Perfect in My Sight (18 page)

Impossible!

God help him, but she didn’t move.

“Sarah!” She stood oblivious still, and he bolted into a run. “Sarah!”

CHAPTER
19

The impact took the breath from Sarah’s lungs. Her head smacked the street with a
thud that echoed in her brain. Daylight faded from light to black as Sarah went flying.

When next she opened her eyes, a fuzzy pair of blue eyes stared down at her. Her head
throbbed painfully. She closed her eyes once more.

Focusing seemed impossible.

“You are bound and determined to get yourself killed, aren’t you?” a male voice asked.

Disoriented still, Sarah tried to open her eyes again. Pain flared, and she closed
them, moaning.

“Did you see that man?” she heard Mel ask furiously. “He didn’t bother to stop! Did
you see him?”

“I did,” Peter answered, and his tone was deadly calm.

“What,” Sarah stammered, “what happened?”

“That rotter tried to kill you!” Mel shrieked in outrage.

“My head hurts.”

“It isn’t any wonder,” Peter said softly, his tone angry but subdued.

“He didn’t bother even to slow down!” Mel added angrily. “Rotten dastard!” Peter must
have looked at Mel then, because Mel said, “He most certainly is a rotten dastard
and I’ll not mince words. He could have killed her!”

“So I saw,” Peter said.

“Is she all right, Daddy?” Christopher asked very near her. Sarah tried to open her
eyes, and then reminded herself it was best not to.

She squeezed them shut. “Yes, I’m quite all right, Christopher,” she replied, and
with her eyes closed, tried to rise. “Ouch!” she exclaimed.

“Have you any notion,” Peter asked her, “why someone might wish you harm, Sarah?”

Whatever was he implying? “No one did,” she replied caustically, “until I met you!”

He reached out, hooking her beneath her arms. Sarah could smell his musky male scent,
and she couldn’t help herself—she let him drag her into his arms as he helped her
to her feet, and she buried her nose against his sun-warmed shirt.

“Are you telling me this is my-fault?” His tone told her he was hardly convinced.
His hand at her back soothed her.

“Perhaps you could better tell me,” she countered.

“What happened, Daddy?” Christopher asked. The poor child was still confused. No one
had yet to enlighten him. Not that anyone seemed to have a clue as to what had happened.
Sarah had not even spied the approaching carriage until it had been too late.

“I’m not sure, son,” Peter said, and Sarah could hear the speculation in his voice.
“But it seems to me that someone doesn’t like Miss Sarah quite as well as you and
I do.”

He’d steadied her upon her feet only to dizzy her with his words.

“You like me?” she asked him with some surprise, and hated herself for the silly question.
She’d spoken without thought.

Why did his silly declaration make her belly flutter?

And why should she care what he thought of her?

His breath was warm upon her cheek and his hand firm at her back. “Does that surprise
you, Sarah?” he murmured.

Sarah dared not look at him. “I... I suppose that it does a bit.” She hated that her
voice sounded suddenly so breathless.

“Well, I do,” he told her without hesitation. “I like you very, very much.”

He just didn’t bloody well trust her.

Sarah Hopkins was after something; Peter just couldn’t figure out what that something
was.

They sat together in the parlor, all of them—he and Ruth and Sarah and Christopher—in
an easy atmosphere that reminded Peter of days with his own family, long ago. Before
his father had begun to drink so much. Even then Ruth had been a serious young girl,
removed from the family despite her presence, and full of her own thoughts. She sat
in her chair, quietly assessing the pair sitting on, of all places, the floor of the
parlor—Christopher and Sarah—with a general air of disapproval.

Peter could see that Ruth had not even begun to warm to Sarah’s presence. He thought
perhaps it had to do with Sarah’s appearance. She was quite a lovely woman, and Ruth
had never been able to accept that as a virtue in others. Peter thought it had to
do with their mothers, but he couldn’t be certain. Ruth had often begrudged his mother
her beauty, and belittled her for it. Yet she hadn’t particularly embraced her own
mother’s lack of it, either. Ruth seemed a woman lost somehow, and while he often
regretted the power struggles between them, he also was pleased to give her a home
where she felt needed and welcomed. He felt sorry for his half sister. Though she
wasn’t precisely unattractive, something about her made a man shrivel to his bones.

His gaze returned to the woman who had managed to hold his attention from the instant
he’d laid eyes upon her. There was something luminous about her—something that drew
him—something more alluring than mere beauty.

“Do you feel the difference, Christopher?” she asked. “Feel them more closely.” She
had a book of embossed metal sheets between them, and Christopher was feeling the
raised dots with extreme care. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Which letter is that?”

“F,” he said.

Sarah found his hand and placed her own over it, finding the letter Christopher was
examining. She was taking great pains to play the part of a blind woman. “No, darling,”
she said. “That is the letter D. They are quite similar except one faces one way,
and the other faces another.”

“I’m sleepy,” Christopher protested suddenly.

“Try, Christopher,” Peter commanded him.

Despite his suspicions of Sarah, she was doing Christopher so much good, he could
see. And she did seem to know her codes. Which led him to wonder... why would she
have bothered to learn it so profoundly... if she weren’t blind?

Who the hell was she?

The question plagued him.

Who was this woman who had taken so much time with his son? Who would sit on the floor
with him and teach him the alphabet with such patience?

Sarah stilled and straightened. “Peter?” she said without looking at him. Damn, she
was good, but not good enough. He knew better. He lived with a blind son, knew his
every mannerism. He was not fooled.

“Yes?”

“If Christopher is tired, I hardly wish to push him.”

Peter stared at her. Though she didn’t look his way, she clearly knew his gaze was
upon her and she straightened her spine, ready to do battle for his son. Why did that
make him smile? Why did he not feel more wariness toward her than he did? Why did
her pretense intrigue rather than anger him?

And why the hell couldn’t he quit thinking of those damned beautiful lips of hers?

From the moment he’d first spied her, with her dark spectacles, his gaze had focused
upon that mouth, and he couldn’t seem to dismiss it from his thoughts.

He gazed down at his son, suddenly ready for Christopher to be abed—suddenly eager
to be alone with Sarah. “Are you tired, Christopher?”

“Yes, Daddy.” He tilted his head sleepily.

Peter turned to Ruth. “Take him to bed, please.”

“Peter,” Ruth replied. He knew it would be a protest; and he knew why. He also knew
Ruth understood the look in his eyes. She didn’t wish to leave them alone.

“Take him to bed, please,” he repeated, and his tone brooked no argument.

“I can take him,” Sarah suggested.

“No,” Peter said quietly but insistently.

Giving him a disapproving glance, Ruth rose from her chair and took Christopher by
the hand. “Good night, son,” Peter said softly.

“Night, Daddy,” Christopher replied, as Ruth led him away.

An uneasy silence fell between them once they were alone in the parlor.

“I don’t think she likes me very well,” Sarah said at last.

Peter saw no reason to deny the truth. “I think you are quite a perceptive woman.”

“I have tried to speak with her,” Sarah said, “but she doesn’t seem to appreciate
my efforts. I am sorry if I have offended her in some manner. I did not mean to...”

“You have not,” Peter assured. “My sister is quite protective of her family. Overly
so, I’m afraid. Since the death of my wife, Cile is the one person she seems to favor.”

Sarah’s heart began to race at the turn of their topic. “She must have loved your
wife very deeply, then.”

His voice was low, entirely too silky, as he said, “Mary?”

“Yes, your wife,” Sarah reiterated.

“I honestly would not know how Ruth felt about her. My sister was never very vocal
with her opinions of the women in my life until after Mary.”

Sarah lifted her brows.

“Ruth knows, however... how distraught I was after my wife’s death. It nearly ruined
me...” He lapsed into thought. “Nearly ruined us all,” he added sadly.

As difficult as Sarah found the subject, it was the first time he’d spoken so directly
about Mary, and she didn’t dare dissuade him from it. Her heart hammered against her
breast as she listened. “I’m certain,” she murmured when he didn’t continue. “You
must have loved her deeply.” She sucked in a breath and held it, then released it.

“I’m not certain I knew what love was,” he confessed, surprising her with the declaration.

She had to resist the urge to look up into his face, to peer into his eyes. “You didn’t
love her?”

He shrugged. “I did as much as I was capable,” he told her. “Mary was a delightful,
bright, charming woman. I thought I could make her happy.”

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...”