Page 77 of When We Touch

“In what way?”

“That of being a worthless . . . witch.”

“You’re simply too kind, Lord James!”

She stared at him furiously, wishing with all her heart that she had not come to know him so well, and that she were back in her encompassing widow’s weeds, and not dressed in the thin fabric of a cotton nightdress and only slightly thicker robe.

“Actually, under these circumstances, I am. I don’t remember you being a blazing coward above all else.”

She was about to respond angrily, but suddenly found herself deflated. She stared at the fire. “Perhaps I am a coward—because I am a worthless witch.”

“A self-pitying one, so it seems.”

She shrugged, watching the flames, then stared at him. And to her horror, tears, which surely, she should have been out of, sprang to her eyes.

“What if she is right?” she whispered.

“You are a worthless witch?” he queried.

“Perhaps I killed him,” she said.

“Did you poison him?” Jamie asked pointedly.

“No! You know that—there was an autopsy!”

“Shoot him, stab him?”

“Good God, you know that I did no such thing, whatsoever!”

“Then how did you kill him?”

She paced before the fire, exhausted, nervous. “I . . . I . . . oh, God!” There was too much laudanum in her. That should have made her half asleep, apathetic, calm, and silent. The opposite seemed to be occurring. She clenched and unclenched her hands, staring at him, groping for words. “I hadn’t imagined that . . . he wanted . . . oh! God, I felt mortified. Miserable. And I tried to do what he wanted.”

“Um,” Jamie murmured, eyeing her, “Charles was a dear man, especially so to me, but if you did what he asked after your wedding, you are hardly responsible.”

“But I was responsible.”

“Um . . . but you were manipulated. You’d married the man. He expected intimacy. You can hardly be blamed for trying to avail him. You shouldn’t have married him, perhaps, but that’s my opinion, not what he wanted.”

She shook her head, swallowing hard. It was none of his affair, really, her determination that she had to go through with the wedding. Of course, if she had known then what she knew now . . . would she have changed anything?

Oh, God, yes! Being in frightful debt and at the heart of a simple scandal would surely have been far better than being in this position.

“You really don’t understand.”

“Then, keep trying.”

“If you would just go away . . . !”

“Sorry.”

“Jamie, don’t make me be rude. Just get out.”

“Not until we finish this conversation. What else is it that’s making you feel so atrociously guilty?”

“I am not guilty!”

“Then . . . ?”