at the freshly laid soil, so rich and moist—dampened with a billion tears.
Mellie would have loved the flowers Peter had chosen for her grave site—a brilliant display of violet and white tulips that made her think of spring in all its splendor. How fitting that the collection
should remind her of a time of renewal, because she chose to believe that Mellie’s spirit had been reborn into a place where there would be no suffering and no unhappiness. No loneliness. It was in that place she thought of Mary too... and her uncle. And perhaps they were all together now, sending her love and goodwill.
That was the way Sarah chose to see it.
Mellie’s parents had passed away years before, and she hadn’t a man in her life, or children to grieve at her grave, but Sarah knew her presence would be greatly missed by all who had loved her so dearly. Melissa Frank had touched the lives of so many people. She had given of herself so freely and generously that she hadn’t had time for a life of her own. How many lives had she touched at the Institute alone?
Sarah would never forget her.
Everyone Sarah had ever loved had left her—through no fault of their own, but they had—her parents when she’d been just a child, and then her uncle and Mary, too.
Now Mellie.
It had never been easy for Sarah to open up to anyone. She’d closed up almost completely after her parents’ deaths. She remembered watching her uncle and cousin together from a safe distance, never feeling quite a part of their world. Her uncle had persisted with her for years, until at last he’d drawn her out. Sarah had been too young when her parents had died, and so she didn’t remember a bond with them at all, but she remembered vividly the day she had first felt part of a family...
Her age, she was unsure of, but she thought perhaps she might have been eleven. She had refused to sit for a family portrait, believing that her uncle had asked her to join them only out of the kindness of his heart. And so she had pretended illness every day until the portrait was finished, and then she had miraculously recovered. Her uncle had never forced her to sit with them—and instead asked her to watch from her safe little perch, telling her stories that had kept her in the room. Sarah had stayed, wishing the entire time that she were sitting at his side, along with Mary—and feeling a little betrayed that he had given up so easily when she had weaseled out of the sittings.
And then had come the day he’d unveiled the finished portrait. To Sarah’s shock and her joy, there she had been, sitting beside him through the magic of the artist’s brush.
Seeing them together had made a difference, somehow—though she realized much later that it had been evident all the time. His love for both his girls had been in his every gesture, and Mary had never begrudged her a single smile or hug from her dear father.
They had been her family.
How could she simply come forward now and steal what was rightfully Mary’s?
It didn’t matter.
Even if she could do such a thing... Peter had only asked her to marry him in order to salvage her reputation. Why should they both suffer when she had made that decision as clearly as he? She could have saved herself.
But she hadn’t.
So why should he marry her now when he didn’t love her?
The last thing Sarah wished was to end like Mary, bitter and alone despite her vows.
No, she had made the right decision.
Her gaze scanned the cemetery. Only a fistful of people here, most she didn’t know—friends of Mel’s from the Institute. When they glanced her way, Sarah felt a stab of guilt, as though somehow it was her fault that Mel was no longer with them. So she couldn’t face them. She avoided their gazes, scanning the street ahead of her.
Reporters.
Peter had guarded her from them when they’d first arrived, and they’d remained at a distance, heeding his warning glances in their direction. Sarah knew, however, that they did so only out of respect for the service being held. As soon as it was over and they attempted to leave, she was certain they would hound them once more.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Peter literally had to shield her from their assault of questions as they departed—never mind that many of their inquiries were directed at him. He ignored them all and held her by both shoulders, guiding her out from the cemetery and into his waiting calash.
Once they were inside the carriage, he sat beside her, but turned to peer outside.
Sarah didn’t know what to say to break the silence between them.
It was an uneasy silence that left her feeling empty and lonely in a way she had never known before.
She had insulated herself so well against everyone, except for a few ... and now they were gone, and the one person she could turn to was the one person she had no right to.
He was Mary’s husband.
He was Christopher’s father.
And she had begrudged Mary both.
“I didn’t realize you were searching for her journals,” he said abruptly.
Sarah peered up into his face, swallowing her grief.
His blue eyes lacked any luster this morning; they reminded her of a dreary, foggy morning, one that promised eternal rain.
“Yes,” she replied, and averted her gaze. “I had hoped they would reveal something of Mary’s death.” There was no point in lying any longer, or in keeping the truth from him.
He might as well know it all.
“I never cared to read it.”
She turned again to look at him, and there was a new glitter in his eyes.
Tears?
“Why not?”
“I suppose I was afraid of what I might learn,” he answered honestly.
Sarah hoped he would continue, but wasn’t certain what to say to make him do so. He had said last night that he had failed Mary. Her gut told her that his statement harbored a wealth of information, but she didn’t dare pry. It was one thing to hear it in Mary’s words, but another entirely to hear it from his own two lips. After all she had put him through, she didn’t dare pry.
“I promised her so much that I never delivered, Sarah,” he said, and peered down at the floor of the carriage. He slumped down into the seat, cupping his chin in his hand.
Sarah wanted to reach out and take that hand into her own, to hold it in her lap while he spoke. She didn’t dare, however. She clasped her own hands together, instead, and closed her eyes to listen, hoping he would continue.
“The truth is, I didn’t kill my wife. I swear to God, Sarah.”
“I believe you,” Sarah assured him at once.
“I didn’t kill her, but I took away her spirit and her joy. So in a sense, I might as well have.”
Sarah watched him, listening, her heart thumping mercilessly. His sincerity and heartfelt emotion were in his every word, and she wanted to reach out and take him into her arms.
“I’m just as guilty as that bastard with the bloody kn
ife,” he added, and turned to look into her eyes.
“We both failed her, Peter,” Sarah murmured, and she did reach up to take his hand from his face. “She was like my sister, and I turned her away when she most needed me.”
Their gazes held.
He squeezed her fingers just a little, and with it, the breath from her lungs.
His gaze fell to their clasped hands.
Sarah followed it, blinking at the sight of them together—his so much bigger and so much darker, hers smaller and pale.
She was aware that his hands shook... hers as well... but she didn’t care.
She closed her eyes and put her heart in that gentle embrace. And suddenly every sensation in her body was centered in their joined hands.
Together they lifted their hands between them, entwining their fingers, feeling every nuance of every breath and every heartbeat in that gentle touch.
She opened her eyes to find that his were closed, and she swallowed convulsively at the raw emotion that registered on his face.
She turned away and jerked her hand free, her heart hammering fiercely.
She couldn’t let herself feel this... couldn’t let herself take the one thing she had denied Mary.
How just would that be?
Not at all, she decided, and turned to stare at the floor of the carriage.
What she needed, now more than ever... was to find out who was responsible for Mary’s and Mellie’s deaths. Because she knew in her heart the two were connected, and she needed to know Mary’s son would be safe.
She needed those things more than anything, and she needed to go home...
Before she lost her heart and soul to a man she hadn’t a right to.
Ruth’s face was florid with anger. “She’s a liar, Peter!”
“Yes, she lied, but not with malicious intent,” he said, defending Sarah. “She was merely seeking the truth.”
“And what else?” Ruth returned caustically. “She’s here looking for something, I’ll warrant.”
Peter held his tongue. It was Sarah’s place to say, he thought. Nor did it make him feel particularly good to say she had been searching for evidence against him. And yet he understood why she had done all that she’d done, and he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t say that he would have handled the situation the same. It was his way to confront issues directly, and he might have come marching into the house demanding answers, rather than disguise himself as a blind teacher. And yet Sarah’s motives had been honorable enough. She had been looking out for his son’s best interest, even if not his.
“Why are you defending her?” Ruth accused him, narrowing her eyes in condemnation. “She doesn’t deserve a defense!”
Peter’s jaw tautened.
“You love her, don’t you?”
He gave Ruth a pointed look. “If I love her, Ruth, it is no crime.”
Ruth threw up her hands in defeat. “You never learn your lessons, do you?” she said to him, and turned away. She stood there an instant, facing the door, and Peter refused to defend himself for loving Sarah. She swung about to face him. “And Mary’s cousin, no less! How can you?”
Peter responded to her questions with silence. There was no reasoning with Ruth when she became so irate and irrational. He would simply let her vent, and then if she wanted explanations later, and asked him reasonably, he would answer her as well as he was able.
“I tried to tell you she was trouble, Peter,” Ruth reminded him bitterly, “and mark my words when I tell you this is not over. I have a terrible premonition about that woman. Send her away,” Ruth begged. “Send her away now before it’s too late!”
“Ruth,” Peter began, and tilted her a concerned look. She was acting strangely, he thought, almost desperately. And why she should be so frightened of Sarah, he had no inkling. He wouldn’t send Sarah away. “No,” he told her firmly. “Sarah is welcome in this home as long as she wishes to stay, and you will help me to make her feel so,” he demanded of her.
“No!” Ruth shouted. “For Christopher’s sake, I will not!”
“For Christopher’s sake?” She wasn’t making sense. He wondered if the laudanum she took so often had clouded her thoughts. “Sarah would never harm Christopher,” he assured her. “Everything she has done, she has done for my son.”
Ruth shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand. Her very presence here endangers him.”
“Sarah would never harm him,” Peter maintained.
“No, but someone else may!” she shouted at him. “Don’t you think it rather coincidental that Mary is murdered, and then nothing for six years—all is quiet until Sarah arrives? And now Mel Frank is dead, and who is next?” she reasoned with him. “Send her away, Peter,” she begged.
Peter shook his head, denying her request. Something was definitely not right, but he refused to believe Sarah responsible. And the last thing he was going to do was send her away when it was possible she was in danger.
“No,” he said.
“Confound it!” Ruth cursed him, slamming her hands down upon his desk. “You are going to regret this, Peter! We are all going to regret this!” she swore, and pivoted on her heels, sobbing.
“Ruth,” he said, surging up from his chair, trying to reason with her, but she bolted out the door. “Ruth!” he shouted, wanting to reassure her, but she didn’t stop and he let her go.
He wanted to assure her that he would not fail them again, but he couldn’t blame her for being afraid. His gaze fell to the glass of port sitting before him on the desk and he lifted it up and hurled it against the wall, contents and all, shattering glass and spraying sweet liquor with such force that a droplet landed on his lip. He didn’t lick it off, but swiped it away angrily.
Damn, but he would not fail them again.
Chapter 27
Sarah had been sitting, staring blankly for the past half hour, trying to find an outlet for her anger, rather than allowing herself to feel the weight of defeat.
Two days after the funeral, they had received another visit from the police department, bearing news that they had closed the investigation into Mel’s murder without bothering to try to find her murderer.
How could they possibly do such a thing?
Did it suddenly no longer matter who the murderer was now that Peter had an alibi?
Was it only a valid investigation if the defendant was someone of Peter’s means?
Did Mellie’s life simply not matter because her family name was not Belmont or Vanderbilt?
They had concluded that Mel was the victim of a break-in... just as they had with Mary... because the bloody window had been left unlocked and open for anyone to come in. Sarah wanted to know what thief came in and suffocated a woman, and then turned again to go, leaving everything of value still in its place!
What bloody sense was there in that?
How could they leave it at that so easily?
The injustice of it all staggered and angered her beyond words.
Peter was watching her, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I know she was dear to you.”
Sarah nodded.
It was difficult to look him in the eyes just now, knowing she must go.
There wasn’t anything left for her to do here. Peter was innocent, she had no doubt. He was aware of any danger to Christopher now, and he would guard his son well, she had no doubt.
It was the most difficult decision she had ever made.
Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she stared down at the bed.
“I’m leaving, Peter.”
“Leaving!”
“Yes,” Sarah said, and her eyes stung. “I think, perhaps, I should go...”
Why did it hurt so badly even to think of leaving?
Why did she suddenly wish she’d never met him at all?
Why did it feel like her life was over?
It was certainly not!
What was wrong with her?
“Sarah,” he said, and s
tepped forward, then froze. “Don’t go ...”
Sarah swallowed and looked up into his eyes. And in that instant it was like peering into a looking glass, so familiar were the emotions evident there.
Their gazes held, locked.
He couldn’t let her go.
He’d be damned if he’d simply stand here and watch her walk out of his life.
His gut wrenched at the mere possibility of losing her.
Never in his life had he needed someone more—needed! And that realization scared the holy hell out of him. Not even facing his inquisition years before had terrified him more. In the short time he had known her, Sarah had become a vital part of his home and more... his heart.
He’d be damned if he’d just let her go without a bloody fight.
He wasn’t certain what came over him in that instant, but he shrugged out of his coat, all the while staring at her. He wanted her to know how much he loved her—how much he needed her. He unbuttoned his collar, then the rest of his shirt, and pulled it off with purpose. He threw it on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it appear?”
“It appears to me you have gone wholly mad!”
Probably.
But he didn’t give a bloody damn.
“Peter!” she shrieked as he moved toward her. She sprang up from the bed.
“Mary is dead,” he told her cruelly, “and I am not.” He damned well wasn’t going to allow her to use that as a barrier between them.
“Peter!” she cried out as he closed the distance between them.
She turned to scramble over the bed.
He caught her and took her into his arms. “And neither are you,” he told her, catching her at the back of the neck and cradling her face in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
“We mustn’t!”
“Why? Tell me why we mustn’t. And it damned well better be for better reason than because of Mary, because Mary is dead!”
She stood silently, staring up at him, her eyes filling with tears.
Christ, he wanted to kiss them away, wanted to make love to her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole damned life.
Three Redeemable Rogues Page 72
