Yet she chose to believe Tavis.
If she knew Jahleel like she said she did, then she would know he’d never abandon her.
So how dare she look fresh and beautiful and be poison to his soul.
“Jahleel,” Tavis said. “Not a dream. You’ve come. I hoped you would. A moment alone with my friend.”
“No.” Katherine shook her head. “No, Tavis. We’re in this together. I said I’d stay with you till the end.”
“But I want you out. I must speak to the duke alone. It’s my wish. My last request. Honor it.”
She looked at the doctor.
He shrugged and said, “Five minutes, no more.”
Then she gaped at Jahleel like this was his fault too.
Miss Wilcox took her arm. “Come on, sis. The duke won’t let you miss the moment.”
She stood and smoothed her prim dress. “Is that a promise, Your Grace?”
Katherine put up a dismissive hand and swung a man’s watch from a chain about her neck. “I can tell time. All Wilcox women can.”
The grieving wife headed toward to the door. “I’ll be back in five minutes, not a second later. No need to depend on the Duke of Torrance for anything, Tavis.”
Miss Wilcox made eyes at her sister as if to say she was being too harsh. All these antics would be over soon.
This goodbye would be done. Jahleel could leave with a clear conscience.
The door slammed and Jahleel was alone with his former friend.
“Get out of that bed and tell me what’s the latest scheme. I won’t judge you.”
“Wish I could oblige. Not this time, Jahleel.”
“Tavis. Can’t you see what it’s doing to Katherine? To all your sisters-in-law?”
Weak blue eyes glanced up. “I wish it was a jest. I can’t believe—”
“What in God’s name happened and why summon me?”
“A bet. Broke my back jumping a fence. Didn’t win the fiver. Horse . . . put down.”
Another stupid wager! “We’re older, you fool. You have a wife who loves you. There’s a family out there. They depend upon you.”
“Couldn’t resist a bet. Neither could you. That’s why we’re brothers, blood brothers.”
“That sentiment was before the woman I loved ran off with you.” Jahleel shook his head. “Just get better.”
“Jahleel Charles. Finally the Duke of Torrance.”
The last challenge had been rendered obsolete. His father’s marriage to a Russian princess had been accepted as legal. The Court of Chancery had conferred everything to Jahleel, two years too late to afford the medical care that might’ve made a difference in his sister’s short life.
His mother no longer cared to be the Dowager Torrance or to reside in London. Her cottage, a lovely pink dacha in Saint Petersburg, with easy access to the Neva River or Baltic Sea, gave her the peace she’d wanted.
Jahleel had fought too hard to be recognized and lost too much in the process to become a recluse in Russia. London would be his home now.
“Jahleel, you still there? My vision’s going.”
