Page 96 of When We Touch

He rose abruptly. “Have you seen her—about, being seen and touched today?”

“No, that I haven’t.” Bartley gave a deep sigh. “Lord James, thank you for the respite. And rest assured, whatever I hear on the streets that you might not, I will bring to your attention with haste.”

* * *

“This is insane!” Mireau said.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Maggie countered. And the baby was beautiful. Dark curls crowned her head, marble-like eyes stared out at them. She was dressed in rags, and was a year old, perhaps a little less, or a little more. She had a single dimple. Her smile was captivating.

“She’s beautiful, and this is insane.”

Maggie shook her head, smiling at him. They were clipping their way rather slowly through the streets of Whitechapel. People were everywhere, at the sides of the roads, in the middle, all nervous, all talking—and few paying much heed to the traffic.

“I have this strange feeling, Mireau, that saving her is rather part of my destiny.”

“Maggie, waiting a proper period of mourning, falling in love, marrying a man who is not standing with one foot in the grave already, bearing a child of your own. That would be destiny.”

“She’s simply beautiful!” Maggie said again.

“You’ve a stepdaughter who is simply beautiful. Even more beautiful than you are, perhaps. And she is nothing but trouble. Mark my words—this little beauty is already trouble.”

Maggie glared at him and hugged the baby. The baby giggled, reaching for one of Maggie’s golden locks. Maggie was in rapture, and started when the cab suddenly came to a halt.

“What . . . ?” she demanded.

Mireau looked out. And paled to ash.

“Jamie,” he said quickly.

“Jamie?”

“Lord James Langdon! Your great nephew, remember? Viscount Langdon—the new version?”

“The baby, take the baby!”

Maggie stuffed the child into his arms, thinking quickly to jump out of the cab and forestall Lord Langdon. For a moment, the wee girl looked up at Mireau as if she were about to let out a horrendous scream.

“No, no, please!” he whispered. And he started to hum, trying to think of some song from his youth, desperate to keep her quiet. “Please, baby, please, please, please!” he crooned, and amazingly, she looked up at him, almost as if she understood.

“Lord James!” he heard Maggie saying, and not with pleasure. Oh, brilliant! he thought. Start right off being hostile, Maggie!

“What are you doing down here?” Jamie asked her, voice deep, resonating, and truly aggravated.

“Taking in the air?” Maggie suggested. “It’s none of your business what I’m doing!”

“Oh, isn’t it? Amazing, because I’m trying to protect your wretched life!”

“It’s my life to do with what I please. Charles is gone; you have no rights over me.”

“I am head of the Langdon family.”

“I was born a Graham.”

“Whatever your intentions down here, Maggie, if you don’t cease these visits, and immediately, I’ll begin to make a few suggestions of my own. Such as that I believe you may well be responsible for the death of Lord Charles. You’ll find that you’re cooling your heels once I make such an accusation.”

“You wouldn’t!” Maggie gasped, and yet, it seemed that she believed he well might, for there was a touch of fear along with indignation in her voice.

“Try me, my lady.”