When We Touch by Heather Graham Page A

well, and often carried messages of the utmost importance to various ports around the world. Sometimes, Charles admitted, he worried about Jamie. He, too, seemed to have something of a disregard for the expectations of proper society. He’d fought in one too many skirmishes abroad, woke too easily in the night at the least sound, and expected danger behind every tree. When he wasn’t carrying messages or carrying out an assignment in a foreign port, Charles was pleased and relieved.
    Jamie saw to the family estates, which were numerous, and Charles was sorry that he could not travel to them himself as he had done in his youth. “Young people leave the fields in droves, seeking wealth in the cities,” he said sorrowfully. “But in the north country, and in Scotland, there are still vast acres and we’ve many tenants raising fine herds of cattle and sheep. We grow what crops we can, as well. Sad to say, I can remember the time of the great famine, striking Ireland like God’s own hammer, but affecting us all. A sorrowful time it was, indeed. We must always take care that such hardship doesn’t come again.” And he had sighed. “Ah, but the world is changing so radically. Soon, mark you, the horse carriages will be a thing of the past, and I tell you, those machines, those automobiles will be everywhere. Technology and law have given us so much—and such unrest, as well. Radicals out in the streets, protests here and there, the poor invading even the finest neighborhoods, looting and robbing at times. Ah, well... there’s still so much to be done in the home country, eh? But as to Jamie, he does well, seeing that the rents are fair, our own stock is properly tended, and all is well. Still, he was saying the other day that he is growing restless, anxious to be about the world again.”
    â€œHe is off and about. You said he was bringing news of the wedding to Arianna.”
    â€œAh, yes, well, that’s barely a hop, skip, and a jump for Jamie. France is a ferry ride away, and the little town where Arianna goes to school is just a few miles from the coast.”
    Maggie gave him a smile, but heartily hoped that Sir Jamie would be sent to the farthest reaches of darkest Africa when he returned from France.
    But Charles was delightful to her brother, and enjoyed the company of Jacques Mireau, as well. He promised to help Jacques with his dreams of a writing career.
    Those first days were pleasant, indeed. It was as if she had found a dear mentor. An older man, but a good friend.
    All seemed to be comfortable. If not elated, she was content. Though it was coming quickly, the wedding remained in the future. This time before offered her a strange freedom.
    But then, Sir James returned.
    Apparently, he meant to stay awhile. Unfortunately, he was not being sent about on the Queen’s business.
    Maggie had never imagined just how completely the term “fly in the ointment” could describe someone.
    It wasn’t so much that he did anything. Or, for that matter, said anything.
    He was just there. With them so frequently.
    Watching her. Studying her. And forming his opinion.
    And not a good one, at that.
    It was the way he looked at her. As if she were a pedigreed dog—or a mutt pretending to have a pedigree! —purchased at a very high price, who would soon turn and bite the hand that fed her.
    No, it wasn’t in anything that he did.
    He was overly polite. Courteous to the extreme. But every time their eyes touched, the contempt within his gaze, to her great distress, was chilling. In turn, she learned to accept his touch of assistance in and out of carriages, up and down stairs, and through crowded streets with an icy venom of her own. They despised one another. Naturally, for the sake of Lord Charles, they would not let on.
    Nor did Maggie intend, in any way, to let the man alter her life.
    Two weeks into the engagement, with the wedding but another two weeks