Page 110 of Kathryn

“You are a peer’s daughter; that is entirely natural.”

“My maid, who is not the daughter of an earl, was also raised with the objective of marriage.”

Gerrit considered her comments and question, his mind flickering back to the mistresses he had kept over the years. There had only been four of them, which was a lot fewer than most men of his class. How did one explain to a gently brought up lady the arrangement with one’s mistress. And why was he expected to explain such a thing?

“I can already see you are closing up,” she said.

“Closing up?” he repeated, although he knew exactly what she meant. What was he supposed to do? Tell her all the explicit details? Explain that fucking had always been about physical release to him and never about intimacy.

Until now.

“Did you never become emotionally attached to any of them?”

Gerrit opened his mouth to scoff at the thought of becoming emotionally attached to a mistress when suddenly Amelia leapt to mind. As uncomfortable as it always was to think of her in those terms, there was no denying she had been his father’s mistress for longer than the duke had been married to Gerrit’s own mother. For the first time he wondered what that must have been like not only for his father, but for Amelia. For his mother.

Christ. He was truly dull not to have considered any of that before.

“Did you become attached to somebody?” Kathryn asked, misreading the reason for his silence.

“No, I never have,” he said truthfully. “As to why men can do such a thing, I can only answer for myself: It is a matter of convenience, nothing more.”

“Like our marriage,” she said blankly.

Gerrit wanted to deny that, but really, wasn’t it the same thing in a way? Hadn’t he taken the coward’s way out when he’d proposed? If you foreclosed on love—or even affection—then you couldn’t be hurt when it never came.

But that was not something he wanted to talk about. Or even consider too deeply. At least not right now.

Instead, he said, “I know it could not have been easy to come to me tonight.”

Kathryn looked startled, and Gerrit had to admit he’d stunned himself with the rare burst of perspicacity.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I am grateful you made the effort.”

“I—I had to come because I wanted to explain.”

“Explain what?” he asked, suddenly wary.

“I wish I’d never said what I said. I mean about wanting to, er, get our nightly, uh…” She shook her head, her face scarlet.

Gerrit wanted her—he craved her—but his pride was hungry, demanding to be fed. He had not been the one to reject her, after all.

You are an arse, and a grudge-bearing one, at that.

The accusation struck its target dead center and Gerrit felt ashamed that he could be so petty.

“Are you talking about your request that I only come to your bed for procreative purposes rather than pleasure?” he asked.

Her face was almost as red as her hair, but her shoulders sagged with relief. “Yes. I—I regret saying that. Deeply.” She pleated the top of the sheet over and over again before looking up. “I want to renegotiate the terms of our marriage.”

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply, his guts roiling as he watched her gnaw her lower lip.

“I mean I don’t want to occupy a small corner of your life. I don’t want to tuck myself away in the country—alone—when I am with child.” Her jaw flexed, her expression determined. “I don’t want to live separate lives once our child is born.”

He could not seem to draw enough air into his lungs.

“Gerrit?”