Perfect in My Sight (24 page)

“
I think she has answered quite enough,
”
Peter said suddenly, stepping in.

It was clear to Sarah that her disclosure had done more than surprise them. She knew
anger when she spied it.

“
Saved once again, eh, Holland?
”
said the detective who had been scribbling.

“
Are you willing to testify to that fact, Miss Woodard?
”
the other snapped at her.

“
Yes,
”
Sarah answered without hesitation, looking him in the eyes.
“
I am.
”

“
I think it
’
s time you two ran along to gather your dirty money, don
’
t you think?
”
Peter asked them coldly.

Sarah held her breath. It was a bold reference to the state of corruption of the New
York police force, and she winced at the murderous expressions on both detectives
’
faces.

“
I hope you realize what you are getting yourself into, Miss Woodard,
”
the one who had been scribbling told her.

“
The truth, I hope,
”
Sarah answered.

“Gentlemen,”
Peter said, enunciating the word as though it were a farce. He stepped away from
the door, essentially dismissing them, wordlessly ordering them out.

Sarah released her breath only as they turned to
go.

“
I trust you
’
ll see your own way out,
”
he told them both as they passed him.

“
Lucky bastard, is what you are,
”
the scribbler said low, no small amount of disgust evident in his tone.
“
Lucky bastard!
”

And then they were gone, leaving Sarah and Peter alone.

“
My head aches,
”
Sarah said.

“
Probably the laudanum,
”
Peter told her.
“
I gave you a bit in your tea earlier to help you sleep.
”

She lifted her brow.
“
That explains it.
”

Peter couldn
’
t believe what she had done.

“
Those men are quite rude,
”
she said.

“
They don
’
t particularly like me,
”
Peter said in agreement. He couldn
’
t believe the sacrifice she had made for him today. Essentially she had blackened
her name with her confession. He had no doubt, given a few dollars, those corrupt
little bastards would leak the story to the yellow press. And perhaps they
’
d even do it for free—they loathed him enough. But damn, he hadn
’
t expected Sarah to give up so much for him. He
’
d been bracing himself for another investigation of which he would be the focus. He
wouldn
’
t have blamed Sarah in the least for protecting her honor; he was willing to do the
same for her.

He was moved beyond words at what she had done—and without hesitation.

He didn
’
t know what to say. He stood there feeling responsible once again.

“Sarah
... you didn
’
t have to do that,
”
he told her after a moment, breaking the silence between them. He closed the door
behind him as he entered the room.
“
But I thank you.
”

“
Yes, I did have to,
”
she replied, holding his gaze. He admired her for that, for never shying away.
“
It was the truth, Peter. I couldn
’
t have lied.
”

He couldn
’
t let her suffer over this. If she would let him, he would make it right.
“
You realize what you have done to your reputation?
”

Sarah shrugged, and he wanted so much to take her once more into his arms, to kiss
those beautiful lips and put the color back into those pale cheeks.

The memory of their lovemaking made him
burn
even now.

God, but how could she do that to him? Make him want her even at a time like this?

He came to the bedside and stared down at her. She turned her face away, and he went
to his knees beside the bed.

“
Sarah,
”
he whispered.

She turned those beautiful eyes on him, and he held his breath as he gazed into them.

Those eyes were so filled with pain.

He wanted to make everything better for her, but he seemed to turn everyone
’
s life inside out. He couldn
’
t seem to make even himself happy, much less another human being—except for Christopher.
But Christopher was so easy to please. His son accepted everything without fail. He
never complained and his spirit was a joyful one. He had tried so hard to take Christopher
’
s example in life.

He was willing to try to make Sarah happy.

He wanted to try.

He wanted the chance.

He needed to be the one to put the smile back on her lovely face.

He needed to make things right, once and for all.

“
Sarah,
”
he said with a bit more courage. His heart beat at a frantic pace as he tried to
form the words.

Her gaze remained on him, beautiful blue and fu
ll of something other than pain
...

Dare he hope she might feel something for him, too?

God, he wanted that—with all his heart, he realized in that instant.

“
Marry me,
”
he asked her.
“
Let me make it right.
”

She sucked in a breath, as though she would cry out, but she didn
’
t and tears filled her eyes.

She didn
’
t answer for the longest moment, merely stared, and Peter held his breath for her
answer.

He wanted this suddenly—more than he wanted to breathe.

He wanted Sarah Woodard as his wife.

He wanted one more chance.

And this time ...

God ... this time ...

He thought he loved her.

No, he didn
’
t think it! He did, he was certain.

The evidence was in the pit of his stomach as he waited for her to reply.

If she said no, he didn
’
t know what he would do.

She tilted her head and reached out to touch her fingers to his chin, and Peter closed
his eyes. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.

She blinked down at him.
“
No,
”
she answered.

The single word was like a punch to his gut. He couldn
’
t blame her and yet—goddamn it!

He opened his eyes to find a tear sliding down her cheek, and he swallowed, and caught
his hand before he could reach out to wipe her sorrow from her face. His stomach turned,
and his heart felt suddenly too weighted for his body.

“
I understand,
”
he said, his jaw tautening, but he suddenly couldn
’
t stay in her presence any longer.

“
I should let you rest,
”
he said, and rose from his knees, releasing his hands at his sides.

He left her quickly.

Why had he thought she would agree to it?

With his past,
what had he to offer any woman
... except his h
eart... and his goddamned money
... though why the hell should Sarah believe in him when he had failed Mary so miserably?

She didn
’
t need his money.

He had nothing to give.

CHAPTER
26

It was a beautiful day for a funeral.

The sun was shining through the budding trees—no shade because the oaks were not yet
adorned in their verdant green coats, but Sarah was certain it would be a perfect
place on a hot summer day to come and visit.

She listened to the drone of the pastor’s voice as he gave his graveside service,
hardly absorbing a word he spoke. She was aware only of the hands upon her shoulders,
strong hands, Peter’s hands. He stood behind her, as though bracing her... as though
he thought she would crumple if he released her.

And she might.

She stared at the freshly laid soil, so rich and moist—dampened with a billion tears.

Mellie would have loved the flowers Peter had chosen for her grave site—a brilliant
display of violet and white tulips that made her think of spring in all its splendor.
How fitting that the collection

should remind her of a time of renewal, because she chose to believe that Mellie’s
spirit had been reborn into a place where there would be no suffering and no unhappiness.
No loneliness. It was in that place she thought of Mary too... and her uncle. And
perhaps they were all together now, sending her love and goodwill.

That was the way Sarah chose to see it.

Mellie’s parents had passed away years before, and she hadn’t a man in her life, or
children to grieve at her grave, but Sarah knew her presence would be greatly missed
by all who had loved her so dearly. Melissa Frank had touched the lives of so many
people. She had given of herself so freely and generously that she hadn’t had time
for a life of her own. How many lives had she touched at the Institute alone?

Sarah would never forget her.

Everyone Sarah had ever loved had left her—through no fault of their own, but they
had—her parents when she’d been just a child, and then her uncle and Mary, too.

Now Mellie.

It had never been easy for Sarah to open up to anyone. She’d closed up almost completely
after her parents’ deaths. She remembered watching her uncle and cousin together from
a safe distance, never feeling quite a part of their world. Her uncle had persisted
with her for years, until at last he’d drawn her out. Sarah had been too young when
her parents had died, and so she didn’t remember a bond with them at all, but she
remembered vividly the day she had first felt part of a family...

Her age, she was unsure of, but she thought perhaps she might have been eleven. She
had refused to sit for a family portrait, believing that her uncle had asked her to
join them only out of the kindness of his heart. And so she had pretended illness
every day until the portrait was finished, and then she had miraculously recovered.
Her uncle had never forced her to sit with them—and instead asked her to watch from
her safe little perch, telling her stories that had kept her in the room. Sarah had
stayed, wishing the entire time that she were sitting at his side, along with Mary—and
feeling a little betrayed that he had given up so easily when she had weaseled out
of the sittings.

And then had come the day he’d unveiled the finished portrait. To Sarah’s shock and
her joy, there she had been, sitting beside him through the magic of the artist’s
brush.

Seeing them together had made a difference, somehow—though she realized much later
that it had been evident all the time. His love for both his girls had been in his
every gesture, and Mary had never begrudged her a single smile or hug from her dear
father.

They had been her family.

How could she simply come forward now and steal what was rightfully Mary’s?

It didn’t matter.

Even if she could do such a thing... Peter had only asked her to marry him in order
to salvage her reputation. Why should they both suffer when she had made that decision
as clearly as he? She could have saved herself.

But she hadn’t.

So why should he marry her now when he didn’t love her?

The last thing Sarah wished was to end like Mary, bitter and alone despite her vows.

No, she had made the right decision.

Her gaze scanned the cemetery. Only a fistful of people here, most she didn’t know—friends
of Mel’s from the Institute. When they glanced her way, Sarah felt a stab of guilt,
as though somehow it was her fault that Mel was no longer with them. So she couldn’t
face them. She avoided their gazes, scanning the street ahead of her.

Reporters.

Peter had guarded her from them when they’d first arrived, and they’d remained at
a distance, heeding his warning glances in their direction. Sarah knew, however, that
they did so only out of respect for the service being held. As soon as it was over
and they attempted to leave, she was certain they would hound them once more.

And she wasn’t wrong.

Peter had literally to shield her from their assault of questions as they departed—never
mind that many of their inquiries were directed at him. He ignored them all and held
her by both shoulders, guiding her out from the cemetery and into his waiting calash.

Once they were inside the carriage, he sat beside her, but turned to peer outside.

Sarah didn’t know what to say to break the silence between them.

It was an uneasy silence that left her feeling empty and lonely in a way she had never
known before.

She had insulated herself so well against everyone, except for a few ...and now they
were gone, and the one person she could turn to was the one person she had no right
to.

He was Mary’s husband.

He was Christopher’s father.

And she had begrudged Mary both.

“I didn’t realize you were searching for her journals,” he said abruptly.

Sarah peered up into his face, swallowing her grief.

His blue eyes lacked any luster this morning; they reminded her of a dreary, foggy
morning, one that promised eternal rain.

“Yes,” she replied, and averted her gaze. “I had hoped they would reveal something
of Mary’s death.” There was no point in lying any longer, or in keeping the truth
from him.

He might as well know it all.

“I never cared to read it.”

She turned again to look at him, and there was a new glitter in his eyes.

Tears?

“Why not?”

“I suppose I was afraid of what I might learn,” he answered honestly.

Sarah hoped he would continue, but wasn’t certain what to say to make him do so. He
had said last night that he had failed Mary. Her gut told her that his statement harbored
a wealth of information, but she didn’t dare pry. It was one thing to hear it in Mary’s
words, but another entirely to hear it from his own two lips. After all she had put
him through, she didn’t dare pry.

“I promised her so much that I never delivered, Sarah,” he said, and peered down at
the floor of the carriage. He slumped down into the seat, cupping his chin in his
hand.

Sarah wanted to reach out and take that hand into her own, to hold it in her lap while
he spoke. She didn’t dare, however. She clasped her own hands together, instead, and
closed her eyes to listen, hoping he would continue.

“The truth is, I didn’t kill my wife. I swear to God, Sarah.”

“I believe you,” Sarah assured him at once.

“I didn’t kill her, but I took away her spirit and her joy. So in a sense, I might
as well have.”

Sarah watched him, listening, her heart thumping mercilessly. His sincerity and heartfelt
emotion were in his every word, and she wanted to reach out and take him into her
arms.

“I’m just as guilty as that bastard with the bloody knife,” he added, and turned to
look into her eyes.

“We both failed her, Peter,” Sarah murmured, and she did reach up to take his hand
from his face. “She was like my sister, and I turned her away when she most needed
me.”

Their gazes held.

He squeezed her fingers just a little, and with it, the breath from her lungs.

His gaze fell to their clasped hands.

Sarah followed it, blinking at the sight of them together—his so much bigger and so
much darker, hers smaller and pale.

She was aware that his hands shook... hers as well... but she didn’t care.

She closed her eyes and put her heart in that gentle embrace. And suddenly every sensation
in her body was centered in their joined hands.

Together they lifted their hands between them, entwining their fingers, feeling every
nuance of every breath and every heartbeat in that gentle touch.

She opened her eyes to find that his were closed, and she swallowed convulsively at
the raw emotion that registered on his face.

She turned away and jerked her hand free, her heart hammering fiercely.

She couldn’t let herself feel this... couldn’t let herself take the one thing she
had denied Mary.

How just would that be?

Not at all, she decided, and turned to stare at the floor of the carriage.

What she needed, now more than ever... was to find out who was responsible for Mary’s
and Mellie’s deaths. Because she knew in her heart the two were connected, and she
needed to know Mary’s son would be safe.

She needed those things more than anything, and she needed to go home...

Before she lost her heart and soul to a man she hadn’t a right to.

Ruth’s face was florid with anger. “She’s a liar, Peter!”

“Yes, she lied, but not with malicious intent,” he said, defending Sarah. “She was
merely seeking the truth.”

“And what else?” Ruth returned caustically. “She’s here looking for something, I’ll
warrant.”

Peter held his tongue. It was Sarah’s place to say, he thought. Nor did it make him
feel particularly good to say she had been searching for evidence against him. And
yet he understood why she had done all that she’d done, and he couldn’t blame her.
He couldn’t say that he would have handled the situation the same. It was his way
to confront issues directly, and he might have come marching into the house demanding
answers, rather than disguise himself as a blind teacher. And yet Sarah’s motives
had been honorable enough. She had been looking out for his son’s best interest, even
if not his.

“Why are you defending her?” Ruth accused him, narrowing her eyes in condemnation.
“She doesn’t deserve a defense!”

Peter’s jaw tautened.

“You love her, don’t you?”

He gave Ruth a pointed look. “If I love her, Ruth, it is no crime.”

Ruth threw up her hands in defeat. “You never learn your lessons, do you?” she said
to him, and turned away. She stood there an instant, facing the door, and Peter refused
to defend himself for loving Sarah. She swung about to face him. “And Mary’s cousin,
no less! How can you?”

Peter responded to her questions with silence. There was no reasoning with Ruth when
she became so irate and irrational. He would simply let her vent, and then if she
wanted explanations later, and asked him reasonably, he would answer her as well as
he was able.

“I tried to tell you she was trouble, Peter,” Ruth reminded him bitterly, “and mark
my words when I tell you this is not over. I have a terrible premonition about that
woman. Send her away,” Ruth begged. “Send her away now before it’s too late!”

“Ruth,” Peter began, and tilted her a concerned look. She was acting strangely, he
thought, almost desperately. And why she should be so frightened of Sarah, he had
no inkling. He wouldn’t send Sarah away. “No,” he told her firmly. “Sarah is welcome
in this home as long as she wishes to stay, and you will help me to make her feel
so,” he demanded of her.

“No!” Ruth shouted. “For Christopher’s sake, I will not!”

“For Christopher’s sake?” She wasn’t making sense. He wondered if the laudanum she
took so often had clouded her thoughts. “Sarah would never harm Christopher,” he assured
her. “Everything she has done, she has done for my son.”

Ruth shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes. “You don’t understand. Her
very presence here endangers him.”

“Sarah would never harm him,” Peter maintained.

“No, but someone else may!” she shouted at him. “Don’t you think it rather coincidental
that Mary is murdered, and then nothing for six years—all is quiet until Sarah arrives?
And now Mel Frank is dead, and who is next?” she reasoned with him. “Send her away,
Peter,” she begged.

Peter shook his head, denying her request. Something was definitely not right, but
he refused to believe Sarah responsible. And the last thing he was going to do was
send her away when it was possible she was in danger.

“No,” he said.

“Confound it!” Ruth cursed him, slamming her hands down upon his desk. “You are going
to regret this, Peter! We are all going to regret this!” she swore, and pivoted on
her heels, sobbing.