Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Old Soul in Wonderland, Singingsilent, Awed and Nadiaabigailv! I think the best compliment that an author can get is a story gets better with each chapter or readers stay up all night needing to finish a story! (Not that I wish anyone to lose sleep. :))


"I think that we...might've just sinned," she panted and rested her head on his damp chest minutes later. "You do not seem like a convalescing man."

"If a man has a naked woman in his bed, he damn well figures out how to enjoy her even if he can't move," he said, his chest still heaving. "It hurts to breath. I need your pain killers again." He slid her hand down under the sheet.

With a giggle, she pulled free. "You should be resting. Is it your back that hurts?"

He grunted. "I feel where the muscles tore away from my ribs."

"Do you want compresses?"

"I'm too afraid to move." His poor body trembled slightly from the pain the deep breaths brought.

"At least your injuries are mostly on one side. Maybe you'll be able to get out of bed sooner."

"Want me bad, hm? I think I'm afraid of your enthusiasm for when we do consummate. I vow I'll make an honest woman of you."

She laughed. "The divorce papers wouldn't have been filed in time, so I'm legally a widow. And in God's eyes, we're still married. I see no issue at the present moment." Easing up onto her hands and knees, she kissed his chest and then his stomach and slid the sheet down. A glance at his face revealed the kisses taking away some of the pain as he closed his eyes.

"Except when we reach America, you need to bring a husband on land, and your husband is legally quite dead."

That did pose a problem. A kiss to his hip. "There has to be a priest on board. He can wed us - "

"Not wise to come on the boat a grieving widow and leave married." His words came out a bit distracted.

"Well, when we reach America we can marry before we head to Colorado. We will figure out something." A kiss to his thigh.

His hand stroked her hair as his body seemed to relax - most of it. "You play with fire," he whispered with his eyes closed. "You do not seem at all distressed that we have no titles, very little money, no income, no belongings..."

"I lived like that for nine and twenty years - "

"You're nine and twenty? You look younger." His Adam's apple bobbed in a hard swallow as he seemed to try to focus beyond the kiss to his other thigh.

"Too old?" She'd reached a spinster age long ago. Anna had been more than three years younger than him too.

"Just right," he sighed with his eyes closed and buried his fingers in her hair as she kissed his lower belly.

"Let me help you sleep." She crawled forward, resting her belly against him, and brushed a kiss over his lips. "I promise to be gentle so it doesn't hurt to breathe," she whispered against his mouth.

His eyes opened, the significant pain somewhat diminished in those beautiful blue pools. "You are almost in confinement. You shouldn't be catering - "

"It's called taking care of my husband," she said in soft tones in the intimacy of bed. "The babe and I are sound." When he opened his mouth to protest, she kissed the tip of his nose and held his eyes. "I hate that she taught you to not turn to your wife. There's no reason why I cannot give you the support and protection and love you give me," she whispered.

His brow knit just enough to create a tiny wrinkle. "There is no need," he whispered. Those eyes seemed to reach into her soul.

It hurt to see his confusion and uncertainty over such a basic marital concept. "Of course you don't need me to do anything. But I wish to be whatever my husband needs: a sounding board, a partner, a lover... I wish to be the one who knows you best, the one you want to turn to first." She pressed a kiss to his lips when he looked quite speechless. "You hurt and you cannot have laudanum. Let me take care of you." Another gentle kiss to his mouth and she reached under the covers.

The dear man slept a peaceful sleep.


She stood when he did the last button at the back of her dress. "Behave while I'm gone getting us dinner."

"I do not like you smuggling in food and keeping a stowaway in your bed," he growled. She played with goddamn fire and didn't even seem to care.

The woman rubbed her belly with a smile and pulled on a wrap against the chill of the night sea air. "Where is your sense of adventure? If we get caught, I'll say that we found you in the crates and are nursing you back to health. Tell them that you were in a brawl and woke up here. You can't go to prison for being a stowaway when you didn't try to be a stowaway."

He scowled. "If anyone finds out you have a man stashed in your cabin, you'll be ruined."

She clapped her hands and grinned. "You're a genius! You shall have to make an honest woman of me."

His jaw dropped. "What?! That's not what I meant!"

Lowering herself onto the side of the bed, she stroked his cheek and smiled like a fool. "It's perfect. And romantic. I rescued you and nursed you back to health, and now you must save my honor and marry me. You'll need to walk on deck in a few days to regain your strength - what a perfect cover. If I trim your hair short and you keep the beard, no one will recognize you. We can claim your limp is from being beaten. Mark, no one will suspect - "

"Suspect anything of a widow whose husband's body was never found and she departed for America the same day he died and she comes up with a new beau on the ship?" He gave a pointed look.

"You'll just have to court and woo me like you should've in the first place." She shrugged.

His eyebrows shot up.

"Mark Debonairo would never court and woo. My new beau will be sweet and charming. No one will suspect a thing."

"You're going to let a man court you days after I'm dead?!"

She smiled and waved a hand. "You're not dead and you're the one courting me. Don't be so melodramatic. We have to come up with a new name for you, though." The woman tapped her chin in thought.

Goddammit, she had a point that it wasn't real. But still. The blasted broken arm didn't permit crossing his arms over his chest, so a fierce glare that had sent many men running would have to do. "You will not parade a man around a week after my death."

The chit didn't even blink at the glare but patted his cheek. "I shall cry and wear black and reluctantly accept your proposal out of honor. I do like your beard - it's very handsome and makes you quite rugged. Your voice is a hint deeper from the smoke - should it stay, all the better for your disguise. I shouldn't mind having a husband with such a deep voice either. It very much makes me want to kiss you. Be good and think of a new name while I'm gone." Then she stood and rubbed at her eyes. The chit picked up a handkerchief.

"What are you doing?" he growled, ready to pull his hair out. The damn woman had no sense of proper respect for a dead man or the mess she put herself in.

"If I make my eyes red and water, it'll look like I've been mourning." Then she actually turned on real tears. Dabbing at her nose, she stepped out the door and closed it.

His jaw fell. The chit was back at it again leaving him speechless right and left! And he goddamn loved it.


Brigands carried her plate and walked her to the cabin room door. She gave him an apologetic smile - the dear man had a soft heart and had teared up at her fake mourning. "Thank you," she whispered and took the plate. Then she slipped inside.

Mark sat exactly how she'd left him with the scowl still on his face.

"We'll have to share a plate. I piled it as much as I could and claimed I need it for the babe." She set it on the bed and then climbed in beside him. Sitting against the headboard, she frowned and set the plate on her belly. "Alright, cranky pants, you'll feel better with food." She set a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his lips.

He gave a dry look. "I can feed myself."

"Should you ever try to feed me, I won't complain." She beamed a smile.

"If - " A mouthful of mashed potatoes cut off his words. My, the man could glare.

She took a scoop herself and leaned down to where he reclined a bit lower to keep pressure off his hip. A quick kiss on his forehead and she scooped more food. "Did you think of a new name?"

"Yes. Gimme A. Fork," he grumbled.

A laugh burst out. "Clever. Alright, Gimme, here is your fork." She handed it over and lowered the plate for him to reach.

The man stabbed a chunk of meat with it.

"I'll cut it for you - " The words died when he bit and ripped a chunk off.

"I haven't eaten in three days; I'm allowed to be barbaric," he snapped.

"Three days? Why?" She frowned. Perhaps there hadn't been enough food in the house.

"I was stressed," he growled and ripped off another chunk. Another dark look.

She took another scoop of potatoes. "My Cuddle Bear isn't jealous that I'm going to be courting him while mourning his fake death, is he?" A slight smile pulled.

"I'm still as uncouth and boarish as two days ago, woman! I don't need coddling and feeding!"

"Do you hurt? Is that why you're cranky?"

"No!" He stabbed the other piece of meat and held it out to her. "Eat before I make that babe starve," he snapped.

She smiled and took the fork. "You wouldn't eat all the food and leave me with none. I'll ask Grandfather if perhaps you can get out of bed this evening and even stand outside at the rail. You need fresh air." Scooping some cooked carrots, she handed him the spoon. When he took it and jammed the food in his mouth, she pushed the food around on the plate. He seemed to think she took his death lightly. "Brigands told me at eight in the morning that you were dead." She swallowed hard at the terrible memory that still twisted her heart. "I cried straight past midnight when we found you. I was ready to raise the babe on my own without ever marrying again."

He dropped the spoon. "If I die, I want you to remarry," he spat. "A man has a right to panic that it might've been better to leave you to go to America on your own than with a penniless cripple hiding from the law! Illegal papers will need to be drawn up for a new identity! You're about to give birth and there's no home, no money, no career!"

She smiled. "Is that what has you in a dither? My goodness, I thought something serious was wrong."

"It is serious!" he huffed.

"Yes, Mark."

"This is our lives, our future!"

"Of course, Mark." She bit back a smile.

"This isn't some romantic adventure!"

"It could be. Life isn't always luck but perspective."

"Woman!"

A soft laugh bubbled up. "You forget one very important thing." She set the plate aside and slid down to be eye level for his fierce look. "I've been poor and starving and uneducated. But that is not the worst things can get." The smile faded as she searched his eyes. "Yesterday I learned what the worst is. We will figure out a way to put food on the table and find a place to live. I think life will be different here - simpler and less based on Society's rules. If I have you, I will be content. It's a new start, Mark. An adventure that we get to figure out together. It'll be hard, but we'll do it." She rested her head on his shoulder.

Silence. His good hand slipped into hers. "It's not called the Wild West without reason. We will lack comforts and certain civilized ways of England. There are no housekeepers or maids or cooks..." Then the truth finally came out. "This is not the life I want to give you, and I would not hold you to it if you decide you want to go back to England as a widow."

Leaning up on her elbow, she looked at him. Anna's teachings had been so deeply rooted in him that he struggled to let go. "The life I want you to give me is one with you. I will not run, and I'm not afraid because I'm with you."


A bit later, she pulled on her robe and went to Grandfather's door when Mark grew quiet and inward like he hurt. Grandfather followed her in with his medical bag and Grandmama came hot on his heels.

"There's my grandson," Grandmama beamed and walked over with her arms outstretched.

Mark smiled and blushed and pulled the sheets up a bit higher over his bare chest.

With a peck on the cheek, Grandmama gave him a gentle hug. "Our men go without shirts in the summer. It is not scandalous like in England." Then she stepped back and touched his cheek just below his developing black eye. "Tiger, give him some mugwort for the bruising." Then she turned. "Tanya, be sure to put it anywhere else he's bruising." Grandmama turned to him again, her manner suddenly very solemn. "I wasn't sure what we were going to do with Tanya - I worried she'd die of a broken heart with how hard she took the news yesterday."

His eyes flew to her, as if he hadn't quite truly believed that she'd mourned him so fully.

"Well, I shall go so Tiger can tend to you." Grandmama swept out of the room.

Grandfather knelt beside the bed and nodded for her to sit on the edge. "We'll start with your arm. Get the worst over with."

She held his hand but looked away as Grandfather peeled away the bandage, causing Mark to pant in pain. "Is it infected?" She swallowed down dinner again.

"No, it looks very good. More is bleeding than I expected, which is good. We'll do it again tomorrow and see how it looks, but we might be done sooner than I thought." Once that was done, Grandfather exposed Mark's hip.

"It wasn't that black and blue earlier. Is something wrong?"

"No. Any pain?" Grandfather palpated and moved Mark's leg.

"Sore but not painful," Mark stated, his poor chest already damp from the agony of Grandfather's exam.

"Check his lungs."

"I will in a bit." Grandfather smiled. "Roll onto your side and we'll check your back."

She held his broken arm steady as he turned. And choked back a gasp at the sight of his back. Red lines and red spots ran from under his shoulder blade where the wood had entered all the way down to the bottom of his spine. Black and blue bruising nearly blanketed the entire right side of his back. Pointing to the red lines with wide eyes and looking at Grandfather, her heart pounded. Infection?

He shook his head like he read her mind. "Those are blood blisters and bruises. Whatever he landed on was blunt enough to not puncture but hard enough to damage the tissue beneath. Mark, these are large and likely adding to your pain. I'll lance these. Tanya, would you ask Brigands to fetch some whiskey? We'll clean his back with that."

"Will it hurt?" She didn't move a muscle.

"No, and it might bring him some relief. Go on."

So she knocked on Brigands' door and he opened it, already in his nightclothes. "Would you go to the kitchen for whiskey? Mark has blood blisters, but Grandfather says cleaning his back with whiskey will help with lancing?"

He nodded and smiled. "His Lordship often used whiskey or Scotch to clean wounds, my lady. Your Grandfather is making a sound decision. Let me dress and then I'll be back."

She returned to her cabin and offered silent thanks when Brigands came with a full glass and knelt beside Grandfather to help. The room dipped the moment blood leaked out of the first spot they worked.

"My lady, lie down and keep the master occupied." Brigands offered his arm to clutch as he led the path to bed.

Mark held out his good hand and helped her settle. "Deep breaths."

She laid down in his arms and closed her eyes against the wave of nausea. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's relieving pressure. Don't think about it," he whispered. His quiet calmness helped fade away the clamminess from nerves. He brushed a kiss over her brow, his beard a soft tickle.

He began to tremble minutes later. "Mark?" She leaned back and searched his face.

His brow furrowed and his eyes remained closed, but his chest rose and fell a bit too fast and his nostrils flared. He curled a fist at the back of her dress and clutched the material. Grandfather sent Brigands out with something.

"His back is locking in a spasm," Grandfather explained and continued to work. "It's a wonder it didn't happen sooner with the damage to the muscles."

His entire body tensed and eyes squeezed shut, so she cupped his face and leaned her forehead against his. "Almost done. I'll get you compresses when Grandfather finishes."

"Tanya, come," Grandfather ordered.

"Is that alright?" She stroked Mark's cheek. He grunted in agreement, although he didn't open his eyes. So she slid out of bed.

"Mark, roll onto your belly. Tanya, help him with his arm."

"What are you doing?" She helped Mark keep his arm steady as he turned.

Brigands returned with a bucket of steaming water that seemed to be heavy for him. Then he set it down and Grandfather reached into the water and pulled out and dried a stone half the size of her palm. He placed it on Mark's back.

Mark flinched and then gave a soft sigh.

"Won't it burn him?" She touched a stone. The heat was almost too hot to bear.

Grandfather set a few more on Mark's back. "No, child. It's giving him relief. It's what we use back home for pain when there are limited options. Pull up the chair - you need to learn how to do this because he will need it again."

She sat and moved the stones at certain times to various areas where Grandfather instructed. Mark's poor skin felt hot and took on a pink hue from the heat of the stones. "Is it too hot, honey?" No answer. With a frown, she stood and peeked at his face turned toward the wall. The poor thing was fast asleep.

Grandfather touched Mark's brow and smiled. "We will stop in a few minutes being he can't tell us if he's getting too warm."

Brigands yawned.

"Thank you." She looked over her shoulder at Brigands. "You should get some rest. We'll be done soon."

"You know where I am should you need me, my lady."

Silence settled when Brigands left. Grandfather listened to Mark's lungs. "Different ways are not necessarily bad medicine."

Her cheeks burned and she moved a couple stones on Mark's back. "I'm sorry. I'm the same way with England's physicians. If a surgeon proves to me that he's a good surgeon, then I'll trust him."

"It is good to not blindly trust, but remember physicians are human too and will not always get it right. I'm sure your husband has made errors in his medical career."

She nodded. "I learned as a child to not rely on anyone but myself," she said quietly. "I am learning. His back looks better now that you've lanced the blood blisters. Will he need cleaning with whiskey in the morning?"

Grandfather pressed his lips together, almost like he tried not to smile. "Probably not a bad idea. You realize your husband will need a trade in America?"

"Yes. He loves medicine. I'm hoping he'll be able to practice. I think it'd shame his pride if I worked, but he should not bear all the burden. Perhaps I could take in laundry in Colorado? Then I could be home with the babe."

Grandfather laughed. "Maids and laundry wash are luxuries that very few can afford in Colorado. Means are very simple. Your husband may need a nurse, and you have an intuition for medicine. And to learn, if what your husband says is true."

She blinked and looked at him. "And what has he said?"

"Our first evening there by the fire, your husband told me that you have exhausted all his university books and even some professors. He went so far as to say that he believes your intelligence to exceed his own."

Her back straightened and she looked away. Even her own poor class knew that female intelligence was not an appropriate quality and should a husband be eccentric enough to indulge her in it, a woman was never to make her husband feel inferior. Female intelligence was to be a well-kept secret. "He said such a thing?" She busied her hands with moving the stones as her stomach twisted.

"And seemed quite proud of it."

Her gaze jerked to him.

He smiled. "You either have a supremely self-confident husband, a very forward-thinking husband or one who very much adores you."

She couldn't hold back a small smile. "I should think it just may be all three."

"With that said, I do not think it a far stretch to say that I believe your husband would enjoy a pretty little nurse by his side who just maybe will do as much learning as teaching."

"He was one of the best female surgeons in England. There is nothing I could teach him - "

"I seem to recall someone saying to debried his burn rather than use carbolic acid. It's working, isn't it?"

"Because I saw the surgeon do it on my wound. Mark would've said the same if he'd known it could work."

"But he didn't; you did."

Squeezing into bed beside Mark after Grandfather packed up and left, she stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Working with Mark would be wonderful and exciting, although there might be a few faints from the sight of blood thrown in there. He would be a good teacher. The babe could come on calls and be tied on her back. Papa had mentioned once that Mama's people tied babes on their backs. And Mark would have his passion of practicing medicine while still not missing out on watching the babe grow.

Rumors said that a surgeon's wife was just the working class's version of a poor man's widow with how often the husband would be gone on calls. But wives in England were certainly not nurses for their husbands. Rubbing her belly, she rested her cheek against Mark's arm. Life would be different and perhaps hard for awhile in America. Mark may have a large adjustment living with limited means for awhile, but with reminders that everything would be alright and she didn't care about lots of gowns and fancy things, he'd be alright. This would be a new start without the shadows of England's rumors and gossip. Life would be good in America.