Author's Note: Thanks for the review, JustKerstin! I'll put more chapters up being someone likes it. :)


He sat in the chair across the room and waited for the girl to awaken so Becky could take over. He didn't want to take care of a woman. He didn't want to stay. He'd left this morning expecting to throw a house and money at her and leave her far behind by sunset. Now, he had a woman and babe on his hands...and he was playing nursemaid for the next week. He ground his teeth and stared out the window.

A candle burned somewhere, giving a dim glow to the unfamiliar room. She looked around in confusion. She was in bed.

He'd been startled by the sharp pang in his chest the moment she'd opened her eyes. Relief. It'd been forty-one minutes of agonizing over her breathing too fast, too slow, too deep, too shallow. He was about to send for the physician when she woke up. Something warm blossomed in his heart the moment she looked his way. The slight swell of the babe, the sleepy look in her eyes...she looked so maternal and soft and gentle.

"Tim?" she said softly with a dry throat.

A bucket of ice water dumped overhead. She called for a man. Another man. Slamming the door to his heart that she had picked open, he walked over to her.

A floorboard creaked. A large silhouette approached. Fear shot into her throat and she shot upright, crying out and grabbing her belly when sharp pain tore through.

The silhouette pressed her shoulders back down. "You're in your new home in Glenhaven," a deep voice growled. "Lie down. The doctor ordered bedrest for a week." He let go and straightened, his face coming into view.

It all came rushing back. "The baby? Is he alright?" She grabbed her belly. The swell of the babe was still there.

"It's sound for now. The physician wants you to have peppermint tea. You're having four meals a day and are to stay in bed, except for using the washroom." He looked down as if ready for arguing.

"You stayed?" She blinked.

"He didn't want anyone else until you woke up. Becky will take over - "

"No, I'm fine. Please don't trouble anyone." The deep frown of his mouth said she'd already been more trouble than her worth and he resented the setback to leaving for his country estate.

He walked to the door. "I'll have Becky take over," he repeated. "She'll bring up tea and food that I expect to be eaten," he commanded and shut the door.

No one could blame the marquess for his resentment. She was an obligation and now a thorn in his side. He obviously still missed his wife. It turned out there was something worse than an unwanted marriage - a mourned one. He stayed away all night.


The doctor entered the study where he poured over ledgers again the next morning. He looked up.

A frown interrupted the doctor's usually cheery expression. "She says you disappeared once she woke up."

"Becky took over watching her and was instructed to notify me if there were any problems."

"We discussed that you would watch her."

His eyebrow cocked. "She was fine and Becky is capable of making sure she's fine. I will do her heart rate exams."

"Do you want to know if she's alright?" the doctor asked tightly.

"I'm sure it would've been the first thing you said if she wasn't," he drawled and kept working.

"You're a heartless coward."

Ripping off his reading glasses, he shot to his feet. "What do you want me to do?! Spoon feed her?!"

Dr. Englewood leaned over the desk toward him. "How about show some human compassion?" he growled. "The girl had lost everything she's known and is thrown into the hands of a man she doesn't know while her baby is threatening to die."

"And I'm supposed to do what?! I called you when she needed a doctor. I gave her clothes, food and shelter. I'm giving her what she needs!"

"No, you're giving her what you have to in order to avoid a guilty conscience. Do you know anything about the woman who wears your ring? Have you even truly looked at her?!"

"I don't want to know anything about her!"

The doctor slowly straightened. "Then why the hell did you take her? She is a human - she needs love and kindness and patience like Anna did. I'm not saying you have to love her, but don't make this a heartless marriage. She is aching for a friend. You are aching for a friend," he said softly.

"I do not need a female and her child on my plate. I am no more fit for companionship than a corpse," he growled and dropped into the chair.

"Just because Anna is dead doesn't mean you have to be too." The doctor pulled on his riding gloves. "Are you going to see to the girl or not? Becky has little brains and is no good - she let the girl's distress rise and she started bleeding again."

"What?! I told her - "

"Are you seeing to her or not?!" The doctor seemed at the end of his patience.

"I'll get a midwife - "

He spun on his heel. "I'm admitting her to the hospital," he threw over his shoulder.

"The hospital?!"

The physician turned in the doorway. "Either you watch her or a hospital does."

"There's cholera and croup going around in the hospital!"

"Is there now...Doctor?"

Mark gave him a dark look. "You're manipulating me, you bastard." He stormed out and marched up the stairs without a backwards glance.

She sat propped against pillows while reading a fascinating book when the marquess banged the door open and stood in the doorway.

"Are you fine?" he snapped and stomped over.

"Yes," she frowned in confusion. This man always seemed to be angry with her.

He snatched her wrist, sending the book tumbling, and stared at his watch. Then he pulled up her nightgown enough to bare her belly and listened to it with a contraption.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Sh!" He studied his pocket watch again. Seeming satisfied, he pulled down the nightgown and then ordered, "Lie down."

"Why?" For a marquess, he certainly had odd behavior.

"To make sure the babe is sound," he snarled.

She frowned. "The doctor just checked - "

His teeth audibly ground. "I said lie down."

So she did, uncertain what to think as he palpated. "Do you know what you're doing?"

The babe was too small for five months gestation. He palpated the small belly under his hands and frowned. Then he looked at her while continuing to palpate. This made no sense. Some of the belly distension didn't seem to come from the babe but up higher. The woman looked five months with child, but her womb wasn't that large. "You're certain of conception date?"

She nodded.

Then the marquess left just as quickly as he'd come. She pulled down her nightgown and stared at the open door. What a strange man.

But a moment later, he returned with a measuring tape. He pulled up the nightgown again and measured from the bottom of her belly to the top. "What date was intercourse?"

Her face burned. "June ninth," she whispered in humiliation.

His head whipped to her. "Who said you're five months pregnant?" He looked angry. Again.

"I overheard whispering at the market one day that you add a month from conception - "

He snorted. "You're four months, not five. That explains that."

She frowned. "The doctor already said the babe is four months."

His eyebrows shot up. "He didn't bother to inform me. You're still getting ill?"

"No, the peppermint helps."

"But you bled this morning?"

"It was so little that I didn't notice until the doctor pulled back the sheets." My, he seemed to fire off questions.

"Bright red or dark?"

"Bright red."

He pursed his lips and then leaned down, slipping his hands under the nightgown to feel her ribs. The man next pulled up her sleeve and looked at her arm before he felt her shoulder through the nightgown. "Christ," he whispered under his breath. "Sit up," he growled. When she sat up, he ran a hand down her back and ribs. "What have you been eating?"

"After Papa's funeral two weeks ago, I didn't have any money. I had a half loaf of bread left."

"What have you been eating?" he repeated without patience and ran his hands along her collarbone through the nightgown.

"Sometimes a slice of bread a day."

"With what on it?" he demanded an set the end of the instrument on her back and listened.

"I didn't have anything to put on it." The embarrassment burned hot.

"What did you eat the other days?"

Nothing. Pride prevented from answering, so she let silence serve as the answer.

He stopped and met her eyes, leaning forward slightly from beside her. "What food was left when I came?"

The words came out calm enough, but humiliation made her look down.

"How much?" His tone was so gentle this time. The tip of his finger touched under her chin and gently lifted her eyes.

Those warm blue eyes held so much compassion. He was so close that the little green flecks caught the light in his eyes. His touch was so gentle, so kind. "I found a little piece of bread on the floor the morning you came," she whispered so as not to break the intimate moment. It felt so safe right now to tell him the truth, like he wouldn't judge or be disgusted. He let out a long-winded sigh through his nose. And the moment shattered when he let go and straightened quickly.

"You and the babe are fighting each other for food," he said gruffly and turned away to set the stethoscope on the dresser. "You ate breakfast?"

"Most of it." She wrapped her arms around herself. He was so gruff and terse now, obviously disgusted at having such a pauper wife that she'd eaten stale, dirty food off the floor. "I got sick after eating two pieces of toast. The doctor said that would get better after my stomach grew. I don't understand what that means."

He didn't turn around. "That means your stomach shrunk from starvation. I will tell Cook to make you light meals for now. Six meals a day, understood?"

She felt like a naughty child that he needed to scold. "Yes, my lord. I...I'm sorry." Although she knew not what for.

The man didn't turn around. "It is I who should be sorry," he said quietly. Then he walked out.

Shutting the door, he walked down the hall but stopped and set a hand against the wall as the guilt slammed. Her belly was distended from starvation. While he'd been pouting about coming for her for four weeks, she and the babe had been starving to death. Another couple weeks and they'd both be dead. It was his fault. If her babe died, it would be because of him. He had to get her better and then leave as soon as possible.


The marquess didn't say a word each morning and night when he'd come to examine the babe. After three days, the physician stopped in and said the baby had been sound long enough that immediate danger may have passed.

She finally asked the marquess one night, "Did you go to medical university?"

He finished the exam. "You're both fine." Then he left.


The meals grew a bit larger at still six a day, but her stomach still felt full after only eating half the plate. One morning, the nausea was so strong that the plate went back down with Becky untouched. The marquess stormed in seconds later.

"Why aren't you eating?" he barked.

"The peppermint is gone and I can't keep anything down without it." Closing her eyes, she took a slow breath during a wave of nausea.

He stepped into the hall and bellowed. "Becky!"

The maid came running. "Yes, my lord?"

"We are out of peppermint?" The man practically bit the maid's head off.

"Yes, my lord."

"Well, tell the Cook to get more!"

"Yes, my lord." The girl ran off.

He stormed in and disappeared into the washroom. The water turned on briefly and then he came out with a compress that he set on the back of her neck. The man took great care not to make skin contact.

"Does everyone do your bidding?" The cold instantly cut the morning sickness by half.

"If they're wise," he retorted.

"Thank you." She sat back and held the rag on. "You're rumored to be a cruel recluse, but I think you're just sad." She looked up at him. He had a heart in there somewhere that peeked out now and then. Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

"And you're rumored to be a harlot," he snapped. He regretted the words instantly when the woman's eyes widened and she looked away quickly, as if holding back tears. "Who was he?" The words blurted out, not having intended to say anything.

"Who?" She didn't even look up.

"The father."

Weary eyes far older than her years met his gaze. "What have you heard?"

"I've heard that you don't know because there were so many lovers," he grunted. When she didn't say anything, he barked in irritation of not being answered. "Is that so?"

A sadness so deep vibrated from her, so profound that it shook his very core. "I've learned that people make their own judgments and believe what they will."

"Is that what I should believe?" The damn woman wouldn't just give a straight answer?

"You believed me a discarded mistress the moment you saw me."

He looked away, unable to deny her claim. When she stood, he blinked. "Where are you going?"

"To the washroom." She went in and shut the door.

Inside, she leaned against the door in relief to have an escape. He wanted privacy and now she did too. He wouldn't ask more questions if she didn't either.

When she opened the door a few minutes later, he still stood waiting impatiently in the bedroom.

"You didn't answer." The man growled.

She stopped in her tracks in surprise.

He marched over and swung her up in his arms like she weighed nothing.

Her arms wrapped around his thick corded neck out of instinct at being carried. His body heat seeped through the thin nightgown, such human contact a long-forgotten sensation. Hard muscles hid beneath his high-quality clothing. A strong brow arched over beautiful blue eyes and dark eyebrows. His nose had a tiny crook in the middle, as if he'd been in a fight once. She smiled. The man certainly knew how to provoke fights, but he seemed too uptight to get into a brawl. A square jawline and hint of a five o'clock shadow added to his air of masculine power. Even though he could be surly as a bear, it felt safe with him. For a brief instant, a need for him to hold her with tenderness rose up. It made the void inside her heart grew to a gaping wound.

"You didn't answer," he snapped and set her down. He pulled away her arms from his neck and stepped back so quickly that he bumped into the dresser behind.

A bitter smile bloomed. So that's what he thought of her touch - repulsive. Sealing her heart, she raised her chin to hold his angry glare. "No one believes me, my lord. I see no point in wasting our time."

The woman was too damn soft, despite her thinness. Too damn warm. Too damn good smelling. Too damn womanly. She didn't want to talk, which was fine with him. "The physician will return in an hour or two." Then he walked out and slammed the door.


By the fifth day of bedrest, life was miserable. The marquess was as surly as ever. And loneliness grew by the minute. She picked up another book that the physician had left to entertain herself.

The physician walked into the study.

"What do you want?" he snapped at the irritating doctor who was costing a pretty pence with all of these visits. Scribbling more notes in the ledgers, he clenched his teeth in irritation.

"Your wife - "

"She's not my wife. She is my charge, George."

"She bears your name and wears your ring."

Grief sliced. Rage surged. Slamming his hands down on the desk, he shot his chair back to stand. "My wife is dead!"

The doctor didn't flinch. "Your first wife is dead. Your second is very much alive and growing you an heir."

"Jesus Christ! The moment she is declared sound, I'm washing my hands of her and that brat! I don't care if it's the middle of the night, I'm getting out of here and never want to see that pauper or her bastard again!"

Movement from the doorway behind the doctor. The woman stood there with her eyes wide as saucers and face sheet white.

Oh dear god. His blood ran ice cold as he froze in horror. How to even begin explaining it'd been said in a temper?

"I..." Her chest rose and fell, and her eyes searched the floor as if she didn't even know what to say. Then she turned and fled.

"Very nice, Mark." The doctor pulled on his gloves. "I told her she could get out of bed for five minutes. I am concerned if she has organ trouble from the starvation, and I want to run some tests. She wanted to come ask you for permission herself. I also convinced her to tell you something very important." The doctor gave him a final glare, jammed on his top hat and left.

A pit formed in his stomach and he dropped in the chair. He didn't want to go after her...he was afraid to go after her. Tears that he caused would be hard to not make him fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He squared his shoulders - he was a marquess and she a poor woman to whom he'd made clear this wasn't a marriage. She could deal with it. Heaving himself up, he stormed upstairs. Honor won out.

He opened her bedchamber door to find her wearing the plainest cotton dress in her wardrobe and roughly twisting her hair into a bun. "What are you doing? You are not free from bedrest," he ordered.

She wiped tears from her cheeks and then brushed past him without a word. When he turned in shock, she spun around, grabbed his hand and jammed something in it before disappearing into the hall.

He looked down. Her wedding band. Walking down the empty hall, he looked down the staircase. She hesitated at the front door. He calmly descended and stopped behind her. "Where are you going?" The tone didn't sound quite so harsh.

"Home." She sniffled. "Send the divorce papers and I'll return them signed."

"How will you eat without a divorce settlement?" It was a logical question.

She squared her slim shoulders. "That will no longer be your obligation to worry about now, will it?"

He winced at having his words thrown back at him. "The babe will die without proper nutrition. All I ask for is to be left alone once you're well."

She turned and looked up at him with tears shimmering. "All I ask for is to have one person in the world see me and not a scarlet letter," she whispered.

Something pushed to ask the question. Something made him have to know. "Whose babe is it?" he asked softly.

"I don't know." She whispered the words and looked down at her naked finger, with shame returning to her eyes.

Did she purposefully lie? A former companion? A mistress tossed aside? A seduced maid? A... He shut off the questions leaking into his head. It was better to not know.

"Forgive my words, Miss Hartwig. I said them in a moment of temper." The hard edge in his tone returned. "For the time being, you are in my charge and I do have say over your care. The doctor said you are still on bedrest. You will return to bed, and the physician will do the tests he recommended."

She looked up at him with those big eyes and her face crumpled.

"Yes, you'll have to stomach me for awhile longer," he growled when the knife he hadn't expected plunged into his chest. "Go to bed."

The moment she escaped upstairs, he escaped to the study for a drink. His hands shook as put the glass to his lips. The woman was entirely too dangerous.

When he returned that evening for a routine check, she didn't look at him, much less try to engage him in conversation like usual. That was fine with him, just fine. Sleep eluded him that night.


"Why is she so quiet? Is she ill?" he bit the doctor's head off the next day.

"Far from it, old boy. We had a lovely conversation today, and she even laughed. She has a quite lovely laugh; did you hear it?" The physician smiled.

She'd never come close to laughing for him. Not that it mattered. "Don't try to play matchmaker." He growled and ran a hand over his bleary eyes.

"You, however, look awful. Your conscience keeping you awake?" The old bastard grinned. "Or maybe the fact that you fell out of her good graces. Tis a wonder she left you in them for so long."

"I could care less about her graces. You take sick pleasure, old man."

He chuckled. "Do you want to know how her exam went?"

"Is she dying? Is the babe dying?"

"No."

"Then I don't care." He reached for his coffee cup to ease the blasted hangover.

"You don't want to know she's having twins?"

He knocked the coffee all over his ledgers and lap. "Dammit!" He shot up and wiped off his pantaloons. Then he looked at the man. "Are you serious?!"

"No." The doctor grinned.

"You damn ass." Pulling out a handkerchief he mopped the ledgers as best they could be saved.

"Her tests are fine. She even gained three pounds this week."

Stopping, he glared at the doctor. "Then why are you still here?"

The man sobered. "Mark, I think that it's extremely important to ask her about the father."

"I did and she won't tell me." He set aside the books to dry.

"She said she won't?"

"She said she doesn't know - same thing," he barked.

"Anna would be ashamed of you."

That froze him instantly. "What did you say?" he breathed, ready to explode.

"You heard me. Where is the gentleness that Anna knew? The compassion that made you risk everything to help Anna? You are cold and bitter to this poor, lost creature." He held up his hands. "I'm done watching you batter her. You can see to her from here."

"What?! You can't abandon a patient!" The words roared out in a panic.

Dr. Englewood turned at the door. "I'm not - I'm handing her over to a new doctor." Then he put on his top hat and closed the door.

He stormed into her room after dark when the doctor still hadn't come. "The doctor walked out, so I'm seeing to you here on out," he barked in a temper. "I can't hear your lungs through this."

The marquess was in a temper and started to unbutton her flannel, high-necked nightgown.

"No!" She clutched the neckline.

"Dammit, I'm not going to bed you," he snarled and reached for it again.

"Please, no!"

When she turned away, his finger tangled between the buttons. Her reaction startled and he jerked his hand away. And tore the nightgown, exposing her left breast.

She snatched up the sheets to cover herself, a purely terrified look on her face.

His eyes widened in horror. A scar as thick as his finger and just as long stretched over her heart. It was still pink - recently made and obviously not properly stitched. Fear and embarrassment flashed across her face. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she said quickly and clutched the sheets under her chin. "Please go."

"Were you in an accident?"

"No, please go," she begged.

"Does it pain you? It wasn't properly tended to." He frowned and started to sink onto the edge of the bed. But she tensed, so he remained standing.

"I didn't have money for a doctor."

"Does it pain you?" he repeated.

She shook her head.

A sickening feeling grew in his stomach. "I'll finish the exam in the morning. Do you feel alright for tonight?"

She nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

So he left. And again didn't sleep.


When he walked into her room the next morning, dark circles tinted under her eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

She startled at the sound of a voice, and her head snapped up from where she reclined against the pillows reading a book. The marquess didn't usually come this early, and he never inquired if she slept well. "Um, I had a lot on my mind." She set aside the book. "And you?"

"The same."

Awkward silence.

"May I speak frankly, my lord?"

He nodded.

Not a snarl or stomp to the door...she blinked. The man must be sleep deprived. That's why he wasn't shoving her away. "Do you plan on divorcing me or leaving me here? I need to figure out what I will do from here if we are divorcing." She looked at him expectantly.

"Answer me one question."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

He sat in Becky's empty chair beside the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees, truly holding her eyes for the first time. "Your scar - is it a knife wound?"

Swallowing hard, she braced herself and wrapped her arms around her middle. "A scar has little impact on anything."

"It does if it's related to the babe," he said gently, trying to win her trust. But he'd spooked the woman. Panic flashed in her eyes that he had stepped too close, and the moment of trust fled.

"A scar has nothing to do with pregnancy or checking the babe," she snapped. "Did you come for a reason, or is this a new way to poke fun at me?"

He blinked at her fierce temper. "Miss Hartwig," he said firmly, "You and your child are in my charge. I have a right to know how you came about a wound like that at the time of conception." A wild guess on the timing, but the way the blood drained from her face confirmed it.

She wanted to tell him. Anyone. She wanted to scream and cry, but once the walls crumbled, there'd be no going back. And he would disappear into the horizon soon enough without a look back. Opening up to him meant digging in the wounds only to be left with them gaping worse than now.

The woman wanted to tell someone who would listen. A dark secret had become too much for her to bear even though she wouldn't admit it. So he stepped out on a limb. "If you need the protection of my name, you have it, Tanya," he said softly and eased onto the edge of the bed as he held her frightened eyes. "I need you to tell me how I can help you and the babe."

Kindness. How long had it been since anyone had shown kindness or any concern? She swallowed hard. How long had it been since feeling as safe as it felt in his home? Near him? He didn't love, but at the very least he seemed to take honor seriously, which meant he'd do everything in his power to keep her and the babe from harm. He would be the first, if he believed her, to offer help. The months of pain, the fear, the suffering...it all bubbled up to overwhelming depths.

In that moment, he saw the trauma in her eyes. In that moment, assault suspicions were confirmed. She burst into gut-wrenching sobs and curled her knees to her chest as best she could with her belly in the way. In that moment, compassion flickered from deep inside that hadn't been felt in years. And he remembered what it was like to be needed and to protect. He set a hand on her arm.

When the sobs turned to hiccups, he kept his tone very calm and quiet. "Will you talk to me? I can't promise that I'll say or do the right thing, but I'll listen."

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "I don't know who he is."

"The father?"

She nodded and used the edge of the sheet to dry her eyes. "I know it's not what you want, but I wish to stay here. Just until I figure out what to do."

"I need to know why you're scared - what I'm sheltering you from."

Her lip quivered. "Papa was in the hospital again. I came home late and didn't see that the back door had been picked open."

The bile rose up.

"He was taking Mama's china, books - anything of value. I startled him as bad as he startled me." She swallowed hard and curled her arms up between her knees and chest like the memory frightened her. "He lunged at me with the knife and hit my chest. He...he did what he wanted with me and must've thought he'd killed me before he ran." She pulled down her collar and revealed a scar across the base of her throat - like a slash across the neck that had failed to kill. Then she pulled up the nightgown again.

"I had no money for a doctor, so I used old petticoats for bandages and did my best to keep away the worst of the infection." She glanced at him, as if uncertain whether he even believed her. He met her eyes in concern, and she continued. "When my belly swelled, Papa prayed for my condemned soul and whoring." Her face crumpled.

"On his deathbed, he said he was ashamed of me," she whispered and a tear fell. "No one wants a pauper and certainly not an outcast." She shrugged, having cried out all the tears. "I'm sorry that my father tricked you. I think he thought that making an honest woman of me would save my soul. I think that in a couple weeks I can be out of your hair, my lord." She searched his face that held no emotion, but his eyes weren't hard either.

"You are staying here," he growled. Then he got up and left.

He paced in the study, having suspected a rape last night after seeing the scar, her reaction, an anonymous father...but hope against all possibility had wished she'd been nothing but a discarded lover. The offender was likely not a threat anymore, but no sense in risking it.

This creature he'd tried so hard to hate was more innocent, more of a babe in the woods herself than he'd braced for. The urge to hold and comfort her during her story...god, the walls closed in more each day. This woman stirred long-dead emotions - emotions he didn't want. But he couldn't leave her alone in a house now either.