She had her own room next to Grandmama's and Grandfather's at an inn more than an hour from home. Sporadic, weak contractions made it too risky to leave bed. Grandfather promised that water and rest would calm the babe.
Bumps in the night made it impossible to sleep and didn't help with the contractions. Even sleeping with Grandmama and Grandfather sleeping on the floor didn't help - it wasn't frightening, but it left the mind free to think of Mark. Food lost it's taste, but she choked it down to keep the babe strong.
Grandfather called the local physician on the fourth day. "She's not eating much, but she's eating. It's the contractions that worry me," Grandfather said.
"Has something changed in her life? Extreme stress can cause such contractions." The physician spoke quietly on the other side of the room.
"Her husband had to leave for an unknown length of time. She acts sad all the time and shows interest in nothing. If it wasn't for the babe, I'm not sure she'd even want to eat," Grandmama said from the other side of the room and wrung her hands.
After another day, stomach pains came strong enough that constant nausea prevented eating anything and caused just enough discomfort to not sleep.
Exhaustion took hold the next morning, and all she could do was sit on the edge of the bed and rock to ease the belly pain. When the nausea grew too strong, laying down helped - until it grew to painful to be still.
Her door creaked open, but she didn't turn around. She stood and held the bedpost, rocking her hips in desperate attempt to escape the pain for even a moment. "Please go, Grandmama." Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath.
An uneven gait crossed the floor. Strong arms reached around and hands supported her belly as she was eased back to rest against a broad chest. "Easy, my Tanya," a deep baritone rumbled against her ear. He swayed gently from side to side.
"Mark," she breathed, unable to say more through the pain. She slipped her arms under his and gripped his arms, needing his strength and comfort. And to never let go. He'd come to bring her home. Tears fell but there was no energy to actually weep.
His hands caressed firm strokes over the babe. "Deep breaths," he purred. His calmness brought waves of relief, and the tension began to melt away. "Your grandfather says you've been having pains for days?" He kept his voice low and smooth and even, and it offered wonderful comfort.
With a nod, she turned around and cupped his face in her hands with her eyes closed. He leaned his forehead against hers and stroked the sides of her belly as she breathed through another wave of burning pain. Tears of happiness leaked out at having him here. No matter what happened, it would be alright because he was here.
This must be a dream. Sleep only came for minutes at a time since she left. Holding her was like breathing again - it came naturally and instinctually and was the center of his existence. Worry gnawed from her discomfort, but relief vibrated from her so much that she didn't even seem to fully register the pain. It hurt to see her so devastated that she choose to endure pain to first hold him rather than let him fix it first. "Where does it hurt, my girl?" She felt warm like a fever crept in.
Those beautiful brown eyes squinted open through the pain and looked up at him. "Are we going home?"
"Tanya, answer my question," he said with patience.
"Like indigestion but my underbelly hurts too. Are we going home?"
He eased onto the edge of the bed. Gossip at home had spread like wildfire about the Devil Debonairo seducing men, the taboo turning so ugly that mothers even pulled their sons away from him on the street. Somehow he'd become a child molester risk too. A couple nights ago, a rock sailed through the window at midnight. Cook had been turned away at the market, and patients refused him entry with Dr. Englewood. It wasn't safe for Tanya to come home. She didn't even know about Becky. Home definitely wasn't safe for her. Ignoring the question, he lifted the nightgown where she pointed. The skin had blistered and necrosis had already set in. Two little puncture marks nestled in the center of the angry red rash. "Were you bitten by a spider?"
"I don't think so." She reached to scratch.
"No!" He snatched her hand away. "There's dead tissue that needs to be cleaned so you don't get gangrene. I'd wager you're reacting to a brown recluse spider bite." He helped her lie in bed on her side.
"You didn't come to bring me home, did you?" Tears welled in her perfect brown eyes.
The panic to get here, to make sure she was alright, hadn't left any thought as to how hard it'd be to leave. "You're in no condition to travel. I'm going to fetch hot water." He hurried out and shut the door. Leaning against the wall, he set a hand over his chest and looked up at the ceiling, drawing a deep breath. She needed him to be strong, not weep and admit it caused physical pain to be without her.
He returned with a pitcher of steaming water and soap. Deep shadows had taken residence under his eyes, as if he slept even less than her. The gruff edge and slightly arrogant demeanor had been beaten from him, leaving a shell of a man. His shirt hung slightly loose like he'd lost weight already in one week.
"I've never fit in, Mark. I don't care what they say. I'm happy just you and me - "
"Do you have pains anywhere else?" he cut in as he rolled up his sleeves without looking her way.
"No." He seemed almost angry that he'd come. Those old fears slammed like a slap upside the head and left her dizzy. She pushed herself up to a sit as he mixed some powders in a cup. Painful indigestion caused a minor contraction for the babe that made her words come out breathless, "You didn't have to come just because Grandfather asked."
"You're ill. Of course I came. Drink this to help with the indigestion - it's likely a result of the venom." He added drinking water to the mix and handed over the cup.
She drank and then set down the empty glass on the nightstand while he listened to the babe. "I overheard Grandfather say that after the babe's born, we're going to America. Are you coming with or going to meet us there?"
His movements froze for a split instant. "Do you have any signs of mastitis?" When she didn't answer, he unbuttoned the nightgown and checked.
He was gentle, possibly the worst thing he could be because those stolen moments in bed and in the study flashed back. Those tender moments when the world had been safe because she'd been in his arms. "You say you love me, but you send me away and won't let me help. Are there rumors of me? Are you ashamed of me?"
"God, no," he whispered and his throat contracted in a hard swallow. He stood and began to wash.
"You're not coming to America, are you?!" Tears burned. Anger surged. "You're damn backwards sense of chivalry is going to let Grandfather marry me to someone else, isn't it?!" She shot up and stumbled as the room tipped.
He caught her and eased her onto the bed.
She clutched his sleeve as her legs refused to stand. Drawing in air in a temper became difficult as her heart pounded slower and slower. "You drugged me." Tears fell at the betrayal as she looked at him and his face began to blur.
"A light sedation because debrieding this wound will be painful." He laid her down as every muscle began to go limp.
"You'll leave before...I wake." Words began to slur, but the tears still knew to come.
"Tanya, things are worse than you know. It's not safe at home, and it's better for you if I go before you wake up." His voice grew thick like he might weep.
"Hold...me." It wasn't fair that he'd robbed her of these moments. Didn't he know that being in pain during surgery but awake to talk to him was better than this?
He laid down in bed and held her in his arms as it became impossible to keep her eyes open. "I love you, Tanya," he whispered and pressed his lips to her brow. "Forgive me."
Fighting the drug was hard, but she opened her eyes. Nothing looked clear but still fuzzy in the drugged haze. A silhouette sat in the chair beside the bed. "Mmmmm..." The name refused to take shape.
"Rest." Grandfather's weathered hand touched her arm.
"Mmmm..."
He slid the chair closer, his voice thick with emotion. "He left in fear that staying would cause you harm."
A tear crept down from the corner of her eye, gathered more and more grief with each inch it crawled toward the pillow. Muscles wouldn't move and denied turning away from Grandfather.
"It does not bring me pleasure to see you suffer, child. His reputation right now...it's physically dangerous for you to be there. These rumors compounded with Society's tenuous view of him already...even he doesn't believe he'll recover. Wherever he goes, word will eventually reach. That's no life for you to have a child on the run."
But it was no life for Mark to live it out alone and abandoned. And so the tears fell.
Without Mark's expert care, Grandfather struggled to keep the necrosis from spreading over the next day. He called the local surgeon when contractions began to come in response to the pain.
"Take her to the hospital," Grandfather told Grandmama in hushed tones. "I cannot find a messenger who will deliver the missive to Mark, so I'll fetch him myself. Mark insists that cleaned hands are necessary - do not let anyone touch her without washing with hot water."
"Be careful. Hurry. Mark will know or figure out what to do if the doctors can't help." Grandmama gave him a kiss and then led her into a carriage.
Grandmama put her fierce defending skills of Mark to shame - Grandmama browbeat and forced any nurse or surgeon who came to the hospital bed to first wash. She also somehow convinced them to put her in a separate room from the large infirmary hall where coughs and influenza plagued the patients.
The contractions eased off with laudanum. The doctors insisted on a large dose, but she took only the amount that Mark had declared safe for the babe when she'd broken her toe. It offered blessed relief from the pain - enough to fall into fitful periods of sleep plagued with dreams of Mark leaving.
Grandfather walked in hours later. Without Mark.
"Where is he?" Grandmama shot up from the edge of the bed in the small room.
Worry filled his weathered eyes. "I left word with the butler, but Mark won't be home until tomorrow night."
"She can't stay here," Grandmama hissed, her fear apparent. "There is illness everywhere. Why didn't you go find him?" She grabbed his lapels. "Tiger?"
She pushed herself up higher in bed and held his gaze. He didn't seem to hear Grandmama. "What is it?"
"The maid Becky." He sank onto the edge of the bed. "She was found dead in the cellar a couple nights ago."
She blinked in shock. "Mark didn't say anything. Did you ask Brigands what happened?" Oh god, surely someone would find a way to pin this on Mark.
"Likely to not distress you. He's being interrogated. The butler said he should return tomorrow night. Brigands gathered witnesses to back the claim that Becky spoke ill of Mark in the past week and seemed to behave oddly. The butler swears that it was suicide, but the law must investigate that Mark didn't have a hand in it."
She shook her head. "No, Becky didn't seem to care for Mark much, but she kept to herself. Why - "
Grandfather laid a hand over hers on the bed. "The butler confided in me because he said it would help you to not worry. Weeks ago when Mark came home, the butler caught the maid listening at the bedchamber door. Mark confided in him today that the maid had been blackmailing him to not repeat what she'd heard."
Oh god. Becky had heard her pry it out of Mark that he'd be assaulted in prison. Mark had never said a word about the blackmail.
"Mark apparently thought it harmless blackmail and conceded to her demands for an increase in salary. The maid made some kind of threat recently, so Mark refused to meet the money demands. Mark and Brigands both believe that the maid released the rumor, only she didn't realize that being under his employ, it would ruin her too. She took her life, perhaps as a means to implicate Mark."
She cupped her hand over her mouth in horror. No, no, no, no. Oh god. "Brigands and his wife moved back home. It'd only have been Mark and Becky in the house that night. How did she kill herself?"
Grandfather swallowed hard. "She slit her throat."
The blood drained from her face. If word got out that Becky had spread the rumors, Mark would be accused of revenge murder. He would still be suspected of murder.
"Mark is trying to convince the authorities of medical evidence that he couldn't have done it - the butler said Mark's theory is that, being left-handed, he couldn't have made the same cut as the right-handed maid. This is gruesome, but you will feel better knowing this: where the blade entered would have a deeper cut than where it exited."
Bless his soul, Mark was a genius. "And if he stood in front of her to cut her throat, the deepest cut would be across the middle instead of the side!" Yes, that might be his saving grace being left-handed. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer that the authorities would believe him.
"Why the hell do you have a woman with child in the same goddamn infirmary as influenza?!" a deep voice boomed the next evening.
She sat up in bed with a smile. It could only be Mark. Grandfather smiled, and relief spread over Grandmama's face.
A voice answered in a mumble just outside the room.
"I don't goddamn care if you want me in here or not, she's my wife! You call this an infirmary?! You disgust me. Get out of the way. I'm taking my wife." He barreled into the room, the nurse who pulled on his sleeve having little impact on his progress.
"You cannot take her! She is getting gangrene!" Another nurse stepped in front of him, blocking the path to the bed.
He glared down at the two women and probably could've breathed fire. "No thanks to you two!" He glanced at her and slapped a hand to his forehead. "Gangrene?! If she had gangrene, she sure as hell wouldn't be sitting up in bed and rosy cheeked! Is there anyone here who is competent?! Get out!"
"But - "
"Get out! You can tell that shit-for-brains surgeon he can bite my ass if he thinks he's laying another goddamn hand on her!" He herded the women out with his cane and slammed the flimsy door.
Her heart melted at her foul-mouthed prince coming to the rescue. A wistful sigh escaped.
Grandfather burst out laughing.
Mark spun and took in the tiny room. "Jesus Christ, is this a goddamn closet?" He limped to the bed and eased his weight down. "What kind of quack job did they do in the last twenty-four hours?" he growled and lifted the worn-out hospital gown. "Oh, I'm sure this damn thing is sanitary," he snapped. Then his brow furrowed as he peeked under the bandage. "Goddamn morons. It's a miracle you haven't caught your death."
The stupid grin wouldn't go away. "Hello."
He glanced up and grunted. Then he pushed the sleeves of the oversized gown up and surveyed the injection bruises.
"Did you come to rescue me?" Giddy butterflies made the wound pain more bearable.
"Just in time, it seems," he grunted and turned to Grandfather. "Would you fetch my brace from the carriage? You'll get to it faster than I will. If some dumbass won't let you back in within three minutes, I'll come out."
Grandfather smiled and took Grandmama with him.
Mark palpated her belly and seemed content when the babe kicked in protest. "At least the idiots stopped labor," he muttered under his breath.
"Mark?"
Those blue eyes flicked to her.
"It hurts to lean forward and brush my belly on the blankets. Kiss me." She held out her arms.
Grief flashed across his face like it physically hurt to think of kissing.
"I know of Becky and that you must've proven yourself innocent. I don't feel well and have been in the hospital and without you for a week...just kiss me."
He leaned forward and set a hand on the bed, his heart obviously melting and unable to resist the plea.
When his lips touched hers, she cupped his face in her hands. An instinctual need surged - a need to feel the scratch of the light stubble on his jaw, to smell his musky aroma, to taste his woodsy flavor. "I missed you," she breathed between kisses.
"God, I've missed you." He pressed her back into the pillows and his tongue dove into her mouth with passion and need and longing.
"Ahem."
He pulled back, an adorably shy expression on his face at getting caught. It was so unlike him to be shy. Her heart melted.
Grandfather looked a bit embarrassed and Grandmama turned away. They must've been standing there for some time. He handed over Mark's bulky metal knee brace.
"Thank you." Mark put it on over his pant leg, buckling the straps and getting it in place efficiently now. It still hurt as much as the first time to see him in it. He stood and handed Grandfather the cane. "I'll help her dress and then get her out of here."
She took his hands as he braced his weight to help her up. Getting to her feet, she grabbed his arms when vision faded for a moment.
"Alright?" His arms wrapped around and steadied her.
"Just a bit dizzy. Your muscles feel good." She smiled up at him.
He snorted. "You must still be feverish."
"No, it went away yesterday." She raised her arms as he took off the nightgown and he leaned down to grab her dress. "Will you stay tonight? Or until I'm better?" Silence and sadness fell over his features again. "I'd remain naked if you do." She smiled in hopes of coaxing a glint of happiness from him.
He did crack a smile, but his eyes remained locked on finding the opening in her dress while he kept a steady arm around her. "You certainly won't leave this room if you remain naked."
"I wouldn't mind being trapped in here with you. It's barely large enough to stand. We'd have to spend all day and night in bed."
His cheeks grew pink. "You're feeling better, I see," he drawled. The man pulled the dress over her head and helped it fall over her belly.
"Oh, you're no fun!" She swatted his chest and laughed. If he remembered that she could make him smile and play and laugh, maybe he'd at least stay for a night or two. Just a little more time to convince him to take her home or runaway together.
"You are in no condition to engage in physical activities, much less one that could trigger contractions again." He leaned over her shoulder and buttoned up the back of the dress. It offered wonderful exposure of his neck.
Raising onto her toes, she braced her hands against his hard chest and kissed his throat right where his heartbeat pulsed.
He drew in a sharp breath and shivered. "Tanya." The tone wasn't playful.
Pulling back, she searched his eyes in confusion.
"I beg you, don't make this harder than it is," he whispered and leaned his forehead against hers as he closed his eyes.
"Mark?"
But he straightened and scooped her up. Without a word, he carried her out to the carriage. His poor limp grew worse in that short distance.
"Mark," Grandfather said and reached to take her.
"No, I'll carry her." He set her in the carriage, taking painstaking care to jostle as little as possible.
A contraction swept down. She bit her lip and grabbed Mark's sleeve.
He felt the babe. "She's too fragile to bounce in a carriage yet, but she isn't staying here." He stepped back and Grandmama and Grandfather squeezed in. "There's an infirmary a few miles north. It puts her closer to home, but there's a physician there whom I trust. He's experienced with wounds - more so than I - and will be able to heal her." He closed the door.
She shot forward and caught his hand out the window. "You're leaving?"
His eyes reddened with unshed tears. "If I come, you'll be turned away. Give your maiden name and don't tell them that I sent you. Dr. Monroe is his name."
"Wait! Will you come in a couple days?" Her heart beat faster in fear that he wouldn't.
He stepped to the window and cupped her face in his hands. "No one will receive me. I had to let Cook go because he was being ruined. Brigands refuses to go. Word has spread so far that we must travel for an hour to find a market that will receive us. Tanya, they say I have done things far more terrible than kill Anna."
"Then runaway with me to America or Spain or anywhere." Tears spilled over.
"You cannot travel for at least three months. I cannot protect you from the destruction that will be spread far beyond our reach within three months." A tear slipped down his cheek. "I wish for anything but this. Should things ever get better, I promise I'll come for you." He handed Grandfather an envelope.
It sounded like a goodbye. God, no. Please, no. "What do you mean? Mark?"
But he pulled free and hit the side of the carriage. It started forward.
She whipped around to where Grandfather opened the envelope.
"Oh no," he whispered.
Divorce papers. The reason: an unfaithful husband. It saved her from any scandal and the babe from being labeled a bastard. And destroyed what wasn't even left of his reputation.
