Page 40 of When We Touch

“You’re quite busy, so I hear.”

Maggie frowned. What did the girl know about her?

“I’m not at all sure what you mean, but I’ve lost a husband, I saw him murdered, and I tried, for his sake, to understand why.”

“Tell me, Lady Margaret,” Arianna demanded, both hands on the table as she faced Maggie down. “Did you fall in love with my father?”

“I intend to be a very good wife to your father.”

“Until you kill him, too?”

She came so close to slapping Arianna that she had to leap to her feet. “You are hateful!” she told Arianna. “I don’t know what on earth has made you so bitter and nasty, and you’re quite welcome to hate me until your own venom chokes you, but don’t speak about my past in such a way.”

“What will you do? Beat me? Poison me?” Arianna suggested. “Let’s see; kill my father, kill me! Alas, you’ll have to go after Jamie, then, though, if you want all the money. Of course, even if you get rid of Jamie, you won’t get the estate. They’ll have to find some long-lost male relative for the title and estates. I guess, however, that you will have your marriage portion. I’m sure that this particular marriage of convenience was arranged with your legal interests well tended to.”

Maggie held very still. “Please inform your father I suddenly realized that I had to leave. I will see him tomorrow, at the ceremony.”

Maggie turned and exited the salon and the foyer. She marched out to the new family carriage and was chagrined to discover that, of course, Clayton wasn’t there. He would hardly expect her to be ready to return home so quickly.

But then, just as she stood by the carriage door, stiff and furious, Clayton arrived. He opened the carriage door quickly, and as he helped her in, he said, “Ah, lady, try to understand the lass. She feels as if she’s failed as a daughter.”

“Oh?” Maggie looked at Clayton, who flushed.

“Begging your pardon, m’lady. Servants talk, you know.”

Maggie nodded, then whispered, “But Clayton. She’s . . . vicious!”

“Just a scared child, trying to be much, much more,” he told her sadly.

“I’ll try very hard to take that into consideration,” Maggie told him. But once she was seated in the carriage, she felt a chill. She had expected that Lord Charles’s daughter might not greet her with open arms. But she’d never expected the girl to be this passionately vile!

The carriage lurched forward. Justin had actually haggled for it, and it wasn’t new, only the coat of arms on the door. Their debts were paid, but apparently, her brother had set what wasn’t direly needed aside, should she discover that she needed it.

Rather than take a chance that he fall into gambling again, Maggie had quietly agreed.

So, here it was, the day before the wedding and she had been well and duly bought and paid for.

She began to shake. It was true that she had come to care deeply for Lord Charles. It was true as well that she couldn’t help but note the liver spots on his hands, the gauntness of his cheeks, the snow white color of his brows. Which would be just fine, if only she, too, had snow white hair, wrinkling flesh, and perhaps even a token liver spot somewhere.

True, too, that she couldn’t stop thinking about a younger man, one whose lightest touch evoked a very uncomfortable fire that seemed to burn and consume every part of her flesh, and take special heat into the very core of her.

She gritted her teeth, grasped her hands tightly in her lap.

Yes, she’d been bought, and paid for.

No wonder the girl hated her with such a violent fervor. She had a right. Had she suddenly fallen madly in love with Lord Charles? No, of course not. Did she intend to be a good wife? Yes, Lord Charles had made her world right again.

Would she dream about Sir James Langdon late at night?

No, no, no, she would not allow herself to do so!

Forget James, forget him, forget the feelings of hunger. Forget how you’re discovering just how much you admire the man, how you feel when his eyes touch you, when his hands are upon you, when his lips . . .

Forget!

Charles, Charles, Lord Charles.

Yes, Lord Charles. And she would be a good wife. Perhaps he would try to stop her visits to the East End, but if he continued with his more than charitable contributions to the church and the Salvation Army because of her, wouldn’t it be worth it? He’d never, never approve of her determination to expose mediums and mesmerists, but then, she’d decided herself that she was going to have to rethink that situation, after she had realized that some of them might commit murder to maintain their practices.