I stare at him, this man I loved so much, the man sentenced to suffer until the blood sickness wins. “I should’ve, but I forced myself to hate you—”
“Good job. No one has hated me more.”
A deep sigh releases as Jahleel fidgets and pushes the cover down, exposing more of his chest. The sweat-damp nightshirt plasters against him like glue.
He’s leaner than ever. Yet I see the slight definition of muscles above his wide bony ribs.
“You’re pale. You need sun.”
“Won’t get out today. I hear the dawn is beautiful.”
“You must make it to dawn. And I … I’m sorry.”
He turns his face away. “Of course you are. Everyone cries when they’re caught.”
A shiver crosses my arms. He doesn’t believe me. “It’s your turn to hate me. You have every right to do so.”
Jahleel grunts. “No more hating. I’m sick to death … to life of it.”
“Truly, am sorry.”
He groans and shifts. “Sorry for what, Lady Hampton?”
“For everything. And you’ve won our bet. Jahleel, the smartest man in the world, has successfully gotten my two sisters married to husbands who adore them.” I clap, a half-hearted offering, but my palms redden.
He starts to laugh, then coughs, then stills. My breath catches in the back of my throat. I don’t release it, not until I see his chest rise.
“Huzzah. You give me credit for Georgina’s marriage. My being sick and pathetic has made you generous. Do go on, Lady Hampton.”
“You brought Lord Mark Sebastian into our lives. You defended their love against the awful Marquess of Prahmn. You brought Scarlett and Stephen together. I only wish the Carews could enjoy being newlyweds. He’s off to see patients.”
He fusses again with his robe. “More accolades? I shouldn’t be deprived of hearing your sweet voice—”
“Beg?”
“What is it you fully British say,the slipper is on the other foot? I forgave you for not telling me about my son or where he was so callously buried. The living daughter part is harder, much harder.”
“My mother didn’t want a scandal. We did the best we could.”
“A scandal of your making. You left me, but we did not divorce.”
“I did the Cossack thing: I ran into the streets and straight to the River Neva. In public, I shouted that we were done.”
He chuckles again as his pretty eyes shut. “Guess we weren’t, not with my children in your womb. The minute you knew, you could’ve sent word. You’ve always known where I was.”
“Yes. Cold St. Petersburg or here in London, proclaiming to the newspapermen and the courts that you were as good as the rest, the lousy ton who held the race of your beautiful mother against you—a regal Blackamoor woman. You didn’t need the same miserable people attacking and depriving you because of me.”
His lids rise. Angry hazel daggers shoot into my heart. “You lied for my benefit? Deprived me of years—years I’ll never get back—with my daughter, all for me? How fortunate I am.”
The glare freezes me. He’s so still. Then he takes a long, shuddering breath. “But why should I be angry? My fault for loving so impulsively.” Tears stream down his cheeks. “My mother tried to warn me against being so careless.”
“But you did love me. And you won the bet. I will marry you like you originally wanted.”
He grunts and holds his side.
“You’re in pain. What can I do?”
“Pain? Yes, in more ways than one. Go, Katherine. I’m done with you. A dead man has no wife.”
