“I know. I know. From the moment you found me on the desk with my mistress. What you have never understood is how unimportant that relationship was compared to one of true intimacy.”
“If you’re trying to say that you and I were truly intimate all those years ago, I must disagree.”
“No, we weren’t. In fact, I expect that you and Villiers are now better friends, more intimate, and in sum, more loving to each other, than we were in our early marriage. And yet I know perfectly well that you and Leopold have never entered a bedchamber together.”
Words burned on Jemma’s tongue, but Elijah didn’t wait for her to formulate a response.
“Let me make this very clear. I would not wish for the duke’s pleasant afternoon, idling away his time and yours, even should I die tomorrow. I realized when I was eight years old that either I could die knowing that my life had changed the world around me—or I could die like any trout on a string, leaving the world precisely as it was before I was born. I chose not to be that sort of person, and you will never be able to turn me into Villiers. Never.”
“I didn’t ask you to become Villiers!” Jemma cried. “I merely thought that even in the face of the world’s injustices, there might be a point at which a man is allowed to retreat from the fray. It’s not that you would eke out your remaining moments in bed, but that this life is actually killing you.”
“I consider that unimportant,” Elijah said, after a moment.
“Your life is unimportant?”
“I have always known my life would be short. Why should I betray everything I hold dear in order to gain a few extra, lazy minutes?”
She stared at him, unable to even begin a sentence.
“I see that you would prefer me to throw away the world to stay at your side,” he said, restlessly walking away from her, across the room.
“I would—”
Never had Elijah interrupted her so many times. He swung about and faced her. “We are too old to prevaricate, Jemma. I have no doubt but that after I am gone, you and Villiers will find great happiness together.”
“How dare you say such a thing!”
“I dare because it is true.”
“You suggest that I am simply waiting for you to die!” she cried furiously. “You insult me as well as Villiers!”
“Leopold is my closest friend in the world,” Elijah said quietly. “Even when he and I were estranged, I still considered him so. The fact is that I have never been and cannot become the charming companion you deserve. But my disinclination to nurse my health doesn’t mean that I am afraid to acknowledge that Villiers would be a better mate for you.”
“I cannot believe your arrogance,” Jemma said. “As you see it, I will prance away from your grave and turn directly to my partner in lazy crime, living the rest of my life in happy indolence?”
“Your characterization is not helpful. What you call arrogance, I would call logic.” He took another quick turn and stopped just before her. “I am merely trying to be honest with you, Jemma. It would be patronizing of me to not share my opinion.”
“I see,” she said, striving to get a grip on her temper.
“But just to make certain that I understand your point of view: although you consider Villiers to be a lack-wit, you have every belief that I will turn directly from your grave to his arms.”
“Poetically put,” he said dryly.
“Moreover, you refuse to take any action that might prolong your life, preferring instead to gallop recklessly toward that grave without a thought for—for those you leave behind.”
“I think of you, Jemma.”
“Do you? Why? I am nothing but a frivolity ensconced at home, a woman who can be quickly dispatched into Villiers’s arms the moment your brief candle burns out.”
“Not only poetic but Shakespearean.”
Jemma turned sharply and stared out the dark window, biting her lip savagely to control tears that caught at the back of her throat. Her heart was beating heavily, in harmony with her new—and wretched—understanding of her importance to her husband.
“I truly wish that I could be the man you’d prefer.” His voice came from somewhere behind her.
She controlled her voice with an effort. “I wonder, Elijah, that you bothered to summon me from Paris at all.”
He cleared his throat. “I do not understand your bitterness, Jemma. If you don’t wish to marry Villiers, you won’t do so. I merely—” His voice broke off and suddenly his large hands were on her shoulders, turning her around to face him. “Damn it, Jemma, the truth is that I envy him. I envy him your cozy afternoon, the chess game, the sympathy in your eyes, the affection between you.”