Page 55 of When We Touch

To hell with both Arianna and Jamie. She would be a good wife.

* * *

Despite the fact that the chapel was a small distance from the house, Justin could hear the music as he adjusted his cravat. He was late; his fingers kept tangling with themselves. He was to give his sister away.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself, afraid that even now, in the midst of the ceremony, he would suddenly rise and scream. He would protest. It would be horrible. He’d shout out that Sir Charles was an old, old man and his sister was young and good and beautiful and it was simply disgusting and wrong.

No, no. Lord Charles would have apoplexy from the horror. Maggie would probably drop dead on the spot with shame. She had sworn again and again that she wasn’t just resigned to her marriage, she wanted it. And maybe it was true that the youth and desire once in her heart had died along with Nathan, and that her passions in life, with which Lord Charles could help her, were now of utmost importance to her.

Swearing, he started out to the hall, still trying to tie the cravat.

“Hell’s fire and dog’s balls!” he swore, quite certain that he was alone.

But a soft giggle alerted him to the fact that someone was near.

“Here! Let me help you, sir!”

A girl stepped out from the archway. She was dressed in a poor woolen cap, a servant’s bonnet on her head. She must have been watching the pageantry below from the safety of the archway at the top of the landing.

“Can you help me?” he said. “And forgive my slip of the tongue.”

“If only that were the only thing to forgive today!” she muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing!” she murmured.

“Will you help me?”

She stepped closer, leaving the shadows of the archway behind. His breath seemed to catch in his throat. He’d never seen skin so delicate, so pure, an ivory, almost as fine and white as snow. Her eyes were the darkest he’d ever seen. Her hair . . . a pure symphony in black velvet.

She paused, looking up at him. Her eyes widened as she surveyed him. She moistened her lips suddenly.

“I . . . I . . .” she stammered.

“I’m so sorry to ask your assistance,” Justin said. He couldn’t draw his eyes from hers. It seemed that he breathed her now. And what he inhaled was youth and beauty and purity. It was intoxicating.

He heard the damnable music again.

“I’m desperate!” he whispered.

“Yes, yes, let me help you.”

She came closer to tie the cravat. Their faces, oh, God, just a whisper of a breath, and he’d be kissing her. A servant girl. Ah, imagine the scandal! The sister, marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather. The brother, taking up with a serving wench.

What the hell did he care? What had Maggie told him? Marry anyone, noblewoman or commoner, just so long as she was young and . . .

This incredible sweet beauty was young.

He felt the expulsion of her breath against his lower jaw, his lips. And he couldn’t help himself. “You’re . . . incredible,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “It’s not tied quite properly.”

He smiled very slowly. She hadn’t really moved away. He saw her eyes widen again, and the way that she looked at him, and he suddenly understood what all the poets meant when they said that their hearts sang. Yes, she felt it too, this wonder, amazement, sensation, incredulous belief that the entire world would be right, if only they were together.

He took hold of her shoulders suddenly, telling her, “Wait for me, please? Wait for me, until after the ceremony. I have to know you. And no, please, nothing, nothing . . . there is nothing not perfectly right in this, really. I’ll . . . I’ll explain.”

The music rose high with a thudding urgency.