Page 56 of When We Touch

“I’ll be back!”

Justin raced on down the stairs. Maggie was waiting for him in a little antechamber. The wedding itself was down a few steps from the grand salon, in the family chapel.

“Justin!” She was anxious and nervous, near to tears.

“Maggie!”

He stepped back, breathless again, amazed at the sight of his own sister.

She hadn’t worn white. She was marrying for a second time. Neither had she chosen a beige or off-white. She had gone for a soft, aqua-toned blue.

And she was a vision, shattering, awe-inspiring. Her hair was free, her veil was attached to a small, pearled crown, one proper for the wife of a viscount. The veil was sheer, floating behind her. With her reddish-gold hair falling in waves behind her, she looked like a fairy queen, an ice queen perhaps, perfect in her face and form.

He took her hand.

“Please, Justin, we’ve kept them waiting.”

They started across the salon.

He balked suddenly, almost weeping. “I can’t do it, Maggie. I can’t.”

“Justin! I’m going with or without you!” she warned, and her voice threatened tears as well. “Please, please, please, don’t do this to me now!”

“Maggie!”

He hugged her tightly.

“Go!” she whispered.

He nodded miserably and took a deep breath.

Then, with tremendous dignity, they started for the chapel.

* * *

The bride was late. Standing at Charles’s side, Jamie wondered if that meant she was having difficulty going through with the wedding. For several moments, his sense of bitterness was tempered with hope.

Except that he shouldn’t feel that way. One look at Charles, and he knew that the man was living for this dream. And why not? He would have a lifetime of magic.

Charles had confided in Jamie that he’d met Maggie earlier, here, in the chapel, that she had been near tears, that she had tried to make all kinds of confessions.

Jamie wondered then if he should make a confession of his own. Then, he thought, no. He could not. Because if the bride had decided to go through with it, he didn’t have the right.

Bitterness filled him again. She had been nothing less than fantasy and magic, as sensual as the earth, and something far above. Thinking of last night made his blood pound against his veins, and his cravat seem far too tight at his throat.

She must have felt, surely, she had felt something of the same!

She would not come. She would not go through with this.

But there she was, on Justin’s arm, coming into the chapel. And she was a vision. God, yes, her hair was loose, brushed to a high gloss, shining like a halo around her. Her eyes were as deep a blue as the ocean at its depths, her stature, her walk, her every movement, supple, graceful . . .

He almost groaned aloud. Almost spoke.

And then he saw his uncle’s face.

His hands balled fiercely into fists at his side. He wouldn’t speak, God help him, he wouldn’t speak.

She had made her choice.