Author's Note: Thanks for the review, An Old Soul in Wonderland! It was fun reading your perspective. I hope you'll be in for a bit of a surprise in this chapter. :)


A rash had formed on his knee by lunch. She vigorously rubbed the vinegar on his feet and arms and legs in a desperate attempt to draw the fever from his head while Brigands laid on cold rags. "Mark, come on. Wake up."

"My lady, I once saw him put Mistress Anna in a bath when she had influenza. It pulled down her temperature," Brigands offered. "Cook and I could get him in."

The moment he was lowered into a lukewarm bath, he muttered something. When she trickled water over his head for several minutes to cool him, his eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, thank god." Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Mark, your knee is infected. I don't know what to do..."

A strange look filled his unfocused eye. "Anna, don't drink that." He caught her hand and took something away not there. His words came out slurred and odd.

"He's hallucinating." Brigands added a bucket of warm water when goosebumps ran over Mark's flesh.

Mark stared blankly at the water, but his hands moved in a manner like when he'd done surgery. He handed her something. "Eric, take her breast." Her stomach lurched - he'd helped with Anna's breast surgery. Then he burst into hysterical sobs.

She tried to lean over the tub to console him, but the babe was in the way.

"My lord, it's not real," Brigands said and set a hand on his shoulder. But Mark was in no condition to reason.

She met Brigands' eyes and presented her back to him. Once he unbuttoned her dress, she shed to her chemise and held Brigands' hand as she got in the tub. Stretching out across Mark in the tiny space, she laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around. "It's alright. It's not real." She set his hand on the babe. "It's Tanya. Don't cry."

Brigands stepped out but left the door cracked open.

He quieted after a couple minutes and seemed to sleep.

Another two hours of getting him in and out of the bath and holding him through the same hallucination over and over. Without waiting for the nightmare to start after the third time, she got in the tub to be ready to hold him. The fourth time, he remained asleep.

When she sat up to get him out again, his eyes opened. "Tanya?" He sounded like himself, although tired.

A smile broke free, the motion so foreign after what felt like forever. "I'm here. You have a fever from your leg."

"How long in the bath?" He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in pain.

"Perhaps fifteen minutes." Coherent, he'd be able to say what to do.

"Out. Chills start soon after."

"Brigands?" She sat up.

The man entered with a towel, keeping his head turned from the now transparent chemise as he helped her out.

She staped behind and got dressed as the men put Mark to bed.

Mark laid with a single sheet up to his waist and his leg exposed. Brigands and Tim wrapped his knee in some kind of poultice. He fell back asleep.


His eyes opened as the surgeon listened to his heart. "MacLeod?"

The surgeon straightened and smiled. "Debonairo. Didn't fancy meeting you like this."

A severe frown marred Mark's features. "I heard you were dead."

The man barked out a hearty laugh. "Afraid not. Got banged up in the carriage accident but it didn't kill me. You, old friend, are in sorry shape yourself. Who chopped at your knee?"

"Who hasn't?" Then he seemed to notice her wiping him down as the fever broke. He turned his head, his expression serious. "Did I hallucinate?"

"You did." She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered, "You acted like you were doing Anna's surgery. Then you wept. You didn't say anything for which to look so worried about." She sat back and ran the rag over his brow.

He gave an apologetic, somewhat self-conscious look, though.

"This poultice draws out infection?" The surgeon's voice cut in.

He tore his gaze away, but his hand slipped into hers. "Yes..."

The conversation faded into the background as she looked down. His thumb stroked over the back of her hand, and he held tight like perhaps he worried that she'd leave.

So much conversation wore him out, and he slept until mid-afternoon.


"I need to tell you something." He patted the bed.

She got up from a chair near him and sat.

He took her hand and searched her eyes. "The King...he does not favor me being I do disagree with him in Parliament."

The blood drained to her feet. "He didn't make the marriage unbreakable?"

Regret filled his eyes. "He did not. I met with John and..." He seemed ill. "I had to prove that debt 'due' to me would far surpass any man who might have any contract from your father. Being our marriage could've been annulled by the man who had bondslave papers, I claimed every medical bill, clothes, food, paying off the two men...everything I could to create an astronomical debt to report." He swallowed hard. "I filed bondslave papers for cost that would be impossible for anyone else to exceed."

"So I'm yours forever?" Her heart beat faster as tears welled.

He looked so ashamed. "If you wish to live separate lives, I'll still provide for you - "

She flung herself down on his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. "This is the best Christmas I could've wished for." She sniffled and sat up so he could breathe.

His lips pressed together like he held back emotion, and he cupped her cheek. Words seemed beyond him. "Thank you," he said in a thick voice.

"For what?"

"Staying with me during surgery."

Her eyes bugged. "You were awake?"

"No, but I know by now that you wouldn't have left."

A smile bloomed. "Could it be, my dear Mark, that you need me?"

The man didn't reply, but he didn't object either.


He couldn't conceal the look of pain in his eyes at dinnertime. His cheeks felt warm again.

She set a tray on the nightstand and pushed another pillow behind him to prop up. "The surgeon said you must eat and drink."

"I taught him that. Screw that," he growled weakly and closed his eyes. "You should tell him to just cut the goddamn leg off if you're not going to just let it kill me."

"You're just in a foul mood because you hurt. It will get better." She moved the ice to a different spot on his knee. "I don't have anything you can have for the pain but brandy, and the surgeon said that's not good for a fever. Men always feel better with full stomachs." When she set the spoon of broth to his lips, he didn't open at first. "Mark, you must eat," she begged. "I don't know how else to get you better."

His eyes cracked open, pain squinting the corners. "If I perish, you become a rich widow with no bondslave papers."

"And spend the rest of my days crying over you? I think I prefer my cranky cuddle bear."

He gave her a long look and finally opened his mouth.

She smiled. "That's a good man. You know I can be more stubborn than you, so there's no point in trying to resist me getting you well. I shall baby you until you hop out of bed just to avoid me." The spoon raised to his lips again.

He grunted and took another spoonful. "Including a sponge bath after dinner?"

A hot flush crept up. "You're quizzing me."

Something in his eyes faded, and he seemed to withdraw into himself. His gaze shifted away. "Yes, I suppose."

She blinked. "Oh. You're serious."

"I have no need for a woman to fumble with me," he grunted in a hard tone.

Setting a hand on his arm, she caught his eye. "I thought you were teasing. I should not mind, but I shall quit if you get cold. You don't need the fever going up. I will do my best not to 'fumble' with you." She bit her lip to hold back an embarrassed smile.

"You'd do well to learn before we're trying to make a baby," he grumbled.

Her back went a little straighter. "Babies? I thought - "

"All women have a penchant for a gaggle of brats running around. Is there reason I should deny you that?" he snapped.

"You want to have more children?" Her heart melted. "With me?"

"Do have plans for some other man to sire children?" he growled.

"No, Mark." Her smile grew.

"Then you're stuck with me, woman."

"Yes, Mark." Happiness threatened to explode her inside out.

"Feed me. I should not do well siring children with only one leg, woman."

"Yes, Mark." She held back a laugh of giddiness. "I missed your growling." Then she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He turned his head and captured her mouth, his tongue dipping past her lips for a sip. When she moved to sit back, he captured her face in his hands, holding her eyes. "I missed you too," he whispered. Then he let go. "Finish so your dinner doesn't get cold too," he snapped. But his hand rested on her belly.

A breathless sigh escaped. She could've floated away on a cloud of bliss.

After dinner, Brigands helped her change the sheets and bring in more candles for better light. Her face burned in embarrassment as he helped lay a towel under Mark. Brigands surely knew she was about to be completely improper giving her husband a sponge bath. She avoided his eyes the entire time.

"Shall I bring anything else, my lady?" He said it as if asking if she'd like tea, and he set a basin of warm water on the nightstand.

"No, thank you." Then she glanced at him, the flush growing hotter when he gave a smile of approval and left.

Mark sat up, leaning forward for her to wash his back. He didn't seem the least embarrassed by his lack of clothing or that the butler knew what was about to transpire.

Picking up the rag in the basin, she sat behind him. Her heart beat faster having such close view of his muscles. His shoulders spanned quite a bit wider than hers and carried heavy muscling.

"Are you frightened?" The words startled even though they came out patient and soft. He looked over his shoulder.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat and ran the rag across his shoulders. His smooth skin had a slight bronze hue that stopped at the waist - it was so very faint that it'd never been noticeable before. "Do you go out in the sun in summer?" The tan suited him quite well.

"I would ride horseback to the bank sometimes in summer. It gets warm under the sun, so on occasion I'd take off my shirt and ride through fields."

A soft sigh escaped as heat rushed between her thighs. He'd be so beautiful to see on horseback in the fields. Shirtless. With the sun glistening off his hard body. Her hand skimmed over the thick, warm muscles. Elegant curves contoured down into a trim waist. So much power stored in him. What was she doing? Jerking her hand back, she cleared her throat and continued wiping his back. She moved to his front and avoided his eyes.

"You may touch," he said in a quiet tone. When her eyes raised to his, he added, "The familiar is less frightening." Such generous words.

"You don't frighten me anymore." She looked up from beneath her lashes, painfully shy.

He set her hand on his chest. His heart beat strong and steady underneath. His warm, wet muscular chest glistened in the golden candlelight. Those blue eyes darkened with desire, chasing the pain away if only for a few moments. Then his hand laid over hers on his chest and he leaned forward. Strong fingers buried in her hair as he cupped her head and molded his lips to hers. The pins fell from her hair, but he didn't seem to care. His taste intoxicated. His kiss consumed. His heartbeat almost touched hers.

Pressing him back, she nipped his bottom lip. His groan of pleasure washed up more waves of pleasure. She pressed her lips to his chest as he laid back, letting her hands skim over the hills and valleys of muscle to memorize every curve of him. Tossing her hair out of the way over her shoulder, she smiled when he hissed in a breath and his hips arched as her hair dragged down his chest while she sprinkled kisses down his stomach.

Then she came to the mysterious area and sat up. His eyes remained closed even though he seemed somewhat uncomfortable by the swelling. Setting a hand on him to see if it would ease his pain, her eyes flew to his face when he gasped her name.

She gave long strokes to soothe him. His face relaxed even though the swelling worsened. "This doesn't hurt you?"

"No, it's wonderful," he breathed. The man seemed to grow restless the more she tried to relax him. "Tanya," he panted and stilled her hand with his eyes squeezed shut.

"But if it makes you feel better...?" She frowned in confusion and gave another stroke.

A choked gasp and he jerked a towel over himself and pulled her hand away. Then he seemed to relax, although his chest still heaved.

"Mark? Did I hurt you?"

"God no," he panted.

"Why'd you pull my hand away? Did I do it wrong?" She pulled her hands into her lap. Another thing that she wasn't good enough at like Anna?

He balled up the towel and dropped it on the floor. "I'll get it in a bit." Then his eyes cracked open. "You did it too right. I didn't want to startle you - you've much to learn about intimacy yet." His eyes drifted shut and he seemed to melt into bed. "You were perfect," he sighed in a dreamy voice.

How perfectly odd. So she resumed washing him and his breathing deepened until he slept. "How singular you are, husband. Look at how comfortable I made you with only a touch. I dare not imagine how fast you'll fall asleep when making love."

In the early morning hours, he grew restless and painful again. He laid panting in agony as his knee ballooned and the fever didn't let up to give him relief with drink. Desperate to ease his torture, she shed her nightgown and kissed his lips to give something else to focus on as her hand stroked him.


"But he's sleeping so deeply. It's not the fever keeping him under?" She frowned when the surgeon declared Mark improving.

"Dearie, you're doing something to keep him comfortable enough to sleep a good sleep. Keep it up as long as he can handle it. His temperature seems to be coming down."

Her face burned in embarrassment.

"Illness and pain can drain the mind and body. If you can keep his spirits up and get him to rest like this, far be it from me to judge how you're helping him through major surgery recovery without pain medication." He smiled and packed up his bag. "Call me if he hasn't woken by this afternoon; otherwise, he should be sound enough that I will return tomorrow."

Mark slept until noon and then was able to sit up in bed with a little help and feed himself.

Embarrassment from her behavior kept her avoiding him. He acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She was grateful for him overlooking it at first. But as the days passed and he began to leave the bed for periods of time and didn't show any physical affection whatsoever, irritation grew. He even talked less and less until going to bed at night meant awkward silence.

"You don't have to sleep in here," he said as she took off her robe one evening to get in bed.

The breath in her chest caught. That dagger hurt. Without turning to face him, she shrugged the robe back up her shoulders. "If you didn't want me, why did you buy me?"

"What?"

She turned to him with a heavy heart. "Now that you're getting better, you won't talk to me or touch me."

His brow furrowed. "Come here." He patted the bed. When she sat, he took her hand in a way that was becoming so familiar whenever he had a heart-to-heart talk. "For one, it was a technicality to keep our marriage. We shall not speak of it because you are not some animal purchased at market. You are my wife. In this marriage, that is as far as any ownership goes."

She nodded and searched his eyes, still so confused by the past few days.

"I haven't brought up the other day because...I'm embarrassed." The dear man actually blushed. "You made me quite comfortable twice, both of which occasions I fell asleep before I could return the...gesture." His face grew to a flaming red. "That morning, I lost myself and was not at all a gentleman causing a need for a cleanup."

Her cheeks burned at the memory. He'd been sleep before she'd returned to ask the question that morning. Drawing a deep breath for courage, she met his eyes. "Is that what causes a babe?"

He nodded.

Pursing her lips, she frowned. "So there will be a babe every time we make love?"

A blank look and then his eyebrow cocked. "Um, no. The timing for the woman must be right too."

"Oh." How very complex this was.

"One thing at a time." He cracked a brief smile before the blush returned. "It's one thing to talk about intimacy to teach you, but it's another to engage in it and then talk."

She smiled. "You are shy about these things."

He cleared his throat, the redness intensifying. "I'm saying I...I would not object should you desire to engage in such activity again, should I be permitted to reciprocate."

She giggled. "You sound so formal, Mark. What you mean is you enjoyed me pleasing you and wish to please me too?"

He grunted.

Lifting her chin, she smiled and met his eyes in challenge. "I should say that for breaking my heart the past few days, you should tell your lady love."

"You're not my 'lady love,' woman," he growled.

Her smile only grew. "You find me pretty and let me pleasure you, and you want to pleasure me, so that qualifies me as your lady love."

"Or a mistress - lucky for you, you have a ring," he said dryly.

She laughed. "Mark, a man would not rush into danger for his mistress, or sustain a terrible knee injury but not resent her." Then she laid down, her heart lighter than in weeks. "Should you ravish me for my saucy tongue, I shall accept my punishment," she sighed in melodramatics.

He stared down at her beside him, completely speechless. Then he swatted her bottom. "That's for mocking me."

She giggled.

The man slid down in bed beside her but propped up on his elbow. His hand slid up the nightgown.

A soft gasp of surprise silenced the giggles and turned them into pants of pleasure.

"This is for your arrogance, my lady love," he whispered against her lips and let his hand weave magic.


Never would it have occurred that Mark was such a shy man. By day he remained gruff and somewhat distant out of 'respect.' He could be slightly prudish, blunt, boarish and commanding. At night, he was affectionate, sweet, gentle and patient. This hidden side of him was so precious because he allowed only her to see him without his armor. He even seemed as eager as her to discover the marriage bed at night, although he still made no move to consummate. Perhaps because he thought the scarring too severe to make it possible. If that was the case, remaining oblivious a bit longer was better.

She walked on his arm down the drive on New Year's Eve to help stretch his leg. It no longer gave out on him, but the limp was no less pronounced either and still necessitated the use of a cane.

"Go ahead and walk. I'm a bit slow," he grunted like he was embarrassed.

"I don't mind."

"Go. It's good for the babe to get in a brisk walk. I'll meet you at the mailbox."

With reluctance, she left him and returned with the mail, only to have him urge her to take it to the house and come back to get in more exercise for the babe.

When she dropped the mail off and returned outside, Mark stood at the end of the drive talking to Mr. Manchester. The men walked down the drive as Mr. Manchester led his horse.

She walked up with a smile.

"Marchioness, a pleasure, of course. Motherhood does become you."

A blush crept up in embarrassment at the slight faux pas in topic. "Thank you. Mr. Manchester, what a pleasant surprise."

He dug in his saddle bag and pulled out a tulip. "I came to check how things are going."

When he moved to hand her the flower, Mark snatched it and jammed it in a saddlebag pocket. "The next flower gets burned. It's indecent."

The man frowned. "It is not when intruding on a lady of the house for lunch. It's quite socially acceptable, old boy."

"Not in this house," Mark growled.

"Am I right or am I right that the brute hasn't given you a single flower, dove?" A twinkle of merriment glinted in Mr. Manchester's eyes.

She held back a smile when Mark glared at the man. "My husband provides well and does not need to bring me flowers."

Mark threw the man a cocky look.

"No woman needs flowers. Just because Anna didn't like flowers because they made her sneeze doesn't mean this dove won't want them." He frowned at Mark.

She dropped her eyes and Mark's arm as her heart twisted. "I shall go tell Cook to prepare another plate."

"Tanya," Mark called.

But she hurried inside. Dragging her feet as long as possible, she returned to the sitting room.

Mr. Manchester stood and wrung his hands. "Marchioness, I meant no offense - "

She held up a hand and smiled. "Of course. Would you like tea while you wait for lunch?"

"Do sit and join us." The man stepped aside to make more room on the loveseat.

Mark cleared his throat pointedly. "She will not sit unprotected near you to be mooned over. My wife will sit here." He patted the end of his loveseat that would be a tight fit. When she squeezed in beside him, he propped his poor leg on the coffee table and draped an arm across the back of the settee behind her to make room? The man looked far too pleased with himself and the blatant gesture of possessiveness.

"I am curious, husband, why Mr. Manchester is writing poses and bringing me flowers while you do not?"

Mark shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I rescued you and have been undergoing repeated surgeries."

"Convalescing is the perfect time to write sonnets and poses and ballads for the lovely dove." That mischievous twinkle returned to Mr. Machester's eyes.

Mark gave him a pointed look. "You're welcome to shut your mouth at any time."

She smiled and gave a gentle pat to his thigh. "I suppose I shall accept that as better than flowers if you give me a kiss." With a smile, she offered her cheek.

The man grumbled and blushed but pecked a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Has you wrapped around her finger, old boy! As a good husband should be! I heard you got out of the bank business - I told you years ago it would age you. You have this love and little rug rats to chase around now." Mr. Manchester chuckled.

She blinked and looked at Mark. "You quit the bank?"

"The next time you come over, remind me not to be at home," Mark growled and then looked at her.

"Oh, mum," Mr. Manchester giggled. "When the King refused even bondslave papers, old Mark gave him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Her mouth dropped in horror. "You gave him the bank?! But people need a bank not owned by the King?! Why?"

"Um, I shall go check on lunch," Mr. Manchester mumbled and hurried out.

He turned to her. "The King agreed to raise rates steadily over the next decade. I only took the job in the first place to remain occupied after Anna passed. It's too much to manage anymore, and we don't need the funds. Besides, I can't even make the trip to the bank anymore with my leg. Good riddance to it."

Mr. Manchester poked his head in and frowned. "Dear god, man, that's not what you told the King. You're far too fickle with the woman. Tell her what you told the King!"

"Get out!"

Mr. Manchester made a face at him.

Mark hurled a settee pillow across the room at the man, who closed the door to duck and didn't come back.

"You two are like children. One would think you're brothers with how you bicker." She cracked a smile. "Now, what is this that you told the King?"

His cheeks reddened. "Nothing of importance," he grunted.

"Tell her!" He yelled through the door.

"Excuse me." Mark pushed himself up and limped across the carpet with his cane. When he opened the door, Mr. Manchester stumbled in. Mark grabbed the man's lapel and dragged him to the front door, shoved him out and locked it. "Stay out there 'til I'm done, idiot!"

"Shit for brains! Tell her what you said!" Mr. Manchester yelled through the front door.

Her shoulders shook with laughter.

Mark limped in with a shy expression. He shut the door and sat, taking her hands. His eyes focused on where his thumb ran over her wedding ring. "I made a decision and do not wish to discuss it again after this."

"Do you regret it?" She frowned.

"No." Then he drew a deep breath. "I told the King I'd give anything to keep you. I offered the bank." His eyes flicked up to hers in self-consciousness.

Her bottom lip quivered. "You just gave him the bank for no coin?"

He nodded.

No one had ever wanted her, much less given away a large fortune in exchange for just her. "Mark, the bank could've been sold for dozens of thousands of pounds." Her voice broke.

"Yes. And I received the more valuable end of the deal," he said softly.

She flung her arms around him as the tears fell.

"Kiss her! It's bloody cold out here!" a voice called through a closed window.

Turning, she burst into laughter as Mr. Manchester stood at the window with his hands cupped around his eyes to see inside.

Mark growled and heaved himself up, steadying himself before offering a hand to her. "We should let the dog back in." Then he led her to the door. At the last second, he backed her into the corner out of sight. A most satisfying kiss left her knees weak. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "I would've given ten times as much for you, my lady love."

Her heart melted, and she buried her fingers in his thick hair. Then she closed her eyes, simply basking in this moment. "I love you, Mark."

"Mark! It's cold!" Mr. Manchester pounded on the front door.

With a sigh of irritation, Mark straightened and led her out to the foyer. He opened the door. "Good thing you never married - if I was your wife, I'd leave your sorry arse out there."

Mr. Manchester smiled at her and rubbed his hands together to warm up. "You'd look rather fetching in a skirt, Mark."

In the blink of an eye, Mark smacked the back of Mr. Manchester's head. The man returned the gesture in a heartbeat and winked at her at the fun. Mark cracked his cane across the man's thigh in a flash.

"Ouch! I say, that was uncalled for, old boy!" The man rubbed his thigh, no true harm apparently done other than pride stung.

Mark set his arm around her waist. "Gawk at my wife again, and I'll crack it across your head."

Mr. Manchester pointed a finger at him. "You have an awful temper. What violence you have in front of the lady."

"Shows her she's well protected," he retorted dryly.

"Boys, behave." She smothered a laugh.

"Lunch is served, my lord." Brigands gave a slight bow and began to lead the way.

When Mark turned in distraction at Brigands' announcement, Mr. Manchester pulled her closer and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Does him good to realize how much he loves you. He shall go stark mad if I whisper in your ear."

Pressing a hand to mouth to stop the laugh, she nearly choked on it when Mark turned and his eyes shot daggers at the man. Mark stepped closer, elbowed the lawyer aside, and pushed between the two of them to offer her his arm.

She took it and looked over her shoulder at Mr. Manchester in surprise. Mark couldn't truly love her...could he?


Mr. Manchester seemed to be a good fellow, but he was tiring and left poor Mark exhausted in his recuperating state. He stretched out on the bed with the fire in the fireplace blazing to warm the room. She cuddled beside him.

"Have you given thought of names for the babe?"

"I don't know. There are not really any that I like...Jacob, Eric, Thomas... When we met, you said your middle name was Reynold. Don't the upper class have two or three middle names?" She stroked his bare chest.

"Oftentimes but it seems pretentious to use a full name in greeting."

"You, pretentious?" She smiled, and he swatted her hip. "What is your other name?"

"Marquess Marcus - clearly my parents never thought about that - Reynold Charles Debonairo..."

Her eyebrows rose as he continued a long list of his titles. "My goodness, how long did it take you to memorize that?"

He chuckled. "Until I was eleven."

"Hm. What about 'Charles'?" She tilted her head back to look at him.

The man blinked at her. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?'" she laughed and scooted down to lay her head across his stomach so she could look up at him reclined against the pillows. "You're his father."

His chest puffed up a bit. "Charles. It's a good name," he said gruffly. Then he stroked her hair absently. "What for a middle name? Would want it after your father - "

"No."

"Didn't think so. Elliot? Howard? Ugh, too stuffy... Charles..."

"Matthew?" She nibbled her lip.

"Hm. Charles Matthew Debonairo. It's a good strong name. What about for a girl?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I hate them all after a week. Would you be disappointed if it's a girl?"

He shook his head. "Boys are overrated. A girl can run around in a little dress with her curls bouncing but still punch the school bully." His hand stroked the babe as he kicked.

"You have a soft spot for little girls!" She smiled.

"Hush." Then he leaned over and pulled out a red velvet box from the nightstand drawer. "Merry Christmas."

She sat up in surprise as he set the box in her lap. "Christmas? I didn't think you'd want to celebrate."

"Then I have shocked you." He smiled. "I wanted to wait until I felt better, and then we had that awkward misunderstanding and I thought you wished I hadn't gone to the King..."

"Oh, Mark, I didn't get you anything. Brigands said you haven't acknowledged Christmas for six years." She frowned in guilt.

"Well, I wasn't married last Christmas. Your other gift is likely more for me than you, so that can be my present."

"Two? Mark..." She pressed her lips together in excitement and stared at the box for a moment. Giddiness bubbled up.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"I've never received a present. It's exciting." She giggled.

Such sadness filled his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that and ruin the moment." A tiny squeal of excitement eked out and she opened the lid. A huge gasp and her jaw dropped. Inside lay a glittering necklace in a strand of green stones. "Mark, it's so beautiful. I've never seen green stones like this."

His chuckle filled the stunned silence. "They're emeralds."

Her head whipped to him. "These are real jewels?"

"Of course." He lifted the strand from the box and draped it over her neck, clasping it from behind.

The tips of her fingers brushed over the gemstones.

He leaned forward to look over her shoulder and smiled. "I would ask that you wear this with the other gift." He set a larger box in her lap.

She frowned and looked at him. "Mark, I - "

He set a hand on her arm. "Tanya, there's no need for you to get me anything. We'll call this my Christmas gift."

So she opened it. What could he have given her to be a present for himself? Inside lay delicate, beautiful white lace. "Oh, Mark," she gasped. "Is it a shawl...?" The words died when she lifted it out. A sleeveless chemise-like garment.

The man had a rakish smile. "It's lingerie. All the rage in Paris."

Her brow furrowed. "What do I wear it over?"

"It's for the bedchambers." His voice fell lower in a husky quality.

"For the bedch - ?" Her mouth snapped shut as it dawned. Then she frowned at him. "You said consummation is meant to be done naked."

A positively wicked smile spread his lips. "It is."

"Then why did you buy this? That makes no sense." She dropped it in the box and cocked an eyebrow.

"Men are visual creatures."

She leaned toward him, one hand on the bed, and her chemise fell off her shoulder. "Is that so?" she purred.

He grunted and pressed back against the pillows, his eyes flicking to her bare shoulder and then locking on her lips.

"I suppose you want me to wear this for you?" She followed him back.

His throat convulsed in a hard swallow. "Y - " He cleared his throat. "Yes." Then he seemed to remember himself and his face grew stern. "Should I buy you something, I expect it not to be wasted."

With a giggle, she sat back and swatted his arm. "You're no fun at playing!"

The man blinked and looked slightly panicked as she set aside the box and lace. "I thought you're going to put it on."

"I was, but you're a little cranky. Perhaps tomorrow night." She smiled. Then she laid down and backed up to be spooned.

He growled and grumbled as he laid down and draped a hand over the babe. "I suppose you find pleasure in the fact that I'm uncomfortable," he snapped.

A smile tugged and she reached behind and held, eliciting a groan from him. "Poor baby, I'll let you sleep so you feel better."

In the blink of an eye, a sound swat hit her bottom and he whirled her to face him. "Saucy brat," he growled and his hand dove under the nightgown as his mouth crushed down on hers. "Do not sass me, woman."

Her hand fisted in his hair and the other crushed a handful of sheets as she gasped. "Are you going to take me?"

"No, minx." His chest vibrated againt hers and he nipped her lip. "It would hurt yet." His mouth trailed down to her neck.

She sighed and squirmed in restlessness. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"That's why I won't take you yet. Let me see you in only jewels." He tugged off her nightgown without waiting for a reply. And created a beautiful distraction.