This Duchess of Mine(109)

“But you are not plump,” Jemma protested.

“Muscle is heavier than fat,” Elijah said. “I’ve observed it among pugilists. A fat man weighs less than a muscular man of the same size.”

He poured another quarter vial into the brandy glass and drank it before she could protest again.

Almost immediately he said, “I am faintly queasy.”

“Nausea is good,” Jemma said quickly. “It shows the medicine is working. Do you see any circles around this candle?” She ran to the mantel and snatched one up.

“Who can tell?” Elijah asked. “A candle has a natural aura.”

“Well, look at my head then,” Jemma said. “No, look at me! Do you see light around my head?”

“Are you trying to find out if you have angelic status?” he inquired, his mouth quirking up in a smile. He squinted at her. “Yes! I see feathery wings as well!”

“How can you make fun at a time like this!”

“If you can’t laugh in the face of death, when can you laugh?” Then he added, casually, “My heart feels quite steady.”

She couldn’t speak, just put her head against the chest that housed that wonderful, regularly beating heart. A second passed, and another, and another. It continued to beat steadily.

“It’s not skipping,” she said, awestruck.

“The foxglove has forced it into a normal rhythm,” he said. “Just like making love to you. Medicine in a bottle instead of a bed.”

Jemma chewed her lip. “How will we know when you should drink more? We forgot to ask.”

He stood up and stretched. “There’s only one way to test it.”

“How?”

He grinned, the wicked lively grin of a man without fear. “I have to exhaust myself. Drive my heartbeat up.”

Jemma backed away, shaking her head. “No, Elijah, I don’t think that—” But he seized her. She managed to say, “Only if you allow me to feel your heart whenever I want.”

“I’m going to tire myself out making love to you. And then I shall drink a glass of cognac and lie flat on the floor.”

“That’s too risky.”

But he had her on the bed, her own great warm beast of a man, pushing her flat, kissing her. “I’m fine. Feel.” And he pressed her hand to his chest.

There, under her hand, was the most wonderful miracle of all: Elijah’s heart was beating strongly, steadily, as if it had never missed a beat in its life, and they hadn’t even begun to make love.

Tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Elijah…”

But the tears couldn’t fall because his hands—his lips—he was everywhere. He had no shame.



At some point in the evening, after the household was in bed, they wandered down to the library. Jemma’s hair was down her back and she was wearing only her nightdress, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Elijah poured himself a great glass of cognac. And then he poured one for her, since he didn’t feel like drinking alone.

The warmth of the cognac seeped to her toes, but she kept walking around the room, unable to settle down. “We have to send a note to your mother first thing in the morning,” she said, chattering. “And Villiers, of course.”

“And Dr. Withering,” Elijah put in. He was lying on the floor, just as he had threatened to do.

“How’s your heart?”

He just smiled and drank more cognac.

She came and stood over him. “Drink faster. This can’t be considered a proper test unless you are tipsy.”

“I have an idea,” he said, and his voice sounded so sleepy that she thought he meant to return to bed. His hand wrapped around her ankle and gave a gentle tug. “Kiss me.”

“Oh, Elijah…” But she came to her knees beside him. His kiss was more joyful than desperate, more honey than lust. It banished her fears, replacing them with something stronger: faith that her husband would live.

Slowly those kisses changed to something else and fire crept up the back of her legs. “We can’t do this again,” she gasped.

“O ye of little faith!” He laughed at her, and sure enough the evidence of his ability was more than obvious. “Of course, I must remain on my back. Exhaust me,” he commanded.

Jemma shifted, moving to hover over him, allowing him to stroke her. Then with one powerful thrust of his hips, he lunged upward. A cry broke from her lips.

“Did that hurt?” Elijah gasped.

“No,” Jemma whispered. “Do it again—Oh!”

She tried leaning forward and leaning back. She tried teasing him, and teasing herself. She let him kiss her breasts, and then sat back again so she could do some caressing of her own.