True to his word, he didn't show up for meals and Dr. Englewood resumed the exams. She wasn't left wanting for entertainment - Mark's library filled an entire room. A harp, pianoforte and fiddle also sat in the corner of a room so massive and filled with chandeliers that it must be a ballroom. She couldn't play but it was fun trying. Brigands had presented her with some paints from Mark to 'keep out of trouble,' but she could no better paint than ready poetry. It didn't take long to realize that the marquess was far more intelligent than she. And not only was he an avid reader of Shakespeare, if the loose bindings on books were any indication, but he apparently spoke several languages based on well-used books that seemed to be medical texts.
A few days later, she turned to Brigands. "Where is the marquess? It's like he disappeared."
He and Becky didn't miss a beat eating their food in the servants' kitchen where she'd begun to dine with them for company. "Working," Becky replied.
She blinked. "Working?"
Brigands nodded. "Money doesn't grow on trees."
"I assumed he inherited it."
"Oh, he did, miss," Becky added eagerly. "When his parents died after Marchioness Anna, he came into some deep money. But the master is a stubborn one and earns his own keep, he does."
"Doing what?" Mark has said he'd once practiced medicine, as if not anymore.
"Why, my lady, he is - "
"Ahem." A deep voice interrupted.
She jumped as hard as Brigands and Becky. Mark stood in the doorway.
"Gossip does not become you, Becky," he grunted. Then his eyes shifted to her with a look of irritation. "Why are you eating in here?"
"It's lonely eating alone. Are you home for the day?" She smiled and popped a piece of chicken in her mouth. "Come eat with us."
"I'm obligated to discuss something with you." The man didn't move.
He obviously wanted to talk in private, so she got up. Even though he didn't offer his arm, she took it. But his look made her let go. The man walked on to his study, not even bothering to see if she followed. But of course he wouldn't check - he was a marquess and Society dictated that he be obeyed. She stopped behind him when he rounded his desk and sat in the chair.
He sat and looked up at the chair across the desk from him. The man growled and moved to get up, as if he thought she'd gotten lost between the kitchen and study. She smiled. What a silly man. Setting her hands on his broad shoulders, she pushed him down to sit. He startled.
She gave a hard massage to those thick muscles. "My goodness, you carry all of your stress right here. No wonder why you're cranky - you must hurt." She frowned. He was a bit too large to massage properly, but his rock-hard manliness under her hands was enjoyable all the same.
He grunted in response and his eyes drifted shut as she massaged the base of his neck. The poor man must be worn out and sore. As she moved down to his shoulders, his head drifted back and cradled on her chest. She smiled at the homely scene.
In the blink of an eye, she fell against his back. The man grabbed her arm to catch her. Then she was looking at him from across the desk.
"I have to be gone for four days," he snapped and headed for the door.
"That's it?" What on earth had just happened? And where was he going? When?
He turned, his expression aloof. "I'm sorry, I don't have any good news about my demise."
The words came out so blaze that they took a moment to sink in. She frowned. "I mean you're leaving and I don't get to know when or why?"
"In the morning and no." He turned.
"Where do you work?" That stopped him in his tracks. "I'm not so uneducated that I don't know you hold a hard position."
He turned slowly with a cold look. "We are not man and wife. My affairs do not concern you." The words growled out in a low rumble. "You have food, clothes, shelter and an allowance. And that will be all you know."
She frowned and studied him. "You're certainly not a lawyer for you argue poorly."
His mouth actually fell open.
Tapping her chin, she eyed his always formal attire. "I'd wager some kind of businessman who is high in the company. You have dozens of ledgers, so perhaps in the trade. But, you don't travel enough for that..."
The man gawked as she approached.
Taking his right hand, she cocked her head. Perfectly clean and neat - not even ink stains. "Hm." Then she took his left that had a couple small ink stains. She smiled up at him. "You're left-handed."
He jerked it away.
"A secret?" She cracked a smile. "Come now, no one would mistake you for not being intelligent." Schools forced children to write with the right hand because left was considered for the dumb. "By the foreign language medical books and your Shakespeare and musical inclinations, I'd say you're exceptionally intelligent." Then she took his arm and looked at the cufflink. "A man of Parliament, of course." She smiled and let go of him. "Good - they need a man with a heart, like you." Her finger traced a small scar on his chin, taking advantage of his dumbfounded state to be close to him. "I'd say you're an accountant of sorts."
"You...it...Englewood will see to you while I'm away!" The poor man practically stuttered and snapped, as if never having been flabbergasted before and not knowing how to recover.
She smiled. "I'm sure you'll run for your freedom before I wake up tomorrow, Mark." Raising onto her toes, she set her hands on his chest and brushed a soft kiss over his lips. "Come home safe." Then she walked out, a glance over her shoulder revealing him still standing there with a dumbfounded expression as he watched her leave.
Of course he had left by the time she woke up and had ordered Brigands and Becky to not divulge his personal life. That left the only option for learning more about her husband - snooping.
It didn't take long to find a letter in his desk addressed to Mr. Mark Debonairo, president of London Bank of England.
He returned Friday afternoon. An unfamiliar carriage parked in the drive. When he entered the house, Brigands took his things. "Who is here."
"The tutor, my lord."
"Tutor?" His eyebrows shot up.
Brigands kept a straight, professional face. "My lady hired herself a tutor, sir. She wanted to...'not embarrass you by having a dumb wife,' she says. So she took on a tutor with her allowance. I think you need a refund."
He frowned at the man. "A refund?"
"The marchioness has done more educating than learning, my lord."
"Who did she hire?" Surely a poor, uneducated woman couldn't be wearing out a tutor.
"A professor of mathematics and a professor of medicine."
Good god, professors?! "Two of them?!"
"No, sir. Four."
His jaw dropped. "Four?!"
Brigands smiled slightly. "She is smart as a whip, sir. She devours books and has even taken to reading the dictionary. You have your hands full, sir."
A man walked out of the library looking dazed.
Tanya trotted after him. "But the war ended in 1812 after - "
"Yes, yes, alright." The tutor took his things that Brigands had at the ready and looked at him. "Stop giving her books," he groaned and walked out.
She grinned and ran toward him, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. "You're home!" Then she grabbed his hand and dragged him through the foyer. "You must be tired. Come, I'll make you some mulled wine, and you can rest by the fire. How was your trip? Oh, you'll probably growl and tell me it's none of my business. Well, I have learned so much. I've read six textbooks while you were away. I discovered I don't like History. I can speak a little Latin and French and..."
His head spun from the chatter by the time she plopped him in a chair. She had his shoes off and a glass in his hand within seconds. Then she started rubbing his shoulders without taking a breath in her chatter.
"Heavens, I don't know how you don't have terrible backaches, Mark. You are so tight."
He was still trying to wrap his head around everything when she started pulling off his suitcoat. "Miss Hartwig!"
She just smiled and kept working it down his arms. "My name is Tanya. Come, you have a pinched look as if you don't feel well. Let me get rid of your headache."
"You are my headache," he snapped.
She laughed. "You are a grumpy old bear." The suitcoat finally slipped off.
"I am not old," he huffed.
"You are, what, eight and thirty? Forty?"
"Four and thirty," he snapped and sat back in the chair.
A smile tugged. "You are nearly five years older than I. I think it qualifies for my use of old." Pecking a kiss on his cheek, she started rubbing his shoulders again.
"Get your hands off!"
She held him firm in the chair. "No. I know you hurt. You'll get a migraine if you don't be a good man and hold still."
Heaving a sigh that portrayed his irritation, he stayed. The trip and last few days had been too tiring to argue with the woman. It did feel good to not have his shoulders locked tight. And the headache already began to ease off. "Just for a moment," he grumbled. "I have work to do and can't afford a migraine."
"Yes, my lord." A smile leaked through in her voice. "How was your trip? Were you at the bank in London?"
He blinked. "Why would I be there?"
"Because you run it." The chit actually giggled.
Her giggle was like the twinkling of little fairies, so adorable and sweet, goddammit. Forcing a scowl, he twisted in the chair to look up at her. "Snooping, Miss Hartwig?"
She pecked a kiss on his cheek, smiling like life could not be grander.
He stared in surprise. God bless it, the damn woman left him speechless! Again! He opened his mouth to give a scathing set down.
"I did snoop, and it's Tanya. You must be very intelligent to run a bank so large. Where is it that you work daily here?"
"None of your business!"
"I'm bound to find out where my husband works, so just tell me." She folded her hands behind her back and beamed a smile.
The wounds peeled back a little more. He wasn't a husband anymore. He didn't want a wife. Shooting up, he spun on her. "We are two people living in the same house," he hissed, his eyes narrowing as the smile melted from her face. "We are not man and wife, understood?!" Snatching his suitcoat, he stormed for the door.
"You give me so much, Mark. I only wish to give you something, even if only to fetch you a drink at the end of the day," she said softly.
The hurt in her voice pulled at his heart. She had wormed her way in too close - so close that each beat of his heart began to hurt again. He spun around to scream to leave him the hell alone.
"I sort of missed not having you here growling at me."
The words died on his lips. No one had missed him in a very long time. He'd missed her annoying prodding in London. He'd even found himself browsing for a little trinket for her, thankfully catching himself at it and storming out of the shop.
She gave a hesitant smile, those brown eyes looking up at him with so much damn trust. "I know you don't want a wife. I just...I wish we could converse together at meals and sit and talk about the day before the fire at night. You have a kind heart under the barking and growling. I don't wish to see you in such pain."
He swallowed hard at a raw nerve struck. Forcing down the pain, he clenched his teeth. She wanted what he could no longer give. "Get these female illusions out of your head," he hissed. And left her standing alone by an empty chair.
Storming up the steps to his room for some peace to lick his wounds, he tore off the neckcloth. Why had he missed her? The chit was nothing but a chattering weight around his neck. He dropped onto the bed to lie down and get rid of the blasted headache that had returned. The door opened and slammed shut.
"I don't know why I missed your stupid old carcass, but I did!" She marched across the room. "You can't love a ghost, Mark! Stop pushing everyone away and making yourself miserable!"
How dare she come in and tell him to stop loving Anna! He shot up. "I - !"
She grabbed his shirtfront and jerked him down, crushing his mouth with a kiss.
He didn't move from the shock. And then it started from his lips and swept through his whole body - a warm tingling that melted the ice.
The man melted in her arms. She'd expected a fight, but he utterly melted. The poor man ached for release from his pain. The kiss softened and his lips parted . His hot tongue slipped into her mouth, the kiss far more delicate and gentle than should've been possible from him. A fire inside ignited, but she let him come to her. His arms slowly wrapped around to hold her gently against him, his arousal pressed against her hip. He was intoxicating and her heart soared.
He slowly broke the kiss and looked down at her.
Her knees were weak as she looked up at him, still dazed. Then she blinked in confusion - tears shimmered in his eyes.
"Leave me," he whispered in a gravelly voice and his arms fell from around her. "Stop torturing me."
Her breath hitched and eyes widened. "I only meant to comfort you. I don't understand."
"Leave me!" he roared.
She startled and searched his face in confusion.
A tear fell from his lashes. "Get out! Get out!"
She fled.
"Would you like to hear the heartbeat?"
She looked up at Dr. Englewood in amazement the next day in her room. "Truly?"
"Truly." He smiled. "Have you felt definite movement yet?"
"I think so. I felt a twinge here." She pointed to her lower belly.
"More likely growing pains there." He set the stethoscope on her belly and then gave her the other end.
Her brow furrowed. "I just hear a drumming."
"That's the baby's heartbeat." He smiled.
"Ohh," she breathed in awe and her eyes widened. "Can you feel him?"
"Perhaps. He's still small, but we can see if we can tell his head at least. Here - "
Mark opened her door. "Did I leave - " He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Dr. Englewood examining the baby.
"Mark!" The older man grinned. "Do you want to show her how the baby is lying?"
"No."
The doctor frowned. "Come now. You were a top notch physician. Show the girl your baby."
"It's not mine," he growled and stayed planted.
"The child bears your name. Come show your wife your child."
Mark looked furious, and she was the source. "Don't provoke him. The child isn't his and won't bear his name. Let him be." Sitting up, she pulled down her chemise. When she looked up, both men stared at her. "Hm?"
"A word," he growled.
Dr. Englewood stepped out. Mark remained at the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "What name do you think you're giving him?" he drawled.
Her eyebrows rose. "My maiden name. You said you don't desire any children, so I thought - "
"You thought wrong," he snapped. "If you didn't want to accept this marriage, you should have spoken up. Don't make a mockery of me by refusing my name when you live in my house and wear my ring."
She smiled. "Are you being possessive?"
He scowled. "I'm keeping us from being a source of gossip."
"I think you ruined that when you wed a pregnant woman."
"No one but the doctor and staff know it's not mine," he growled.
She blinked. "You intend to present him as yours? Why?"
His eyes burned. "Did I not give you my name? Don't be stupid." Then he turned and opened the door.
"Mark?" She scurried from bed to block his path. "I didn't mean to insult you." Taking his arm that he didn't offer, she smiled. "Are you done with work today? We could go for a walk or have a picnic."
But the man shrugged her off. "I have too much work," he snapped and left.
It was hard to focus on the ledgers. Thoughts kept wandering to the female roaming his house. He sneered at the womanly touches she'd made over the past two weeks - fresh flowers, his books and things now orderly, a glass of mulled wine waiting for him by the fire in the library every evening. The door opened and the creature in question trotted in with a tray, to his irritation.
"I made you a snack. You've been in here all day." She smiled and set the tray of cookies and glass of milk on top of his books.
He cocked an eyebrow, glaring up at her from beneath his brow. "What am I, five?"
"Everyone likes cookies and milk." She sat in the chair across the desk, made herself comfortable and took a cookie.
"I take it you're staying," he retorted dryly.
"You shouldn't have cookies alone." Her smile beamed as if this was the greatest thing in the world. "Drink your milk - a man your age gets frail bones."
"What?!" He sputtered. "I'll have you know that men are at their physical peak at my age."
"Oh." She frowned. "So you're not going to look like that next year? Hm. Maybe I should've married someone not in his prime but approaching it."
His mouth fell open.
She giggled and got up to round his desk. Before he knew what the chit was about, she plopped herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am teasing you. You are in fine shape, and I suspect you will always be because you're so anal retentive."
Again, speechless.
"I'm teasing again." She rested her head on his chest and laughed softly. "You need to relax. I think you work too much and need more fun in your life."
His heart ached - in a good way - having her curled up in his lap. But he didn't like it. The wench chatted away. He kept his hands clutching the armrests as he battled emotions. Grief and pain grew so strong that he couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't think.
When she looked up at Mark, her smile faded. He was lost in some memory - a sad one if his face portrayed anything. She touched his cheek and his eyes, void of all emotion but grief, turned to her. "You'll be happy again someday," she whispered. The poor man looked to be on the verge of heartbreak.
A kick. She gasped and snatched his hand off the armrest, pressing it to the baby. "Mark," she breathed and searched his eyes in wonder, "the baby is kicking. Do you feel it?" She pressed her hand over his, wanting him to be part of this moment.
His face crumpled.
"Don't you feel him?" She frowned in confusion. "Right here. He's still kicking." Pressing both hands over his, she held his eyes.
He set her to her feet and stood. "I did," he whispered and left her alone.
Escaping to his bedchamber, he shut the door and walked toward the bed but fell to his knees as the emotions slammed with impossible force. The grief and pain hit with such force it hurt to breathe.
Bowing his head and leaning a hand on the floor, he sniffled as the tears came. Tears that had been shoved and jammed into a dark corner box but refused to be locked up anymore because Tanya had opened Pandora's box. Tanya. Oh god, the moment she'd taken his hand and set it on her belly to feel the baby move... She'd made him part of that the first goddamn time she'd felt the baby. It'd been so beautiful, so intimate, so perfect. But not a moment intended for him. She'd find someone one day who would steal her heart and be capable of loving her in return. And when she'd ask for her freedom, he'd grant it and watch her leave him behind forever.
"It's alright to let it hurt." A small hand touched his back.
"Jesus," he whispered in humiliation and pushed himself to his feet while wiping the tears away.
She stood, slipped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. "It's alright. Whomever said men shouldn't cry is stupid. I won't tell anyone. When it hurts, it just needs to be allowed to hurt."
She held in that gentle way that only a woman could, the cruel woman stripping the last piece of wall down. His arms slowly wrapped around in desperate need for human contact and compassion. It hurt so much, as if his heart lay dying at his feet. His head screamed to run and save himself before she could hurt him like Anna had. Everyone had let his growls and roars scare them away, except for this slip of a woman. She faced him over and over again, refusing to run.
"I know you'll have a fit and rant and punish me by ignoring me for saying this, but I care about you."
That road was too dangerous for both of them. He dropped his arms.
"Why must you suffer alone?" She looked hurt by the rejection but didn't let go.
"I promised you a home, food and my name - nothing more or less," he snarled.
"And what is in it for you?" She looked up at him with those big eyes.
Nothing. He looked away. "A guilt-free conscience."
She pulled away.
My god, how that simple action ripped out his heart.
"You'll always resent the babe and I, won't you?"
He glanced at her. His words had cut, but she would be better off this way.
She nodded when he didn't answer. "Alright, marquess. You shall have your wish for a marriage of convenience. I won't trouble you anymore," she whispered with downcast eyes.
Self-preservation and knowing he had to protect her from himself kept him from going after her.
It was like she had left, not seeing or hearing her for a week. At night he'd peek in her room to assure himself she hadn't left. It wasn't because of missing her...at least not more than once or twice every hour.
"Are the tutors tired of her?" He gave a bitter smirk one afternoon after not hearing visitors all week.
"No, my lord," Brigands answered. "She terminated their services. Said there was no point in wasting your money when you won't know a difference being she is to stay out of your way, sir."
He glared from his desk at the man. "Watch your tongue."
"Yes, my lord."
Silence.
His nerves frayed more every day. "Did she hire them to educate herself for me?" he gave in and asked.
"That's what I said, yes, my lord." An undertone of displeasure leaked in.
Slamming his quill down on the ledgers, he glared at Brigands. "Stop with the attitude."
"May I speak freely, sir?"
"Haven't you been?" he asked dryly.
"She's sad, my lord. She has no one to talk to - "
"Then have her visit neighbors," he snapped. Dammit, it wasn't like he had fun moping about the house.
"The gossip has followed her to town, sir. She has no friends here."
"Have her relatives come." A pounding from an impending headache started in his temple.
"She is an orphan without any relatives."
"Then what do you want me to do?!"
"Nothing, sir. She will learn how to get alone like you," Brigands answered quietly.
He rose. "Brigands, you are testing my patience. You favor the wench, you be her friend."
"She is a lovely woman. Perhaps it's better that you continue to ignore her."
His temper shot through the roof. "One more word and you're out the door," he hissed.
But Brigands raised his chin. "I have served this family for sixty years. Your father would be ashamed. Mistress Anna would be ashamed. You drag the girl here and condemn her to a lifetime imprisoned in this house. A spirit like hers won't last long in that. IF this keeps up, you don't have to worry about firing me."
"You're done for the day!" His body shook with rage.
She trotted downstairs and saw Brigands at the front door putting on his coat. "Are you going to the market? I'll come - we can make a trip of it in the fresh Fall air."
"No, home, my lady." Unlike usual, he didn't smile or meet her eyes.
She blinked. "Home?"
He put on his hat. "I overstepped my bounds. The marquess has sent me home for the day."
The dear man remained so composed and humble, despite the humiliation. It meant he wouldn't be paid for the day either. "What happened? What could you have possibly said, Brigands? You're so sweet."
A slight smile touched his lips. "Thank you, my lady. Do not fret. A day won't break me."
Mark walked out of the study.
"Why are you suspending his pay?!"
A cold look served as his answer.
She turned to Brigands and caught his hand on the doorknob. "It's because of me, isn't it? Oh, you should not jeopardize your job," she said sadly.
"You did not have any fault, my lady," he said gently and bowed, with a kiss over the back of her knuckles in a sign of respect far beyond her poor breeding.
"You should not cross him so," she whispered. "No one has ever stood up for me." Tears threatened.
"It was my honor, my lady," he said softly. "Do not forget your crackers tonight."
"I will," she smiled that he remembered even though he should be worrying about himself. She opened the door for him. "Be careful going home. I'll see you in the morning."
"Yes, my lady. Stay inside, No walks - it looks like snow."
She slipped coins into his hand that she'd intended to give to Cook to pick up more peppermint tea. "You need it for your wife," she whispered.
He swallowed hard. "God bless you," he whispered and then left.
Closing the door, she spun on Mark. "Shame on you!"
The man looked surprised.
"His wife is dying and you send him home without money to get her medicine for tonight?! You are cruel."
"Dying?" he repeated dumbly.
"For the past two months. But I'm sure Brigands understands you're too selfish to ask how his family is. Ever." Turning on her heel, she headed for the stairs.
His footsteps followed hot on her heels. "And what is this about crackers?"
"Ha! As if you care." She threw the words over her shoulder.
At the landing, he grabbed her arm and blocked her path. "Answer me."
Jerking her arm free, she glared at him. "I get heartburn from the baby after dinner, master," she spat and marched down the hall.
"Don't take that tone with me," he warned and stomped after her.
Whirling around, she tilted her chin back to meet his glare. "Or what? You'll beat me?"
"I have no stomach for hitting a woman," he snarled.
"Well, I'm sooo grateful." The sarcasm dripped from the words.
"Watch your mouth," he snapped.
"No! It's about time someone didn't watch their mouth and pulled your head out of your ass!"
His jaw dropped. "You sassy wench! I - "
"You're so cruel with your words to keep everyone away! I'm not as stupid as I apparently look. I know you used to be a reknowned physician and married your childhood sweetheart. You used to be the couple of the balls. And then she got sick and you moved here to learn about a new medicine, but she died first. Then you stopped practicing and holed up here like a monk. You keep the world out. Six years, Mark. She's been dead for six years and so have you! I can't live like this. IF you want to live like the world doesn't exist, I want to live apart!"
Grief from Anna overwhelmed and profound hurt that Tanya wanted to leave him. Anger bubbled up and surged and overflowed. "Don't you dare presume to tell me how I should live," he hissed. "You lost a drunken father - I lost the woman I loved. There is no comparison."
"Maybe not," she said softly in defeat. "But I have been alone most of my life. I don't know what you think solitude will save you from." Tears welled. "You're screaming to get in; I'm screaming to get out," she said sadly. "You keep me here a prisoner - "
"I do not," he snorted.
"You know I can't go far from the house until the babe proves to be stronger. You keep everyone away with your growls and refuse to speak to me. The gossip has reached here. Becky is afraid of what working here will do to her reputation. Brigands is my only friend but it is costing him his job. What am I to assume but you intend to keep me locked up here like a prisoner?"
She struck too close, too fast, digging in old wounds that he didn't realize she knew existed. The woman knew how to shatter his walls and let the pain loose.
"Is this how you treated Anna?" she asked softly.
Something inside snapped. He snatched her by the arm and marched her down the hall. "You want to be a prisoner?!" He shoved her into her room, and she spun to face him in horror. "Now, you're a prisoner." He slammed the door shut and locked it, seeing only red rage.
"Mark!" she cried and jiggled the doorknob.
He turned and charged down the hall to find Becky watching in horror. "Go!" he snarled.
Tanya beat on the door and cried for help. "Mark, please!"
"The mistress," Becky stuttered.
"Go!" he roared.
Becky ran and he stormed into his room.
When he got to his chambers, his temper cooled. He leaned against the door and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Anna, what have I done?" he whispered. It had been a moment of unforgivable insanity, but he didn't trust himself to go back yet. Just a few minutes to calm down before going back and begging for forgiveness. Sinking to the ground, he prayed for guidance.
She cried and pounded on the door for several minutes before sinking to the floor in despair. Her belly cramped harder. So she did the only thing she knew and laid down on the bed and prayed. She wept as her skirt stained red with blood and her cries fell on deaf ears.
