The duke and I julia Quinn

think
we do. I 
know
we do." 
He was silent for a moment before saying, "I'm sorry if you feel that I have betrayed—" 
"It's not that, exactly." 
"—but you must remember that I 
tried
to avoid marrying you." 
"That's certainly a nice way of putting it," she muttered. 
He spoke as if delivering a lecture. "You know that I had intended never to marry." 
"That's not the point, Simon." 
"It's exactly the point." He dropped his feet to the floor, and his chair, which had been balancing 
on its two back legs, hit the ground with a loud thunk. "Why do you think I avoided marriage 
with such determination? It was because I didn't want to take a wife and then hurt her by denying 
her children." 
"You were never thinking of your potential wife," she shot back. "You were thinking of 
yourself." 
"Perhaps," he allowed, "but when that potential wife became 
you,
Daphne, everything changed." 
"Obviously not," she said bitterly. 
He shrugged. "You know I hold you in the highest esteem. I never wanted to hurt you." 
"You're hurting me right now," she whispered. 
A flicker of remorse crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with steely determination. "If 
you recall, I refused to offer for you even when your brother demanded it. Even," he added 
pointedly, "when it meant my own death." 
Daphne didn't contradict him. They both knew he would have died on that dueling field. No 

---

matter what she thought of him now, how much she despised the hatred that was eating him up, 
Simon had too much honor ever to have shot at Anthony. 
And Anthony placed too much value on his sister's honor to have aimed anywhere but at 
Simon's heart. 
"I did that," Simon said, "because I knew I could never be a good husband to you. I knew you 
wanted children. You'd told me so on a number of occasions, and I certainly don't blame you. 
You
come from a large and loving family." 
"You could have a family like that, too." 
He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Then, when you interrupted the duel, and begged me to 
marry you, I warned you. I told you I wouldn't have children—" 
"You told me you 
couldn't
have children," she interrupted, her eyes flashing with anger. "There's 
a very big difference." 
"Not," Simon said coldly, "to me. I 
can't
have children. My soul won't allow it." 
"I see." Something shriveled inside Daphne at that moment, and she was very much afraid it was 
her heart. She didn't know how she was meant to argue with such a statement. Simon's hatred of 
his father was clearly far stronger than any love he might learn to feel for her. 
"Very well," she said in a clipped voice. "This is obviously not a subject upon which you are 
open to discussion." 
He gave her one curt nod. 
She gave him one in return. "Good day, then." 
And she left. 
* * * 
Simon kept to himself for most of the day. He didn't particularly want to see Daphne; that did 
nothing but make him feel guilty. Not, he assured himself, that he had anything to feel guilty 
about. He had told her before their marriage that he could not have children. He had given her 
every opportunity to back out, and she had chosen to marry him, anyway. He had not forced her 
into anything. It was not 
his
fault if she had misinterpreted his words and thought that he was 
physically
unable to sire brats. 
Still, even though he was plagued by this nagging sense of guilt every time he thought of her 
(which pretty much meant all day), and even though his gut twisted every time he saw her 
stricken face in his mind (which pretty much meant he spent the day with an upset stomach), he 
felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that everything was out in the 

---

open. 
Secrets could be deadly, and now there were no more between them. Surely that had to be a 
good thing. 
By the time night fell, he had almost convinced himself that he had done nothing wrong. 
Almost, but not quite. He had entered this marriage convinced that he would break Daphne's 
heart, and that had never sat well with him. He liked Daphne. Hell, he probably liked her better 
than any human being he'd ever known, and that was why he'd been so reluctant to marry her. He 
hadn't wanted to shatter her dreams. He hadn't wanted to deprive her of the family she so 
desperately wanted. He'd been quite prepared to step aside and watch her marry someone else, 
someone who would give her a whole houseful of children. 
Simon suddenly shuddered. The image of Daphne with another man was not nearly as tolerable 
as it had been just a month earlier. 
Of course not, he thought, trying to use the rational side of his brain. She was his wife now. She 
was 
his
. 
Everything was different now. 
He had known how desperately she had wanted children, and he had married her, knowing full 
well that he would not give her any. 
But, he told himself,