Page 63 of When We Touch

He jerked off his smoking jacket. She looked away from his withered flesh, and the sadly pathetic rise of his excitement. He strode to the bed, hopping upon it, lying back.

“Now, Maggie, come to me . . . walk . . . walk, and do what I tell you as you walk. . . .”

In two seconds, she would scream and say no, and he could divorce her, annul the marriage—shoot her!—for all she cared. She couldn’t bear this. If only . . . if only he had allowed her to douse the lights, crawled in beside her . . .

God, dear God! She was suddenly desperate to . . . just die! Sink into the floor. Whatever she had done, surely she hadn’t deserved this. God, sweet Jesu, sweet Mary! She prayed for deliverance, for salvation, to drop into a dead faint, and never awaken.

“Maggie!”

She reached the bed.

He reached up for her.

Then . . .

She heard a choking sound. And he was frozen there, an arm reaching out to her, his eyes bugging in his head.

“Charles!” she gasped.

The choking continued. But he didn’t move. His one hand remained outstretched. His face was growing. . . mottled.

“Charles!” she cried.

He fell back.

“Charles?”

His eyes were closed. He was still. Completely still.

Dead still.

“Charles?”

She touched his face, his throat, and began seeking a pulse. There was none.

Her heart thundered. Naked, pale, ashen, withered . . . he lay on the bed. Dead still.

Dead?

No, he couldn’t be!

Hysteria bubbled within her.

Maggie began to scream.

She had prayed for deliverance, salvation.

And in the most ironic way, it seemed that God had answered her prayers.

Chapter 9

Jamie would not have been at his great uncle’s house at all, if it hadn’t been for Arianna.

He’d been stunned to find his young cousin returning discreetly to the house from some sojourn, exiting a cab at the end of the long drive rather than allowing it to come all way to the house.

And the young lady, usually attired in a most attractive and fashionable manner, was decked out in the very simple manner of a serving maid or common lass, a plain gray bonnet covering her rich dark hair, a drab, matching shawl her only protection from the cold.

He’d been on his way out when he’d seen the cab stop, and naturally, had discreetly asked his coachman to stop so that he could watch his young cousin.