And the shoes are works of art dripping in diamonds and rubies. “I’m almost afraid to step in these.”
His breath catches, his eyes roam as I lift my hem and twirl like Lydia.
“Katherine, you’re a wonderful display, too.” His smile shows before he bites his lip. “You look so lovely. And you put chrysanthemums in your hair.”
“I borrowed a few from our son.”
Jahleel’s eyes grow shiny.
“They were still fresh. Scarlett starched them so they could keep their creamy color. And it takes away the smell. I honor him by wearing these flowers.”
Jahleel stands before me, like a statue gathering frost and snow. But in the shared silence, I see softness and sweetness in his gaze. He sees me—my flaws, my fears … my heart.
“I went to see our son to discuss getting a new deal for his papen’ka.”
The pounding of his heart deafens. This man is impervious to anything but family. He swallows. “I have nothing new to wager with but I give this.” He draws his hand forward and offers a velvet box. “This present was for you when you were formally my mistress. I took it away when my mother said I exceeded my bounds. She was right. And I’d broken a promise. That was treating you like a mistress, not the woman I love. Doesn’t matter what your title. This is for you, only you.”
I open it and my heart explodes. No rubies or emeralds. Somethingbetter. On the velvet ribbon is my father’s silver watch. It shines with theCWandPWrubbed with indigo, making the initials more distinct. “Jahleel, how?”
“Might’ve broken your rules and lied about not intervening. Steele has had men looking for it since you told me. The chain is gone, so I made it into a pendant to wear like a royal order.”
My fingers trace every inch—the filigree, even the dents made to the lid when Papa dropped it. “I have no words, just gratefulness.”
Laying the box on the vanity, he takes the watch from the box and pins it to my shoulder. I embrace him and hold him so tightly.
He kisses my brow. Steps back and looks at me. “But something is missing.”
“Nothing. This is perfect.”
Digging into his pocket, he shakes his head. “The watch is technically from your father. Now something from me.” He draws out a necklace, a perfect ruby with diamonds. It sparkles like fire.
It matches my shoes. “Jahleel, this is too much.”
“It’s not enough. You should be spoiled and pampered. My days, long or short, you’re a gift to my life. This small token must be on the loveliest big girl at my ball.”
Succumbing to the fiery color, I turn and allow him to drape it across my throat. For a moment, his hand settles on my waist.
“There.” He spins me to him. “This is an image I want to keep for the rest of my life.”
This close to him, I savor myrrh and sandalwood—scents of sacrifice and power. Heady, I do something daring and ease my palms up his chest. Smoothing the sash and the double row of frogging, the tightly woven silver braiding adorning the front of his jacket, I tell him, “I don’t want us to fight anymore. I want to give Lydia a birthday party where we both get along.”
“Da, getting along is fine with me. We are friends, caring ones, thick as thieves.”
I reach for the generous man, standing on my tippy toes, archingmy feet in slippers that jingle with gems. Jahleel leans to me. Our lips meet in the middle.
I’m dizzy, drawing deeper into him. I taste tea and joy, a bit of rum too. Maybe we don’t go down. Maybe, if we stay in each other’s arms, we can have forever.
The music begins, filtering from below. Jahleel reluctantly lets me go. “That’s our signal. It’s time to attend.”
He sweeps past me and puts the box on the vanity. His hazel eyes shift to the incomplete legal papers for our London separation, the equivalent of a writ of divorcement.
I ache, picturing the whole night ruined. “I still haven’t added a date. Let’s not discuss these.”
“Nyet. We finish.” He uncorks my ink, dips my feather quill, and makes a quick mark. “That would be September 16, 1810, three and a half months after Lydia’s birth. We have a happy beautiful seven-year-old.”
The pen taps to the page. “Scarlett held our little babe near the last row. I remember.”
With a flourish, he finishes and drops the quill. “Done. No more avoiding the past. Tonight, we begin our future.”
