Chapter 27
KATHERINE—BACK TOBUSINESS
When I leave my bedchamber, the house is quiet. No noise comes from Jahleel’s room, either. For the past week, he has ended up in my bed or I have visited his. No matter the location, the same thing happens: I read, we kiss, and he sleeps.
Nothing more.
I rub my temples. A headache grows, the type that originates from frustration. What kind of mistress am I if I put my keeper to sleep?
Sometime before dawn, he left my chambers. We held each other and laughed about silly things. He didn’t have to go. I’m technically his mistress, his somewhat untouched mistress.
Is this an affair when nothing more is happening between us than hugs and kisses and literally sleeping in the other’s arms?
Pity. Jahleel is a good, sensual kisser. He’s good at everything. What has made him hesitant? Why is he being a perfect gentleman when I’d be perfectly content if he wasn’t?
A lady can’t express such thoughts, especially when she’s spent the last week evaluating lists of potential new spouses. The woman in the reflecting glass wants many things, but not a new spouse. An undated document on my vanity says Jahleel and I aren’t done. I read his barrister’s papers again. We are still married until a signature and a date grace those pages.
I sigh, keep my chaotic desires to myself, and head down the corridor. I must think of char, top-notch coal, and meeting with Thom’s sons. William and Donald handle the routes well. No one has pelted them with anything.
In some small sense, Wilcox Coal gives them a needed mission. They’ve missed that since leaving the military.
With runners now following my drays, the young men are safe. Jahleel has done this, even though I told him he didn’t have to do a thing.
I almost turn back to the duke’s door to thank him, and maybe discuss our feelings and say the other things I want, when I spy him down the corridor. He’s fully dressed and standing at the top of the stairs. Cane in hand, he’s not moving.
His mouth quivers. He’s saying something or praying, but the tension in his arms radiates. I can feel it from here.
Something must be wrong.
As lightly as I can, I approach him. He’s mumbling.
Now I’m frightened. “Jahleel? Jahleel, give me your hand. I’ll take you back to bed.”
“Go, Katherine. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look sick. He’s smartly dressed in a jet-tailed coat and his waistcoat with emerald threading, very different than the one I said I hated. His dark breeches and tasseled boots make his legs look strong.
“You’re dressed to go out, Jahleel. That’s good.”
“Yes. I intend to.”
“Where?”
“Doesn’t matter, Katherine. Not if I can’t go down the stairs.”
“Of course it matters.” I grasp his arm, the one that clings tightly to the railing. His other grips the handle of his cane like he thinks he’ll fall.
I rub his shoulder and get even closer. “Jahleel, tell me what’s wrong.”
“The stairs. I’ve been up and down them hundreds of times.”
“They are steep but let me help you or get Mr. Steele.”
“Nyet.” He says this but grips my hand tighter. “If I make it down these stairs, this is all true.”
“Jahleel, what are you talking about? What’s true?”
“That Lydia’s my daughter, and she’s happy.”
