Chapter 12 Jahleel—Sunset—Still Restless
JAHLEEL—SUNSET—STILL RESTLESS
Scarlett’s voice guides me through another painful hour of waiting for the fever to relent. It’s hours from midnight, probably not going to see midnight. I’m hot and bothered, and I resist sleep.
Not sure if I’ll awaken.
She snaps the book closed. “Are you still listening?”
“Does Pride and Prejudice get better for Darcy? He clashes wits with Elizabeth. That’s entertaining, but we are up to chapter eighteen, and the woman won’t give him a chance.”
“I think that’s the point, Your Grace.”
“It’s the wrong point, Scarlett. Darcy should move on. Flip ahead. See if he ends up with the Bingley woman? It’s obvious she appreciates him.”
“I’ve read it, but I will not spoil it. You must linger and hear it all. But isn’t the prose calming? Stephen says it’s calming.” Her head tilts. “Do you feel calm?”
I’m hot, sweaty, smelly, hoping not to die. What does she think? I say none of this. Scarlett is an angel of mercy. It’s Katherine that has me agitated. She’s taken everything from me and now wants to marry me to become a proper widow again.
I hate her.
But I admire the strength it took to propose such folly.
Commotion starts outside my bedchamber.
Scarlett leaps up, dropping the book.
The door to my chamber flies open. Mr. Steele, swinging a basket, enters with six footmen carrying pails of hot water.
“A bath, Your Grace, as you ordered per Lady Hampton’s instruction.”
“Well, it seems Katherine can be useful.” I pull my robe to me and ease my feet to the edge. My restless legs feel wobbly and fatigued.
Then I see a cat in the basket. I question nothing.
Scarlett stands. She frowns stiffly. “But my husband doesn’t think this is a good idea.”
“He’s not here,” I say as gently as possible. “Besides, he smells good and was nicely dressed the last time I remember seeing him. I’ll not face eternity unclean.”
She runs around the bed and steadies me as I sit up. “You’ve had trouble with your vision and weakness in your limbs from past crises, and the heavy use of laudanum has made you frail. We should wait. Shouldn’t we wait?”
Mr. Steele comes closer. “Your left eye was a little cloudy, sir, the last time you were ill. Can you see well enough—”
“For a bath? Of course. I’m delighted by the concern, but I shall have a nice soak. Steele, pick something from my closet. I want shiny brass buttons and lots of folds and starch.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Mr. Steele bows and backs into my treasured closet, the place of my waistcoats and cravats. The cat basket remains on the floor. The cute little thing yawns at me. I ignore it. A daft fool won’t get a bath.
Scarlett waves her hand in front of my face. “Your irises aren’t red. Can you see out both eyes?”
I smile at her. “Da. I’m good.” I point to the warm water being poured into my tub. “I see steam and smell lavender. You do, too?”
“Yes. Of course.” She folds her arms. “This is worrisome.”
Scarlett doesn’t mention the cat, so I won’t.
“Your Grace,” she says, touching my hot cheek. “We should wait for Stephen.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be alive by the time he returns, but I will be clean.”
The footmen finish filling the ornate tub that sits on brawny lion paws.
Red in the face, Scarlett paces but avoids the basket. “Your Grace, I insist that you not be alone while you attempt this.”
“He won’t be.” Katherine stands at the threshold wearing Scarlett’s long white apron. The jet gown underneath is a maid’s uniform complete with white slippers—not coal dusted boots. “You go get a few hours of sleep. I’ll take care of the duke.”
My mouth drops open when she enters, looking ridiculous and enchanting.
My true maids come into my chambers and quickly strip the bed as much as they can with me seated on the mattress.
They place a pile of fresh linen near me.
This is Katia’s doing. She remembers how I love fresh sheets after a bath.
I gaze at her, my confident rusalka with the scrub brush. She stoops and pets the cat.
“So the cat is real! It’s real, not a figment of the weed-tea dream.”
The maids leave, but Scarlett and the cat and Katherine remain. “Are you sure of this, Your Grace? My husband—”
“I’m attending my former one.” Katherine comes closer, breathing hard, focused … beautiful. “He won a bet. The d’yavol must have his due.”
“Madame Carew, I believe Lady Hampton will not drown me. Go rest. We will read more about Darcy. He must impress this Elizabeth at the upcoming ball. I’ll have Mr. Steele or my new maid—”
“Hired mistress paying off my debts,” Katherine’s voice booms. “I’ll take care of him.” She virtually pushes Scarlett out the door. Once Scarlett’s gone, she turns to me. “I’m here to serve, Your Grace.”
Her tone is sultry. She claps her hands. My footmen snap to attention. “Guide the duke to the tub.”
She doesn’t turn and continues to glare at me.
I don’t dwell on her. I save my energy to walk.
I raise my arms, and my men help me up and take me to the tub.
I am as weak as I thought. My balance is nonexistent without help.
Fully clothed, I’m lifted into the water, which flows about my calves.
My robe and nightshirt become wet as the men help me sit.
“This is how I like my baths, with or without a woman attending me, nice and hot.”
Katherine doesn’t leave.
“Are both kittens staying, Katia? The one in the basket. The other with claws.”
“Here to scrub His Grace’s back. I’ll make sure you don’t overexert yourself. It’s the least a good mistress can do.”
Oh, Katia has come to play. This foolhardiness invigorates me. Two can be brazen. “Strip me then.”
When servants remove my robe and nightshirt, she doesn’t avert her eyes. Her expression—that shiny black gaze with flecks of gold—pierces me.
Mr. Steele comes from my closet with a fresh shirt, black pantaloons, and a waistcoat of emerald. “Lady Hampton. I was not aware that you’d come.”
Steele’s expression stays blank until he turns to the kitten. “Lada cleans up well.”
“Lada? As in Anya’s kitten?”
Katherine’s cheeks color. “It was the first name that came into my head. I must’ve remembered.” She kneels beside the tub and lathers the brush with the French-milled soap I like. “Mr. Steele, clear the room. And will you watch my kitten?”
Steele looks at both of us. He motions to the footmen to leave. He picks up the basket with the cat and moves to the door. “Call for me when you are ready to rise.”
My faithful servant bows and leaves.
It’s just me, Katia, and hot, steamy water. The smooth bristles of the brush lie against my chest. How they sweep over my skin takes me back to our dacha by the river, our wedding trip. Katherine did take care of me.
I close my eyes and rest against the tub. The heated copper soothes my skin and unleashes some of the tightness binding my chest.
“There. You’re smiling. This must be to your liking.”
“Well, you haven’t tried to drown me. That is good.”
“Chilly. Does it feel chilly to you?”
Beads of sweat are on my brow. “I’m fine.”
“Not good enough.” She lifts from my side and goes to the fireplace. “The room should be very warm for you.”
The steam and the scent of lavender open up my nostrils.
The constant pain begins to dull, helped along by the sight of Katherine bending over in front of my hearth—her slim waist made noticeable by the apron ties, her wide hips flared by her stooping position, and that round bottom. Something I’ve always admired.
“Katia, I … I thought I said our bet was no more. St. Peter might not accept a gambler.”
She turns and faces me. “He doesn’t need to take you now. And you hired me.”
“I what? Must be a translation problem. Could you say this again in Russian?”
Katherine floats behind me and kneels. The vixen’s charcoal-roughened hands land on my neck, loosening knots. “The Duke of Torrance hired me, or you won me. That means you get whatever you want,” she whispers.
Her palm caresses my chin. From a pocket, she pulls a razor.
There isn’t time to fear what madness has taken her. “At least I’ll be clean-shaven for eternity.”
“Jahleel, what are you babbling about?”
“You’re killing me with kindness, slitting my throat with your sweetness.” I bang the copper and vibrate with the echo. “But if this is all to lull me into a false sense of security, the tub will be efficient for catching my foul blood.”
Katherine doesn’t respond. The next thing I know, she’s put suds on my cheeks and started shaving me. When she’s done, she wipes the silver blade on a towel and says, “There. Handsome and clean. That’s my Duke of Torrance.”
Yours? “Oh, you want something. And we know it’s not me. Tell me why you are—”
Her hands slip into the water and find the small of my back. The pressure is just right. I can take a deep breath without pain. “Katia, you remember?”
“I made myself remember who we were before I ruined us.”
I catch one hand and pull the wet fingers to my lips. “You don’t have to do all this. Seducing a sick man takes much less effort. Just tell me what you want. Then go back to being stone, shiny impervious marble.”
She tugs free and puts her hands back into the water. The warmth splashes my chest. Then she thoroughly scrubs me, even my tummy like Lydia would say.
Katherine’s fingers again find that spot along my spine that needs her and only her. “I told you it would be my pleasure to bathe you. I wish to bring you comfort. Let me make you happy.”
That doesn’t sound like stone. Sounds soft and kind, very much like the sprite I married—she was so caring, so frighteningly determined. Katia made me believe the world stopped for us. A man short on time needs to think that love can do anything.
With her fingertips, she stirs the waters, releasing lavender scent from the soap. Suds form like fog clouds and surround me. Then she washes me everywhere. Everywhere. Scrubbing, rubbing, soothing. Water and fire baptize my spirit.
As much as I don’t want to, I remember what we had. I think of how joyful and loving and unpredictable she was until I grew ill. I still crave the hope and peace of what was, what could’ve manifested with a longer marriage.
Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. How many times will I let her tease and break my heart? This round of play goes to Katherine. She’s never been shy about me … and she wants something. There’s no other logical explanation.
I sigh, and she leans over my shoulder. “Am I doing things right? I want to please you.”
If I tell her she’s doing everything perfectly, she’ll know it didn’t take much effort to fool me. Guess I want to be her fool, the simpleton who wishes she truly cared. So I nod, stay silent, and continue to take this punishment like a man.