Page 7 of When We Touch

And he was also older than God himself, so it appeared.

“That must be the Viscount,” she whispered hollowly.

She was marrying a man who was all but a corpse.

Chapter 2

Jamie Langdon noted every little detail about the house, his aggravation rising.

Ah, yes. Genteel poverty. Fine enough in itself. Yet someone was being sold here to rectify the situation. And he couldn’t help but feel contempt.

He’d met Justin often enough, in and around the Court, at balls, teas, and social affairs. He’d seen him frequently enough at a number of other establishments, as well. He’d liked Justin; a man of a pleasant enough countenance, he was polite and courteous, usually, but quick to defend a friend by both word and deed. He had been well educated, and in the presence of Eddy, the Duke of Clarence—heir apparent, after his father’s time on the throne was done, should Victoria ever depart this world—Justin had the ability to transfer his own knowledge to his royal friend, making it appear as if the man were far brighter than he was in fact. A decent chap.

Except at the gaming tables. There, he went wild.

This, then, was his home.

He’d heard there was a sister. Gossip, of course, ran rife. She had swept the Ton by storm at her coming out, dazzling men and women alike. The former had idolized her, while most often, the latter had chosen to gossip about her. She had disgraced her station in life, ignoring all the noble and genteel young men, and falling into a wretched affair with a commoner—a policeman, no less—and that was a crime to many a man and woman with a title. She’d married the fellow. And then—other than the gossip that surfaced now and then about her strange activities—there had been little else.

He’d been on the Continent, still in Her Majesty’s service, during the days when the young Lady Maggie had been the toast of the Ton. Therefore, he’d never seen the alleged beauty. Until now. And he had looked up, and seen her face in the window.

To be fair, she was an outstanding beauty.

But that Charles should have suddenly determined, at this late stage, that he must wed again, and a lass almost a third his own age, well, it just seemed . . .

Well, quite frankly, it seemed revolting.

But he loved his great uncle. Title be damned. If Charles could wed again, and produce a son of his own, God bless him.

However . . .

Should he marry a cuckolding little twit who intended to put a bastard into the line of his own family, Jamie would happily kidnap the woman himself and sell her off in Zanzibar, or some other foreign port. For many years, Charles had consulted him on the important decisions in his life, and on all business affairs. But when he had suddenly decided that he was going to marry, he hadn’t mentioned a word of it—not until he had made preliminary arrangements to speak with the lady through Angus Graham. Charles had been set and determined. Jamie had carefully cautioned his uncle, trying not to remind him of his age, but Charles was well aware that he was seeking a very young woman. He didn’t care. “Men of my age must often seek alternatives for companionship, my boy,” Charles had told him. “Luckily, I am in a position of title and wealth, and therefore, free to seek my heart’s desire.”

So she was his heart’s desire. And available, so it seemed, at a price.

Perhaps it bothered him that a man of his uncle’s stature had so suddenly determined to do such a thing which lacked the dignity that had thus far ruled the Viscount’s life. His uncle deserved respect and admiration. He had fought in the Queen’s wars, he had been her confidant. He had helped and advised the now long-deceased Prince Consort on the advancement of technology, and he had argued in the House of Lords.

If this young lady did not show the proper respect for such a man, Jamie thought that he would find himself tempted to throttle her.

“My heart is aflutter, boy!” Charles said suddenly, catching Jamie’s arm. “Wait until you meet her!”

“Uncle, do you know the lass at all yourself?” Jamie demanded.

“I saw her, nephew.”

“Seeing is not knowing.”

“Ah, but yes, we did speak, several years ago, and she may not remember. She was the belle of every ball, and every young swain who could come near her, did so. She was ever kind, speaking to those fellows who stuttered, who were not so graceful on the dance floor, nor so highly born, with the same courtesy. A temper has she, for I saw ice in her eyes once, when one highborn fellow would jostle out another. Ah, boy. I know her. And that she has said she will see me . . . as I said, my heart is aflutter.”

“Don’t let it flutter too hard, or it will shatter the walls of your chest!” Jamie advised him. His uncle grinned, not resenting the comment. “Let’s enter, shall we? We are like college boys here, loitering on a lady’s doorstep.”

“Oh, indeed, let’s enter.” He was more than curious himself to meet this paragon of virtue and beauty himself. He was here, of course, to protect Charles, though in what way, he was not certain. Charles could spend his wealth as he chose. And it was hardly likely that he might have found a young rich woman willing to marry a man of his age, however fine a lord he might be. Marriages were often made for the sake of convenience, and for the woman involved, this marriage must definitely be convenient. Certainly, after her escapades, she’d never snare a young lord of wealth, position, or promise. She would be accepting this proposal for one purpose only, that of acquiring position and wealth. Certainly, as the wife of Charles, Viscount Langdon, there would be no house in Great Britain or the Continent where she would not be welcome. And if her clothing were as threadbare and antiquated as her surroundings, well, she could then afford all the silks and satins she might desire.

“Darby,” Charles told his footman, “I believe we shall be about an hour. Perhaps you’d care to visit a coffeehouse or newsstand.”

“Ah, Lord Charles, I’ll be waitin’ right here for ye and Sir Jamie, that I will. And ye take yer time. I’ve me papers right here.” Darby, like all the servants in Charles’s employ, adored the old man. He was gracious and generous, and though born into a society where class was a matter of total acceptance, he was also of the belief that God’s behest to man to love one’s brother as he loved himself was the greatest of commandments. He practiced what he preached.

As Charles turned, Darby gave Jamie a frown. Jamie gave him an imperceptible nod. Aye, he’d protect Charles. With his last breath, if need be. Whether against a cutthroat, an enemy in the House of the Lords—or the wiles of a beautiful woman.