This Duchess of Mine(28)

“Win? What on earth did you hope to win from your friend?”

“It’s unimportant, and I’m afraid that that friendship is at an end.”

“It was most unkind of me to leave you no personal message, particularly after the shock of last night. I apologize.” His eyes were warm and sympathetic. “I shall not behave in such a discourteous way again.”

She was a shrew and he was the perfect husband. “Thank you,” she said. “But I do have a request.”

“I believe I can anticipate you,” he said, raising his wineglass to his lips. “I know we need to have a serious discussion; of course, you wish to address the question of an heir. The next duke. I have already informed Pitt that I will not be available tomorrow.” His eyes caressed hers. He clearly meant to spend the day in bed. With her.

“In fact, that is not my request,” she said carefully, trying not to dwell on the cold-blooded fashion with which Elijah referred to the question of children.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I would ask that you give up your seat in the House of Lords. For your health.”

The words hung in the air. The sensual warmth in his eyes disappeared as if it had never been, and she was faced by the consummate statesman. Being Elijah, he didn’t dissemble. “The government faces ongoing prisoner riots, a coming election, an impoverished citizenry. Fox and the Prince of Wales risk the health of the entire nation with their drunken exploits; the king seems unable to rein in his own son. I could not consider such a drastic move.”

“I would not argue with their need for you,” Jemma said. “But I wonder that you need them.”

“I’m afraid that I don’t follow your point.”

“I have no doubt that the Prime Minister faces a difficult year. But Mr. Pitt seems to me to be amply, if not eagerly, able to take on those challenges. In fact, he was elected for just that purpose. But you, Elijah, were not elected.”

“Responsibility is not incurred only from election.” His eyes were grave but utterly resolute.

“Your heart is giving out because of the pressure of being roused at dawn to argue problems that most of your peers merely read of in the papers, if they bother to do so. Villiers never took up his seat in Lords. When he was so very ill last year, after his duel, he recovered in bed.”

Elijah put down his wine. “We are very different men. The ethical compass of Villiers’s life is bounded by the chessboard.”

“You are not listening to me,” Jemma said, feeling her hold over her temper slipping. “Villiers nearly lost his life last year, but he is here today because he retreated to his chambers. Had he pushed himself out of bed at dawn under the mistaken impression that there was no one else able to deal with a public furor, he would be dead.”

Elijah’s jaw was set. “Surely you are not suggesting that I live the remainder of my life in bed? Lying flat, as Villiers did in the grip of fever? Perhaps playing a game of chess now and then?” He pushed his plate away, the food half-eaten.

“That seems an exaggeration.”

His tone was courteous as ever, but she could see the leashed fury in his eyes. “You suggest that I should treasure life so much that I preserve it, as a fly in amber? That I should add to my allotted minutes by staying on my back, by giving up every ambition I had to do something of value with those minutes?”

“You needn’t—” Jemma began, only to be overridden by the steady voice of a man used to shouting down a chamber full of howling statesmen.

“In fact, you would have me become a man like Villiers, a man whose children are negligently scattered about the countryside, a man who cares for nothing but his next game of chess. Though perhaps you consider that an unjust appraisal. After all, Villiers does care about his appearance. So I would be allowed sartorial splendor and chess.”

Jemma straightened her back, trying to force air into her lungs.

“I could walk about with a sword stick and make absolutely sure that every man on the street understood that I was a duke, a man who by the fortune of birth considered himself just under the rank of the Archangel himself. Without lifting a finger to gain that status.” He picked up a silver cover and put it precisely on top of one of the serving platters with a sound like a slap.

“Let me put this as clearly as I can, Jemma.” His mouth was a straight line. “I will shoot myself before I become the man that Villiers is.”

“You are unkind,” Jemma said, hearing a slight shake in her voice and hating it. She wasn’t used to battles of this nature. In fact, she never argued with anyone but her husband. Her sanctimonious, infuriating husband.