Page 38 of When We Touch

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.