Author's Note: A request came through to put at the end of a chapter when I'll post next. I post as I have time between working full-time, being a single mom and life, so I have no idea when pockets of time to write will pop up. Sometimes it's every night and sometimes it's 30 min here and there over a couple weeks.
My writing style is uncommon from what other published authors tell me in that I write the bones and then go through and apply the meat. Then I go through and fine-tune body language. Then I go through again and make the emotional connection to the reades/characters. Finally, I go through and edit. I technically should edit twice because I always miss things, but I'm doing this for fun and figure readers will forgive minor spelling/autocorrect and grammatical mistakes here and there. So, I'm actually reading/writing each chapter about 5 times to pull it all together. Hence, it takes me awhile to write a chapter. My Tinkerbelle series was easy to write fast, but these B&B stories have more depth and require more time.
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She grabbed Mark's ledger and some papers on his desk in order for him to work in bed a couple days later. The swelling of his poor knee took it's time going down and pained him more than his ribs. For some reason, the man seemed to avoid his cane.
He'd said he needed a black book too. Digging through the desk drawers, she frowned. Maybe it was in the safe. He'd left a paper on the desk when he'd gone to prison, with directions of where to find all important papers, banking information and other details.
Pulling out the list from the top drawer, she walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside. A safe in the wall blended in. Turning the knob with the code, she opened the door. Stacks of papers laid inside but no black book. A single envelope folded up and shoved in the back looked like Papa's handwriting on the outside. With a frown, she pulled it out.
She opened it. A transaction of Papa receiving three hundred pounds...in exchange for giving her hand in marriage to some man named Gregory Richards. Blood drained to her feet. Another paper for a transfer - Mark paying one thousand pounds to this Mr. Richards in exchange for her. She'd been sold. And Mark had lied.
The bedchamber door banged against the wall and swung forward again with the force. She caught it and marched inside. "What is this?!" Flinging the papers at Mark sitting up in bed, she fisted her hands in fury.
He frowned and picked up the papers in his lap as he pulled on his reading spectacles. Then he paled. "Shit."
"That's exactly what you're in! What is that?!"
After pulling off his glasses, he ran a hand over his face. "I forgot I still had that. Sit, Tanya."
"No! Why do you have sale papers for me?!" Her heart slammed and nails bit into her palms as the tears welled. This could be expected from Papa, but Mark had promised he hadn't exchanged any coin for her - that he hadn't been bribed. It never occured to ask if she'd been bought. "What did he promise you in exchange for a thousand pounds?!"
He held her eyes. "Nothing. You were not bought and sold," he said, his voice so calm. "Our fathers grew up together. Mine always spoke highly of yours for saving him when he slipped into a river as a child." He held out his hand in encouragement to sit.
She folded her hands over her chest, so he dropped his hand.
"About two months before I came for you, I stopped at a tavern in town after my horse threw a shoe. While it was being repaired, I went inside for a drink. I overheard someone say your father's name. Curiosity won out to meet him, and I walked over to the table where he played cards. He was in tears. Apparently the night before, he'd been drunk and had agreed to marry you to Richards in exchange for debt being erased."
She raised her chin. A plausible story, except for one part. "You didn't even want a wife - you wouldn't have paid a thousand pounds for me."
He snorted. "Clearly you haven't heard of Richards' reputation - his wives don't often live for more than a year after the honeymoon...assuming some kind of mysterious accident doesn't befall them on the honeymoon." He ignored her look of horror. "When I introduced myself, your father recognized my last name. He was distraught and asked me to play Richards in cards to win you back."
"You wouldn't play cards for a woman you didn't know - "
"I'm not enough of a cad to send a woman to the chopping block." He gave her a look. "Richards would sell his own mother if it earned him a haypence. I'm not a gambling man, and selling and buying women is illegal. So, I offered to pay Richards for 'damages' of a broken engagement. Richards did it without hesitation. Your father was so distraught that he might get drunk and do it again that he insisted I wed you and wrote this out to be proof should anyone else claim you." He held out the papers. "Put them in the fire."
She didn't move. "You bought me." Humiliation swam up and she wrapped her arms around herself. "He didn't even tell you about the babe or anything, did he? I asked you - "
"You asked me how much I was paid for you," he corrected. "I did not buy you, woman," he snorted. "I intended to hand over the money and walk away. Your father had this strange notion that because I'm my father's son, I'd be a good husband. He knew he was dying and begged me to look after you. Burn the papers," he ordered and held them out.
Grabbing the notes, she threw them in the fire and stared as they curled up and turned to ash. The tale made sense - Papa would've done something drunk like that. And Mark would've done something honorable like that.
"You regret your father's choice in husband?" he barked, as if bristling helped him hide his hurt.
Resting her hands over her belly, she shook her head. "It was luck more than character judgement, I think," she turned her head to look at him, "but it's the only selfless thing he's ever done for me."
His face softened. "He loved you, he just didn't know how."
"And for the record..." she held his eyes, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
The man looked away and his throat visibly contracted in a hard swallow. He patted the bed, still not looking her way. "Dress off." The words came out a bit thick.
With hot cheeks, she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed so he could undo the buttons at her back. Then she slipped it off and climbed into bed beside him, watching in curiosity as he worked up the chemise. "Are you going to bed me?"
The man froze and blinked. Then he scowled. "No!" He huffed and resumed pulling it over her belly. "I think my honor is in danger once we consummate - you'll be jumping me every day with your pregnancy horniness," he mumbled.
She frowned. "I don't think it'd be good for me to jump when my belly is this big. That doesn't sound comfortable either."
He stilled and his eyebrows rose. "Nevermind." His hands swept over her belly and he lightly palpated. The babe kicked in protest, making the corner of Mark's mouth tug up just a hint. Then he set a hand at the top of her womb and one down at the bone below.
"What are you doing?" She whispered so as not to break his concentration.
"Measuring the babe," he whispered.
She smiled at his playfulness and continued the whispers. "Why?" He seemed so enthralled with the babe. It was so sweet.
"Because you looked rather large standing at the fire," he replied in hushed tones.
"What?!" She pushed away his hands.
"Settle down, woman. It was the way your dress hung. You measure fine." He frowned like he should be the offended one.
Pushing herself out of bed, she pulled on the dress.
"Tanya - "
Spinning around, she sniffled. "You have five seconds to fix it." Irrational tears threatened and her voice quivered. "I feel huge and ugly without you telling me I look like it." Her face crumpled.
His brow furrowed. "Extra amniotic fluid can happen if there are problems. I did not say you're huge and ugly. I told you a few days ago that I think the opposite. The babe is making you irrational and taking this personally. Enough tears."
WIth a sniffle, she tried to stop the waterworks.
"It's a fact - at that angle, I was concerned," he continued, as if uncomfortable with her tears.
She blinked in surprise. "You were worried?"
He scowled. "I was concerned if it was a sign of complications."
SHe brushed away the tears and a hint of a smile tugged. "You were worried about us."
"Don't put words in my mouth, dammit! I don't feel well. As my wife, it's your job to make me feel better! Get over here!" He slammed a hand down on the empty spot in bed beside him.
"You would feel better with me in bed with you?" She cocked her head.
"Don't make me repeat myself!"
"Yes, Mark." She smiled and walked over to the edge of the bed, her smile fading. "But you have to tell me that you don't think I'm a huge cow."
A deep growl rumbled in his chest and he glared beneath his brow. "Woman - "
"Mark," she said softly and rested her hands on her belly, "I'm serious. There are three months left and I'm scared you're going to think I'm fat and repulsive." Tears stung again, irrational and coming out of nowhere but they wouldn't stop. "I know in your travels to the bank, you'll see women much prettier than me who have tiny waists and - "
"It's crass and socially unacceptable to desire a woman who is with child."
The humiliation and shame came back in full force, and she choked on a sob.
"Yet I find my wife more arousing the more her belly grows," he finished quietly.
Tears spilled over from the beauty of his words and her heart melted.
He held out a hand.
She threw herself in his arms and sobbed.
"There's no need for tears," he growled, but his hand stroked her hair as she wept on his chest. "My days were spent working on expecting women. You're as daft as they come to think my own wife would bother me. The babe will make you cry from time to time for no reason." His voice softened. "Let it out."
Her head pounded minutes later, but the strange, oppressing weights had lifted with the tears.
"Better?" he grunted and offered a handkerchief.
She nodded and dried her eyes. Then she dried his wet chest. "Thank you."
"Next time, cry instead of biting my head off," he grumbled but kept a tight hold.
With a watery laugh, she nestled closer. "Oh!" She shot upright. "Did I hurt your ribs?"
His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he tugged her down again, this time resting her head on his shoulder. "Lie your belly gently on my side and tell the babe to not kick my ribs." His hand rested over the babe like always.
"Mark?" The tips of her fingers stroked the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. An important question had been waiting for almost two weeks, and he seemed settled in enough that it was time to ask.
He grunted, his breathing slow and relaxed.
"You don't have to talk about it yet, but did they do something to you in prison?" His body tensed under her hand. "The other prisoner said beating wasn't all they did to you, you were so swollen and you seemed so frightened when I cleaned that wound on your backside."
"There's nothing to talk about. You don't need to be concerned of any disease."
She raised her head and frowned. "I'm asking about you."
He firmly guided her head down to his chest again. "I know," he whispered. "Hush now."
Tears spilled over. "I will not hush! They did something to you. Everyone told me to hush, and it just got worse until you let me talk about it." She drew a deep breath to calm down. "I will not hush." She pressed a kiss to his chest.
"You will hush. This conversation is not decent for a woman and unspeakable in Society."
Pushing up onto her elbow, she looked at his cheeks, stained with shame, and resisted when he tried to press her down again. "I don't care. You can tell me what they did." Silence. She laid her head down and pressed another kiss to his chest. "I will think you're brave and strong and handsome. I'm your wife - our bed should be where it's safe to discuss anything."
His heart pounded in her ear and he fingered her wedding ring where her hand rested on his chest. "A man should not burden his wife's sensibilities - "
She raised her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Do I look like Anna?"
He frowned. "No."
"Then I'm not sure why you're confused who you're talking to. I take it that Anna was raised in a genteel house with a lady's delicate nature."
"Of course." His brow knit in confusion.
"Then you're fortunate because I was raised in slums and do not flinch when someone vomits or their bowels crunch up."
His eyebrows raised, likely shocked.
"I am not as naïve to the world as you think. I know that men are able to be assaulted and pirates have peg boys - "
The man's eyes popped. "Where on earth have you heard such things? A lady - "
She cocked an eyebrow. "I wasn't born a lady. You'd be surprised what genteel men will talk about around un-genteel women. I've witnessed maids and stable boys at it in the barns. I've seen men beaten within inches of their lives outside of questionable taverns."
He stared, as if utterly shocked.
"And I know what it's like to be assaulted and beaten."
His look darkened in anger at those last words.
"So, husband, shock me, because I doubt you will." She leveled him with a challenging look.
His eyes hardened. "Then you are correct, for I have nothing to tell you."
Rumors said the guards sometimes used their batons on men in unspeakable ways. And it must be why Mark avoided his cane like the plague - the jet black cane looked not unlike the batons. It was time to be blunt, for he'd never admit it. Sitting up, she didn't flinch when he cursed and grumbled at having to sit up too.
"Goddammit, woman, you know how to be a pain! If - "
"They used the baton on you in ways it's not intended. And they yanked or squeezed or something to cause bruising and swelling. I think part of the severity of your illness last week was you treated yourself for disease just to be sure. I didn't see mercury in your bag but other medicines that I've never heard of. You're unrthodox but nonetheless a genius with medicine."
He paled and panic flashed through his eyes.
"I know that this getting out to anyone at all would ruin us. But you need to know that I know and you can talk to me. I've suspected it all week and have not shied from you. What is done to you doesn't define you. I think you're all the more brave for it, and I'm honored that you still trusted me enough to let me wash you in the bath a few days ago. In time, the reaction to flinch when your bottom is touched will fade, just like I don't flinch anymore when you see my scars."
"Get out."
She nodded, expecting anger and denial to mask the humiliation and shame of feeling emasculated and violated.
He stood at the bedchamber door, his head pounding from another tension headache. Or maybe from yelling.
Brigands hurried down the hall. "Yes, my lord?"
"Where is Tanya? She disappeared three hours ago, and the damn chit hasn't come back," he barked.
The man blinked. "The sheriff was on his way by, so she talked him into taking her to the market."
"The market?! What the hell does she need from there?"
"I don't know, sir. All I know is she said to expect her back before dinner. She did not talk to you first?"
"No! The woman shouldn't be bouncing around on a goddamn horse in her condition!"
"The market isn't far, my lord. She insisted on walking."
"You let her leave in winter heavy with child to walk to the market?!" Jesus, she could get too cold, go into labor from exhaustion, get run over, fall on the ice...
Brigands didn't flinch. "Yes, my lord. My impression was you sanctioned it. She is sound and has an able escort should she need assistance."
His blood boiled. Of all the idiotic things for her to do. He opened his mouth.
She flounced around the corner toward the bedchamber, swinging some kind of stick and smiling.
"Who the hell said you could wander the hills in winter in your condition?!" he roared.
She stopped in surprise. "It's sunny outside and there isn't ice. It was fine, worry wart." Then she continued forward with a smile as Brigands slipped away.
"You tell me when you're leaving the house, understood?!"
She beamed. "Yes, Mark."
"Don't 'yes, Mark' me! You could've bled out having the babe on the side of the road or been attacked by highwaymen or - "
"And you are better protection than the sheriff in your condition?" She cocked an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in merriment.
He huffed and stammered for a moment. "I'd protect you better than him!" The moron sheriff might not step in front of a bullet for her.
She laughed, the sound bringing down his blood pressure. "Yes, Mark, I will ask you to take me to market next time so you don't get jealous."
"I'm not jealous!"
"Of course, Mark." Then she held something out. "Look at what I got for you."
Snatching the stick from her, he roared, "Are you listening?! You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack!"
The woman folded her hands behind her back and smiled like an innocent schoolgirl. "Yes, Mark, I'm listening. You were jealous and worried."
"Ugghhh!" Stepping back, he slammed the door. The damn chit knew how to drive him insane.
She popped in with a smile and shut the door, as if completely nonplussed. "Do you like it?"
The fierce reply died on his lips as he glanced down at the stick in his hand. A cane carved of wood. The handle wasn't a knob but a linear stick with the cane coming from the center of it, promising easy balance and heavy durability. The craftsmanship was marvelous and elegant.
She beamed and turned it upside down, pointing to the underside of the handle. "I know you get frustrated with your knee, so it will do you good to feel this each time you hold it." A small inscription burned into the wood, offering a light texture. A phrase ran the length of each handle underside.
Rescuing, he earned this cane. Protecting, he won her heart. T
It was sentimental and cheesy and...and so damn perfect. The blasted chit didn't care about prison or the limp that may be permanent. She had a gift made like he was some goddamn hero and now gazed up at him like he was the most wonderful man in the world. A lump formed in his throat and she blurred behind tears. Her hand wrapped around his, pressing the cane into his hand. The inscription could be felt against his fingers, always a reminder that the pain and hardship came at an even greater gain - this little minx who never failed to bring out the sun. A tear fell from his lashes to the floor. Thankfully, she didn't see.
"Here. The sheriff is shorter than you. I found a man buying bread next to whom I came up to his shoulder like I do on you. He was cranky at first asking what I was doing." She positioned his hand on the cane just so.
A bubbly laugh came up, making him grab his ribs. How like her to go up to a stranger to measure height.
"I told him I was trying to figure out what size cane for my husband. He was very kind and came over and tried some for me," she chattered and stood back to eye the fit. "Before you yell at me for talking to a stranger, the sheriff was there and said he'd arrest him if he wasn't a gentleman. It looks right. How does it feel?"
He looked down and nodded. Then he met her eyes. Somehow she'd known he couldn't stand to touch his black cane anymore. This slip of a woman had dumped into his lap and turned the world upside down. But instead of black and white, the world held color again.
Her brow knit. "Do you not like it?"
"I do." He cleared his throat. Then he held out his hand and pulled her close. "Thank you." When her arms slipped around, mindful of his ribs, he rested his cheek atop her head. "I didn't mean to snap at you."
"I know." She seemed content to stay there.
It felt safe to let the walls down from time to time with her like this. "Things distressed Anna easily. If something was wrong, I handled it and it was not discussed. I...I don't know what to do with a wife who can be a partner."
"You talk about what you would with a man, but I have the perks of being able to tell about the unmanly things like..." She gasped and raised her head to look at him. "Sentimental things!"
He smothered a laugh to spare his ribs. "You're a saucy brat, you know that?"
"Mm, I know." Her smile grew. "Kiss me to teach me a lesson."
She was witty, intelligent, fiery, sweet, beautiful, strong and funny...and she loved him. Lowering his head, he gave a kiss that left her clinging tight.
She stirred the gravy as Cook chopped carrots for dinner the next afternoon. Someone knocked at the front door. She exchanged a questioning glance with Cook. No one was expected and Mark still had trouble getting down the stairs, so he worked in the bedchamber again.
"Ow!" He dropped the knife and grabbed his finger.
"Are you alright?"
A red droplet formed. "I think I need Brigands to stitch." He went to the sink to wash it.
The knock came again. Brigands must be seeing to his wife. "I'll grab him after I get the door."
Crossing the foyer, she opened the door. A beautiful, obviously wealthy woman nearly a head taller stood on the step. A fancy coach with a crest waited in the drive.
"I'm here to see Marquess Debonairo," the woman said in a haughty tone and looked down her nose.
She cocked an eyebrow. "He's not well. I'll give him the message that you called - "
"Tell him it's urgent - he'll see me."
Dislike for the woman grew with each second. "And you are...?"
"Viscountess Astor of Coulress," the woman huffed, as if offended that she didn't know.
"I'll tell him, but he's really not feeling well. Come in and make yourself comfortable in the sitting room." She began to show the woman the way.
The Viscountess sneered at the flowers and little touches she'd added to the house. "I assume these are your doing? How quaint. The Marquess prefers things of taste, though." The woman looked at her belly. "I'm surprised he's keeping you."
Gritting her teeth, she veered for the stairs and left the woman to find the sitting room herself. Satisfaction would come when Mark sent her back to kick the woman out.
Mark sat in bed with the bandage around his ribs and ice directly on his poor knee while he worked on a ledger. The sheet draped across his lap and his pants laid over the chair. He looked up when she charged in.
"Some Viscountess Ass is downstairs. I told her that you weren't well, but she insists you'll see her," she spat. Mark wouldn't even go downstairs for meals or work because of the knee pain. He wouldn't go down for some haughty brat.
"Who?" He frowned.
"Viscountess Astor." She set a hand on her hip.
He set aside the ledger and swung his legs over the side, breathing deep through the pain.
Her mouth fell open. "You're going?"
"Yes," he said, as if it was obvious. "Fetch my pants."
Spinning on her heel, she mocked his words under her breath and tossed him his pants.
"Where's the cane?" He frowned and looked around as he tugged on his pants.
"Next to the nightstand, where you left it," she said dryly. With a sigh, she walked over and helped him get his pantleg over his knee that refused to bend enough for him. He picked up his shirt to put on.
"Don't even try." She helped him. Then she helped him up and followed him out, veering to go to her own chambers and avoid the brat.
"Come."
She spun around with wide eyes. "I have to come?"
"It would be rude not to."
"She's rude." She folded her arms over her chest, feeling like a child pouting. But that woman had no right to come in here and be so disrespectful and judgmental.
He cracked a smile. "Then we'll set her straight. Come."
"Fine. But I have to get Brigands quick." She walked down the hall, taking her time so the woman could wait. Then she poked her head around the door where Brigands helped his wife take another lap around the room, per Mark's instructions to help speed her recovery. "Brigands, Tim cut his finger with a knife and needs stitches. There's a guest here that Mark says I have to meet."
"Yes, my lady. I'll be right down." He helped his wife to the bed and pressed a kiss to her weathered cheek. "I'll be right back, my love."
"I'll keep, dear," his wife replied with a smile.
She walked down the hall with him and stared at the rug. "You take good care of her. I envy her sometimes, Brigands."
"If you had surgery, the Marquess would fret over you too." He smiled.
"He would probably bark at me to heal faster."
He laughed. "And then he would fret over you." He continued down the steps while she stopped beside Mark.
"Go down the stairs behind me so if I trip I won't take you down, and if you trip, I might be enough to stop your fall - "
"I know, I know!"
"My, you can be surly. I just don't want you to fall. Settle down." He sounded slightly amused.
"You settle down. I don't know why I have to come," she huffed at the back of his head as she followed. The man actually chuckled.
She hung back in the doorway while he went to the woman.
The Viscountess looked sweet and innocent. "Mark, I knew you'd come to see me," she purred and stood to give him a hug.
"I must decline - cracked ribs." He held up a hand.
"Oh, you poor thing! I heard you got hurt rescuing someone." Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek instead.
The dislike of the woman intensified.
"Yes, well, I'm on the mend. How are you, Jessica?"
"You heard Frank passed," she said dramatically.
"I did. I'm sorry."
The Viscountess wiped away an imaginary tear. "Yes, he was seventy-one, so it was to be expected."
They were so informal with each other.
"Please, sit. Would you like tea or biscuits?"
She watched in amazement as Mark became quite the civil man.
"Tea is fine."
Mark looked over at her. "Would you...?" He gave an apologetic look. With Becky away today and Brigands stitching Tim, it left her.
Eating a spider would've been preferable, but she took a deep breath and left to go make tea.
She stormed into the kitchen where Brigands and Tim sat at the table doing stitches. Grabbing the tea pot, she filled it with water and banged it onto the stove. Then she flung firewood into the oven.
"I will do that in a moment, Marchioness," Tim said.
"No, I want that brat out of here." She lit the fire and then turned. The men stared at her.
"Is everything alright?" Brigands frowned.
"No! Some Viscountess Astor brat is here and drooling all over Mark!" She huffed and folded her arms over her chest.
"So remind him to drool all over you." Tim shrugged.
"Manners, man," Brigands scolded as he stitched. "You are better than her. Go in there and hold your head high."
She swallowed hard. "She looks at me like some beggar. She's pretty and rich and - "
"And wants the man you already have, is a Viscountess whereas you're a Marchioness, is childless while you look prettier than her while even growing an heir," Brigands said lightly.
Tim grinned. "I say she right better run from you, mistress!"
But she didn't smile. "She'll point out to Mark what a terrible match I am so far beneath him."
"My lady, have you lied to the master?"
"No." She frowned.
Brigands glanced up at her. "Then he knows what you say are your shortcomings, and he married you despite them. A man's head turns where his heart is. Go in there, hold your head high and be the kind, high-born lady that I know you were meant to be."
When she returned with the tray, the two of them were laughing as they sat across the coffee table. She set down the tray quickly to hide her shaking hands.
"You really should get a decent maid, Mark."
"Becky is good enough." He waived his hand.
"But I was serious about my proposal."
She poured the tea and gave the woman a cup, repeating Brigands' words over and over in her head for courage.
The Viscountess took it with a look. "Don't tell me you're a devoted bachelor," she pouted prettily.
"No, thank you." He shook his head when she offered him a cup. Then he turned his attention back to the woman and frowned, as if confused that she didn't know. "I'm married."
The Viscountess choked on her tea. "To whom?!"
He held out his hand when she stood there awkwardly. Then he tugged her sit beside him and slipped an arm around her waist. "To this one." Such pride filled his voice that her throat constricted.
"The maid?!"
The man didn't flinch, beyond his jaw muscle twitching. "She wasn't and is not the maid - she's my wife." His tone remained pleasant, with just a hint of steel undertone.
The Viscountess's eyes flew to her belly. Shame reared its head again. "When?! That can't possibly be yours!"
She wanted to run.
His eyes narrowed and grip tightened. "Tanya is my wife, and this is my child." The friendliness vanished from his voice.
"Surely a marriage of convenience. She's nothing at all like your type or our class. Mark, we could combine our lands if we married - "
Blood drained from her face. The proposal - Mark had turned down a marriage proposal. Oh god. This woman had money and title and far more to offer. And right in front of her, the woman tried to convince him to divorce. Humiliation blistered, but his grip kept her from running.
"Jessica, did you come for any other reason than to insult my wife and I?" He said it so pleasantly that even she blinked.
The woman obviously missed the sarcasm. "For marriage - "
"Which is obviously out of the question!" he snapped.
"Is she the one you bought at cards?" The wicked woman smiled evilly.
He stood and took her hand to pull up with him. "Let me be frank. I'm happily married. I thank my lucky stars every day that she isn't of our classes," he spat, "because she isn't a brat like you." His eyes held such coldness that she almost pitied the woman. "You'll do well to remember that she is of higher station, Viscountess. If I were you, I'd watch my tongue." Then he slipped her hand through his arm and turned to leave. "Good day."
She looked up at him in surprise as he took her into his office, so rudely leaving the woman to see herself out. "Mark, you shouldn't have done that. She'll tell people - "
"I don't care," he growled.
The front door slammed. She winced. "Why did you lie?"
He frowned as he sat at his desk and propped his leg up. "Hm?"
"About being happily married."
"I didn't. I'm happier than I was alone."
"Oh." She sat in a chair across from his desk.
"What? You have that wrinkle in your brow like when you're confused."
She flushed, pleased that he noticed enough to realize she got that wrinkle. "I don't understand why you turned down her offer."
"I just said."
"But you wouldn't be alone with her either."
"It's different," he growled.
"Did you have feelings for her?"
He pulled out a paper from his desk drawer and picked up his quill. "The only woman I had feelings for was Anna," he grunted and started writing.
"Did you ever kiss her?"
The man didn't look up. "Yes, but we stopped right before things went too far. It was a stupid mistake made because I was grieving Anna."
Silence. A 'yes' hadn't been expected, much less the allusion to perhaps more almost happening. And she didn't like it one bit. "I'll let you work in peace." She shoved down the hurt. It wasn't her right or place to blame him for something that happened long ago.
"I'm not working." He poured sand over it and then got up. Hobbling over to the hidden safe, he turned the knob and opened the door. The man dug through the stack of papers inside and froze.
She walked over. It was a photograph of a lovely young woman and himself about a decade younger. A wedding photograph. "She was beautiful," she said softly from behind him.
"Ash and bones now," he snapped and threw the photo in the safe and slammed the door. He returned to the desk and held his head in his hands.
"Mark?"
"Go," he said quietly, as if his heart bled all over again.
Instead, she walked over and set a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you have to mourn alone?"
His hands shoved through his hair in anxiety. "Tanya - "
"No, Mark. You've been alone for too long." She gently pushed his shoulder until he turned the chair. Then she sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You aren't allowed to cry over any woman but Anna."
"Why's that?" he growled.
"Because it'll break my heart, my cuddle bear."
He craned his neck to look down at her. "Cuddle bear?" he asked dryly.
She smiled. "I knew you'd like that," she giggled.
"Don't call me that again," he growled like when he actually did like something.
"Oh, I see. It'd ruin your reputation of being a murdering recluse."
He grunted. "Why ruin a good thing?"
She lifted her head to kiss his cheek. "Because you're the sweetest man I've ever met."
He gave her a look.
"Alright, 'sweet' isn't the right word. But you have a heart of gold," she said softly and met his eyes.
No words needed to be spoken. His hand reached up and his fingers tangled in her hair, forcing the pins to clink to the floor. "I wish my ribs weren't sore," he whispered in a rough, husky voice. Then his mouth claimed hers.
It was a kiss of heated passion so strong. The moment his hand slipped up her skirts to stroke her stocking thigh, flames burst free. Then his hand cupped between her legs and she gasped in pleasure. Her head swam and she clung as waves of ecstasy built. His hand gently rocked and she soon found his rhythm as his tongue courted in an intricate dance.
Instinct took over. She wanted something, although she didn't know what beyond pressing his hand harder to her. "Mark," she whimpered.
He broke the kiss and pulled his hand away, leaving her weak and breathless, not far from his own state. "When I'm better."
"What?" she panted.
His eyes were dilated to nearly black orbs and his need pressed against her thigh. "When I'm better, we'll invoke our agreement. I think you're ready for me."
She blinked. And then got up and spun on him. Those probably hadn't been the words he'd said when wooing Jessiva, perhaps in this very room years ago. "How do you take something so beautiful and turn it into some kind of legal agreement?"
"May I remind you that you wanted it as a contract?" He sat back and cocked an eyebrow.
"You're so damn arrogant."
"I'm arrogant? You set yourself in my lap. Talk about an invitation!"
"If you're so anxious, just take what you want," she spat.
"Don't you dare," he hissed, his eyes narrowing.
"Why not? Even in your state you could easily do it," she challenged. Not that he ever would.
He shot up so fast that he almost bumped her nose. Ice cold eyes glared down at her. "Don't you dare even hint that I would do what that swine did to you," he hissed. "I promised you a safehaven - "
"As long as I make it worth your thousand pounds?" She cocked an eyebrow. That'd been uncalled for, but the hurt and humiliation from that woman still burned hot.
"What the hell is under your skin?" he snapped, his eyes crackling with temper. "Get off it. There's something since Jessica showed up - "
Hearing him say that name made her snap. "Why don't you marry her then!"
He leaned a hip against the desk, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. "Ah, a little green monster, Tanya?"
"What?"
"You feel threatened by Jessica."
He said it with such pleasure that she wanted to slap him.
"My dear, if I wanted her, I could've had her long ago."
Her back shot ramrod straight. "I'm sleeping in my own bed - it's getting too crowded with Anna, I and that brat!"
His eyes narrowed in a temper. "You'd like being angry at me for sleeping with her. I didn't! I came to my senses when she pulled my shirt off!"
Her mouth fell open in shock. "Oh, I'm so grateful! Maybe you shouldn't have so you'd be married to her instead!"
"I didn't want to marry her! Anna and I grew up with her. She was angry that I wed Anna, so she married a rich old man, as if to spite me! Turns out the joke is on her because I have myself a new pretty little wife!" he shouted.
"You kissed a married woman?!"
"He was older than her grandfather!" he roared.
"What does that matter?!"
He threw out his hand and snapped, "I don't know! I was a new widower and it made sense!"
"At least she was of your 'taste' and almost class!"
His eyes shot sparks and his cheeks flushed with temper. "Goddammit, I like it when you yell at me!" He jerked her close and his hot tongue swept through her mouth.
Her blood burned as hot as his, her heart thundering with instant passion as she clung to his shoulders.
Without breaking the kiss, he swept everything off the desk to crash on the floor. Then he lifted her up on the desk with a soft grunt of pain from his ribs. His mouth crushed down again, his pants coming as heavy as hers as he pulled her closer.
The pressure between her legs was sheer heaven. He kissed her neck and his teeth lightly grazed, sending shivers of need for something. "Mark, make me yours," she panted and buried her hands in his thick hair as she tilted her head to the side for him.
"Not like this," he panted and cupped her breasts as he nipped her earlobe. "Jesus, I love your breasts." He yanked out the handkerchief and his tongue licked the swells, sweeping right over the scar like he didn't care.
She drew in a sharp breath in surprise and pulled back. He wasn't supposed to like looking, much less touching the deformity. The passion extinguished.
"You're beautiful," he whispered and gave a soft squeeze to her, his eyes closing in ecstasy as he groaned in pleasure.
"I'm not your taste." The massage felt so good, easing the ache.
"And how does anyone know my taste?" His half-hooded eyes met hers. "Tell me this doesn't ease the heaviness in your breasts from the babe," he purred.
He was far too dangerous as a lover. She pulled his hands down into her lap for a serious conversation. "Anna was blonde and full - "
"Anna was Anna, and you are you. I married her for her character, not her looks." His hand slid up her skirt. "Do you ache here too?" he asked in a deep, caramel-smooth baritone.
She caught his arm but stilled for a moment, torn between letting him continue and having this conversation.
"You, I married out of honor. I wasn't nearly as difficult back when Anna was around, but I guarantee that she wouldn't have been able to withstand my tongue for two minutes. I'm a very different man than I was six years ago. Perhaps there's reason why you're not the 'type' like Anna." His fingers brushed the slit in her drawers.
Lifting her chin, she held his gaze and pushed away his hand. "Mark, be serious. Is this what you did with Jessica?"
He scowled. "No! You're my wife! If - " The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "You want to fight today, don't you?" Leaning his hip against the desk to take some of his weight off his knee, he folded his arms over his broad chest.
"I do not!" Maybe a little. "You lug around a big belly and see how it makes you feel!" She slid off the desk onto her feet.
His lips pressed together like he held back a smile. "Jessica is a snob. I have a sharp enough tongue; I don't want a woman with a sharp one too. Could you see the two of us? It would be a civil war. You are logical and calm and do not flinch when I breathe fire. We are quite compatible in many ways. I assure you that your place here isn't in jeopardy."
She dropped into a chair and rubbed her belly. "Now I feel stupid."
He cracked a smile and limped over. "Good. I imagine this is one of the few times when I get to win an argument."
Her cheeks burned and she cracked a smile. "Be nice."
The man leaned his hands down on the chair arms and looked into her eyes, making her heart flutter. "I intend to be very nice in a couple weeks," he rumbled deep in his chest and pressed his lips to hers.
