When We Touch (11 page)

Then, quite suddenly, he stepped away, and staring at her, swore. She didn't stumble, nor did her knees buckle, yet she stood there, just staring at him, stunned, feeling the dampness remaining upon her lips, the swell of them from his touch, and as if she would blow away like a leaf were the slightest breeze to arise.

“You are a witch!” he said softly. And he wiped his mouth suddenly with the back of his hand, as if he had indeed tasted something evil.

Silver clouds evaporated.

She turned at last and headed up the walk, and into the town house.

Chapter 6

Jamie stayed by Newton several long seconds, gathering his equilibrium. His muscles hardened, stiffened, and chilled, and his jaw locked. Good God, what was the matter with him? He loved Charles, owed him so much.

If he believed in it, he'd say that he was indeed bewitched!

But he didn't believe in such things. And it hadn't been all the raw hungers she evoked simply by looking the way she did that had seemed to mesmerize him that night. It had been in those few moments when he had seen the pain and the passion within her, the hurt that had led her to the type of reckless action she had carried out tonight. It had been something in her voice, something in the glimpse of honesty.

He swore aloud.

Did he blame her? Not with any sense of right or dignity. She'd taken her leave. He had called her back.

Ah, but she'd fallen quite easily into his arms! No protest there. And she was the one getting married. He had rather just proved that she was far too young for Charles, that she would eventually hurt him, taking on a lover.

“Nice conceit, eh, Newton?” he said to the horse. “Bit of ego on my part, there, eh?

“Well, let's head home, shall we, Newton? It seems there's little else to do tonight.”

He mounted his horse, and turned the animal from the house and the woman who would haunt him forever.

His mind was set. He had intended to keep her from danger, and yet, it seemed, he was the greatest danger she might encounter at the moment. Darby would have to look after her on his own until the wedding.

The wedding.

A taste of acid nearly choked him.

Hopefully, she would lie low and keep her peace for a week, at the very least! Because, if he could help it, he didn't intend to see her again until after she was duly wed to Charles.

* * *

“Here we are at last. Moorhaven,” Jamie said, looking at Arianna, trying to smile. The carriage they had taken from the rail station drew to a halt at the end of the estate's long drive.

Arianna didn't respond. She'd been dour the entire trip—except when they had first approached London. Then she had started quizzing him relentlessly on news regarding current events in the city, and she'd had a morbid curiosity when he'd talked about some of the private individuals trying to improve conditions for the poor in their own country.

Then, entering the countryside, she'd fallen silent again.

As the cabbie came around for their baggage, he caught Arianna's hand. “I've never seen your father so happy, or look so well. Try to be pleased, for his sake.”

She stared at Jamie. “I will never let him know how I feel.”

“Maybe you'll feel differently. You've not met Lady Maggie yet.”

She gave him a frighteningly icy smile. “You're so right.”

Jamie sighed, shaking his head. Mrs. Whitley was rushing out to greet them. Darby followed her, ready to get Arianna's bags.

“Welcome home, welcome home!” Mrs. Whitley almost hugged the girl. Not quite. She stopped short. She was a no-nonsense woman, but kind enough, even if she appeared remote.

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitley,” Arianna said. Then, looking around Mrs. Whitley, she smiled with honest warmth. “Darby!”

“Little Miss!” Darby said, and he didn't seem to have a problem in the least accepting Arianna's enthusiasm as she threw herself into his arms.

Uncomfortable himself, Jamie watched the proceedings.

“Sir James, will you come in for tea? Your uncle will surely expect you to do so.”

“No, I've much to keep me busy today, I'm afraid, Mrs. Whitley. Please tell Uncle Charles that I will be here bright and early tomorrow.”

“Indeed, Sir James, I'll tell him,” Mrs. Whitley assured him.

He nodded, and turned back to the cab.

Arianna let Darby loose, turning back to him. “Jamie!”

“Yes?”

She flew the distance between them, hugging him suddenly as she had Darby. “Thank you . . . I wouldn't have been able to do this if you hadn't come to France for me yourself.”

He nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

Then, still feeling the urgent need to leave Charles's house, he hurriedly climbed back into the cab. He'd been restless the entire trip to France, and uncomfortable with Arianna, whom he'd known since she'd been a wee babe in his arms. He'd always been the older cousin, like a tolerant, amused, brother.

But this time he'd been as anxious to be rid of her as he was anxious simply to be done with the whole of it!

A drink might be in order.

Hell, a slew of them might be in order.

* * *

“This, my dear, is Arianna!”

The day before the wedding, Arianna had come home at last.

They stood in the grand salon at Moorhaven, Charles's estate on the Thames. Tomorrow, the salon would host the wedding reception, and already, it was festooned with candles and flowers.

Maggie had just arrived, driven there in the new coach that her marriage portion, paid to Justin, furnished.

Clayton had loved driving it.

Mrs. Whitley, Charles's elegant head housekeeper, had seen her in, bringing her here, straight to the salon, where, at one of the tables not yet set for the reception, Charles and his daughter were having tea, awaiting her arrival.

And here, at last, was her stepdaughter-to-be. She hoped that she could win the young girl over, but she herself was not in the best of moods.

First, there was the matter of the strange moment of intimacy she had exchanged with Jamie. She had thought that she loathed him.

She didn't dare think of the man. She didn't know what she felt, or perhaps she did. Horror, sadness. A terrible sense of
if only.

She had disliked him so intensely. Because of his feelings for her. And surely, those hadn't changed, they had only intensified. Now, he must think so much worse of her, that she had allowed such a kiss.

A kiss only.

No, a kiss that hinted at so much more. A kiss that had made her feel more than any simple touch of the lips should do.

She had to clear her mind. When she thought of that moment, she started to shake. There were other matters, very serious, to be worried about as well.

In the last few days, she had anxiously read the papers, praying that there was no speculation at all that she had been “the woman in black” who had been present at the séance where one man had been seriously injured, with a gunshot wound to his shoulder, a young woman had been found with a serious bruise to her forehead, and another big fellow had been discovered unconscious. The three were under arrest—Lady Marian, Duchess of Chesney, had given the police detailed information as to the proceedings that night, but she was entirely unaware as to the identities of the others who had attended the séance.

Adrian Alexander himself had not been found. It was his cohorts who sat at Newgate, awaiting trial on serious charges, including those of attempted murder.

Maggie should have been relieved. She remained nervous. And she was still so when she stood in the grand salon at Moorhaven and greeted the girl. She forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. The young lady had to be skeptical of her, and she hoped to change her doubt.

“Arianna, how do you do?”

Maggie's initial greeting to the girl was honestly warm.

And then she saw the way that the girl was looking at her. Much as Jamie had done, when they had first met.

In her father's presence, she didn't intend to be overtly rude. She accepted Maggie's hand, her own as limp as a wet noodle.

“Charmed, I'm sure,” the girl drawled, surely using her most autocratic and bored tone.

“I've been so anxious to meet,” Maggie said. Charles stood with an arm draped around the girl's shoulder, beaming with pride.

“Isn't she beautiful?” he asked Maggie.

“Indeed, outstandingly beautiful,” Maggie said, and whatever her thoughts, her words were not a lie. The girl was exquisite. Hair as dark as India ink—like Jamie's. Her eyes were brown, however, a true, deep, dark brown, whereas Jamie's were gray, that ever-changing gray. Her skin was flawless, ivory, without a hint of imperfection.

“Well, shall we sit down, enjoy our tea?” Charles suggested, and so they did. Arianna had seen to it that she retained her chair—between Maggie and her father.

“So, you've been studying in France,” Maggie said to the girl.

Dark eyes lit upon her with annoyance and contempt. “Yes.”

“How lovely. I spent a year in Paris when I was seventeen. My Uncle Angus had suggested it was the best place to go to finishing school, before being introduced to society.”

“And did you enjoy being finished there?” Arianna asked.

“I enjoyed Paris very much,” Maggie said.

Charles frowned, his hand upon the teapot. “The water has grown cold. I'll just call Mrs. Whitley.”

“I'll do it, Father,” Arianna offered.

“Nonsense, child. You and Maggie are just getting to know one another.”

He walked toward the door leading to the grand foyer and from there, to the kitchens.

Arianna leaned toward Maggie suddenly. “And what did you study in Paris, Lady Margaret?
Witchcraft?
”

“What?” Maggie said, astonished.

“A wonderful woman, Mrs. Whitley!” Charles boomed, returning to the table. “She's seeing to it already. Fresh tea and scones! So, how are my two beauties getting along?” He took his chair again, his smile proud at the sight of them.

“I was just asking Lady Margaret if she studied the sciences in Paris,” Arianna said sweetly.

Maggie allowed her the lie, her eyes narrowing as she smiled. “And I was just informing your lovely daughter that no, I had actually studied the sciences right here, in London. I did, however, enjoy a few seasons in Italy, during the winter, while my father was still alive.”

“Italy!” Lord Charles reached across the table, capturing Maggie's fingers, squeezing them. “We must make a trip to Italy. And if Arianna doesn't instantly fall in love with some rake come the spring, she'll most certainly have to accompany us.” He winked at his daughter. “Of course, my dear, I am anxious that you meet a certain young man. A proper one. Very handsome, of course.”

“I'm young, Father. And young men can wait. To travel with you—and Lady Maggie, of course—why, I can think of nothing that I would rather do, dear Father!” Arianna said.

“I'm so sorry your brother couldn't be here,” Charles told Maggie.

“I am, too, but he had his last fitting for tomorrow.”

“You have a brother, Lady Margaret. How nice for you,” Arianna said.

“Yes, he is very dear to me.”

“And he must think, as I do, that this wedding is a blessing and wondrous event,” Arianna said with such scathing sarcasm that Maggie was amazed Charles could miss it.

“Oh, yes,” she replied.

“Lord Charles!” Mrs. Whitley came hurrying in, her manner conveying great distress. “Father Gaines has come and needs a word with you.”

“Well, bring him in for tea!” Charles said.

“He begs your forgiveness but has a very busy afternoon. Can you spare him a few minutes in your office?”

“Certainly. Ladies, my very special ladies! Please enjoy your tea, and don't wait for me. Naturally, there are last minute problems to be straightened out!” He rose again, planted a kiss on his daughter's head, winked at Maggie, and headed out.

Maggie leaned forward. “Your father's gone. So, please, feel free to speak plainly. I will do so right now. I don't intend to pretend to be your mother in any way; you're a breath away from being of age, so I'd be a little late.”

“My mother! You're scarcely four or five years my senior!”

“That's true. Except that I'm afraid those years have been long and hard.”

“You're quite busy, so I hear.”

Maggie frowned. What did the girl know about her?

“I'm not at all sure what you mean, but I've lost a husband, I saw him murdered, and I tried, for his sake, to understand why.”

“Tell me, Lady Margaret,” Arianna demanded, both hands on the table as she faced Maggie down. “Did you fall in love with my father?”

“I intend to be a very good wife to your father.”

“Until you kill him, too?”

She came so close to slapping Arianna that she had to leap to her feet. “You are hateful!” she told Arianna. “I don't know what on earth has made you so bitter and nasty, and you're quite welcome to hate me until your own venom chokes you, but don't speak about my past in such a way.”

“What will you do? Beat me? Poison me?” Arianna suggested. “Let's see; kill my father, kill me! Alas, you'll have to go after Jamie, then, though, if you want all the money. Of course, even if you get rid of Jamie, you won't get the estate. They'll have to find some long-lost male relative for the title and estates. I guess, however, that you will have your marriage portion. I'm sure that this particular marriage of convenience was arranged with your legal interests well tended to.”

Maggie held very still. “Please inform your father I suddenly realized that I had to leave. I will see him tomorrow, at the ceremony.”

Maggie turned and exited the salon and the foyer. She marched out to the new family carriage and was chagrined to discover that, of course, Clayton wasn't there. He would hardly expect her to be ready to return home so quickly.