Perfect in My Sight (13 page)

“
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 see
n 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 band 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 h
is 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 p
ress 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 m
anifest 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, 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.

He peered down at the outline of her limbs stretched long beneath the covers and reached
down impulsively, laying a hand atop her. 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 bearing 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.