Page 64 of When We Touch

Telling Randolph to let him out and settle in for the time being, Jamie left the coach, and waited, his presence hidden by the thick cluster of trees and bushes that lined the drive. When Arianna walked past him, he stepped out to confront her.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream, her hand flying to her throat.

“It’s me, Jamie,” he told her quickly.

“Jamie! You very nearly gave me heart failure!” she told him.

“As well you might have deserved,” Jamie said sternly. “You disappointed your father deeply by not attending the wedding. And now I find you . . . God alone knows what I’ve found you doing.”

“Nothing!” she protested.

“Ah, yes, this would be your usual attire.”

She flushed. “I did nothing. Except set out to explore a bit of London. I’ve been away a long time, you know.”

“Not so long that you’re not aware that the streets can be dangerous.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t go anywhere I shouldn’t have been. I took in some air. I wandered a few shops. Many are open quite late, you know.”

“Your father would be furious.”

“If he knew,” she said sharply, staring at him. “Jamie! There are so many people out and about, I was in no danger. I wandered the streets around Covent Gardens, and that is all. I stopped by a silversmith’s, a bakery . . . I sat and had tea. And that is all. Oh, come, Jamie, many young women of great respectability shop alone!”

“Not at night.”

“I had a right to be out, and that’s that. I don’t care what you want to say to me, what my father did was disgusting.”

“I’m not going to discuss that with you right now. Go on in, before he discovers that you’re still out somewhere.”

“Jamie—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

And so, Arianna had gone in, and though Moorhaven had been the last place on earth he’d wanted to be at that time, he’d followed her slowly back. Randolph had been with Darby in the kitchen, playing gin, the last of the reception debris had been cleared away, and the house was very quiet.

He’d decided to have a last brandy and cigar in the now empty grand salon. Staring into the low burning embers, he’d let his mind wander to his uncle’s master room atop the stairs, and despite himself, there had been tremendous bitterness in his heart. He was worried about Arianna, and equally anxious that he get away—really away—himself. But how to do so when the girl was in such a rebellious mood she might well do some serious harm to herself?

That was when he heard the scream.

First, he thought that it was Arianna again, startled by a servant, perhaps—or just determined on causing mischief. But still, he moved to the stairs, and when the sound came again, he sped up to the landing and realized that the sound was coming from his uncle’s chambers.

He burst into the room.

It was Maggie doing the screaming, and she seemed to be in shock. Naked, hair a sea of gold around her face and shoulders, she stood, just feet from the bed, staring at it, screaming.

Charles was flat out, looking pale and pathetic, nude, wrinkled, and flaccid.

Jamie heard footsteps coming along the hall as others of the household hurried to find the source of the chilling alarm. He quickly caught up his uncle’s smoking jacket, slipping it around Maggie’s shoulders, and drew the sheets over his uncle’s prone body.

Maggie was still screaming. He slapped her. Wide-eyed, she stared at him with no recognition, her hand slowly moving to her cheek. She nearly lost the smoking jacket.

“Maggie!” He caught her shoulders, shaking her.

“Get your arms into that!” he commanded her, but it didn’t seem she was capable of moving. “Maggie!”

At last, and by rote, she began to slip into the garment. He hurried to the bed, checking for a pulse at Charles’s throat.

Faint . . . but there.