“He’s not. Or he’s just settling.” She put her hand on Busick’s shoulder, the warmth of her fingers searing through his shirt. “What is it?”
“You didn’t sleep in our chambers last night.”
“Lionel was up late. I must’ve fallen asleep. We brought the rocker downstairs. It’s quite comfortable.”
Spinning around, he glared at her. “Pity. I missed hearing your thoughts. You communicate more when you close your eyes. Very talkative in your sleep.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What have I done? What rule have I broken? I’ll fix it.”
“I know you’re frightened. Tell me why. Hamlin is secure. Your position is secure. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”
She looked down and crossed her arms. “You heard my ramblings. What do you think?”
“That you’re still in love with Colin. That you miss him.”
“He was my husband. Should I not have loved him?”
“Of course you should. He fathered Lionel. But you are still calling for him. You chased after a man who knew him. You’re stuck in the past. Is this because I’m physically stuck, too?”
Clasping her bony elbows, she sat on the bed, the bed where he wanted to gather her up and make her his own.
“I don’t want Colin, but he still haunts my head. I don’t know how to make him stop.”
He pushed back to her. “What can I do to make you secure? You have my name, my protection. You must know how I crave you. What else?”
She came near, knelt, and dropped her head into his lap. “I don’t know. Lady Shrewsbury says Markham may strike up until my father, my late father’s payment is settled.”
Patience counted her fingers. “That’s two more weeks. More time to go about tasks pretending I’m not looking for the fiend to come from the catacombs. Or that he has stolen Lionel, or has found a way to hurt you.”
He lifted her face, fingering that wonderful cleft in her quivering chin. “I have troops patrolling. Gantry is outside. He’s capable of protecting you.”
Her wide eyes narrowed as she stood. “Do you think my fears are because you can’t walk? Don’t disparage me like this. You know me better than this.”
“I think I know you, but you’re the only one to ever deceive me twice. I need to know what you’re thinking, and it can’t come from your dreams.”
She rose, towering above him like the queen she was. Chin lifted, she went into the adjacent room.
The noise of drawers opening, content shifting struck his ear.
When she returned, she placed a scrunched-up piece of parchment into his palm. “The last time I told a man what I thought, he walked into the Thames.”
“I’m not Colin.”
“I don’t want you to be. I thank your Jove that you’re not him. But we’re not free, Busick. We’re not. Waiting for Markham or Colin to appear will drive me to your rum. I don’t know how to be around you and not be the cause of your suffering.”
“It’s not you—”
“Read it. Know my thoughts. They killed Colin.”
Unfolding the paper, Busick saw a beautifully penned letter to his cousin. A few words stood out—hate, can’t forgive, tired, leaving.
“I sent it to him when he left me again over the summer. I told him I was done being alone, that I wanted to go home. He should’ve laughed at that notion, knowing there was nothing in Demerara for me. My father’s brothers—I can’t call them uncles—they believe in enslavement. My sisters, they may all be enslaved.”
“Patience, I’ll find out what happened to them. I’ll do that for you.”
That look on her face—the angry and frowning purse of her lips when she thought no one saw, when she pounded loaves with her fists—made Busick feel worse.
“I don’t want my words to kill you, Duke.”
