Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  He fell upon her fully then, and she gasped in delight at the feel of his hard body pressing her into the carpeted floor.

  In that instant they became a writhing tangle of limbs, and Sarah lost herself completely in the pleasures of her flesh. He lifted her skirt, sliding his hand between her legs, and she knew it had gone beyond the point of return.

  The first feel of his hand between her thighs sent a jolt of pleasure sweeping through her. When his fingers slid into the moistness of her body, she thought she would die. Her heart hammered fiercely and her body convulsed under his touch. Like a concert pianist, he played her.

  She cried out, reaching to tug at his clothes. Panting softly, desperate to feel his naked flesh against her, she fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, knowing instinctively that only he could soothe the ache that was beginning to build to a crescendo within her.

  His own breath ragged, he lifted himself slightly and reached down, ripping the trousers open. He shrugged out of his pants, never lifting himself from atop her, exposing himself completely, and Sarah sucked in a breath at the sight of him bared. She didn’t protest as he lifted up her skirts and her knees along with them. Her heart leapt into her throat as he lowered himself and settled his head between her legs.

  Oh, God...

  Oh God...

  He wasn’t going to do that... not that...

  And yet he did...

  Sarah’s breath left her entirely. Her heart somersaulted against her ribs.

  His tongue darted out and slid into her body, tasting her, and Sarah thought she would die with the incredible sensations that rocked through her.

  She was his to do with as he would... she didn’t care anymore.

  He was showing her pleasures she had never known existed... and she didn’t care.

  Peter was lost in the throes of his own pleasure.

  Christ, but she tasted so damned good.

  His body shuddered with satisfaction when she wrapped her legs around his neck, embracing him. Drunk with his own desires, he pressed his lips against her sweet flesh and moaned at the heady taste of her upon his mouth.

  He couldn’t wait to feel himself within her...

  There was something wholly satisfying about the feel of her lying beneath him, her dress in tatters and her legs spread for his pleasure.

  He had never dared take such liberties with Mary. Mary had been too sweet. Cile had tempted his most wicked desires, but Sarah was the first woman he had ever craved. She was the first woman he had ever wished to know completely. He wanted to taste every inch of her flesh, know every sweet curve of her body.

  Sliding his hands beneath her rear, he lifted her to his mouth, and his body convulsed with pleasure at the tiny sounds she made in the back of her throat. Fierce satisfaction flooded him, and his body pulsed hard, craving to know the feel of her.

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  He slid up her body and looked down into her face, warning her with his gaze before his mouth fell upon her lips, tasting them with as fierce a hunger as he had below. He growled deep in the back of his throat when she didn’t protest and slid a hand down to guide himself into her body.

  Pure sensation rocked through him at the feel of her so warm and soft and wet, and he thrust within, growling with unadulterated pleasure when she arched backward to accept him fully. He felt her maidenhead give to accept him, and his body shuddered violently in response.

  She was his.

  Sarah cried out in pain.

  He stilled, looking down into her face, his heart pounding, the significance of the moment not lost to him even through the haze of his desire.

  And then he was lost completely and he couldn’t stop.

  Sarah bit into her lip until she tasted her own blood.

  She thought she would faint over the pain until he began to move within her once more, easing the throbbing ache with every stroke. She gave herself fully to him then, daring to answer his every thrust with one of her own. Upon her lips, the taste of her own body lingered...

  Something wicked took seed within her.

  Reaching out, she wrapped her hands about his neck and boldly drew him down, urging him once more to kiss her. She craved the blend of their bodies unlike anything she’d ever craved before.

  No taste had ever been so sweet or so heady.

  No pleasure ever so wickedly delicious.

  Deep within her, something began to coil and tighten... a thin veil of sensation she suddenly needed to explore more than she needed even to breathe. She closed her eyes and followed it to someplace she’d never dared to go before... some heady place where her body was no more than an illusion and the pleasure was the only thing physical.

  She dared to seek it... with every roll of her hips... with every gasping breath.

  And when at last her body convulsed in pleasure, tightening around him, she cried out with joy.

  With a savage thrust he spilled himself within her, and his answering cries of release filled her heart with a joy and completion she had never understood until that very instant.

  In that moment Sarah understood for the first time how Mary could throw away all she had striven for—for this.

  Because in one final, desperate thought, she knew she never wanted to leave Peter’s arms.

  Forgive me, Mary, she pleaded silently.

  But she couldn’t help herself... she reached up to hold him, clinging to him desperately as tears flooded her eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Darkness flooded the room.

  With the curtains drawn, only the minimal light found its way in. But that didn’t dissuade the watcher. She knew her way around the house well enough that she wasn’t intimidated by the lack of light to see by. Her heart thumping a nervous beat against her breast, she leaned back against the door, staring at the sleeping figure upon the bed... waiting... to be certain Sarah had not awakened at the click of the latch when she’d closed the door behind her.

  The blood sang through her veins, a song of anticipation.

  This time... she wasn’t going to leave her fate in the hands of some incompetent man! All her life men had abandoned or ignored her, left her to fend for herself. And she had never any choice but to swallow her pride and go on.

  No more!

  That night... so long ago... she’d had to weasel her way into this house with some petty excuse just to open the bloody window in the nursery...

  Damn Peter.

  He had never wanted for anything. Not ever!

  Her gaze narrowed on the bed. Pride gave her the resolve she needed to carry this through, desperation drove her.

  Women such as that—even blind—didn’t have a care in this world. And it galled her. She resented Peter for being like every other man—for being swayed by a pretty face. Sarah Hopkins was everything she despised in a woman, and damn Peter for wanting her anyway! She was not going to be left once more with nothing.

  Not if she could help it.

  Pushing away from the door, she moved closer to the bed, desperate to keep some measure of control over her life. She didn't feel anything for Sarah at all. It was not like her life could ever amount to anything anyway. She was blind. What good was she, save to teach others of her kind? It was not as though her life would be wasted when she was dead.

  She was a burden, as was Christopher, and no more.

  She should be happy not to suffer anymore.

  She approached the bed as quietly as she was able, smiling with satisfaction as the figure remained so still in her slumber. In the sheltering blackness of the room, she could barely make out the silhouette of a woman lying on the bed.

  Sarah was on her back, her pillow over her head.

  How perfect: She couldn’t have asked for better.

  Not long now, before Sarah Hopkins was out of her misery.

  She reached out, her fingers touching the pillow, her heart thundering. She slid her fingers up the cool sham and tentatively pressed on the pillow, testing it.


  And then she took a deep breath and shoved with all her might—until she could feel the outline of Sarah’s face beneath her hands. And still she pressed harder, her own body trembling with the force of her grip upon the pillow.

  Sarah jerked awake, her hands going at once to the pillow. She expended a startled scream into the down. Her shrieks muffled by the down, she struggled fiercely. She could feel Sarah’s gasps for air, violent breaths that were never forthcoming. She felt the convulsions of her lungs as she struggled for her last breaths and smiled at the final shuddering of Sarah’s body as it stilled beneath her weight.

  And still she did not release the pillow—didn’t dare, not for the longest time—afraid that if she did ... that somehow Sarah would gulp a lifesaving breath and then scream for help.

  It might have been seconds or it might have been hours before she dared to release the pillow at last. And when she did, her legs went weak with relief at the stillness of Sarah’s body upon the bed. Her heart hammered fiercely as she reached out once more and plucked up the pillow between two fingers, as though it were suddenly soiled, and then pulled it to one side of Sarah’s face, leaving it covered, but not completely.

  She stood there only a moment longer, staring in awe at the stillness of the body lying before her on the bed.

  Such power in the act of murder.

  So easy...

  Mere minutes ago there had been life flowing through those limbs and now they were stilled forever. Her own breath came in soft, exhilarated pants, but she was not enervated by the struggle at all. No, she was energized.

  No time for regrets.

  She peered up at the window then, and urged her feet to move toward it. Like that night so long ago, she hurriedly opened it, lifting it just far enough to appear that someone might have fled from it, and then turned and walked quickly away toward the door.

  She paused only once to peer back at the bed.

  Behind it, the curtains fluttered gently with the night breeze. It was an unusually warm March night, the sort that drove lovers out to coo at each other under the twinkling stars.

  A peaceful scene if ever she’d spied one.

  It was done. For better or worse, it was over.

  If it was determined that she was murdered, Peter would face the consequences. This time, who would be his alibi?

  Turning her back to the deed, she drew the door open, not so concerned this time with the click of the door as it latched once more behind her.

  She made her way quickly down the hall, toward Christopher’s room, and nearly shrieked in fright as she found him pulling the door shut as he came into the hall. His little white gown almost glowed in the darkness. He paused at the sound of her gasp and stilled, his little hand on the knob, but he said nothing.

  He simply stood there, frozen.

  A instant of fear shook through her as she realized he knew she was there...

  Until she remembered... he was blind.

  He wouldn’t and couldn’t know who she was, she reminded herself... unless she spoke to confirm it.

  He remained frozen at his door... as though listening, and then when he determined it safe, he pulled his door all the way closed and ventured into the hall, turning instinctively in the direction of his father’s room. Likely he’d had a nightmare and was off to sleep in his father’s bed.

  Well, let him, she thought, and smiled as she watched him hurry down the hall before she made her own escape.

  Sarah couldn’t stop weeping.

  How could she tell him the truth?

  And then again, how could she not?

  He shifted his weight to one side of her and peered down into her face, holding her still. Her heart wrenching, Sarah turned away from him, unable to look him in the eyes. His hand tightened about her waist.

  He drew her nearer. “Sarah?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  Sarah’s sobs grew a little desperate. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face him.

  What had she done?

  “Sarah,” he appealed, his voice soft. “Don’t you think it’s about time you told me?” He surprised her with a gentle peck on the cheek.

  Her heart squeezed a little at the sweetness of his gesture.

  She was so confused—so afraid...

  He reached out, taking her chin in his hand, and turned her face to his. “Look at me,” he commanded her, though not unkindly.

  Sarah refused. “I-I can’t,” she cried softly. “I c-can’t!”

  “You can,” he countered, his voice low but insistent. “And you will. Look at me, Sarah.”

  Sarah forced herself to obey him. He had a right to know, she told herself. She couldn’t keep the truth from him forever... nor did she wish to. She took a shuddering breath. “H-how long have you known?”

  He held her gaze without blinking. “Since the morning after the fire,” he told her truthfully.

  “Oh, God!” she said, and tried to turn away again. He wouldn’t let her. He held a finger at her cheek, forcing her gaze to remain on him.

  “Who are you, Sarah?” he demanded to know. “Who are you, and why have you lied to me? What the bloody hell do you want with my son?” His tone lacked the fury that would have made her tremble in fear of him. She couldn’t imagine him a murderer—couldn’t imagine him harming anyone or anything.

  But was she simply hoping?

  Did she only wish to believe him innocent?

  How could she know for certain?

  She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Let’s begin with something simple, shall we? Sarah is your true name?”

  “Yes.”

  Had Mary ever spoken of her? Would he know her by name?

  She opened her eyes to peer into his. “Sarah Woodard,” she said, bracing herself for his reaction.

  Even in the darkness of the room, she saw his brows rise, and knew that he knew her. “Mary’s—” His voice caught.

  “Yes,” she replied once more, and began again to sob. She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t believe she’d betrayed her cousin so bitterly tonight—couldn’t believe she’d put herself in such a position—couldn’t believe she was lying now within Mary’s husband’s arms.

  He reached out at once, surprising her with his reaction to her disclosure, placing his fingers gently at her eyes, brushing the tears away. “Shhh,” he said. “Hush, Sarah.”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Why?” he asked her, and there was confusion in his voice. “If you wished to see Christopher, why did you not simply knock on our door? I would have welcomed you with—”

  Sarah shook her head, lifting her own hand to her face, wiping her own tears. “You don’t understand,” she told him.

  “Then help me,” he pleaded.

  “I didn’t simply wish to see him,” she confessed, and took the hem of her dress into her hand, squeezing it.

  He stared at her in the darkness, and Sarah couldn’t have spoken to save her life. An uneasy silence fell between them. She knew the instant he understood her silence, because his brows twitched and his lips formed a hard line.

  “I see,” he said finally, and she could see that her words had wounded him.

  She cried softly. “I-I thought—”

  “That I was guilty,” he finished for her, and turned away.

  Sarah nodded. Though he wasn’t looking at her, she knew he felt it, because his hand was still resting on her face.

  He let his hand drop away as he stared out the window, his face beautiful by the light of the moon. In that instant Sarah wanted so badly to reach up and touch the tiny cleft in his chin. She hadn’t known he’d had one before now, hadn’t dared to study his face so closely. She wanted to slide her fingers up and caress his cheek, to beg his kisses once more. To plead his forgiveness. His skin took on the blue-black tones of night, and his eyes appeared all the bluer for it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and took a deep breath to keep from bursting into tears. She thought he might b
e struggling with his anger, but she couldn’t be certain.

  He wouldn’t look at her.

  He peered down at her suddenly, and his expression took her breath away—so much pain there. “Why should you be?” he asked her coldly. “Everyone else thought so.” His eyes glittered suspiciously.

  God forgive her, but she had to ask, though she knew the truth in her heart. “Are you, Peter?” she dared ask, her heart hammering fiercely.

  His features tightened, and she knew he was struggling with his emotions by the tick in his jaw. His eyes narrowed. “Guilty?” he said, staring angrily at her. “Is that what you are asking me? Am I guilty?”

  Sarah didn’t turn away. She held his gaze, her heart beating like thunder in her ears. She had to know! Though in her heart she knew the answer, she had to hear it from his own two lips.

  Some little part of her still doubted his innocence.

  Someone was guilty.

  His expression shifted from anger to pain and then returned to anger. He lowered his face to hers, until his lips were just a breath away. “Do you make it a habit of making love with murderers?” he asked her coldly.

  Sarah refused to answer. Tears pricked at her eyes.

  He knew the answer to that question without a doubt: She had given him something tonight that she had never thought she’d give to any man. Not ever! How dare he say such a thing to her when he knew...

  “That is a cruel thing to say,” she told him, and tried not to betray the pain his words had struck into her heart.

  “And your question was put forth from the kindness of your heart, no doubt?” he snapped in return. “And your lies to me and to my son were perpetrated for our own good?” he added scathingly. “You make love to me, Sarah, and have the nerve to ask that question?” He glared down at her.

  Sarah tried to rise, but his arm about her waist prevented her; he jerked her nearer... so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her bare arm.