to what you say.’
‘Don’t be glib. I am well aware of what men of your station do, and I do not wish that for my marriage,’ she said with a casual lift of her shoulder.
He leaned closer. ‘Really? What is it we do?’
‘Men of the ton marry women for their impressive ancestry or significant fortunes. When they grow bored with their wives they go about with other women.’
Julian’s brows drew together. ‘Is this about your earlier notion that I have a mistress? I assure you I still haven’t taken one.’
‘No. It’s about you being an English nobleman,’ she stated firmly, looking him in the eye in the dim light.
‘And because of that you believe I would conduct myself in such a manner?’
‘I have no reason to assume otherwise. You once told me that you do not expect a happy marriage, and you found my ideas on love provincial.’
‘Opinions can change.’
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, sceptically. ‘So now you will tell me you plan to be a faithful husband?’
He didn’t want to think about being married to Lady Mary—not when he was sitting with his body pressed against Katrina. He took a deep breath and held in her lemon scent. Deep down he knew he would think of her every time he took Mary to bed. It was not an honourable notion, nor something he would ever admit to anyone—especially the woman sitting beside him waiting for a response.
Why the hell had he started this conversation with her?
‘Well?’ She was not letting the matter rest.
He needed her to know what kind of man he was. He needed her to see that he was a man who honoured his vows. ‘I’ve already been married and, although the union was arranged by my father, I was faithful.’
It came out in a rush, and he turned his head away from her. He rarely spoke of Emma. It was difficult to take a steady breath.
Katrina fell back against the plush upholstery, her properly erect posture forgotten. ‘You were married?’ It came out as a whisper. ‘We spent all that time together and you never told me.’
‘I assumed you knew. Everyone in London is aware that I was married.’
‘Well, no one told me.’ She appeared to wait for him to continue.
He never intentionally discussed Emma. The subject of her death was too personal and much too painful. He tried to scrub the image of her lying dead out of his mind. It had haunted him most nights—at least until he’d met Katrina. That hadn’t occurred to him until now.
He looked into her expectant eyes. An unwelcome lump was forming in his throat. ‘My wife’s name was Emma. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Beaumont. Our fathers arranged our marriage while I was away at Cambridge. She died while giving birth to our stillborn son.’
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was easier to move away from Katrina than to continue to look into her eyes.
‘To this day I am sorry for her loss and the loss of my child.’ But his regret would never bring them back.
She brushed the hair by his temple in a comforting gesture. ‘I am sorry for your loss too.’
Not knowing what else to say, Julian gave a quick nod.
Katrina continued to stroke his temple. ‘My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My father feels her loss even to this day.’
Julian squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed his hand across his face. There was comfort in the closed confines of the gently rocking carriage and muted light. It felt...safe.
‘I never held him.’ The statement left his lips before the thought had fully formed in his head.
The soft pressure of her hand on his back was an unexpected gesture. ‘Did anyone ask if you wanted to?’
He shook his head and bit his lip. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to swallow. ‘They only asked if I wanted to see him.’
‘Did you?’
He nodded as tears that had never been shed rimmed his eyes. The physician and Emma’s maid had been so focused on tending to her, they hadn’t had time to clean his son. He’d been so small—and so still.
‘I should have held him. No one held him.’
She rested her head lightly against his shoulder and a hot tear began to trickle down his face.
‘A father should hold his son,’ he choked out, ‘even if just once. I named him John, after Emma’s brother. They had been close, and it seemed only right. I had them buried together. My mother tried to insist John should have his own coffin in the family crypt, but I thought it best for them to be together. She said it was unseemly and that she was certain my father would have felt the same.’ He finally looked over at Katrina and saw the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. ‘What would you have done?’
She slid her fingers through his. ‘I think Emma would have wanted to be with John.’
He’d thought so too. The crushing weight of indecision that had plagued him since her burial eased for the first time. He had needed to know he had made the right decision in honouring their memories. He’d needed someone he respected to say it to him. It had eaten away at his conscience for too long. And he knew Katrina would always be honest with him.
She rested her head on his shoulder again. ‘I believe deep down we know what the right course of action is. We just need to listen to what our heart tells us. I’m sorry to have caused you to relive such painful memories. I should have realised.’
He kissed the top of her head and took a deep breath. The lump in his throat was dissolving. ‘Do not apologise. I needed to hear that you believe they were laid to rest in a proper fashion.’
A comforting silence stretched between them as the carriage rocked them gently through the streets of London. The distant sound of voices and the rolling of the carriage wheels on cobblestones felt oddly comforting.
‘I’m certain you’re grateful you accepted my invitation today,’ he said dryly after some time.
She lifted her head up and offered him a reassuring smile. ‘There is no place I would rather be.’ She tugged off a white kidskin glove and wiped the wetness from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
His heart gave an odd flip.
‘It’s never easy to lose someone we love,’ she said, running her thumb along his forehead.
It took him a few moments before he realised she was referring to Emma. ‘I did not love her,’ he said. ‘I liked her enough, but I didn’t love her.’
Love was something he knew nothing of. He had not been born to fall in love. He wasn’t even certain he would know what love felt like. And yet... How would he define his feelings for the woman next to him? It wasn’t love, but what was it?
‘I
