When We Touch

by Heather Graham

  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.

  But then, just as she stood by the carriage door, stiff and furious, Clayton arrived. He opened the carriage door quickly, and as he helped her in, he said, “Ah, lady, try to understand the lass. She feels as if she’s failed as a daughter.”

  “Oh?” Maggie looked at Clayton, who flushed.

  “Begging your pardon, m’lady. Servants talk, you know.”

  Maggie nodded, then whispered, “But Clayton. She’s . . . vicious!”

  “Just a scared child, trying to be much, much more,” he told her sadly.

  “I’ll try very hard to take that into consideration,” Maggie told him. But once she was seated in the carriage, she felt a chill. She had expected that Lord Charles’s daughter might not greet her with open arms. But she’d never expected the girl to be this passionately vile!

  The carriage lurched forward. Justin had actually haggled for it, and it wasn’t new, only the coat of arms on the door. Their debts were paid, but apparently, her brother had set what wasn’t direly needed aside, should she discover that she needed it.

  Rather than take a chance that he fall into gambling again, Maggie had quietly agreed.

  So, here it was, the day before the wedding and she had been well and duly bought and paid for.

  She began to shake. It was true that she had come to care deeply for Lord Charles. It was true as well that she couldn’t help but note the liver spots on his hands, the
gauntness of his cheeks, the snow white color of his brows. Which would be just fine, if only she, too, had snow white hair, wrinkling flesh, and perhaps even a token liver spot somewhere.

  True, too, that she couldn’t stop thinking about a younger man, one whose lightest touch evoked a very uncomfortable fire that seemed to burn and consume every part of her flesh, and take special heat into the very core of her.

  She gritted her teeth, grasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  Yes, she’d been bought, and paid for.

  No wonder the girl hated her with such a violent fervor. She had a right. Had she suddenly fallen madly in love with Lord Charles? No, of course not. Did she intend to be a good wife? Yes, Lord Charles had made her world right again.

  Would she dream about Sir James Langdon late at night?

  No, no, no, she would not allow herself to do so!

  Forget James, forget him, forget the feelings of hunger. Forget how you’re discovering just how much you admire the man, how you feel when his eyes touch you, when his hands are upon you, when his lips . . .

  Forget!

  Charles, Charles, Lord Charles.

  Yes, Lord Charles. And she would be a good wife. Perhaps he would try to stop her visits to the East End, but if he continued with his more than charitable contributions to the church and the Salvation Army because of her, wouldn’t it be worth it? He’d never, never approve of her determination to expose mediums and mesmerists, but then, she’d decided herself that she was going to have to rethink that situation, after she had realized that some of them might commit murder to maintain their practices.

  It didn’t matter that she hadn’t suddenly fallen in love with Charles. Lots of people were still married by arrangement. And most people didn’t just suddenly fall in love.

  They might fall into lust, though. And discover that the object of their lust was decent and intelligent, worthy in thought and deed, and body.

  Body . . .

  She stuck her head out of the carriage, calling to Clayton, “Please, stop! I think I’d like to walk around a bit, Clayton, have a sip of tea at a coffeehouse.”

  Tea, hell, a nice sip of sherry would be lovely. Maybe several sips.

  From the driver’s seat, Clayton gave a nod. A moment later, he drew the carriage to a halt, out of the way of traffic. They were not far from Buckingham Palace, and there was a row of shops and coffeehouses along the very hectic and busy thoroughfare.

  Still, Clayton looked at her worriedly as he helped her from the carriage. “M’lady . . . shall I wait? I can find a good place to draw up, read me papers, while some time.”

  She shook her head. “I really need some time, Clayton.” She touched his dear old cheek. “I will so miss you every morning, Clayton.”

  “You’ll be fine. You’ll have the good Mrs. Whitley.”

  Maggie made a face. “She’s very stern. And proper.”

  “As a good housekeeper should be.”

  Maggie shook her head. “I prefer a dear family butler with whom one can enjoy chocolate and gossip in the kitchen. Even if the gossip is all about one’s self! Get on, now. I shall be quite fine by myself.”

  “I can wait, Maggie.”

  “We’ve done just fine with hired carriage for several years now, Clayton. I know my way home.”

  Sighing, he left her.

  * * *

  “Maggie! My, my! Dear Lady Maggie Graham!”

  Maggie had found a darling little place on the corner with an outside garden area, and there, she’d ordered tea and scones, had been sipping the first and playing with the latter, when she heard her name called. Looking up, she saw Cecilia, now Countess de Burgh, since her marriage to Count Eustace de Burgh of Cornwall.

  They had come out together, attending their first season of balls and teas and the social whirl of the Ton together. Maggie had liked Cecilia, despite her friend’s absolute determination to marry Eustace, who hadn’t seemed very interested in marriage, other than that his family had determined that he would find a wife, and quickly. He was more than a bit of a fop, a total ne’er do well, but he also owned several castles, manor houses, a dozen racehorses, and all manner of property.

  Cecilia looked as charming as ever, brown curls artfully arrayed, her lavender day dress only a shade too risqué, and the parasol she carried a pretty little piece that added nicely to her outfit. Her bonnet was small, emphasizing the richness of her curls.

  “Cecilia, how are you?” Maggie rose with an honest pleasure at seeing Cecilia, who was ever cheerful, and, customarily, far too honest. She had always enjoyed a sense of adventure and fun, and hadn’t been appalled when Maggie had determined on marrying Nathan. She had thought Maggie entirely foolish, but hadn’t excluded her from any social events. However, in the last few years, they had grown apart.

  “Delightful, absolutely delightful,” Cecilia said. “Preparing the town house for the autumn season, you know, and then we’ll stay through Christmas and head to the Continent. We’ve decided to winter in Spain.”

  “Lovely.” Cecilia had found the spare chair across from Maggie. She beamed. “And you—about to become the wife of none other than Charles, Viscount Langdon! I’m quite thrilled for you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Well, of course. Aren’t you thrilled for yourself?”

  “He’s a very dear man.”

  Cecilia laughed delightedly. “Oh, Maggie! Leave it to you. ‘He’s a dear man!’ He’s one of the most important peers in the realm. Marriage is a contract, a convenience, something for the perpetuation of heirs, and society. Good heavens, do you think that people believe you’re required to be madly in love with the man? Ah, yes, well you did marry that poor fellow. Nathan. He was gorgeous, but . . . Maggie, Maggie, Maggie! Gorgeous men are one thing, and marriage is quite another. You should have had an affair with your glorious young Nathan, and married such a man as Charles from the very beginning.”

  “Cecilia!” Maggie protested. “I loved Nathan.”

  “Yes, yes, all well, good, and fine. And our dear Queen Victoria adored her Albert, and so now we’re all supposed to be so moral. Well, she is deceiving herself, of course. Her son is a tremendous rake, and his son, I assure you, no better. We all pretend that such things aren’t going on, but underneath, well . . .”

  “Underneath,” Maggie said, “a lot is rumor.” Her smile deepened. “It is good to see you. You and Eustace are doing well?”

  “Indeed, it’s nearly a marriage made in heaven.”

  “There! You love your husband.”

  Cecilia hesitated just a moment, then shook her head. “Maggie, Maggie! Of course I love the fellow. He’s provided magnificently for me.”

  “Congratulations. I’m very happy for you.”

  “We’ve two sons now, you know. A three-year-old and a two-year-old. One to inherit, and a backup.”

  “Cecilia, what a way to talk about your children.”

  “Oh, I adore the little urchins. But you’ve always been such a practical girl, Maggie. Surely, you still are.”

  Maggie must have stared at her a little blankly because she leaned forward then, a strange smile curling her lips. “Maggie, please! Eustace prefers different company.”

  “He has mistresses?”

  Cecilia giggled. “No, silly. He prefers . . . the company of men. I always knew, of course. Ours was very much so an arranged marriage. We’ve done the proper thing and produced two legitimate heirs. Now, he enjoys himself as he prefers . . . and I do the same. And we’re very dear friends. Actually, ours is a far better marriage than most. We never fight. And!” She lowered her voice, speaking excitedly, “I tell you, I know many a rumor about young Prince Eddy is true, because Eustace has assured me that it is so!”

  Maggie gasped. “My brother is friends with Prince Eddy.”

  Cecilia laughed, shaking her head. “Your brother and many other a man with more customary preferences is friends with the Prince. There are friends, and there are friends.”


  “I’m relieved.”

  “Are you judging?” Cecilia asked.

  “Never. I’m just hoping my brother will find the woman of his dreams soon, marry, and produce an heir.”

  “Well, my Lord, he should be able to do so easily enough. He’s as handsome as a fairy-tale prince!”

  “Thank you.”

  “So! You’ll be the wife of Viscount Langdon. It will be fine. The old fellow has a child, doesn’t he? Oh, that’s right, how could I forget? A daughter. He’ll be trying for a son. Give him that heir as quickly as you can, and you’ll be on your own.” Her eyes twinkled. “Have you considered any prospective lovers?”

  “Good Lord, no!”

  “Oh, come, Maggie! You might be a widow as we sit, but you’re young and, sad to say, you were the most stunning among us the year we hit society. I’ve no lack of confidence, myself, mind you! Maggie! This wedding is tomorrow. I have an idea. Come out with me tonight. I know places where we can go. I can see already that you’re thinking about being all moral and dedicated and loyal once you’ve wed, but . . . well, you’re not wed until tomorrow. Let’s play tonight!”

  “Cecilia,” Maggie began, but her words caught in her throat. Looking just a few feet beyond her friend’s parasol, she froze. There was a man at a nearby table, now peering at the two of them over the top of his newspaper.

  He hadn’t been there when she had first chosen the table.

  It was Jamie.

  He lowered the newspaper. She wasn’t certain whether he was just realizing that she was there as well or not. He stood. “Why, Lady Graham. How lovely to see you. And your friend, of course.”

  “How lovely to see you!” Cecilia exclaimed, looking him up and down a bit too boldly. “Sir James Langdon! Indeed, what a pleasure.” She extended an elegantly gloved hand. “We have met.”

  “Forgive me, then, my memory is sadly faulty.”

  “Cecilia, Lady de Burgh. You knew me as Sir Cavanaugh’s daughter.”

  “Ah, yes. Forgive me. What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Well!” Cecilia said, “How amazing that the two of you should just happen to meet at a coffee shop, just the day before the wedding! You must be delighted for your uncle, Sir James.”