with some interest. Sarah was entirely too aware of his gaze
upon her. It was making her quite ill at ease.
“Yes, sir! And he went to school and they made him a teacher! And he made up the whole
code all by himself!”
“Not quite by himself,” Sarah interjected, trying to hide her discomfort. “He had
a bit of inspiration from a man named Barbier,” she explained. “Mr Barbier was an
officer of artillery who was interested in the blind and did what he could to promote
their education. It was he who first suggested embossing by means of a point method.
Mr. Braille simply restructured the code so it would be easier to use.” She felt Peter’s
gaze bore into her, and her heart skipped a beat.
Naturally, she told herself, it was fear that made her react so—fear of discovery.
She certainly didn’t care one whit whether he was attracted to her or not.
Was he?
Mel was wrong. He couldn’t possibly be attracted to her. Nor did she want him to be!
“Miss Sarah is quite knowledgeable, is she not?” Peter said.
“Yes, sir!” Christopher agreed. “And she smells good too!”
“Does she?” Peter leaned closer, and Sarah’s heart tripped. He was so close now that
she could swear she felt the heat of his breath upon her face. “She does smell rather
nice, doesn’t she?” His grip upon her arm seemed to tighten a bit. Sarah could scarcely
breathe as she heard his intake of breath. He held it, and then released it, blowing
softly upon her cheek.
The feel of it sent electric tingles down her spine.
What the devil was wrong with her body? Didn’t it seem to care anything at all for
what her brain was saying? She couldn’t be attracted to him. Shouldn’t...
Christopher responded with a hearty, “Yes sir!”
Sarah forced herself to breathe.
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she went dizzy upon her feet.
Her heartbeat, however, was another matter entirely. It began to thump mercilessly,
and she couldn’t seem to slow it at all.
Forcing her attention upon Christopher, she doubled her efforts to ignore the man
walking at her side.
Unlike other children, Christopher did not run ahead of them, kicking at rocks and
climbing atop the tiny hillocks that composed Central Park. Nor did he beg to climb
the winter-bared trees or to run and play with his friends. He remained by their side,
tapping at the walkway with his cane, and Sarah’s heart ached for him.
She wanted to reach out and scoop him into her arms. She wanted to hold him and tell
him that everything would be all right. She wanted to spirit him away and shelter
him from harm.
She wanted to beat some bloody sense into his father with her blasted cane.
Her conversation with Ruth plagued her immensely.
“Tell me, Mr. Holland,” she began, her tone quite perturbed, though she tried not
to show her ire.
“Peter,” he suggested, his tone warm and gentle in contrast, entirely too charming.
It irked her. “Please call me Peter.”
On a cold day in bloody hell!
Is this the way he had spoken to Mary?
Had he wooed her with his wit and charm?
Well, Sarah was very well aware of where it had gotten Mary, and she didn’t intend
to fall prey to it as well.
She swallowed her anger, and said, “Peter, it is, then.” Taking a deep breath, she
willed her nerves to calm. “Tell me... Peter... why did you not simply enroll Christopher
in New York’s Institute for the Blind? Why hire me, or anyone for that matter, when
you have at your disposal one of the finer schools for the blind in the entire country?”
He peered down at her; strange how she could sense his gaze so keenly, even when she
dared not look at him. “The most obvious reason, his age, Sarah... May I call you
Sarah?” he asked her abruptly.
Sarah bristled at the question. Some part of her sensed danger keenly in his familiarity.
She wasn’t going to end like Mary. She wasn’t! She swallowed the tart
upon her. It was making her quite ill at ease.
“Yes, sir! And he went to school and they made him a teacher! And he made up the whole
code all by himself!”
“Not quite by himself,” Sarah interjected, trying to hide her discomfort. “He had
a bit of inspiration from a man named Barbier,” she explained. “Mr Barbier was an
officer of artillery who was interested in the blind and did what he could to promote
their education. It was he who first suggested embossing by means of a point method.
Mr. Braille simply restructured the code so it would be easier to use.” She felt Peter’s
gaze bore into her, and her heart skipped a beat.
Naturally, she told herself, it was fear that made her react so—fear of discovery.
She certainly didn’t care one whit whether he was attracted to her or not.
Was he?
Mel was wrong. He couldn’t possibly be attracted to her. Nor did she want him to be!
“Miss Sarah is quite knowledgeable, is she not?” Peter said.
“Yes, sir!” Christopher agreed. “And she smells good too!”
“Does she?” Peter leaned closer, and Sarah’s heart tripped. He was so close now that
she could swear she felt the heat of his breath upon her face. “She does smell rather
nice, doesn’t she?” His grip upon her arm seemed to tighten a bit. Sarah could scarcely
breathe as she heard his intake of breath. He held it, and then released it, blowing
softly upon her cheek.
The feel of it sent electric tingles down her spine.
What the devil was wrong with her body? Didn’t it seem to care anything at all for
what her brain was saying? She couldn’t be attracted to him. Shouldn’t...
Christopher responded with a hearty, “Yes sir!”
Sarah forced herself to breathe.
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she went dizzy upon her feet.
Her heartbeat, however, was another matter entirely. It began to thump mercilessly,
and she couldn’t seem to slow it at all.
Forcing her attention upon Christopher, she doubled her efforts to ignore the man
walking at her side.
Unlike other children, Christopher did not run ahead of them, kicking at rocks and
climbing atop the tiny hillocks that composed Central Park. Nor did he beg to climb
the winter-bared trees or to run and play with his friends. He remained by their side,
tapping at the walkway with his cane, and Sarah’s heart ached for him.
She wanted to reach out and scoop him into her arms. She wanted to hold him and tell
him that everything would be all right. She wanted to spirit him away and shelter
him from harm.
She wanted to beat some bloody sense into his father with her blasted cane.
Her conversation with Ruth plagued her immensely.
“Tell me, Mr. Holland,” she began, her tone quite perturbed, though she tried not
to show her ire.
“Peter,” he suggested, his tone warm and gentle in contrast, entirely too charming.
It irked her. “Please call me Peter.”
On a cold day in bloody hell!
Is this the way he had spoken to Mary?
Had he wooed her with his wit and charm?
Well, Sarah was very well aware of where it had gotten Mary, and she didn’t intend
to fall prey to it as well.
She swallowed her anger, and said, “Peter, it is, then.” Taking a deep breath, she
willed her nerves to calm. “Tell me... Peter... why did you not simply enroll Christopher
in New York’s Institute for the Blind? Why hire me, or anyone for that matter, when
you have at your disposal one of the finer schools for the blind in the entire country?”
He peered down at her; strange how she could sense his gaze so keenly, even when she
dared not look at him. “The most obvious reason, his age, Sarah... May I call you
Sarah?” he asked her abruptly.
Sarah bristled at the question. Some part of her sensed danger keenly in his familiarity.
She wasn’t going to end like Mary. She wasn’t! She swallowed the tart
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