Page 126 of When We Touch

She nodded gravely. “But, Jamie . . . the policemen there know that area. They know the people. They could arrest the prostitutes many times, and don’t. They could charge them for drunkeness, but they don’t, they know the poor women can’t pay the fines.”

“Do you know, that was one of the saddest things about last night was that they had Catherine Eddowes in a cell at a station for being drunk. She sobered up, and they let her out. And she met the Ripper.”

Maggie nodded. “She was one of mine,” she said softly. “She came, for bread, really, not because she was fascinated to hear me talk. I saw the sketch in the paper this morning. Poor woman, truly. She was a sad creature, so sad!”

“And quite out of her misery now,” Jamie said, closing his eyes for a minute. “Well. I should go.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“No?”

“You said you had an hour.”

“Yes. But I should leave.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” she told him.

“Oh?”

“I wish that you would just hold me,” she told him, and though he was close, so close she could almost feel the texture of his coat, she didn’t move. She gazed into gray eyes as deep as the mist at night.

He reached out and pulled her against him, his hand cradling the base of her skull, fingers moving through the length of her hair. She laid her hand against his chest, and felt the beat of her heart rise to an erratic pulse. For a moment, she felt his tenderness. And it was very sweet, something to be cherished. She felt, as well, the deep depression and futility that had assailed him, and experienced a tremulous moment of fear herself. Life was fragile, no matter whom one might be, from the most noble lord to the poorest, most pathetic of humanity.

Fragile, and precious, and she was learning that there were moments that must be taken, and savored.

“An hour . . .” she murmured.

“An hour, and I am glad to hold you.”

She leaned back her head, smiling very slowly as she looked into his eyes. “Well, to be quite frank, I rather wish you would do more.”

A grin crept to his lips. “In the library? I don’t believe you’re referring to the enjoyment of a good book.”

She shook her head. “It’s a large house, and offers other rooms. Such as mine.”

“What will the servants say?” he asked her.

“I haven’t the least idea. Nor could I care less.”

“Ah, but people could talk.”

“Talk about me? In any scandalous way? Imagine!”

“Well, then . . . I can admit, a few moments of a very tight hold upon you would be a delightful moment of bliss in an otherwise agonizing day.”

“I’ll go first. Then, perhaps the servants won’t notice.”

“The ever present Mrs. Whitley won’t notice?” he queried.

“Ah, well, so she will. But we won’t let her in. Then, all her gossip must be pure conjecture,” Maggie told him, and she swept by him, exiting the room.

She ran up the stairs then, wondering at the frantic beat of her heart. She was behaving quite insanely. Like a young girl with a first crush. Emotions tumbled through her with a drastic edge. He was not intended for Arianna, or she for him, or any such thing.

And what did that mean? Nothing! This was scandalous behavior, at the very best. She had indeed married Charles, and he had been gone now for so very short a time.

And yet . . .

She was in love. As she had never thought that she could be again. The world was a place where so much right now seemed to be horrid and ugly, tragic women had died more tragic deaths, and the mood of the people was thus that the very foundations of the country could come tumbling down around them. As the picture became smaller, more intimate, her very personal world was in the midst of crises. She had determined her course of action, and he really had merit, and still, she had never known a time when life had seemed more infinitely precious, and more fragile.