Page 124 of When We Touch

“No, no, hear me out! Remember how we all had a sip of brandy last night? Well, we’ll have to do the same tonight. And into Arianna’s brandy, we’ll slip enough laudanum to cause her to pass out.”

“Great—what will that do?”

“Keep her from fighting us, for one. Because we’ll have laced all the rest of the brandy as well. Then, once we’re out on the street . . . I can’t tell Justin exactly what I’m doing, but I will ask him to be in the street, and be wary—there’s so much going on, that he should bring a few friends, and my cousin Tristan, who has decided that he wants to be a police officer.”

“Maggie, why not just explain it all to your brother?”

“Because he’d stop me, and I know what I’m doing makes sense, and that I can make it work.”

“It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Mireau, it does! And believe me, I’ve gotten to know laudanum very well. We can do this. Listen to me! Once those hoods are under, we carry Arianna out. We have help waiting, warned that they need to be armed. We send them in for the thugs, once we’ve gotten Arianna and ourselves out, and we’re all safe.”

“You’re scaring me, Maggie.”

“Why?”

“Because, in a very bizarre way, you are making sense. But, what if . . .”

“No! We can’t deal with any ‘but, ifs . . .’! We have to make it work.”

“What if we can’t get them all to drink brandy?”

“They drank it. They all drank it last night.”

“Except for ‘Jeremiah.’ ”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

There was a knock on the door. Maggie jumped. “It’s probably just the oh-so-charming Mrs. Whitley,” Mireau said with a smile.

It wasn’t, and no permission was needed to cause the caller to open the door.

Jamie was there.

“Lord James!” Mireau murmured uncomfortably. “Good afternoon.”

“Jacques,” Jamie said, glancing his way, then giving his attention to Maggie. “I’d like to speak with you. Forgive me, Mireau, but I’d like to speak with Maggie—alone.”

“We were in the middle of a discussion,” Maggie said stiffly.

“Ah, now, that’s all right. We can speak again later. I was just leaving.”

“You were not.”

“Maggie?” Jamie said politely.

“I’m on my way!” Mireau said cheerfully, rising. He mouthed the words, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

And then he left her. She wanted to throw something after him, and call him a deserter.

But he was gone, and the door was closed, and she was left standing there, staring at Jamie. And he looked wonderful, dark hair smoothed back, crimson waistcoat, dark trousers, and matching cravat. Freshly shaven, sleek, tall, imposing, immaculate . . . entirely handsome, completely powerful, suave, and seductive.

“What?” she said quietly, not daring to move, her voice very low.

“I came to apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she said simply.