Perfect in My Sight (15 page)

Peter chuckled once more. This wasn’t working quite as he’d hoped.

“I did, now, didn’t I? But it’s not quite the same as blue, son. Yellow is like...
well... a room fully lit, every nook and cranny brightened by the light.”

His little face twisted once more in confusion, and his tone reflected it as well.
“I am yellow, Daddy?”

“Yep,” Peter maintained.

“But I cannot see the light,” he protested, and still the avowal was totally devoid
of self-pity. His son was simply stating a fact. A multitude of emotions overwhelmed
Peter.

Guilt, for one...

Had he not been so bloody drunk that night...drowning his anger and loneliness in
a bottle, feeling sorry for himself... well... maybe his son would not be blind today.

“That,” Peter told him, his voice softening, “is because you are the light!”

Christopher digested that particular bit of information, and didn’t seem quite able
to grasp the concept. “Daddy?” he prompted once more. “What color is Miss Hopkins?”
he asked. “Is she blue, Daddy? She makes me feel like blue sometimes.”

Peter considered his son’s revelation. “Does she?” The truth was, she made him feel
like blue too, Peter acknowledged, but not the sort of blue he’d described to his
son, rather like the blue of an intense flame.

She made him burn.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see... Miss Hopkins is...”

He had to think about it a long moment, and still no answer seemed apparent. She was
peachy cream, when he thought of the color of her skin... and deep rose, when he thought
about the shade of her lovely lips... and cerulean blue, when he thought about her
eyes. “I think she’s red,” he answered, finally.

The color of passion.

If there was one thing he sensed about Sarah, it was that she was passionate. He had
heard her passion in her speech to him that first day, heard it in her snappy tone,
not to mention he had witnessed the flush of her skin as she’d stared at him while
he’d sat half naked upon her bed.

“Red, Daddy?”

Peter changed his mind suddenly as he considered her bloody lies. “No... she’s black,”
he said with more certainty.

“Black? Daddy!” Christopher protested. “I don’t think she is black!”

“Black!” Sarah chimed in, and came forward into the room to offer her own protest.
“You think I am black?”

Peter lifted a brow at her timely appearance. “Yes. Black... like an empty bathtub...
or a clean slate,” he told her, and watched her expression.

“Miss Sarah!” his son exclaimed, and Peter couldn’t help but note the genuine enthusiasm
in his son’s tone.

Nor did he miss her smile as she acknowledged it.

She tapped her cane before her upon the carpeted floor as she entered. Peter watched
her with dark amusement.

“I’m not certain I like that. Or even comprehend it!” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “It is merely my perception.”

She stopped before him and he caught a glimpse of her delicate ankles as she lifted
her skirt just a little. Christ, but he wanted nothing more than to slide his hand
beneath her dress, up those lovely legs...

He willed himself not to think of it, though his breath quickened slightly. “How long
have you been standing there listening, Sarah?”

She gave him a wry smile, and admitted, “Long enough to feel quite ashamed for my
eavesdropping.”

At least she had the decency not to lie about that. “What color do you think my daddy
is, Miss Sarah?” 

CHAPTER
16

Sarah blinked at the question.

“Well... I-I’m not certain.”

“Is he black, too?”

Strangely enough, Sarah thought as she peered at him out of the corner of her eye...
he wasn’t any longer.

Like the toy soldier in Christopher’s hand, Peter Holland’s layer of soot was beginning
to fade. She refused to play, however, refused to say so. “I am certain I don’t know
your daddy well enough to say,” she told him. “Neither does he know me well enough
to call me black!” she objected, pretending affront.

He was smiling up at her, Peter was, with that strange smile he had given her earlier,
and Sarah’s breath caught at the sight of it.

Unbidden, the memory of what she had done the night before came back to taunt her.

Resisting the urge to flee his presence, she shoved it at once out of her mind, lest
she be too mortified to stand in his presence ever again.

“May I join you?”

“Certainly,” Peter answered, watching her still. Sarah ignored him as best she could
and lifted her skirt a little to sit with them. “So... what are we doing?”

“Cleaning my toys,” Christopher replied matter-of-factly. “My daddy says he’ll have
to paint this one’s face again.” His own face fell then, and his expression saddened
a bit. “I wish I could see it.” The surface was flat, Sarah realized, the features
lost within the polished wood, but Christopher’s little hands continued to explore
it determinedly.

Her heart wrenched for him.

And yet... this was the first time she had ever heard him utter a single lamentation.
His father was right. Christopher was yellow. The little boy sitting before her had
as much to teach them about dealing with life as any adult could. Sarah had earned
herself a lifetime of woe by not accepting so much, and here this child had been dealt
a terrible hand, and he accepted it without complaint

“Would you like to know what I look like, Christopher?” she asked him suddenly, feeling
a bit bold. “But I can’t see, Miss Sarah.”

“Why, of course you can!” Sarah assured him. “And you already know how!”

She reached out, groping for him, still very aware of his father’s scrutiny, and then
pretending to find him, scooted closer. Peter watched her now without a word, as though
he were studying her every action with undivided interest. Sarah reached out her hand
to touch Christopher on the shoulder and then slid her fingers down to his tiny hand,
lifting it to her face. “Go on,” she urged him. “See me with your hands.”

Christopher hesitated, confused, and Sarah was certain her touch was as alien to him
as the concept of light itself. She had watched father and son together, and the lack
of physical intimacy between them was more than apparent. Neither did she think, judging
by Christopher’s comments about his aunt, that Ruth was overly affectionate either.
She couldn’t help but wonder why Christopher had implied to his father that he felt
abandoned when he was with her. Could it be that she just walked away and left him
alone? Feeling lost? Or did she simply not speak with him and thus he felt the lack
of her presence? She wasn’t the warmest person Sarah had ever met. She might love
and protect Christopher fiercely, but she didn’t seem to know how to show her affection.

“Go on,” she urged him once more, when still he hesitated.

He did as she bade him this time, and Sarah closed her eyes, feeling his sweet little
hand move against her cheek, her lips, her forehead... seeing her. He accidentally
stuck a finger up her nose and she gasped softly and then giggled. He didn’t apologize,
but neither did he seem to realize what he’d done, and then he drew away suddenly.
He was quite obviously not entirely comfortable with the exercise, but she could scarcely
blame him. He didn’t know her so well.

“Now, what did you see?” Sarah asked.

“A mouth and a nose,” he declared matter-of- factly.

“Yes, indeed,” Sarah agreed, and laughed softly. “One of each!”

Christopher responded with an infectious little giggle.

“Have you never done that before, Christopher?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, whyever not? Now it’s your father’s turn. Go look at his face, Christopher,”
she directed.

Christopher got on his hands and knees almost at once. His father gave her a somewhat
protesting glance, but Sarah forced herself to ignore it.

She could scarcely respond to what she was not supposed to see, after all.

This time Christopher didn’t need a second prompting. He fell upon his father’s face,
quite literally, drawing laughter from Peter’s lips. He explored his father’s face
with careful precision, noting everything from his lips to the lobes of his ears.
He even went so far as to pull at the hair of his father’s brow.

“Ouch!” Peter exclaimed, but Sarah could hear the smile in his voice.

Her heart warmed at the sight of them together. She laughed softly.

“Shame on you, Peter Holland!” she declared suddenly. It was obvious that, indeed,
this was the first time Christopher had ever looked at his father’s face. “Men!” she
exclaimed. “I shall never understand the lot of you. Afraid of a little touch!”

“Oh?” Peter replied, holding still for the onslaught of his son’s tiny hands. “And
you are not?”

“Hardly!” Sarah assured, feeling quite superior at the instant. “Women are not nearly
so afraid of intimacy, you see.”

“Then perhaps you should like a turn, as well?”

Sarah’s heart tripped at the challenge.

The thought of touching him left her breathless.

“No, I think not.” Sarah refused him outright. “I hardly think that would be appropriate,
Mr. Holland.”

“So we are back to calling me Mr. Holland?” His brows lifted.

“Miss Sarah’s nose is smaller than yours,” Christopher announced, moving away from
his father and returning to his toy soldier. “He has no nose...”

Sarah’s heart began to pound against her breast.

“Tell me... why is it that you seem to need to retain a measure of distance, Miss
Hopkins? Does it make you so uncomfortable to address me as Peter?”

Sarah swallowed.

Was she so obvious?

She wasn’t very good at this pretense, it seemed.

Whatever had made her feel she could manage this scheme?

Did he know?

Something about the look in his eyes gave her a sense of unease. And then she calmed
herself, forcing herself to reason. He was hardly confronting her about anything at
all. He was merely offering her the opportunity to see his face... as his son had
done to him... as she had suggested. And her derogatory comment about men had been
challenge enough in itself. He was not the sort of man, she reminded herself, to leave
a gauntlet lying at his feet.

“What are you afraid of?”

Sarah frowned. “I am hardly afraid of anything,” she assured him, with more certainty
than she felt at the moment.

“Go on, then,” he urged her. “I give you my word I’ll not bite.”

His eyes held a mischievous twinkle that provoked her ire. The cad! He was enjoying
this a little too much, she thought.

“Very well,” she relented, and hated that it sounded so much like a pout. Peter might
not be a murderer, but he was certainly a rake, and he had stolen Mary’s heart entirely
too easily.

She didn’t wish to do this.

God help her, the last thing she wanted this moment was to touch him. After last night...
after what she had done... she could scarcely bear the thought of looking at him,
much less touching... those lips... that jaw...

He was waiting expectantly.

He even went so far as to lean toward her, and his smug and much too patient expression
made her hands itch to slap his face.

And, well, why shouldn’t she?

He would never know if she meant to, she thought as she recalled the way Christopher
had fallen upon his face. Reaching out, groping, she gave the air before him a swipe
and then one more, catching him squarely in the face.

“Aye!”

“My goodness!” Sarah exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were so near,” she added too
sweetly.

He was frowning at her now, and she smiled. “I’m beginning to think you are quite
a dangerous woman to be around.”

“I am soooo sorry!”

“Are you?” Peter asked her, and was studying her once more. “You don’t respect men
very much, do you, Sarah?”

The observation surprised her, coming as it did in the wake of Mel’s tirade. “Of course
I do! Whatever makes you think such a thing?”

She began to see his face, giving it as little attention as possible.

“The things you say...” He peered up at her, and Sarah closed her eyes. “Unless it
is simply me you do not like?”

Sarah ignored his speculation. “I respected my uncle enormously,” she told him honestly.
“But there are, in truth, not so many like him.”

She tried not to think of the way his skin felt beneath her fingers... the warmth
of it...

As she knelt above him, the scent of his warm masculine skin pervaded her senses.
And dear Lord, but she became quite dizzy suddenly.

“Were the two of you very close?”

Much too close!

God, they were too close.

She couldn’t think. “What?” she asked a little breathlessly, her thoughts in danger
of scattering.

“Your uncle. Were you very close?”

“Oh! Yes! Yes, we were! But he passed away... some years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Sarah’s hands shook. She tried to concentrate.

Unable to bear it any longer, she began to draw away, but before she could leave him,
he placed his hand over hers and restrained her fingers upon his cheek, trapping it
there.

“Afraid of a little touch?” he challenged, throwing her own words back at her.

Sarah jerked her hand from beneath his.

“It is only a face, Sarah,” he taunted her.

“Scratchy face,” Christopher interjected, reminding them suddenly of his presence.
“Miss Sarah’s is softer.”

Sarah had completely forgotten Christopher though he didn’t seem the least aware of
that, as he was still busy playing with his faceless soldier.

Peter’s hand reached out, touched her chin then, and Sarah gasped in surprise. His
fingers slid to her cheek, cupping it softly. “Much softer,” he affirmed, and closed
his eyes. Sarah’s heartbeat quickened at the look of relish upon his face... the gentleness
of his touch. She swallowed convulsively as his touch grew firmer and his thumb caressed
her face.

Dear God, she couldn’t bear it!

Her eyes closed, and she leaned into his embrace.

“Much softer,” he whispered, and Sarah let out a breath she’d not realized she’d held.
Her hand covered his upon her face.

She forced her eyes open, her heart beating much too fiercely. She needed to be away
suddenly, and desperately.

She drew his hand away quickly, as though it burned her.

“Yes, well...” She couldn’t recall a time she had been more flustered. Her hands were
trembling still.

“I think... I think I’ve forgotten something!” she stammered, and reached for her
cane. She had enough wits about her to make it appear she was groping for it.

And then she rose and left the nursery as quickly as she was able.