He turned back to face Henry, who was now sitting on the side of the bed watching him with wary eyes.
“Well,” Kit said, with a smile that felt horribly stiff. “I think we can agree that you’ve thoroughly made amends now.”
“Christopher—”
“It’s been really quite an odd day, hasn’t it?” Kit said, speaking over him. “I certainly didn’t expect it to go like this. I daresay you didn’t either. But I don’t suppose it’s turned out too badly, all things considered. Perhaps we can say goodbye properly this time. And part as friends—or as near to friends as a duke and a whore can ever be.”
He thought Henry might smile at that. But he didn’t. He looked troubled.
“You’re not a whore, and I didn’t do that to make amends,” he said thickly. “Any more than you did it to punish me. I wanted to do it. God, Christopher—I spent all over your bedcovers, just from touching you. If that doesn’t—” He paused and took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this.”
Kit stared at him. He couldn’t think how to respond.
Softly, almost inaudibly, Henry said, “I didn’t want to leave you. But Caroline was dying, and I had promised her I would give you up if she asked me.” He swallowed. “It was cowardly, sending Parkinson to tell you. I regret that more than I can say.”
The sudden prick of tears in Kit’s eyes surprised him—irritated him, even. This had happened lifetimes ago. It was ridiculous to weep over it now.
And yet, when he looked at the defeated slump of Henry’s shoulders, he wanted nothing more than to do just that.
What was Henry’s crime, after all? He’d agreed to his wife’s dying request. A woman he had made promises to, the mother of his children. Someone he’d always told Kit he truly loved. Would Kit really have wanted Henry to deny her request?
“Did she know about me?” he asked. The question was out before he could second-guess himself.
Henry met his gaze. “Yes. You might remember, we had stopped sharing a bed some time before I met you. She had given me carte blanche to take a lover. But…”
“But?”
Henry sighed. “She didn’t want it to be someone I had feelings for. I think… I think Caroline saw physical passion as very different from married love.” He paused, considering. “I think she was pleased, in a way, that you were a man. She couldn’t really imagine what I had with you being anything other than—bestial, I suppose.”
Kit recoiled. He couldn’t help it. There was something so offensive about that. The way it reduced what he and Henry had had. Which really was pretty ridiculous. It wasn’t as if there had been anything so pure about him and Henry, was there? He’d been a whore. Henry’s kept boy. He’d entered into their arrangement knowing full well Henry was married.
Tentatively, Kit said, “I always assumed she didn’t much enjoy the marital bed.”
Henry sighed. “Neither of us did.”
“Oh,” Kit said. “I’m sorry, Henry.”
Henry offered a weak smile. “I don’t know if it was my fault or if she would have been uninterested even if I had desired her. She said it would have made no difference, so I try to take comfort from that. But sometimes I wonder.”
“That’s natural,” Kit said. “But for what it’s worth, there are some people who just don’t want that sort of intimacy. I’ve known one or two in my time.”
Henry looked so hopeful at that, Kit could have wept.
“You always spoke very fondly and respectfully of her to me,” Kit said quietly.
“In all other ways we were well suited,” Henry said. “The best of friends—that’s what we always said.”
Hesitantly, Kit crossed to the bed and sank down next to Henry, careful to keep a bit of space between them. “You did love her then,” he said curiously. “Despite everything?”
Henry nodded. “When she died, I would have gone to pieces if it hadn’t been for the children. Caroline was a loving mother. The older ones in particular took her death very hard. When she passed, they needed me in a way they hadn’t before. And I needed them too.”
“They’ll all be grown now, I suppose,” Kit said. Henry hadn’t mentioned his family a great deal when they were together, but Kit had known he had four children, two boys and two girls—two young men and two young women now—and it had been obvious that Henry adored them.
When Henry said nothing, Kit glanced at him, worried. Had he misspoken?
“Three of them are grown,” Henry said at last, staring down at his loosely linked hands. He took a long, steadying breath before adding, “My youngest, Alice, took scarlet fever and passed away when she was five.” When he finally raised his grey gaze to meet Kit’s, the grief in his eyes was unbearable.
“I’m so sorry, Henry,” Kit said, his voice cracking on the words.
Strange how, every time Kit had thought of Henry over the years, he’d imagined him living a golden life in his stately pile in the country. Even when he’d heard about Caroline's death—many years after her actual death, it transpired—he had not, to his shame, considered how much her loss would have hurt Henry. He’d simply imagined Henry casually selecting another wife for himself, siring a second brood of children.
When had he begun to think of Henry in such an ungenerous way?
He'd never had reason to doubt that Henry had loved his family. The fact that he did not cherish such feelings for Kit did not mean that he was incapable of them. After all, why would a man like Henry Asquith think of a paid whore as anything other than a servant? Kit had chosen to sell his body for money. He’d put a price on himself, body and soul. He could hardly mind when his customer took him at face value.
It hurt, yes, but it only hurt because Kit had let himself feel things he ought never to have allowed. He’d been foolish, and he only had himself to blame.
Kit glanced at Henry, who was was staring down at his hands, his expression still wrecked. Kit wished he could touch him, offer some comfort, but he didn’t know how, or if Henry would even want that.
Perhaps he would prefer some privacy, to collect himself again?
Kit stood and stepped away from the bed. “I’ll let you get dressed in peace,” he said quietly. “I’ll be in the parlour when you’re ready.”
Henry looked up, blinking, as though Kit’s words had just reminded him where he was. Without waiting for a reply, Kit left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
He padded through to the parlour, curling up in one of the armchairs to wait. He felt oddly shaky after the intensity of what had just happened with Henry. Stripped, somehow, of his usual self-possession. He wished he could wash up and put his clothes back on. Restore his elegant armour before Henry came into the parlour. But he’d have to wait for Henry to be done now.
After a few minutes, the parlour door opened and Henry stepped inside. His neckcloth looked rather limp, but otherwise he was back to being the elegant, soberly dressed duke. The devastated expression that had shredded Kit’s heart was gone, thank God, though Kit could not quite decipher the one that had replaced it. There was something about it that was diffident and determined and uncertain all at once.