Page 111 of Better Love Next Time
Kitty made the long walk down the nave, halting with a foot between them. Close enough to catch Julian’s masculine scent and see the perspiration trickling down his corded throat.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. Because he didn’t appear all right at all. His gaze was dark and his mouth grim.
Swiping off his knit cap, he wiped his shirtsleeve on his brow and gazed beyond her to the chancel. “Come with me, please, if you will. I wish to speak in private.”
On heavy limbs, Kitty retrieved her cloak with an excuse on attending an urgent matter, and let Julian guide her outside. Their grand coach waited on High Street. It was quiet, most of the town home for Sunday supper. He handed her into the coach and sat beside her toward the going. His muscular leg pressed against hers. His fingers splayed on his thighs. He asked her about the Christmas program, what songs the children were to sing, the date.
Julian led her to his chamber and settled her in a chair beside the fire. He added a log, stoked it, and stretching to his feet, turned to look at her.
She tried to smile.
He left her, tearing off his waistcoat and shirt and slapping a wet cloth over his face and shoulders. He cupped his hands in the basin and raked water through his hair. She watched the rivulets stream down his back and thought how lucky she could be to have him and his strong body.
She averted her eyes to the fire.
Julian’s footsteps crossed the room. He sat across from her, elbows to his knees, in his robe and bare feet, black hair damp and curling at the ends. So irresistiblyhers.
He swallowed and regarded her deeply. “I am sorry for staying away three weeks longer. For attempting an affair. I did fall asleep in her bed with my clothes on. A sort of last effort at infidelity. Which failed.” He stared down at his rough hands draped between his spread knees. “But most of all, I am sorry for speaking to you cruelly on never wishing you in my bed again. You are not the antithesis of pleasure.”
She saw his struggle and appreciated his effort.
“I want you to be happy,” he said. “But did you expect me to let you back in my life as if nothing happened? Can you accept that I was angry? Regardless of your noble reasons, you broke my heart. And the truth is, I learned to live without you.”
Her heart began a heavy tattoo in her chest. “I never learned to live without you. But because you could go on?—”
“We both got on.”
“No, because you went on does not refute your pain. That was my meaning. To not compete with you on who suffered more.”
Julian closed the distance between them, crouching before her, his hands splayed on her knees. “I thought long in London. The endless hours in the coach.”
She was prepared for the worst. Whatever he said wouldn’t kill her. She had survived the earl. And Cyril.
“What I said last night is true,” he said. “I forgive you for leaving me. It was a mistake, but we all make them. I’ve made my share, haven’t I?”
Not like mine.
But here was the forgiveness she had sought. Julian had forgiven her. Without knowing the truth. She felt a crack in her soul. An opening. She might be free to release her grief. One day she could seek joy. Maybe soon. Maybe today. The coward in her rejoiced too, telling her she could keep her secret just a little longer.
“I thought on your request,” he said, “on how this will be, and do you know what I want? I want you to decide.”
She bit her lip. “And if you do not agree?”
“I will.”
“But what if it is not within you?”
His voice hardened. “Tell me what you want.”
She caressed his hands, the various nicks and scratches of a shipwright visible in relief on his long, tanned fingers. Tears burned her eyes. “I want you to love me again.”
He groaned softly and bent his head to their joined hands as if she had asked for the world.
“And I want everything that comes with your love. Children. A home. Laughter and loving. Your happiness. Our business. Our dreams.”
He leaned back on his haunches and gazed at her in somber silence. He guided her to her feet. He kissed her brow, his hand soothing her hair, the slim line of her back.
“Julian, I don’t want to cry anymore.”
