Page 87

“Not that. Aren’t you angry about your heart failing?”

Elijah fell silent.

Finally Villiers said, “I am sorry that your dog died.”

“She was all I had, and all that really mattered to me.”

Villiers moved sharply, then forced himself to be still.

“Except for you, of course.” Elijah raised his eyes. “You were my dearest friend, and I stole your mistress and pushed you away because you were ungracious enough to save my life in a river, and not manage to save that of my dog as well.”

“We were both fools,” Villiers muttered.

“There were few things that I treasured in life, and I threw away one. Then I sated myself with government and flurries of power, and I threw away my wife. It seems a remarkable waste of years; I certainly agree in your judgment of my foolishness.”

“I won’t go near Jemma again. It wasn’t for revenge; truly, it wasn’t. It was just that—”

“She’s Jemma,” Elijah said simply.

“Yes. Does she know that you’re ill?”

“No! And she mustn’t.”

“That’s not fair.”

“There’s no fairness in life,” Elijah said, his voice heavy. “I’ll be gone whether she has time to grieve and fear for it, or not. I want the time I have left with her without grief.”

“Of course.” Villiers cursed himself for ever trying to entice Jemma.

“I’m winning, you know.” Elijah’s smile was a beautiful thing. It had helped him triumph during many a difficult battle in Parliament, that smile. It had won the heart of a prickly, ugly young duke by the name of Villiers, back when they were both nine years old. “She’s planning to concede the remaining game in your match when she sees you next.”

“You are winning,” Villiers said. “You are.”

“I’ve been very slow, very tactical,” Elijah said. “I wasted so much time in my life. I’ve planned this like a campaign, the most important campaign of my life. And you played a part, Leo.”

“I—”

“I needed formidable opposition,” he said. “You provided it.”

Villiers sat down opposite Elijah again. “You must tell her. How often do you have these spells?”

“Oh, once a week or so. More frequently of late.”

“Do you have any idea how much time you have?”

Elijah shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll leave,” Villiers said. “You’ll have an open field. God, I…”

“Don’t leave. I wish you would play chess with me. Now and then.”

“I would be honored.”

There was a silence during which, had they not been English noblemen, the men might have embraced. Might even have cried. Might have said something of love, of friendship, of sadness. But being English noblemen, they didn’t need to say those things: their eyes met and it was all there. Their boyhood friendship, their childish rages, the blows they dealt each other.

“I won’t go anywhere near her,” Villiers said. It sounded like a vow.

“You must.”