No maid has come to help me change or check if I need anything—more evidence of my lowered situation.
My clothes have been moved here and placed in the smallish closet dedicated to this room. I’m disappointed in myself. So determined not to be noticed, I have nothing but drab gray frocks. Dullness isn’t exactly something to please a man who likes color.
Somehow, pleasing Jahleel matters. Watching him suffer and pretending that he wasn’t has changed me. Time … It’s not my friend or his. Why make moments difficult, especially when I am in the wrong?
Resigned, I go to him early, through his connecting closet. It seems shameful to enter Jahleel’s room, but what is a mistress supposed to do? Entering through the main door from the hall yields the possibility of having to explain to the severe princess or my bright daughter why I’m visiting a man at night who may or may not be my husband.
Lydia’s never seen Jahleel and me ever get along for more than a few minutes. It will be confusing. She’ll think my behavior is another lie.
I speed up but slow my steps when I hear a conversation. With my ear to the door, I listen to Jahleel talking with Mr. Steele. Steele mentions Tavis’s name and then Madame Rosebud’s. Madame Rosebud is the owner of a popular brothel for the ton. They became a client about two years ago when Jahleel began helping the company.
All the warm feelings I’d begun to have for him burn. He can’t leave well enough alone. Why not focus on recovery instead of wasting time and energy trying to prove I’m lying about Tavis being faithful?
Stop. Stop judging what he does or how he spends his time. That will merely renew hard feelings. I sigh, then knock on the door.
“Come in, Lady Hampton.”
Jahleel’s voice is low—dark, dangerous. “A prompt woman. Impressive.”
My pulse races, readying to spurt out of my veins. “Why are you fully dressed?”
A huge smile blooms on his face. “Katia, at least wait until we are alone before inquiring about undressing me. Anxious?”
I color.
Steele coughs.
Jahleel laughs, a good hearty one.
My embarrassment flees seeing him in good humor.
His man bows. “Your Grace. It shall be done. Happy reading, Lady Hampton.”
The door to the hall—for the ones without scandal—closes behind him.
“A mistress and her lord, alone at last.” I sound more confident when his eyes brighten.
He stares at me for a moment, a heartbeat too long. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“I’m a woman of my word … this time.” I move a little closer. He’s all buttoned up in a tan waistcoat with indigo threads. His cravat bears a diamond pin. “Will you be leaving for a ball after you’re done with me?”
He squints at me. “What?”
I stand beside the bed, my finger tracing the buttons on his waistcoat. “Does Steele like you wrinkling this finery just lying in bed?”
“Oh.” He catches my hand and kisses my palm. “I felt like dressing for the occasion. It also serves as a precaution. In case you exhaust me so much I fail to awaken, I’ll be well appointed in death.”
Oh my goodness.
He’s serious.
Without hesitation, I slap my hand against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you feeling poorly?”
“I’m feeling something.” He lifts my arm, raises it above my head, and makes me spin. “And you look the same, beautiful but still dressed in gray. But no dusty boots … stockings.” He purrs like Lada. “But still gray. Holding onto old mourning or readying for some new death?”
“I have a coal company to run. Though I mostly do the ledgers, coal dust is everywhere. Light colors and pretty threads are hard to keep tidy.”
“My mistress must not be mournful. I’ll have the modiste attendyou. Please don’t sulk that your benefactor chooses to spend money on you.”
