When We Touch by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

time she spent in the East End, where every manner of pickpocket, rapist, and thief was known to ply his—or her—trade . . .
    He had, without emotion, given Charles reports on everything he had learned. And every word had only endeared her to the old man more.
    â€œYou simply cannot imagine what they say!” Arianna whispered. There were tears in her eyes once again. “I will not go to the wedding!”
    He sighed. “As you wish.”
    â€œOh, Jamie!” She threw herself into his arms. “Why was I not enough for him? I love him so very dearly. I can be his companion, and his helper, there to talk about books, languages, and faraway places.”
    He held her tightly, not ready to explain that conversation was not what her father was seeing when he looked at Maggie.
    â€œIt will be all right, you will see,” he told her gently. It would have to be. Charles was, in all other respects, certainly of age, sane, and the master of his own fate. He’d made his decision, and his family must accept it.
    After a while, she nodded against his chest, then drew away. He held her shoulders and looked into her dark eyes. “If you really don’t want to go to the wedding, I’ll see to it that you don’t have to go.”
    She returned his probing stare, then suddenly shook her head and turned away. “Oh, no. I have decided that you’re right—I must go to the wedding. I don’t want to be a part of it, but I will attend. You will come back for me yourself?”
    â€œIndeed, Arianna, I swear it.”
    She smiled, almost brightening.
    â€œWell, if nothing else, I shall be glad to return home for a while. You are staying the night? You cannot possibly return to the channel and make a crossing now.”
    He nodded. He was staying, but he wasn’t pleased with the arrangement.
    He was afraid to leave Charles alone with the woman.
    You’ll have to, soon enough, old chap, he told himself. She would become Charles’s bride, and he’d had to admit, he understood the longings set fire within the man’s heart. There was something about her greater than beauty. Something of fire and tempest, scorn, and fury . . . and power. Maybe she was a witch, a puppeteer, jerking them all about by their strings. He found himself imagining the bride when the rites were completed, when the guests had gone, when the lights were low. Her hair, a halo of gold and red, freed from pins, spilling around her face. Her gown would be sheer, and every lithe limb, curve, and hollow would be exposed. . . .
    Fury within him nearly burst to the surface.
    Stop the wedding?
    There had to be a way to stop the pictures in his own mind.
    If Charles was seeing only half the visions that came to Jamie’s mind, he’d die before he let any man stand between himself and his prize.
    â€œYou must be famished. Sister Sara will see to a meal for you, and, of course, a room for the night,” Arianna was saying.
    â€œYes, thank you, I am quite famished.”
    Famished, yes, she made a man feel that way. As if he had never seen such beauty, as if he would melt if he could not touch it, taste it, dive into it . . .
    He gritted his teeth.
    He loved Charles. Loved him like a father.
    But it was wrong. So wrong.
    Why, particularly? Every word he had said to Arianna was true. Such marriages had taken place since . . . probably since marriage had begun! And yet, in this in-stance . . .
    Was it because he was somewhat smitten himself?
    God help him.
    â€œWell?”
    A cloud had obscured his vision. He had to shake his head to see Arianna.
    â€œI said, which would you prefer? Fish, or pheasant? Or perhaps both. The nuns always titter so over your arrival, Jamie. They’ll surely give you both.”
    He forced a wry smile. “Fowl,” he said.
    Foul. The world had gone foul.
    It wasn’t right that such an exquisite young woman should be wed to such a very old man! That she