“Ordering me to bed?” He chuckles and glares at me with that knowing look. “The lady hasn’t changed. What was the position you wanted … legs here? And those large feet … no, I wanted those.”
Wanting to turn into flames, I force myself to not move. “You are right, the terms of our wager changed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t change them back.”
“Change back? A do-it-over?” A short smile tugs at his lips, neither too thin nor too thick. “Well, that’s something. You’ve become a smooth-talking … Wickham?”
“A what? Don’t you mean d’yavol?”
“According to Scarlett’s reading, d’yavol, Wickham, and Tavis are pretty much the same.”
Giving up his attempt to rise, Jahleel settles, but his leg shakes the sheets. It hits me in the core of my stomach how this sickness rages his body. I gulp down words that sound like pity. “Are you thirsty? Drinking more might break the fever.”
“Thirsty for you … to extoll my virtue. Say it slowly, the laudanum and pain teas dull my senses. Say I’m right and you’re wrong, dead wrong.”
Those words aren’t so hard. Even Mr. Thom, blinded by cataracts, can see that the duke has been good to us. “Yes. I am wrong. You are right.”
His frown deepens. “Say you can believe in me now.” He finds my palm and places a kiss into the center. “Then tell me a new and different falsehood, Katherine.”
I wrench free. “I’m being serious. I will hold to our bet. We can have a season or years of seasons. I will pay for what I’ve done.”
“Pay?” He grimaces with lips poking out, but those hazel-grayeyes shine brightly. “So, caring for me is torture. Well, at last we have an admission. Next time use a sweeter tone and maybe add a smidgeon more praise for your sickly lover.”
“More begging, Jahleel? Is that what you want?”
“That can be my only conceivable desire, for why else would you be standing in my private bedchamber, fully clothed, dusty shoes covering your feet and unrepentant? That is as bad as demanding to be welcomed back to my bed.”
“I’m not demanding …” My eyes grow wide. He thinks I’m lying. I lower my voice. “How should I beg? What will make you believe that I want to be here?”
His gaze shifts away.
I mop his head, pat his cheeks, and even baptize his warm shoulder.
“My barrister should’ve told you that our debts, even the wager, are settled. I’m free of you. Go.”
“You’re tired and aggravated by the pain. Me making amends being attentive to you will make it easier to forgive me.”
“Forgiveness?” He stretches and battles for another breath. “If you do not believe you are forgiven, that is your conscience. And you weren’t a perfect wife the first time. Why make promises to be a good mistress now?”
“I’m older. I understand more. And I’ve been a wife … one and a half times.” I want to cover my mouth before more foolishness falls out. “I can—”
“Don’t slight poor Tavis like that.” Jahleel wheezes and laughs. “And I know the truth of that union. It wasn’t just about honor or escaping scandal. You wanted me to hate you. Did you honestly think marriage to my lousy friend would make me despise you as much as I’d grown to despise him?”
“The pain medicine, Jahleel? Has Scarlett’s molasses-smelling weeds made you paranoid?”
“Oh, Katia, don’t be easy on me. I want you to gloat about making me pay. Gloat. That kind of plotting makes me respect you more. You took the fool, too. Separated Tavis from hisparents’ love and troubles. I guess you didn’t figure out that the replacement husband had a gambling problem. And was a cheat—”
“He never cheated on me.”
“Never?” Jahleel’s eyebrow rises. “Oh. The wild lettuce is making me foolish. Forget what I said. Forgive me. I shouldn’t disparage the dead, when I’m soon to be welcomed—”
“My marriage to Tavis is my business.” I climb on the mattress closer to Jahleel and open more of his nightshirt, then press the damp cloth to him. “It’s not as if I’m asking how you spent your time, especially since you believed we were still married.”
“Shoes? They should be off. But this linen needs to be changed. Oh, never mind.” His jaw tightens. “You believe nothing I say. I refuse to justify my life to you. You’re not my wife now. And I want a good mistress, not someone who can barely tolerate me.”
“Jahleel, calm down.”
“And what have you learned—all buttoned up in a gray carriage gown and gray shawl. That’s hardly seductive even for the bedridden. At least Scarlett’s boots are sentimental and clean. Yours are probably dusty. No sentiment at all.”
I’m so angry … because he’s right. I’m not sentimental. But I am emotional. I look at this man barely hiding the pain racking his limbs, and I hate myself more. “I’m sorry I made you feel like this.”
