Is this really how I want to die?
“So... instead, you walked miles and miles and nearly froze to death looking for a light.”
He nodded in the pillow.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Thomas. Why ever did you wish to die in the first place?”
His gaze darted to the door, as if he wished they might be interrupted by a servant. He knew the housemaids were up and about, probably rushing around due to his presence in the house. “I am fifty years old,” he stated in a hoarse whisper.
Giving her head a shake, she said, “And I am five-and-forty...”
“Youhave something to live for.”
The words hung in the air for a long time before she said, “Don’t you?”
Swallowing hard, he stared at her. “Do I?”
She winced. “You have three sons.”
It was his turn to wince. “My oldest, John... he’s been seeing to the ducal properties these past few years. He’s far more efficient at managing the estates than I ever was. He’ll make an excellent addition to Parliament.”
“And your youngest?” she prompted.
“George returned from his Grand Tour last month. Wants to take up archaeology with some viscount in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.”
Katherine furrowed a brow. “Viscount Henley, perhaps?” she guessed. She had never met the man, but accounts of his Ancient Greek and Roman discoveries were frequently documented inThe Times.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“He’s mentored a number of young men interested in the avocation,” she remarked. “From what I heard when I was last in London, he’s very good.”
“George said the same. Once he leaves, I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”
She furrowed both brows and angled her head to one side. “And then there’s Jonathan.”
He gave a start. “I had no reason to suspect Jonathan was my son,” he whispered.
“He’s married now. You have an adorable grandchild.”
He lifted himself onto an elbow. “I do?”
Grinning, she nodded. “Jonathan’s duchess bore him a son only six months ago. He is still a babe, but John has a set of lungs on him that can wake the dead,” she claimed, once again wincing. “So you see, you have no excuse to die before your time.”
He relaxed back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed the ornate plasterwork or the stucco cherubs decorating each corner, their expressions conveying mischief and mayhem. “My father died well before he was fifty.”
“Your father was a crotchety old fart,” she replied with a sniff.
Thomas burst out laughing, which had Katherine grinning even as a blush colored her face.
“He was that,” Thomas murmured in agreement. He took a deep breath and let it out. “What about you?”
Her eyes widened. “What about me? Do you think I’m a crotchety old fart now that I’ve five-and forty?” Realizing her entire front was uncovered, she quickly pulled the bed linens up and gripped them to her chest.
He scoffed, obviously disappointed she hid her bare breasts from his view. He’d had plans for them, but the conversation had veered into subjects not conducive to making love. “Hardly. Is that what you think of me? Now that you know I’m fifty?”
She shook her head. “Never,” she whispered. Her eyes darted to the side. “Especially after you shocked me last night.”
He gave a start. “How did I manage that?”
