When We Touch

by Heather Graham

  Justin let out something that sounded strangely like a snort, not at all becoming a baron. Nor did he seem to care—it was a sound of self-loathing, and disturbed Maggie greatly.

  “There is surely a way out of this rather than a hasty and unhappy marriage for my brother,” Maggie informed Angus sternly. “This is, after all, the nineteenth century.”

  “Maggie!” Justin protested, forming words at last. “It isn’t my impending marriage that brings such a searing sense of pleasure and satisfaction to our dear uncle’s face.”

  His sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

  “Ungrateful whelp!” Angus said angrily, almost rising.

  “Ah, but titularly, he is the head of the family,” Maggie murmured.

  “Others of far greater magnitude have rotted away in Newgate,” Angus reminded her.

  “The marriage he has planned—and, oh, yes, certainly to a person of wealth, charm, and maturity, is for you,” Justin said.

  Stunned, Maggie gasped aloud. “Me!”

  “Why so surprised, my dear niece?” Angus asked. He wore a look of feigned distress, while she knew that he secretly relished her amazement and discomfort. She shuddered within, wondering what manner of man her uncle might have found for her.

  Angus stood, hands clasped behind his back as he paced around the chair. “Frankly, I’d not have thought of such a happy remedy for your plight on my own, I fear.” He stopped and stared straight at her, shaking his head with dismay. “You had such a brilliant season in your youth, my dear! You dazzled the Ton, and you had the credentials to bring about a splendid marriage. But you chose to disgrace the family and take up with a commoner!”

  She thought wryly that he might have been less disproving had she opted to commit murder.

  “I know, Angus, that this is something completely beyond your realm of understanding, but I married Nathan because I fell in love with him.” She was standing herself, and realized that her fingers had knotted so tightly into her palms that she was digging holes into her own flesh. “In fact, sir, I remember your kind, sympathetic, and so completely understanding words at his funeral. That I was somewhat young still, and though tarnished, I might still have some redeeming value!”

  He didn’t notice mockery or reproach in her words; he found in them a note of her own understanding. “Aha! There, you see? What I said was true. The time has come. I was at the club the other day and a most remarkable thing happened. Charles, Viscount Langdon, approached me about you. He had heard about your unfortunate marriage, and the death of your husband, and was quite concerned for your welfare. He remembered you, and believes still that you are the most beautiful young woman ever to walk the earth. Beautiful—and available, I fathom. But that is far beyond the point. The marriage portion he has offered would pay off the gambling debts and allow Justin an opportunity to redeem himself, and the family name. Money means nothing to Lord Charles. He has properties throughout the known world and made quite a fortune to add on to his family inheritance, which includes vast stretches of land in Scotland as well as on the Continent and in the Caribbean.” He glared at Justin, indicating that the nobleman in question knew how to responsibly handle a family fortune while Justin most assuredly did not. “Well, my dear? This is a rare opportunity for you. Society would accept you once again.”

  “Uncle Angus, surely this cannot come as a vast surprise to you—I have attended those ‘society’ teas, balls, and parties that have had any appeal for me for the past several years. This, I know, will surely shock you, but the opinions of dandies, fops, and braggarts do not mean a great deal to me. When Nathan died, I said that I would not marry again.”

  Angus waved a hand in the air impatiently. “A sweet sentiment, voiced by many a young widow, and certain to be changed.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “I believe that Lord Charles is looking for a companion, rather than a bride in the way that a man does in his first youth.”

  She glared at her brother. He flushed, and looked away. Then he stood, as well. “Uncle Angus, the idea of this marriage is repulsive in my sister’s eyes. I incurred the debts. If it be Newgate, sir, then I shall go as the Crown commands.”

  “The pair of you will likely rot with the rats!” Angus said impatiently. “I was stunned and greatly relieved to entertain the offer of such a man, especially when I certainly could not offer a young lady of good reputation and sound family.”

  “The family you speak of is yours as well, Uncle,” Maggie said. “And I do beg your pardon! I hardly walked the streets of Whitechapel propositioning laborers, nor did I tease the married men of the Ton, which others you would consider to be of excellent value have done.”

  “You married a commoner, and you are past your first youth. Like it or not, my dear, that, indeed, lessens your value in the marriage market. Not to mention the fact that you bring no fortune, indeed, one is needed to salvage you both from the dank cells of debt.”

  “Sir, do you realize that this very conversation is common?” Maggie demanded. And so it was. Yet it was blunt, and she was shaking because she knew that he was speaking a certain amount of truth. Common, yes, it was all quite common. She had married a commoner. She had never once regretted her decision, not even when she had laid Nathan to rest. The two sweet years they’d shared before a cutthroat’s knife had brought him down had still been worth whatever agony of loneliness was left to bear in the years to come. She hadn’t minded not being rich—the very concept of true wealth and elegance had died with her parents. She had a mind and a spirit for causes, and she had certainly thought that they were living well enough on their allowances.

  She looked across the room at her brother, and for a moment, fury raged through her. Then she knew that he was not at fault. Angus had instructed him after their father’s death. And Angus had taught him that society was everything, winning the friendship of the Crown, being among the most elite of the Ton. She had known that he ran with the heir apparent and his crowd; they had often argued about the Empire, and the responsibilities that were inherent with power, the greatness and the splendor of so much, while beneath their very noses, the people often suffered appallingly. Oh, yes, she had known. She had even made a few perfunctory appearances, as she had assured Angus. She loved Justin, and they were close.

  Not close enough, she realized. For she had known nothing about his growing debt, and yet, it should not be a surprise, for few men had such a reputation for debauchery as Eddy, Duke of Clarence, heir presumptive to the throne after his own father, the eldest son of Queen Victoria.

  “I can’t begin to imagine any venue of employment where either of you could so much as begin to make enough to clear the debts,” Angus said. “I’m afraid, though, that the house must go immediately.”

  “We can sell the estate in the north,” Maggie suggested.

  Angus shot Justin a chastising glance. “It’s been gone quite some time already, dear child,” he said softly.

  She sank back into her chair.

  Justin walked to her with purpose and determination. Down on a knee, he took her hands in his. “Don’t worry, old girl. They’ll lock me up, and perhaps a toothless old hag—but one with plenty of money—will come rescue me!” He tried to speak lightly.

  She was angry enough for one moment to let him rot—and marry a toothless old hag. But she would never give Angus that satisfaction. Her brother was going to have a bride young enough to procreate if it killed her.

  She looked past Justin. “You may arrange a meeting, Uncle, between your Viscount and myself.”

  “That will be satisfactory,” Angus said. “Tomorrow morning. At ten. And good God, girl! Don’t be dressed as a crone, in rags and darkness—and dirt!”

  “I shall wear something entirely suggestive, in shocking yellow, perhaps,” she returned, too angry to remember any modicum of respect. How had this man been her father’s brother?

  “Come to think of it, my dear,” Angus said, pleasantly enough, “you are quite well and properly d
ressed right now—should you choose for your destination to be Newgate.”

  With that, he bowed and departed, calling over his shoulder, “We will call at ten. Promptly.”

  The parlor was still, dead still, until they heard the door slam. Angus had not needed to ask Clayton for his great overcoat—bless dear Clayton. The man had been ready with her uncle’s fine wool garment, cane, and silk hat.

  “There is no reason for you to marry miserably to save my skin,” Justin said flatly. He no longer appeared pale and ashen, but rather resolved. “I knew better, as I incurred the debt. It is my mistake. Though the idea is not appealing, I deserve a debtor’s imprisonment.”

  Maggie stared at him, and the anger that had boiled within her evaporated in a single breath. “No.”

  “Maggie, you will not pay for my sins. Seriously. This is not false bravado on my part. I don’t intend to go quietly. I have made the acquaintances of a few blushing widows who would not be averse to my attentions.”

  “No.”

  “Maggie, dammit—!”

  “Justin, don’t be crass.”

  “Maggie, I’ve heard you say far worse.”

  “Justin!”

  “I don’t condemn you for it. I admire your ability to thumb your nose at the entire world. It gives you a dignity you cannot begin to imagine.”

  “Language is not the issue here.”

  “I fully intend to refuse your hand in marriage to the Viscount.”

  “Angus has, I believe, consented already.”

  “It is not our uncle’s position. It is mine. Legally, it is my right to allow or disallow your marriage, and that is the way that it is.”

  She sighed softly, looking down at her hands for a moment. If her uncle had found this man, he was surely loathsome. But if he was as rich as Angus claimed, and as infatuated, he might be quite a useful companion.

  “Ah, come, Maggie, dear! I cannot apologize to you enough. I will make good for this myself. If I find the right old sweetie, she might pop off quite soon enough.”

  “Oh, Justin, that’s horrible.”

  “So many things that are true are horrible, as well. I mean this, Maggie, I have been a fool. I tried to be all that Angus wanted, the perfect swain, so close to the throne that I was all but perched on the edge! And so here I am. I am. Not you.”

  “Justin, do you really love me, dearly, and are you truly, truly sorry?” she demanded.

  “Indeed, I am,” he said gravely.

  “Then, if you would do anything to make it up to me, you will give your blessing on my marriage to this man.”

  “Why?” he demanded in turn.

  “Because, Justin, if there is anything I want in this world, it’s to be aunt to a dozen little nieces—and nephews. I swear to you, Justin, there is nothing more important in this world. And we cannot count on an old dowager departing this world expediently, and if there is anything at all that would cause me untold grief, it would be Angus inheriting our father’s title. Do you understand? If you love me and would make amends, find a proper young woman—rich, poor, common, or noble—and marry her. Soon.”

  Justin hung his head, quietly folding his hands together in prayer fashion. He looked up at her. “Maggie, for the love of God, you mustn’t hate Angus more than you love yourself.”

  She smiled. They were grave and solemn words from him, and spoken with firm passion and resolve.

  She came to him that time, taking his hands. “Justin, if this man is truly horrendous, we will talk again tomorrow. But if he . . . if he’s at all decent, then perhaps he can give me things that I do want in this world. A voice among the very rich and important people. You know how I feel about the dreadful conditions in some of the orphanages. Perhaps he’ll buy me a factory for a wedding present, and we can see that people are given fair wages for decent hours.”

  “Oh, Maggie!” Again, her very handsome and now humble brother appeared ill. She was almost annoyed. Here she was, the lamb going to slaughter, and she was trying to make him feel better about it!

  “Justin, do you remember when I fell in love with Nathan? You were so strong then. You were the great baron, the head of the household, insisting that I would marry as I chose. Well, I did. You supported me when many a man wouldn’t have done so. Well, I have lost Nathan. And I will never love again. So if I marry a very rich nobleman who is ridiculously in love with me—without even knowing me!—it will not really matter in the least. Hopefully, we will be friends.”

  He looked straight ahead. “Friends, yes. Oh, yes, because he is surely one of the most decent fellows I have ever met.”

  She sat back. “You know him?”

  “Of course.” He gave a dry laugh. “He doesn’t run with the likes of Eddy. He is very close to the Queen. One of the few people she will see in private, and with whom she shares her mourning and her confidence. They console one another. His wife has been gone for years, as has Her Majesty’s still so lamented dear Prince Albert. Truly, he is decent, caring, and not at all bad-looking, really. Well, you know, for such an old tar! Tall and regal. Dignified. Indeed, you might make quite a pair, turning the world upside down.” He tried to smile.

  She smiled. “So . . . I meet him tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t think either of us would like Newgate, either,” she said a little sharply. Again, for a moment, she felt the temptation to throttle him. Except that she knew that, whatever trouble he might have gotten into, Justin truly rued anything that might now hurt her. He was telling the truth. If she exhibited one bit of distress, he’d offer himself to the authorities.

  “Look, Maggie, you must listen to me—”

  “Justin, a few possibilities here are beginning to appeal to me. Do you know just how powerful I could become—with the right backing?”

  “But there is no agreement, unless you truly wish it.”

  She didn’t tell him that she would wish it if he produced the devil himself—as long as it kept him from marrying a dowager with one foot in the grave and not a prayer of producing an heir.

  “Naturally,” she murmured, and started to leave the parlor. She was shaking too hard to stay.

  But at the arch to the entry, she paused, swinging back on him. “If you get into this kind of debt again, Justin, you won’t need to worry about Newgate. I’ll swing you from a yardarm myself, do you understand?”

  She didn’t want an answer. She fled.

  * * *

  “Nine-fifty-five,” Mireau said, giving her the exact time before she could ask. She had voiced the question every few minutes for the last twenty.

  Like Justin, he had tried to dissuade her. He had come up with every other possible solution, none of which was actually possible. He had wanted to wage some kind of battle himself, but they both knew, even if he suddenly managed to make himself a respected literary name, it would be eons before he actually made money in any appreciable sum.

  Then they had talked about the pros and cons, because he was Mireau, and he always made her see herself and a situation clearly.

  “Justin has seen the man?” Mireau asked suddenly.

  “Yes.”

  “And his description?” Mireau asked.

  “Tall and dignified.”

  Mireau was looking out the upstairs window above the entry. She realized that their visitors had come, and she rushed up behind him, carefully taking a position where she might be covered by the draperies.

  A carriage had arrived. Far grander than her uncle’s. Big, drawn by a pair of matched black stallions that were truly magnificent. A third horse was tethered to the rear. Three men stood at the open doorway to the coach, where velvet covered steps had been lowered to allow the riders to step down.

  One of the arrivals looked up.

  Maggie stared down at him, stunned.

  He wasn’t old. He was tall, and certainly, dignified. He had a head of sweeping, almost ebony dark hair. His features were
hewn lean and clean, his jaw had a definite square and rugged angle to it. His eyes were large, color indiscernible from here, but his brows were sharply defined, and his mouth had a cynical sensuality. In a fitted waistcoat, cravat, and sharply tailored jacket, he appeared ruggedly well built, the elegance of his attire almost a sham over the magnitude of his physique.

  “Why . . . he’s . . . gorgeous. Extraordinary!” Mireau breathed.

  “Nonsense,” she murmured. But she felt a faint shiver along her spine and something more. Something she had thought dead and buried. The slightest stirring of excitement.

  Excitement . . . desire?

  Lord, no! She quickly chastised herself for such a wretchedly disloyal thought.

  And yet . . .

  “Can that be him? The Viscount?” Mireau marveled.

  Then, just as she realized that she had forgotten all about the draperies and that she was staring down at the man just as he was staring up at her, he smiled. And there was some kind of amusement and mockery in that smile. He made a slight bow to her, and stepped back.

  Another man appeared from behind him.

  Tall, and dignified. With strong features, and intelligent eyes.

  Ah, yes, he was tall. And certainly, dignified. Very elegantly dressed, yet he wore the cut of his clothes extremely well for his . . . maturity.

  His hair was as white as snow.

  But he did have a full head of it.

  His face, though one time fine, was deeply lined. Once broad shoulders were far more skeletal now. He was dignified, yes . . .

  And he was also older than God himself, so it appeared.

  “That must be the Viscount,” she whispered hollowly.

  She was marrying a man who was all but a corpse.

  Chapter 2

  Jamie Langdon noted every little detail about the house, his aggravation rising.

  Ah, yes. Genteel poverty. Fine enough in itself. Yet someone was being sold here to rectify the situation. And he couldn’t help but feel contempt.

  He’d met Justin often enough, in and around the Court, at balls, teas, and social affairs. He’d seen him frequently enough at a number of other establishments, as well. He’d liked Justin; a man of a pleasant enough countenance, he was polite and courteous, usually, but quick to defend a friend by both word and deed. He had been well educated, and in the presence of Eddy, the Duke of Clarence—heir apparent, after his father’s time on the throne was done, should Victoria ever depart this world—Justin had the ability to transfer his own knowledge to his royal friend, making it appear as if the man were far brighter than he was in fact. A decent chap.