Page 8 of When We Touch

Charles’s hand fell upon Jamie’s shoulder for a moment as they walked up the steps. “Would that you had been my son! My cousin was a blessed man,” he said softly. “First your father, dearly missed, but now you, as well. I am rightfully proud that you are my kin. And in the event of death if a new marriage does not produce a son . . .”

“Sir, I will dance at your wedding with bells on, and pray that your marriage be productive. And you must remember, you are raising a most beautiful young daughter.”

“Ah, but we both know a daughter is not a son in the world in which we live! Glad I am, though, boy, and never forget it, that should this marriage bear no fruit, it’s to you that the title and most of my riches will fall. Arianna, though, alas!” Charles frowned, and Jamie knew that young lady had been troubling the old man lately. “I pray to see her duly wed to a good and proper man before my death! Not that she will ever want . . . But I fear for her! I might well have allowed for too much of an education for the girl! She needed a mother so badly. There was so much that I could teach . . . and so much that I could not. If the Lady Maggie only accepts me, she will see to it that Arianna learns the right and wrong of her place in this world. There is far more to wealth than play, Jamie. That you have worked and served is a pleasure to my eyes and my old heart, and yet even a lady, a wife, and a mother, must also learn the gravity of power.”

“Arianna is young, and her mind runs to dreams at the moment,” Jamie said. “Give her time.”

Charles stopped suddenly on the top step. “Pray God that I have the time.” He didn’t dwell on his words, but rapped on the front door with his cane. He wasn’t asking for pity, and he didn’t want any. He had lived his life well, and in his mind, it was simple fact that he had only so many years left to go.

The door was opened by a butler. A living skeleton, decked out in fading, genteel elegance. Clean as a whistle, and courteous, dignified, and erect as such a servant should be. “Good day, Lord Charles, Sir James. May I take your overcoats and escort you to the parlor? Lord Angus and Baron Graham await you with the greatest pleasure and expectation. Lady Maggie . . . will be down shortly.”

“Thank you, my man,” Charles said, hastily shedding coat, hat, gloves, and cane, and entering the parlor on his own while Jamie was still slipping from his greatcoat. The skeletal butler was hiding a small smile. Jamie cracked a grin. “It’s all right, young man, smile away,” he told the butler. “Young love, eh?”

“Well, love, sir, so it appears, at any rate.”

Jamie nodded, lowered his head, and followed his uncle into the Mortimer parlor.

Both Angus and Justin were there, shaking hands with Charles. Angus greeted Jamie first, and to his credit, Justin wore a look of pleasure upon seeing that Charles was accompanied by him, and it was obvious, certainly, that he had come as his uncle’s champion, should there be any doubt or difficulty in the situation.

“Please, sit,” Angus entreated. “My niece shall be along any moment. Women, I’m afraid, seem incapable of being on time. Especially, Lord Charles, since Maggie is, of course, in such anticipation of your first meeting.”

“Ah, but we’ve met.”

“Ah?” Angus’s face held an uncomfortable flush.

“The lady must not remember, but that is hardly a surprise. She was surely overwhelmed by the number of men seeking her acquaintance,” Charles said pleasantly.

Then they were all startled by a soft and feminine voice like silk.

“In all honesty, sir, I did not remember. But now that I see you, I do remember that we met, and it is delightful to see you.”

Jamie swung around. Amazingly, with the width of her skirt, the lady in question had arrived in the archway from entry to parlor in absolute silence, and she stood there, definitely a vision of exquisite beauty. Light filtered in from the stained-glass sections of the slim manor mud room, seeming to set her afire in a heavenly blaze. Eyes a shade of deep and striking cobalt stared out from a face delicately crafted and defined. Her lips were full and rich, curved into a rueful smile; her cheekbones were high, eyebrows finely arched, nose straight and of a perfect size for the porcelain artistry of her features. She was dressed in blue as well, a swirl of silk, a day dress that was proper to the extreme, and which still seemed to emphasize the tiny hand span of her waist and the flare of her breasts and hips.

Jamie had to admit, he was taken aback himself.

She didn’t appear to notice him. Her eyes were upon Charles, and there was a sparkle of light within them, and warmth in her smile as well as she came forward, clasping his offered hands, accepting the proper kisses he placed on either cheek.

“My dear, the years have made you an even greater delight!” he said softly.

“And they’ve added to your charm,” she told him ruefully. “Please, everyone, do sit.” She spun then, staring straight at Jamie. She offered him an elegant hand to kiss. “Sir, we’ve not met, I’m certain.”

He could play the game, and this one meant everything to his uncle. Jamie inclined his head, taking her hand. Sparks seemed to fly, sizzling against his flesh. He bent low and brushed a kiss against fingers already being rescinded. He straightened, staring into her eyes. She appeared oblivious to any lightning he might have imagined had come between them. “Sir James Langdon, Lady Maggie. Lord Charles is my great uncle.”

“Well, how very lovely that you are here with him,” she said lightly. But those cobalt eyes touched his again, with a canny knowledge, he thought, and she knew that he had come as a protector for Lord Charles.

She turned her back upon him, as if he or his opinion mattered little. And in truth, he and his opinion might well mean nothing. She had apparently decided on this marriage.

He felt a wealth of irritation arising anew within him. Money-hungry wench.

“Please, please, do have a seat. Lord Charles, would you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Coffee. What a treat. I should love some.”

She lifted a hand, and Clayton appeared. “Lord Charles would prefer coffee.”

“Immediately, my lady.”

Charles looked to Justin, Baron Graham. Jamie knew his uncle’s initial discussions had been with Angus, but Justin was, after all, the lady’s brother. And the man holding the title. Jamie realized suddenly with a certain amount of amusement that the situation galled Angus tremendously.