Chapter 13 Katherine—Bath Time
KATHERINE—BATH TIME
The smartest man I know becomes timid in my hands. Into his fine hair that bears Lydia’s dark brown coloring, I scrub lavender soap. With the sweat gone, it smells divine and reveals waves mirroring her curls and texture.
The memories return. Didn’t I plait his locks once?
“You’re quiet, Katherine. Have we skipped to the nefarious part of your plan?”
“I wasn’t always nefarious. I was once in love—blindingly, foolheartedly, stupidly in love.”
He stiffens and pulls away. “One of us was stupid. It was never you.”
I massage his back and draw him to me. Rubbing at his neck always made him easy.
Jahleel settles against the tub, and I scoop a bucket of water and rinse the suds away.
“Got it. You plan to give me the pneumonia Scarlett and Carew feared. Then no one can blame you for my death. Brilliant, Katia.”
My heart hurts. He still thinks I want him dead. “Have I missed a spot?” My voice sounds strangled. “I vaguely remember that you are picky about your baths.”
“Not tonight.” He leans further back. “I’m grateful. A truce in your evil plan is welcomed.”
“The jade chessboard remains on top of the desk in your study. I left you the first clue that I wanted a truce.”
“Oh, you purposely left the knight on G4.”
“All you had to do was take your bishop and move to F7. You’d put my pieces in checkmate. Then you win.”
“A woman who knows chess is a rarity. One who can actually beat me even rarer. You should’ve just said the truth. I knew about our son. Then I’d know you actually cared.”
But I did … do care. “If I said I’m sorry for the lies, that I’m sorry for not believing in you …”
“And that you are sorry for abandoning me? Sorry that I will die? Is that something you actually will regret?”
Gaining his full trust is hopeless. “Spotless like a lamb.” My voice has collapsed to nothing. I scrub his ears. “As your mistress, I’ll make sure you are clean. Perhaps this bath breaks the fever.”
His eyes close as he smirks. “Well, let me know when you become evil again. But do dress me first. Clean, well dressed. St. Peter will accept me.”
“The dream with Tavis unsettled you.”
“Very much so. Makes me think I’m missing something.” He takes the towel from my fingers and dries his face. “You and Tavis are similar. You come to me when you want something. So Katia, out with it. The suspense is killing me.”
His jokes about dying make me fretful, but I refuse to surrender. “You’re the planner. I’m sure you’ve thought of a way out of my clutches.”
“Such gentle clutches.” He chuckles. “I’m sure I’ll pay when one of us, you, escapes.”
This jest stings. “You have every reason to be suspicious, but I want you well. And you need to eat more. You’re too thin.”
“You like me … thick, Katia?”
My face feels heated from the memory of forty days and nights spent in a dacha by the river.
Two newlywed souls found freedom in the arms of the other—freedom in nakedness, freedom in talking and dreaming and feasting upon the other.
Feast is the only way to describe the pleasure of finding the perfect nourishment of mind, body, and soul.
But I ran from our connection, Jahleel’s and mine. I allowed others to lie on it, on him, when I should’ve scoffed and held on. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run—”
“Talk with Scarlett. Get her to add something to my teas to fatten me up.”
He doesn’t want to hear empty words. I take a fresh towel and dry his hair as much as possible. Then I step away and finish pulling off the old linen and smooth fresh ones in place. When I return to the tub, Jahleel is looking up.
A painted ceiling of orthodox saints hangs over us. I ask, “Is that Lazarus up there?”
“Yes, and Moses the Moor.” His voice sounds calm, like this is normal: a Black saint and a man rising from the dead. “I know why you’ve come.”
“You do?” I sigh. He understands. “Jahleel—”
“Scarlett said the Marchioness of Prahmn is gossiping,” he continues. “Circumstances have just allowed for her to return to living in the neighborhood. It’s a shame. You’d expect more gratitude when I helped make this happen.”
What did Jahleel do to get his nemesis Lord Prahmn to relent? I bite my lip and rub his shoulders. “You’re very tense.”
“Katherine. I said that the gossips are active. Something should be done.”
“Don’t do anything but relax, Your Grace. Whatever shame I garner is earned.”
“The marchioness has influence. She’s a matron of Mayfair. Her words can lead to your acceptance in the community of peers. How will you get your next husband if the matrons keep gossiping?”
Next husband. According to the papers Jahleel’s barrister gave me, I had one. “Don’t exactly need another one. I’d like to be content being your mistress.”
Jahleel slumps to the right. “Not looking for one.”
I dip my hand in the water. It’s cooled. “You’re catching a chill?”
He doesn’t answer.
Kneeling behind him, I hover and check his temples. He doesn’t feel any warmer. Dipping the cloth into the water, I swab his arms. Suds pile onto the fresh bloodletting marks above the crook of his elbow. “Tell me I’m doing something right.”
His head settles against my bosom. “Da, this is good.” He bites his lip.
Pain settles into his face. Not sure what compels me, but I put my arms around him—the heel of my palm presses at his breastbone.
Dripping onto me, dampening my apron, Jahleel stays against me. I hold him more tightly. The thudding of his heart vibrates.
He grips my arm. Together, we endure this wave of pain.
Then his grasp falls away. “Perhaps, it wasn’t such a good idea to get out of bed.”
Whispering, I say, “But you’re out. That has to be better.”
His wet finger traces my jaw. My nose is close to his larger one. Our mouths are near. Why do I want to kiss him?
“What is it you want, Katia? As you can see, my heart can’t stand for you to be this nice without a reason.”
I choose silence and let my actions speak for me. I soap the brush and swab about his hips and down each leg. Then I move to the opposite end of the copper tub and scrub his ankles.
“Lift.” My command is simple.
He squints at me and obliges, one foot at a time for me.
“You’re a beautiful man with cute feet.”
“Yours are cuter, from what I remember. Smooth and powerful. They were my undoing, watching you be so free, twirling across the rya.” He chuckles and lowers his leg. “The memories aren’t all bad.”
My face must be beetroot red, for I remember how we washed each other in a tub just like this. Did he drink champagne from my slipper? No, from my toes.
“Katia.” His voice draws me back to him. “I’m dying … to know what you want.”
Swallowing, I try hard to ignore his gallows humor. Adjusting my tone to be airy and sensual, not sad and lost in the beauty of what I destroyed, I say, “Tell me your heart. Get your mistress ready to please.”
“You keep saying these words. Are you sure you know what they mean?”
“I am here to be yours. I will be loyal. I hope to amuse you greatly.”
“So you are willing to give me your body? To prove what? That physical affection doesn’t mean forgiveness.”
“I want to be forgiven.”
His jaw slackens. “You would prostitute yourself, seduce me to gain custody of Lydia?”
“We should share custody. Please, honor the terms of our bet. I must be your mistress here in London for six months.”
“Here?” His smile slims. “Why—”
“Scarlett told me of your travel plans. She said you wish to go right away.”
“Ahhh. Well, I miss St. Petersburg. Lydia needs to see the rivers with me while I can show her my home.”
“Six months from now, you can go.”
“That’s winter, Katherine. It’s not an ideal time to travel.”
“Then give me a whole year.” I return to the front of the tub and kneel. Placing my thumbs on his neck, I work small circles. “I need to serve you for as long as you allow. It’s the only way to make things right.”
“So now my illness doesn’t repulse you.”
I drop my hands. “It never was that. I didn’t want to watch you die.”
His gaze sharpens. “Then you need to leave. I may not make it to dawn.”
“You will make it. We must make a deal.”
“My mistress must have enough time. You have no time. You have Wilcox Coal to run?”
“Mr. Thom’s sons are returning from service. I’ll ask them to help. They both used to drive with their father. Lord Mark still helps, too, but his career as a composer has begun to blossom. With more time, I’ll find a permanent solution.”
“You’d give up your father’s legacy to attend me.” His tone brims with condescension. “Katherine, I find these lies utterly unbelievable.”
“I’m not lying. I’m very determined to attend you, and you know how I get when I’m determined.”
His smirk disappears. For one moment, I see that look before he made love to his bride. “Ummm. That I do. I’m not sure—”
“And Scarlett will have a whole year of being with her husband. She’s determined to go with you and Lydia to St. Petersburg. That’s the commitment she has to you. She’ll leave her new husband to make sure you two are well.”
“Katherine, this must be some sort of growth, you encouraging a new wife to not abandon her husband.” He looks at me or the ceiling as if thinking about my words. “You truly wish to be my servant, a sick man’s mistress?”
“And I’ll serve Lydia, too. I can think of no other way to try to make up for the pain I’ve caused.”
I can’t quite make out the new expression on his face. But my attention isn’t always on his countenance. Though leaner than ever, the man feels solid, with the kind of arms and chest you’d curl up to in a storm. “If you’re hungry, I can see if Georgina is done making your favorite kartoshka.”
“Fattening up my stomach as much as my ego, Katherine.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes.
Then he chortles when I rub his stomach.
That laughter, this easy way of reclining against one another, returns more of the best memories of forty days of pure joy. Jahleel and I were free, loving, and together. The world kept away.
Then he got sick. I knew the signs like a recurring nightmare. He lay quietly like this when I bathed him in cold water from the river. We broke his fever then.
“You have promise as a mistress. I’m sure I could get some friends to teach things that can make your aim more effective.”
“What? What friends?” And what aim?
When I look at where my hand has landed … I become flustered. My cheeks roast like fat on mutton. I lift my wet fingers to the side of the tub. “Sorry. I … ah …”
“The mistress business, we could try on a month-to-month basis.”
My pulse roars. He’s softening, softening about believing me, but I must push for more. “That wasn’t an option, Jahleel. The deal was six months or a year.”
He sits up. “What time is it? It looks dark outside.”
“A little after eight.”
With his hand, he does that dismissive wave. “I can finish my bath. Let me soak alone for a minute, then get Mr. Steele to help me out and dress.”
I’m stunned. Something about the smartest man in the world dismissing our deal irks me. “I’ve promised Scarlett that I’m not leaving you. And you’re not shy. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
His smile broadens. “This is true. But this is the first time you’ve seemed interested in looking, not in a long time.”
Upping the stakes may regain his attention. “I need six months or a year to give you enough time to think of marriage.”
“Ahh. That’s your game. You’re being nice to get me to marry you.” He laughs in my face. “Nyet. I’m not marrying you. Not now, not after—”
“Nyet!” My loud tone makes those gray eyes get big. “I’m not marrying you again, but I thought you should have plenty of time to pick my groom. As you said, the marchioness can help me become respectable so a new husband will not mind my past.”
His mouth drops open. He never imagined a third option, that I’d want his help to marry someone else.
Smiling in his face, I lift his jaw, closing his lips.
“I need you to pick my next husband so he’ll be someone you will trust around Lydia. You’ve shown me that you know what makes a good match. You’ve picked great men with Lord Mark and Stephen. Choose someone for me.”
His eyes shift. Knowing I will marry a stranger and that he’d be the one to pick the man to be my husband and a stepfather to Lydia shocks the duke.
And I’m pleased.
Giving the smartest man in the world something new and crazy to ponder will agitate Jahleel enough to make sure he survives until dawn.