Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  But you made her miserable, Sarah wanted to remind him. And everyone knew it. Her eyes filled with tears she could not afford to shed. Not for the first time since arriving in his house, she was grateful for the spectacles to shield her grief. “But you couldn’t?”

  “No,” he answered. “I tried, though perhaps not hard enough. Mary deserved more.”

  His candidness confused her. She didn’t know what to make of it. Why should he lie about his feelings for his dead wife at this late hour?

  “She was an excellent mother,” he added, and smiled a little wistfully. His gaze focused upon her once more.

  Sarah knew it was true. She was a wonderful mother. Evidence of that fact was everywhere... from the charred little blanket she had begun to embroider for him... to the words she had spilled upon the pages of her journal—words that the public had been witness to, thanks to the press. She wanted to ask so many questions, but didn’t dare. “Perhaps... She forced her gaze to remain on the intricate design of the blue wallpaper. “Perhaps I should be off to bed as well,” she suggested. “It has been a very, very long day.”

  “It has, at that,” he agreed, watching her. She could feel him.

  Silence once more.

  “I don’t suppose you have any inkling who might have wished you harm today?” he asked her. “That carriage intended you damage, Sarah.”

  He needn’t have reminded her. “I said I did not, and I do not.”

  “You are a very fortunate woman,” he told her. “That driver might have killed you.”

  “Yes, well, I’m quite grateful he did not,” she said, and started to rise.

  “Me too.”

  Sarah blinked, and shivered at his words. She. froze upon her knees. Blast, but how could such a simple statement like that affect her so? Her skin prickled. “I think I should retire for the night,” she suggested once more, and began again to rise, before he could manage to unsettle her again.

  “What are you afraid of, Sarah?” he asked her.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, gaining her feet. She stood there, daring to face him, watching the casual way in which he reclined within his chair. He was slumped within it... his legs splayed out before him, slightly parted. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned into his hand, studying her.

  “I don’t bite.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he replied.

  “Well, I do,” Sarah snapped. This was not going very well, and she felt the need to leave at once. He was playing some game with her, she realized suddenly.

  He stood abruptly, and Sarah turned to go before he could stop her.

  He was faster than she was. He caught her and turned her about.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she asked him, infuriated that he would dare to touch her. But she didn’t chance looking him straight in the face.

  “What’s the matter?” he taunted her. “Afraid of a little touch?”

  Sarah gasped as he reached out and removed her spectacles from her face. Instinctively she reached out to take them back, but once again he was too quick and Sarah swallowed as she forced her hands to her sides and closed her eyes.

  “You have the most beautiful face,” he told her, whispering. “Beautiful blue eyes...”

  Sarah’s heart tripped. “You take too much liberty, Mr. Holland,” She informed him. “I should like you to return my spectacles at once!”

  “Open your eyes for me, Sarah,” he urged her.

  She squeezed them tighter. “No! I will not. I am uncomfortable doing such a thing, and I would appreciate it very much if you would return my spectacles to me, Mr. Holland.”

  “I live with a blind son,” he reminded her. “It is nothing I have not seen before.”

  “I am not your son, I should remind you, and neither am I your wife to be ordered about!”

  “So you are not,” he agreed, and slid his hand beneath her chin, raising her face for his inspection.

  Sarah was at once too confused to respond. His thumb caressed her cheek, and she held her breath at the sensations that jolted through her.

  Dear God, what would she do if he bent to kiss her now?

  What would she say if he tried?

  Her hand came up at once to grasp at his arm. She dug her fingers into his sleeve, desperate to be away.

  “Good night, Miss Hopkins,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice.

  Sarah didn’t know whether to be relieved by his dismissal or dismayed.

  He wasn’t going to kiss her?

  She hadn’t truly wanted him to, had she?

  Lord, she was becoming so confused.

  She knit her brows. “G-g’night, Mr. Holland,” she stammered. He released her and she turned to go, dazed.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Sarah stopped but didn’t turn to him. “Forgetting something?”

  “Your spectacles,” he said, coming up behind her and reaching around her to press her spectacles into her hand.

  Sarah held her breath at the feel of him behind her. Her heartbeat quickened painfully.

  “Sweet dreams,” he whispered against her nape, his breath hot against her neck. Her knees went weak at the hand he placed on her shoulder.

  “And to you,” Sarah replied. Straightening, she inhaled a breath and walked quickly away before she could disgrace herself and melt at his feet.

  Chapter 20

  From the journals of Mary Holland:

  January 5, 1880

  I don’t know what to believe.

  Peter and I don’t even talk anymore—he spends all his time with Cile. And Cile can no longer even look at me. She comes into the house and runs back to Peter’s office to see him, hardly sparing me a word or a glance. Guilt? Anger? Does she loathe me? I cannot even tell what sentiments she harbors toward me, but it seems to me that the two of them would love nothing more than to have me out of the way. I want to confront her, but am afraid to. What if she should tell Peter?

  What if they are innocent?

  What if they are not?

  Should I stand idly by and watch my family torn apart?

  That is hardly the daughter my father raised.

  I should talk to her...

  Someone was watching outside the window.

  Sarah was beginning to feel her time was running short. If she didn’t uncover Mary’s journal soon, she was going to lose everything.

  She had a terrible feeling she was going to lose everything anyway.

  It had occurred to her earlier that if Peter was not guilty, and he discovered her ruse—and even if he didn’t—she was never going to see Christopher again. Having come into Peter’s home as she had, so deceptively, especially if he was innocent, she was going to end with no recourse but to leave. Surely he would never allow her to see Christopher again.

  Dear God, she did need him to be guilty.

  But she didn’t want him to be.

  What a terrible mess she had woven for herself!

  She went to the window once more, shoving the curtains aside and peering out. No one there, and yet there had certainly been someone watching earlier from across the street.

  If Peter was not guilty, who was trying so hard to remove her from this house?

  Someone was guilty.

  Who?

  Cile Morgan had yet to return to visit. Sarah had seen not a hair of her, and yet she was very aware of the anger she had borne Peter the night she’d stormed into his office. Her angry shouts had reverberated throughout the house. Why? Were they truly lovers? What had he done to make her so angry?

  Impatient now, Sarah drew away from the window and began to pace the room. She’d called for Mel to come and awaited her now. Sarah only hoped no one spied her, because there was something she wished to do—something she needed to do before she ran out of time.

  She put out the lights as she waited, hoping her silhouette was all the watcher could see from outside her window.

  Wh
en the knock came upon the door at last, her nerves were on edge. She snatched the curtain closed and hurried to the door, opening it, dragging Mel quickly within.

  “Hurry!”

  “What the devil are you doing?” Mel asked her. “I think that accident has left your brain quite addled!”

  “That is entirely possible,” Sarah admitted. “You should know the things I have been thinking. If they are not mad, I don’t know what is.” That she must prove Peter guilty if she ever wished to see Christopher again—and yet, dear God... she just didn’t want it to be true.

  “Why are the lights out?”

  “Don’t turn them on!”

  “Sarah,” Mel began, tilting her head as she peered through the darkness. “You are beginning to frighten me. Why are you sitting in the dark? This is hardly good for you. Something is going on here, surely, but I think our time in this house is done. I’m quite concerned about you.”

  “Not yet,” Sarah begged her. “Someone has been watching my room, Mel. I have spied them from my window. Someone is watching now!”

  “I am beginning to get a terrible feeling about this place, Sarah. I don’t think we are going to gain anything by remaining. I have found absolutely no evidence of Peter’s guilt. In fact, everyone I have spoken to here is convinced of his innocence. And yet something is very, very strange in this house.”

  “I agree,” Sarah said.

  “So let us simply pack our bags and go,” Mel begged her. “There is no reason to remain in this house another night.”

  Sarah’s shoulders slumped with regret. “Mel,” she began, “I cannot yet. One more night,” she beseeched her. “Let me try just once more to find that journal and then I promise we will go in the morning.”

  “Once more? What are you going to do?” Mel asked, wary now. “Sarah?”

  “I need your help,” Sarah began. “Someone is watching this room. I need to leave, but I need you to make my presence known here... in case they are still watching.”

  Mel shook her head. “You are making absolutely no sense at all.”

  “Listen to me,” Sarah begged her. “I only need you to stay here and to keep the lights out; pretend you are me.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I’m going to search his office and library, that’s what for.”

  “Sarah!” Mel protested. “That is entirely too dangerous! What if he discovers you? What if he is guilty? How can you be certain?”

  “I can’t be, of course, but I need to search that office, Mel. I must! What if he is not guilty?” Sarah dared to ask.

  “You are getting quite mad, I think. Whatever does that mean? If he is guilty, then you are a dead woman tonight!”

  “No,” Sarah persisted, “not that. It occurred to me to worry about something else entirely, Mellie.”

  “Good Lord!” Mel exclaimed. “I’m getting so confused. What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Mel,” Sarah began, “if Peter is innocent... what happens after tonight? How do I go to him tomorrow and say ... ‘Oops! I am not who I said I was and guess what? I’m Mary’s cousin and I wish to be a part of Christopher’s life.’ How do you think he will react to that?”

  Mel’s shadow moved across the darkness to the bed. She sat down. “I see what you mean,” she sighed. “I imagine he would not react very well.”

  “No,” Sarah agreed. “Not very well at all.”

  “What a mess we have made for ourselves,” Mel told her, reaching out and grasping her arm.

  “Mellie,” Sarah appealed, “I truly thought he was guilty of murdering my cousin. When I made this plan, I didn’t consider the possibility that he might actually be innocent. It honestly never occurred to me. And now I stand to lose Christopher entirely.”

  Mel nodded in the darkness. “Yes, I see.”

  “What am I going to do, Mellie?”

  “God, Sarah, I don’t know. Find that missing journal!”

  There was an uneasy silence between them.

  Then Sarah admitted, stomping her foot, “But I don’t want him to be guilty!”

  “Sarah,” Mel began.

  “No, don’t ask it.” She shrugged free of Mel’s grip. “I don’t know what I feel. I just don’t know, but I do have to know for certain if he is guilty or not. I’ll deal with the rest of my life tomorrow. Tonight I need to search for Mary’s journal, and I hoped you would sleep here in my bed just in case someone is watching to see if I leave this room.”

  “Of course,” Mel said without hesitation. “That’s a simple enough thing to do, but I’m concerned about you. What if he catches you in his office?”

  “He won’t!” Sarah swore. “I’ll make certain of it. I shall be careful. Are all the lights out yet? Is the house sleeping?”

  “I... I think so,” Mel replied.

  “Good Lord, you took long enough to come,” Sarah complained.

  “I... I’m sorry, I was bathing when you called for me.”

  “It’s all right,” Sarah said, feeling at once contrite for her outburst. “It may have worked for the best, at any rate. It’s late enough now that perhaps I can go straight to it.”

  “Wait just a bit,” Mel suggested. “Just in case. The night is young.”

  “Very well. But when I go,” she said, “whatever you do, do not use a light in this room.”

  “I won’t.” Silence fell between them. “Sarah?” Mel prompted.

  “Yes?”

  “What is going on between you and Peter?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah confessed, and then added, “but something is, Mel. Dear God... I cannot breathe when he walks into the room, and I cannot think!”

  “Fear?” Mel asked her, mistaking her meaning. “Are you afraid of him?”

  “Only of myself,” Sarah admitted, turning her back to Mel. “Mellie... oh, my God... I have these wicked, wicked thoughts...”

  Across the street, the watcher watched from the darkened corner of a building, dressed in men’s trousers and coat, and with her hair pulled into a hat. No one could tell her gender; she looked just like a scrawny boy.

  Sarah Hopkins wasn’t alone in that room, and the possibility that it might be Peter with her made the watcher sick to her stomach. She was too late. If he married the witch... if he brought her into his home... where would that leave her?

  She couldn’t let it happen.

  She mustn’t be afraid to take a stand.

  It was time for her to take matters into her own hands, and not delegate to idiot men who failed at every task, lest their pricks or their pockets were at risk. Something needed to be done, and something needed to be done tonight before this went any further... before she lost everything...

  Before someone suspected these accidents were not accidents at all.

  Peter was beginning to: She’d spied the look on his face as he’d knelt over Sarah in the street. Once he’d been certain she was all right, his gaze had lingered in the direction the driver had vanished, and his expression had been much too thoughtful.

  Tonight she had to do something...

  Within the darkened window, two silhouettes moved toward the bed. The watcher waited, shuddering at the sight of them. She strained to see their faces, willing the shadows away.

  She willed Peter out from the room—didn’t dare blink her eyes, lest she miss his leaving. He couldn’t stay. Damn! She had to be alone. She needed Peter to leave. What the devil were they doing with the lights out?

  She held her breath until the door opened once more, and then she watched as one shadow slipped from the room and Sarah was alone once more.

  The watcher loitered some time longer, with squinted eyes and unbroken concentration as the remaining shadow prepared for bed, and then she moved closer to peer into the window when all movement ceased.

  Inside the room, Sarah Hopkins lay upon Mary Holland’s bed. It gave the watcher a strange sense of deja vu.

  Tonight she would not take a passive role...

&nbs
p; Chapter 21

  The house was dark as Sarah made her way down the hall to the library. She would check that room first, before moving on to his office. She didn’t dare chance going there first, just in case he’d remained late to work. It should take her some time to search the library, she thought, and by the time she was through, she hoped he would be gone.

  Upon reaching the library, she found the door ajar and the room bathed deep in shadows. The drapes were open wide.

  Brilliant moonlight fell across the rich wood floors and spilled at her feet. The scent of this room was predominantly one of old books, a familiar scent that brought back memories of her childhood...

  She had been much too young when her mother and father had died, and so she remembered little of them. Only slivers of memories penetrated her consciousness. Her father’s library... her mother’s perfume... the sound of her mother’s voice.

  Their deaths had been such tragic ones—two lovers alone on the cliffs by a beach, after enjoying too much wine. Her mother had lost her footing, and her father had tried to save her. Both had ended up on the rocks below, and Sarah, their only child, had gone to her uncle in Boston. The loss made her sad even to this day, and yet it was her uncle’s death that had dealt her the hardest blow—and then Mary’s... She’d always thought she and Mary would have the opportunity to make amends. And then suddenly her best friend, her cousin, her sister even, was gone.

  And what did Sarah do? She came to Mary’s home to atone for past mistakes and ended up losing her heart to the very man whom Sarah had belittled her cousin for loving.

  The admission shocked her.

  Was that what she was doing?

  Losing her heart to him?

  Somehow she was beginning to.

  She could feel it. It was too easy to see him with his son, whom she thought of as her nephew, and love him for the love he gave. It was difficult to stop thinking of that face... that look... those eyes...

  She needed to think... to concentrate...

  She needed to search this library, and then his office, for that journal. It was her only hope of shedding any light on the last days of Mary’s life. And it was becoming more than apparent that something was not right in this house. She just didn’t know what that something was. It certainly didn’t appear to be what she’d first believed—that its master was a murderer. And yet Mary had come here looking for happiness and had not left this house alive.