Fix in us Thy humble dwelling . . .”
Oh, did we need fixing.
Old Tavis too.
When I opened my eyes, Katherine had taken a seat in the chair beside her husband’s bed. The once active joking man lay still in bandages and piles of blankets.
The doctor counted a pulse.
Poor Katherine took up Tavis’s hand.
The duke, who looked more distressed, stood under the threshold muttering foreign words under his breath.
Chapter 5
JAHLEELCHARLES, THEDUKE OFTORRANCE—THEBLASTEDCONFESSION
The Hamptons’ bedchamber smelled of mustard and sour tonics, a little like Jahleel’s when he was last sick.
Looking at Katherine’s thin frame, he decided she was too thin. Her back was to him, but it was elegant and straight. Wisps of ebony hair fell from her chignon, and he imagined the last time he saw her, coldly telling him to leave.
“Torrance? Is that you?” Tavis sounded tired, like he’d fought in a boxing match, a bout the man had lost.
Almost feeling tongue-twisted like Sebastian, Jahleel swallowed, then offered, “Rest, Lord Hampton. I’m here. As requested by you and Lady Hampton.”
“Good.” He closed his eyes. His panting eased.
An older man picked up the sick fellow’s hand again. “Good. You finally made it. I believe he stayed with us to see you.”
Katherine bristled. It was a slight jerking motion, but as always, Jahleel was attuned to every minute detail.
The physician glanced up at him. “So you are Russian?”
“English too.”
Jahleel wagered that was not the question the physician, like most, wanted to ask. Most wanted to know if his mother was a Black Russian princess while examining Jahleel’s features for signs of color.
If the curious doctor found yellow in his cheeks—that was jaundice from his last cold. He’d ridden all day, so there should be some brown. But in a year of little sun, Jahleel looked as pale as other peers who could attest to having two typical English parents.
“Mr. Carew said he knew you. Miss Scarlett Wilcox was insistent he’d be able to help.” The physician’s eyes were close together, hovering over a long, pointed nose. “She was right about Carew. He’s treated many injuries from the wars and his home is in the islands. Those colonies are always in rebellion.”
Steal enough people, deadly consequences will ensue.
With the Wilcox sisters of Jamaican descent, it made sense that they’d know others from the West Indies. In London, islanders stuck together.
Shaking his jowled cheeks side to side, the physician set down Tavis’s wrist. “Lady Hampton, I’m sorry. He’s barely with us.”
Jahleel shut his lids. Those were the worst words. He said a prayer. When he looked at the bed again, he met Katherine’s gaze.
Upturned eyes.
Flecks of gold on a blackened sea.
Then he saw them shimmering with water.
He drowned, and that empty space in his chest beat with some foreign drum.
And when her eyes hardened, and her frown deepened, he knew she still hated him, despised him for the lies the man in the bed told her.
