was about to call out her answer when he entered the hall in his dressing gown. It took all her effort not to run into his arms. ‘You are up rather late,’ she said.
‘I could not sleep. Did you enjoy yourself at the ball?’
She had never been able to lie to him. So she simply pasted on a smile.
‘Come with me to my study and you can tell me all about it while I put my papers in order.’
Reluctantly, Katrina walked down the stairs and followed him. He moved behind his massive desk, closed his inkwell, and shuffled through his papers.
‘Was the music to your liking?’
She nodded.
‘And the costumes? I imagine some were rather elaborate?’
Again, she nodded.
This time he looked at her over the rim of his glasses and tilted his head. When he narrowed his gaze on her, she shifted on her feet. He grabbed at her right hand from across his desk.
‘What has happened? Why do your wrists look as if you have been bleeding?’
She tugged her hand out of his. ‘It is nothing.’
‘Nothing!’ He stepped out from behind his desk to stand in front of her. ‘You have been injured. Was there an accident? Why was I not informed?’
His concern was too much. She could no longer continue the pretence that she was unaffected by what had happened. She threw her arms around her stunned father and held him tight.
Thankfully, he didn’t say anything when she began to cry. He just hugged her and patted her back as he had done when she was a little girl.
He waited patiently until she had finished crying before he spoke. ‘Tell me what happened.’
She took a deep breath and stepped back from him. ‘I am fine. Know that. The only harm that has come to me are these bruises on my wrists.’
He nodded, but there was wariness in his eyes. He guided her to a chair and she curled up on it. She told him what had happened and he listened without interrupting.
It wasn’t until she had finished that he finally spoke. ‘I knew any association you had with Lyonsdale would not end well.’
‘It is not his fault. You cannot blame him for what that woman did.’
Her father stood and paced the room. ‘That woman would not have done what she did if it weren’t for his interest in you.’
‘It is not as if he intended for this to happen.’
‘Why are you defending him?’ he demanded.
‘I’m not. However, I do find it grossly unfair to blame the man when the fault lies elsewhere.’
He stopped pacing and came to her. ‘We will agree to disagree on this subject.’
‘You need to move it more to the left.’
The footmen rehanging the massive painting shifted it according to Julian’s direction. He leaned against the wall opposite where they were hanging the portrait of the Fifth Duke and sipped his coffee. He had been having breakfast in his bedchamber when Reynolds had arrived to inform him the portrait had been located. Eager to see his mysterious ancestor, Julian had left his untouched plate and met him in the gallery.
This painting stood out from the others. It showed a man standing tall in a country setting, with a hooded falcon perched on his gloved hand. He looked out at the viewer with the expression of a man who enjoyed life. Julian almost smiled at the notion that Katrina probably wouldn’t have minded having him at her dinner table.
One of the hardest things he had ever done was leaving her in Hart’s carriage last night to go and find Miss Forrester. If he could have had his way, he would have spirited her off to his home and tucked her into his bed, where he would have been able to hold her in his arms for days. But it had not escaped his notice that she had not wanted his comfort. His heart ached unbearably.
During his ride home from the ball, Helena’s words played over in his head.
‘You are free to choose the life you want. You have everything.’
He didn’t have everything. He didn’t have Katrina. And she was more important to him than anything else. One day he would close his eyes for the last time, and deep down he knew he would still be thinking about her. Was that the life he wanted? A life of sadness and regret?
It was time for him to live his own life and not an imitation of his father’s. His mother was wrong. He deserved more than contentment. He deserved to be happy. It was time he wrote his own story of what made a man an honourable duke.
‘Reynolds told me I would find you here,’ his mother said, marching into the gallery and eyeing the footmen with a perplexed expression.
He dismissed the servants as she approached his side, dressed for an outing.
‘You’re venturing out early today, I see,’ he remarked.
‘The renovations are complete. I want to inspect my home before I have my things moved back tomorrow,’ she said, adjusting her gloves. ‘I assume you have heard the news about your old friend?’
Julian closed his eyes and let out a resigned breath. ‘What has Hart done now?’
Her forehead creased before she caught herself and relaxed her features. ‘Not him. Lady Wentworth.’ The crease in her forehead was back. ‘Did you not read the papers this morning?’
He shook his head. It was the first day in ages he had not. He had been too busy resurrecting the Fifth Duke. His stomach bottomed out. He had planned to speak with someone about pushing for her debts to be called in today.
‘She was found in her home late last night. She poisoned herself. The papers are saying she could barely pay her bills. The servants confirmed it.’
His blood ran cold. So this was how things would end between them. ‘Was there a note?’
His mother shook her head. ‘The papers didn’t mention one.’
Part of him knew he should feel some sympathy for her, but after having a gun pointed at his head and knowing what she had planned to do with Katrina, he felt nothing but relief.
Next to him, his mother turned and studied the portrait of the Fifth Duke, now hanging where it belonged. ‘Where did that come from?’
He welcomed the change in subject. ‘The attic.’
‘Is that the Fifth Duke?’
‘It is.’
She turned to Julian and eyed him up and down. ‘There is a striking resemblance between the two of you.’
