Page 48 of When We Touch

Chapter 7

“Damn you, shut up, they’re coming!”

Jamie. It was Jamie there with her, surely intent on helping her out.

She heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Others were definitely in pursuit. Instinct caused her to inhale to scream again, but his groping hand found her mouth, and a whisper shocked her to a further state of ice-cold panic.

“Maggie! For the moment, may I suggest you pretend to be with me, and most happily so? Don’t you understand? They think that pursuit and force is part of what you want!”

She managed to nod, her mind racing.

How had he come to be here? Had he agreed with Cecilia’s invitation after all?

She was shaking, aware that other footfalls were hitting the stairs, coming closer and closer.

He set her down and his arms came around her. In the darkness she could see nothing, but felt him searching the obstruction they had hit for a secret catch. A moment later, the door sprang open.

Maggie burst out, with Jamie in her wake. The place was a blur as she streaked through the hallway to the entrance. From the dance hall, she could hear raucous laughter and applause. The woman remained at the door.

Ignoring her, Maggie caught the handle and ripped it open. She flew out onto the pathway to the house, racing for the street.

“Stop! Damn you, Maggie, stop now, before you become the victim of a common thief or footpad!”

She came to a dead standstill, chilled, and miserable.

“My carriage is around the corner,” Jamie said, reaching her, turning her to face him.

She nodded. Her own misery, the way that she was shaking, made her behave very badly. “So . . . you must come here often, sir.”

“Just come and get in the carriage, Maggie.”

Stiffly, she accepted his arm. She stumbled as he led her around a corner and down a gas-lit street to where his carriage waited. His coachman stood by the door, a tall, well-proportioned fellow with an easy smile and pleasant hazel eyes.

With his assistance, she nearly tripped trying to enter the conveyance. Jamie, thanking Randolph, came up behind and caught her by the hips, keeping her from falling. He crawled in to take the seat opposite from her.

“Ready, Randolph!” He tapped the roof of the carriage, and it began to move. Once it did so, he dragged the mask from his face, and the heavy wig from his head. She hadn’t stirred. He reached across the carriage, far too close, as he performed the same service for her.

He sat back then. She knew that her own hair was tumbling down her face in a riot of dishevelment. The bodice of her evening dress was askew.

“Well, it was good to see that you weren’t intent on enjoying all the entertainments of Madame Bridey’s salon,” he said dryly. “What was this tonight? Another of your causes? Your life does seem to be full of secrets. Have you done this before?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Never!”

“You did seem anxious to leave.”

“She . . . Cecilia . . . she said it was a supper club.”

“It is, of a variety. Surely, you understood that variety?” he asked, his tone harsh, as if she definitely had.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, come! From that conversation you were having with her this afternoon?”

Maggie felt the blood rush to her face. “Evidently, you’re familiar enough with the place!”

“I’ve been there before, yes.”

“Do you know what?” she demanded icily. “Cecilia is actually quite right. Men are all really wretched creatures, thinking that their indecencies are acceptable—just because they’re men! You’re all horrid!”