“I had no idea. The clerk at the store recommended it.”
She stood and placed the camera on the chair, then wrapped her arms around his middle. “Thank you, Max. It’s the perfect gift. I love it.”
He squeezed her tighter. “You’re welcome.”
They stood there for a long moment, locked in an embrace, and Violet thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Her problems felt far away while in the warm security of Max’s arms. “Why does my mother hate me?”
Max’s lips touched the crown of her head. “Come sit.” He led her to an empty chair and pulled her onto his lap once again. “Why do you believe your mother hates you?”
She relayed the conversation she’d overhead. “She wants me betrothed by the end of the month.”
“Perhaps it is as she said, that she is worried a second season will harm your chances.”
“Do you believe that to be the case?”
“No. However, I haven’t any daughters and I only married to produce an heir, so I am hardly an expert.”
He so rarely spoke of his late wife and his son. She was curious about them, about anything regarding his life. “Tell me about her.”
“Who?”
“Your wife.”
He started, his body jerking slightly. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know her.”
Max didn’t know what to say. Part of him wished to refuse. He hated talking about Rebecca, and Will had long stopped asking about his mother. Those were memories best not stirred.
But perhaps Violet needed to understand. Marriages in their world were not for love or happiness. They were for progeny and legacy, to transfer wealth and property. Moreover, she needed to know of his past and why he’d never marry again.
He cleared his throat. “I decided to marry when I was twenty-four. I’d wrangled the accounts into some semblance of order and made several wise investments on the Exchange. There was no reason to wait.”
He’d been the last of his friends to marry. Charles had settled down two years prior and Violet had already turned one. There was no need to mention it, however. Doing so would only make him feel like an old lecher, and this moment was about comforting her.
“Rebecca was pretty, the daughter of an earl. Her father had a large farm in Scotland with some sheep that I envied. He offered it as part of her dowry and I accepted.” He’d sold the farm ages ago, as it had only served as a bitter reminder of his failure.
He stroked Violet’s leg through her skirts. Thankfully, she’d stopped crying—a sight that had shredded his heart—and seemed to be breathing easier. He liked having her here, even during the day. Returning to his tale, he said, “I had thought we were a good match, that we’d muddle through together, but Rebecca was scared most all the time. Scared of acting improperly, scared of the staff gossiping. Scared of me.”
“Scared of you?” She leaned back to see his face. “That is ridiculous. I’ve always thought you quite kind and generous.”
He shook his head. Sweet girl. “I mean in the bedroom. She could not stand for me to touch her.”
“Oh.” Violet’s nose wrinkled in the most adorable way. “I see.”
“She knew her duty, of course. She allowed me to visit to her room at night, take her only under the covers and in the dark. Never undressed. I suspect she gritted her teeth through the whole business, despite my concerted efforts to ensure she enjoyed it. But the harder I tried, the more miserable she became.”
“Perhaps she found the pleasure shameful.”
It had crossed his mind, but he’d never learn the truth, unfortunately. “Perhaps. She wouldn’t discuss it, though, and when she began increasing, I assumed we were both relieved.” He had been so happy, so eager to be a father. To nurture and love a child as he hadn’t been by his own father.
“Assumed? You mean she wasn’t happy about carrying your child?”
“No, about sleeping with her. I assumed she’d gladly see me go elsewhere for my physical needs. That I could fuck whoever I wanted, seeing as how she didn’t want me.”
She frowned, her nose wrinkling. “A mistress.”
He sighed, wishing he didn’t have to tell Violet of his sordid past. She’ll never look at me the same.
Perhaps it was for the best.
He carried on. “There was a woman from before my marriage. She was the wife of a viscount and we got on well together. I thought . . . I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“It was insensitive of you, but you would not be the first married man in the ton to take a mistress.”
“I realize as much, but as time went on I didn’t try to hide it, either. Call it hubris or the idiocy of a twenty-five-year-old duke. I started staying away for longer stretches of time. Then I took my mistress to Rome—despite her husband’s objections.” He’d felt invincible, a man who had everything that mattered: wealth, a child on the way, and a beautiful woman at his side. He was cocksure and fearless, certain he knew best. “Rebecca was eight months along when the viscount wrote to her, informing her of what I’d done.”
Violet began rubbing his chest, as if to soothe him—him, the man responsible for it all—and something inside Max shifted, unlocked. No one had comforted him in quite a while. He hadn’t wanted it, frankly. But it was different with Violet. She eased his troubled soul, smoothed some of the jagged edges that scraped and cut inside him.
Clutching her tighter, he finished it. “There was no denying the viscount’s claims, as I’d just returned days earlier. The news sent Rebecca into hysterics. She was inconsolable, crying and refusing to eat. She resented that I’d taken a mistress while she was carrying our child and considered it a betrayal of our marriage vows. Because of the unrest, the baby came early. I had the very best doctors at her side, but they couldn’t save her.”
“They were able to save the baby.”
“Yes. Will was small, but he lived.” His son had been so tiny, so fragile. But Will had fought to survive and Max had done everything in his power to see that his baby thrived. He had wet nurses around the clock and an army of nannies to keep a vigilant eye over the future duke. Max hardly left his son’s side during that time.
“Max, you don’t know whether she would have survived or not. Many happily married women die in childbirth.”
He pressed his lips to her hair. “There’s no need to lie. I was responsible for her death.” That shame would follow him to his grave. “Which is why I will never marry again. I have no intention of subjecting another woman to that life.”
“What life?”
“With me, failing at faithfulness.”
“Max, you were so young.”
“Older than you. Old enough to know better.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t be unfaithful next time.”
The hopeful note in her voice caused his tone to harden. “There will be no next time, Violet. I have no need to tie myself down when I already have an heir.” He was not interested in ruining another woman he’d promised to honor and cherish. Max wouldn’t risk it. A second dose of guilt would bury him.
“What about love? What about companionship?”