"No cane," Mark grimaced as Grandfather helped him stand the next morning. "I didn't learn how to walk with this damn leather brace to give myself away now."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You had this fake death planned even when we met at the market, didn't you?"

"No, I decided in the middle of the night to die," he snapped. When she pressed a kiss to his lips, he stared and fell silent.

She smiled. "Before I take you out, we need to clean you up and figure out a new name." Then she led him to the chair. "Sit."

"Sit? I thought we're going to get breakfast!" he huffed and let her push him down.

Grandfather chuckled. "I think I'll leave you to it. I'll be in the dining hall." Then he hurried out.

Mark held out his hand to where Grandfather escaped through the door. "Why does he get to go eat?!"

A giggle bubbled up. "You will eat soon enough. Just be still so I can get done." Ignoring the scowl, she picked up Grandfather's scissors. "How short should we go?"

"Just like that." He started to get up.

"Mark," she laughed and pushed his shoulder to have him sit.

"Clark."

"Hm?" She started to cut.

"It's close enough that I'll still answer," he growled. "You cannot go around calling me by my old name."

"Clark." Stepping around him, she cracked a smile. "You could pass for a Clark. What's your last name?"

"Johnson. It's common in America. Are you done?"

A slow contraction hit. And grew in intensity. Closing her eyes and blowing out a slow breath, she set a hand on the back of his chair.

"Tanya?" A hand rested on the babe, and he must've felt the hardening. "Take a deep breath." He gave a gentle tug on her arm and eased her into his lap. "Let it out. It's practice labor. Good. Another breath," he said so calmly.

Another contraction followed right on its heels. The belly tightening grew more and more intense. She clutched his bicep. Oh dear god.

"Don't hold your breath. Breathe with me."

The sound of deep breaths made it easy to follow as he pressed where her lower back ached. She released a soft moan of relief when the contraction finally faded enough to draw a deeper breath.

"Good girl," he cooed.

HAving a larger belly made it more painful than when the babe had threatened to come months ago. This might be worse than expected. She laid her head on his shoulder as he stroked away the last of the contraction. "I don't want to do this."

"Yes, you can." He cupped her jaw and forced her to lift her head to meet his eyes. "Women have babies all the time. I'll be there the entire time. We'll walk and do massages, and there are breathing rhythms that help."

And many women died. Like Mama. But Mark had better survival rates than many, if not all physicians. She kept silent.

"I'm not going to let anything happen." He kissed her brow.

Worrying wouldn't change anything. Using his shoulder to push herself up, she resumed cutting his hair.

After a moment, he caught her hand and turned as best his body allowed in the chair. "Tell me what's wrong, my dear."

A soft smile helped soften the worry. "I like when you call me that."

The corner of his mouth twitched from a threatening smile. He waited.

"You are a brilliant surgeon, but even you haven't been able to save everyone."

He sighed through his nose and led her to stand between his legs. With strokes to her belly, he looked up into her eyes. "As a surgeon, you learn each time. As with most physicians, I lost many more patients in my first couple years because I did not know better. It isn't right or fair, but it is fact that with experience comes skill. I've learned what to do with a woman who births breech or to check for the cord around the babe's neck during delivery. I know ways to stop hemorrhaging and when to do surgery. I've delivered babes in England's homes and Africa's roadsides."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"If you deliver on this ship, I am not worried because I have delivered babes with no supplies but my hands."

"I didn't know you've done travels."

He actually cracked a smile that faded just as fast. "You perhaps have more fear because your mother passed from childbirth, but I won't let anything happen to you. What are you afraid of most?" The man pressed a kiss to her belly.

She rested her hand over his on the babe. "I think first the pain."

The man frowned. "But Sandy - "

"Sandy had birthed twice. Your books say subsequent babes are born quicker. That probably means less pain."

"Oh for crying out loud. She delivered like most women. Do you think I would propose having more children if it actually meant hours of screaming in agony?" he snapped.

"You're angry that I'm scared?" She frowned and took a step back in hurt.

"No!" He caught her hand and pulled her into his lap, resting his broken arm on her leg and his other hand wrapping around her back to keep her in place. "I am frustrated that I don't know how to make you less afraid!" he huffed. "You're my damn wife, and I'm going to take care of you!"

A small giggle came up. "I don't know that you should yell at your patients that you'll take care of them. It's a bit of an oxymoron."

He swatted her bottom. "Don't sass me, wench."

His usual gruff demeanor helped chase away the nerves. Draping her arms around his neck, she purred, "Do you have to punish me?"

"I'll punish you damn well once my belly's full!" he barked.

With a smile, she stood.

"I wasn't finished, woman!" He pulled her into his lap again and gave a most dizzying kiss that left her cheeks hot. Then he pulled back. "That look suits you better than that haughty tongue. Should you sass me again, I'll have no choice but to kiss you, even if it's in the dining hall with dozens of eyes around. We would be thoroughly scandalize."

A delighted laugh bubbled out. "I quiver in my shoes." She stood with a grin. He was the biggest liar. He of all people wanted to avoid scandal.

The most arrogant expression settled on his face. "For that lip, you'll sleep naked in my bed tonight."

Laughter froze mid-air and she blinked. "You're not serious?"

"I see I must prove that I'd punish you. Come, I'm hungry." The man looked at her expectantly.

She blinked in confusion and stepped in front of him.

He set her hands on his shoulders and pulled her closer between his legs.

She frowned in puzzlement when he pulled at the bottom of her skirts. He slipped a hand under. Her knees buckled and she gasped at the surge of pleasure. When he eased her into his lap, she held on being the room still spun.

"I love you, my saucy wench," he whispered after the waves had calmed. "Will you behave now that I've tired you?"

Keeping her eyes closed, she nuzzled his chest where he'd rested her head under his chin. "For a bit." She rubbed the light contractions that he'd caused.

"Good. Does it hurt?" he asked in distraction and resumed when she shook her head. "I've thought of your insane proposal at being caught taking care of my sorry hide. We shall let ourselves be noticed."

She sat up with raised eyebrows.

"We shall maintain appropriate physical barriers in public as if he have just met. And a widow will not be flirtatious."

She nodded in all seriousness.

"I'm a penniless soldier returned from war, which will explain why my speech isn't of the poor but I have no means. I got in a pub brawl, but that's the last of my memory until I woke up in your cabin. I'm from Northern England but have trouble remembering much else before I left for war, due to my blow on the head. What's my name?"

"Clark Johnson. Just how long have you been conscious?"

"Since when I actually woke up. The fewer lies to keep straight, the better." He looked down at Grandfather's clothes.

His shoulders strained the material. The sleeves were only a hint too short and the pants a little too long. His shoes suck out like rich sore thumbs. "I'm afraid you must go only in your stockings. Your shoes will give you away. We'll pawn them in America for something more fitting."

"I'm sure you'll teach me how to pawn," he growled, as if the thought that she'd learned how upset him. "Your father was a moron."

She smiled. There was something special about having someone take care of her now. "Yes, Mark, I mean Clark. You've said that before." She stood and finished cutting his hair. "This will take some getting used to a new name."

"Say it in every sentence."

"I like your real name."

"I do not have a real name because I'm dead. Use it."

She stood before him and frowned. "Maybe you don't look like a Clark."

He rolled his eyes. "Tanya, it's just a name."

"But one that you'll be called all the time." She said in all seriousness, "One that I'll call you when we make love."

"Then what do you propose?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"This isn't hard," he growled a few minutes later as Grndmama and Grandfather studied him with her.

"Jacob? Henry? Thomas?" Grandfather threw out more names.

Even Grandmama wrinkled her nose. "He doesn't look like any of those. Clark is too close to his name, and we're all going to slip."

"Women," Grandfather sighed.

"If you wouldn't act like such a lion sometimes, this might be easier," Grandmama teased Mark.

"Lions. What about Daniel?" She studied him.

Grandmama smiled. "Like the Biblical story. I'd say escaping a fire isn't unlike escaping the lion's den. Daniel. The beard fits that name."

"What do you think?" It had a simplicity and yet an elegance to it.

Mark shrugged. "I don't care as long as I can eat soon,'" he said pointedly.

"Alright, let's try Daniel."

"You did a lovely job with his hair - he looks quite different. It goes nicely with the beard." Grandmama nodded in approval.

"Do we get to eat now?" he grumbled.

She pressed a kiss to his lips. "We can eat now, cranky man."

"You will keep your distance. My contact will be limited to your grandfather, as is proper for a widow," he huffed and stood.

She cracked a smile. "Yes, dear. I'll be uninterested and in mourning."

"Come." Grandmama linked arms with her. "We'll leave the men to follow."

She glanced behind a time or two on deck. Poor Mark - Daniel - seemed sore and came at a slow pace, taking Grandfather's assistance being his bad hip and knee were on the same side.

She frowned when Grandfather sat Mark alone at a small table and then joined them.

"He insists on public solitude to dissuade any gossip if anyone saw him leave your room," Grandfather said under his breath. "He will be curt and discourteous at times for your sake."

"But - "

Grandfather gave a firm look. "Least it look as if you had a lover on the side," he whispered.

Oh goodness. She dropped her eyes and kept her head bowed throughout the meal like a grieving widow should. At the end of breakfast, she glanced his way.

The man sat hunched over his plate, likely to take strain off of his back. All the same, it gave an aire of angry bitterness like he wanted to be left alone.

"Be certain to let people see you both go into our cabin, Lily." Grandfather stayed behind when Grandmama escorted her back.

"Grandmama, it would be good for Mark - "

"Who, dear?"

She grit her teeth. "Daniel to walk on deck. He needs to get out and stretch, and fresh air would be good so he doesn't feel cooped up," she whispered and gave a nod when a couple passed.

"He is not your concern, but a patient of your Grandfather's," she said through her teeth. "In public, you will maintain your distance."

Brigands stepped out of their cabin, a bit pale. "Hello, my lady. Madam." He gave a nod. "The sea is not agreeing with us. Do you need anything?"

"Of course not. You go rest with your wife. Do you need anything? Perhaps some plain biscuits and water?" She set a hand on his arm. "I'll get some. You wouldn't say even if you did." Spinning on her heel, she left Grandmama and hurried down the dock to the dining hall. And turned the corner to run straight into Mark and Grandfather in the busy dining hall doorway. "Oh!"

"Beg your pardon," he grunted, but his eyes narrowed on her belly.

She rubbed the babe even though it'd been a light bump. "Excuse me."

"Mr. Johnson, you've been unconscious, so I don't believe you formally met my granddaughter, wife of the late Marquess Debonairo," he slipped in, loud enough for others to hear. "My dear, Mr. Johnson, the man who was injured."

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment when other people stared as they passed. A tiny pang of homesickness hit at the mention of his surname and the life left behind.

How did a widow greet a man when she was supposed to be locked away in mourning? And confinement? So she offered her hand. He gave a minute shake of his head to correct the etiquette. She dropped her hand.

"Good day, Marchioness," he grunted. He touched his forelock, and his eyes followed a woman entering the dining hall who gave her a critical look up and down. "My condolences." Then he glanced at the woman who stopped and studied him. And he let go of Grandfather's aid and limped away.

Her jaw fell open in shock. He certainly took his role as disinterested to a complete level.

Grandfather set an arm around her shoulders and watched him go. "He's not much for speaking or manners. He prefers his solitude." When the woman left, he dropped his arm. "Are all English so nosey?"

"People are."

After delivering water and biscuits to Brigands, she slipped into Mark's room. He reclined on the bed without a shirt and flipped through an old newspaper. "Mark - "

"You're in the wrong man's room."

She sighed. "Daniel. Ugh, I don't like that name either anymore. You're Mark. Grandfather said he left the stones in here."

He absently pointed to a bucket of steaming water on the floor in the corner. "It'd be wise if you settle on my name before we have to correct people."

She walked over to take the bucket closer to him.

"No!" He tossed aside the paper and pushed himself up. "That's far too heavy in your condition."

"And in yours."

He grimaced as he hefted the metal bucket and immediately set it down. So he toed it over. Then he pulled over her chair and sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on his knee and broken arm in his lap. "You shouldn't be here."

"You didn't have to be so rude. And I do need to be here so you can get better." She lowered her bulk into the chair and leaned to the side to pick up a stone. "Lie down."

"No one will mistake interest from a man who is rude to a woman." He didn't move. "You're irritated with me."

"I am not." Maybe a little. She dried off a hot stone.

"Would it suit you better if I toss up your skirts right now?" The sarcasm in his tone didn't help.

"Don't be crass and lie down," she ordered.

"You prefer that I fall at your feet like a smitten lover? Your reputation would be just as ruined as - " His mouth snapped shut.

She looked away. "As the harlot I was said to be in England?" For some reason, that hurt coming from him. The wall he was trying to put up both publically and privately for some stupid sense of chivalry hurt. "What's one more man? I spread my legs for a thief and a man who wed me out of obligation. What's a poor soldier to the mix?"

His face reddened in anger. He flung out a hand and sent the small night table crashing into the opposite wall. She startled. His hand shot to the knob on the back of the chair and he hovered, his eyes flashing with rage. "He touched what was not his," he hissed. "You are mine."

Her eyes bore into his in challenge, wanting this possessiveness because it was better than his cold disinterest. "I legally belong to no man." The tone came out hard and unyielding.

His hand slid under the skirts. "But you want to belong to me." His voice fell to a husky purr and he managed to sink to one knee.

She gasped and grabbed the sides of the chair. "You won't take me," she breathed.

"And you love it because you know how much I want to." His hot breath swept over her lips, tantalizing with his taste.

"Take me," she breathed and dropped her head back as her heart thundered from the pleasure he wove. "I hate that he still owns part of me. Wash him away." Stretching and a sharp pain. Her head flew upright with a soft gasp.

He pulled his hand out and looked at the blood on two fingers. Heartbreak clouded his eyes.

"You have to. I'm not frightened because it's you. The next time, it won't hurt." She stroked his cheek.

His eyes fell to the small streaks of blood on his fingers. "I will not hurt you." He pushed himself up and wiped his hand on a towel.

"So you're going to leave the babe to tear his way out?"

"Don't insinuate that I'd leave you to suffer," he hissed. "As the babe delivers and puts too much pressure for you to feel, I will see to it that you can fit the babe without being torn up." His eyes flashed. "To take you now would cause as much pain as he did! I will not rape you!" he shouted, his chest heaving.

Her eyes widened. That was the root of reason for his disinterest. "Is that what you think? That if you cause pain it's like raping me?"

He spun away. "Leave. You shouldn't be seen in here."

She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He didn't trust himself to resist and feared hurting her. The man didn't seem to realize that he never could be that kind of monster. "Lie down. I won't go without tending to your back, sweetie."

The muscles tensed in his back and he walked to the bed. "Don't call me that." Something in the tone said it's because Anna had called him that.

A slight smile tugged as he laid on his belly. Despite the bruising and cuts, the man had a very nice back, and the large muscles flexed quite deliciously. Although, he did hiss in a breath in pain. He needed a tease to ease his tension. "I believe I'm grateful to Grandfather for this treatment." She sat in the chair and pulled a fresh stone out of the bucket.

He grunted in question and turned his head on the pillow to face her.

"Because I get to have a fine view of your muscles twice a day."

His back bounced in laughter and his lips pressed together in a smothered smile. The moment the warm stone touched his back, he flinched and his hands fisted the sheets. After two more stones, he sighed and relaxed with his eyes closed for a few minutes as she moved the stones around. "Does your back hurt?"

She looked at him to see blue eyes studying.

"You never complain of a pain that most women with child have. I don't think I've ever offered a massage."

"And you will do one now in your state? I'm fine. I do have a surgeon question, though." When he waited with a patient look, she drew a deep breath for courage. "It feels like there's something between my hips more and it's easier to breathe today."

"I noticed the babe looks lower. She's likely dropped and is in position for birth."

Her brow furrowed and she moved a stone to his shoulder. "Does that mean she'll come soon?"

"Not necessarily. Although, I'm not certain you won't birth at sea." His lips pressed together.

"Are you worried if I do?"

"I peeked in the surgeon's quarters, and he has tools I can make do with if things go wrong. The women in your tribe birth alone in the woods - I have to think that is good because only women with wide hips and characteristics inclined to breeding would survive, thereby passing down those traits to her daughter."

"But Mama - "

"May've died from something as avoidable as the surgeon pulling out the placenta and causing a hemorrhage. I asked your grandmother if she had a difficult birth, and she did not. She had one child because of difficulty conceiving, which could be as simple as your grandfather not being fertile."

She moved more stones. "To make the babe fit, must you cut all the way to him?"

"No." His eyes widened in horror. Stiffly rolling to his side, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Then he took her hand, as he was want to do for serious conversation. "We already took care of most of the internal scars that worried me. The bit that is left will be easier to reach as you deliver." He drew a breath and then hesitated. "Do you remember how I had to stitch Sandy?" When she nodded with a frown, he continued. "You..." He looked down and fingered her wedding ring, as if he had difficulty discussing it. "He ripped you. Quite badly." Tears shimmered in his eyes when he met her eyes. "I understand that you didn't have the funds and likely were too frightened to see a surgeon. With the degree of damage, a surgeon would've had to help guide so you didn't over heal, which you did."

"I don't understand."

"I do not want you to be frightened, and this will not necessarily mean you'll have that much more pain than any other woman who needs sutures from birth. When you give birth, I'll wait until the pressure of the babe helps numb everything before I make the incision so you can fit the babe through."

"Well, I suspected that after I saw what you had to do with Sandy." A smile blossomed and she touched his cheek. "You worry too much." But he didn't look relieved. Her smile faded. "It's not just a cut to fit the babe, is it?"

He gave a slow shake of his head. "You need reconstruction, if you do want more children or to consummate." He eased onto his knees, dipped his fingers in the bucket and then drew a picture on the wood floor. "If you want it, I would have to stitch like this. When you scarred, you over healed here." Those blue eyes looked up.

Her face burned. He hadn't just been a gentleman - it'd been impossible for him to claim his consummation right. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand, or I would've told you to do it when you cut the adhesions - "

A scowl narrowed his eyes and he pushed himself onto the bed again. "Did I say this was your fault?" he snapped.

"Well, no." She frowned in confusion.

"Then I will not hear you utter such damn idiocy again, understood? And only a goddamn quack would do such surgery during pregnancy when the risk of complications is higher," he barked. "I'll do it during delivery if it's what you want."

She cocked her head. "You would be content if we never consummated?"

"I should be content with what makes my wife happy!" he barked.

"I'm not your wife, actually."

"Yes, you are!" He stomped a foot. "Dammit, answer the question!"

Stepping between his legs to be closer, a smile tugged as she stroked his cheek, very much enjoying the texture of his beard. "Seeing how there's no sense in not doing it if we're to have more babies and I think I should very much enjoy my husband claiming me and you have to cut anyways, I should say there's little wisdom in not doing the surgery."

He grunted, his attention seeming more focused on stroking the babe. "Lock the door and close the curtain," he grumbled.

So she did and held back the grin as she returned to him.

The man turned her around and stripped her clothes off. Then his hands glided down her back to her thighs, creating delightful shivers. He turned her to face him and did the same thing on her front. The man then sat back and his eyes perused.

A flush crept up. "Are you going to just gawk?"

"It is not called gawking when admiring a work of art." His voice took on a husky quality.

She stroked the babe and looked away in embarrassment when a smile tugged. "One would not think you to be a poet."

"One would not think me a great many things." He didn't seem inclined to move. "If I was to have my way, clothes would not be worn inside this room."

"Not if you ever want me to kiss you again," she laughed.

He pulled her down to straddle his hips. "God, I love it when you sass me." His hands cupped her bottom and his head bowed to kiss over her heart.

A giggle bubbled up. "Your beard tickles."

"My deepest apologies," he rumbled in his chest and slipped a hand between her thighs. "I shall atone." Then his hot tongue licked her breast.

"Mark - " She bit her lip and leaned into him.

"That's not my name."

Dear heaven, the smoke left his voice deeper and the huskiness even more so. Her hands buried in his hair and her head fell back. "It has to be - it's what I'll say whenever you make love to me."

"I plan on it being often," he mumbled as his mouth closed over the other breast.

A soft gasp. "Mark, people will hear in the daylight."

"You do not deny me simply because it is daylight. I love that about you," he growled, "I have to have you." He pulled her down onto the bed and laid down behind. Kisses to her shoulder and strokes over her belly continued as he pressed his need against her bottom.

"You will leave your clothes on - you're supposed to be convalescing." She reached behind and cupped the back of his head.

"Your medicine is better than anything a surgeon can give. Lie with me." His hand glided over her hip, the man clearly restless.

"I thought I shouldn't be in here." She cracked a smile.

A light swat on her bottom. "Don't give me lip, woman."

"Yes, Mark." The smile grew.

He groaned with need. "Don't act all innocent like that," he huffed.

"No, Mark." She looked over her shoulder with a wide, innocent expression. "Am I going to be punished?"

The man pushed up onto his elbow, despite a soft hiss of pain, and leaned over her shoulder to capture her mouth in a long, passionate kiss. "Tanya, I want you," he whispered and nipped her lip.

Shivers of delight skittered down. Pushing herself up, she turned.

He laid down and used his good hand to support her belly as she leaned over him. "Rest the babe on my belly so you don't strain your back."

Her smile faded as she did rest the weight on his stomach. Without getting on all fours to lean around her belly, it'd be impossible to kiss him. "That just killed the mood," she said with hot cheeks.

But he caressed the babe, his pupils dilated with desire.

The woman looked ashamed all of the sudden. She had come so far - even voluntarily stripping her clothes in daylight without a glimmer of fear or shame. He'd be damned if now she pulled away. The chit had no idea just now mad she drove him. "Touching your pregnant body excites me," he growled, his voice husky, and he cupped her breast. That didn't come out as romantic as intended. This was unfamiliar territory of trying to woo a woman in bed. Anna had never liked conversation in the bedchamber. The words didn't seem to help Tanya.

She sat back and held the sheet up to her chest.

He frowned. This wasn't like her to just pull away.

"What if after the babe comes, I don't excite you anymore?"

A deep sigh heaved through his nose. It hadn't occurred that reassuring her so much during pregnancy could leave her self-conscious afterwards. "You shall please me just as much, woman."

"I don't have the curves of English women - I have far more curve with pregnancy than without. And I haven't been in the sun much all year. Usually I'm a bit darker and - "

"And I could not care less," he cut in. "Women worry about absurdities. I will likely be in the sun more and darken too."

She bit her lip. "But..." The woman hesitated. "People will know I look like Mama's people. I asked Grandmama at breakfast, and she said the English are not always kind to the natives, that people may not be understanding that you wed me - "

"You do not wish for us to procure a marriage license?" he snapped.

"That's not what I said." She looked at him cross-eyed.

"Then I fail to see the significance of what others think. If they want to be ignorant bastards, all the more reason for the law to be on my side for punching any man who isn't respectful to you," he huffed.

A fairy-like twinkle filled the air from her laughter. "Is that how you solve problems?" Then she leaned forward and traced the tip of her delicate finger down his nose. "Is that how you got this crook?"

He growled and turned his head away. A simple touch like that shouldn't trigger such ungentlemanly thoughts. "My patient's husband didn't take it well when I checked her labor progress."

Her hand flew to her mouth. The chit tried to smother a laugh! "Oh, you poor baby." She giggled and cupped his face in her hands as she pressed a kiss to his nose.

"And I broke my jaw here once," he grunted and pointed to his chin.

She smiled and didn't seem to mind the whiskers one bit as she gave a kiss.

"And I have a black eye." He pointed. When she gave a gentle kiss just below his eye, he helped the sheet to slip off her. "And my arm is broken."

Her smile grew as she kissed it. "It might be better if I kiss every inch to cover all injuries," she purred and pressed a kiss to his chest.

Dear god, it felt so good, so intimate whenever she kissed his chest. It surged a sense of masculinity and instincts to protect her. A soft grunt of agreement and he closed his eyes. "In a few days, I should be more able-bodied to thank my pretty nurse." Her protest could be sensed, so he continued. "If you argue, I shall be forced to admit you're beautiful," he snapped. "It wouldn't do to also admit that as much as you find your appearance lacking, I find it incredibly erotic. And your mind more so. Neither would it be gentlemanly to say the content of my dreams some nights would make you too much of a blushing bride to remain in my bed." He cracked an eye open to peek.

The woman cocked her head and frowned. "I don't understand."

He pulled her down onto his chest. "If I cannot make love to you yet, a man is only left to fantasize."

Her eyes widened and her face turned a lovely shade of pink. "Oh."

His eyebrow cocked. Oh? "Help me off with my pants, woman, and then lie with me for a nap," he growled.

That beautiful smile returned and she sat up. "Are you back to growling and barking? No wooing from my beau?" Then she eased his pants over his throbbing hip and another part that throbbed and down his aching knee.

A hiss of pain from bending his knee and he grunted, "If you're unhappy with your lot, find another husband. I will not pretend to be what I'm not, woman."

She kissed the tip of his nose and tucked him in. "I think I prefer your blunt growls. I shouldn't know what to do with a man who would court like Mr. Manchester."

That caused a pang of regret. She deserved a gentleman who courted with flowers and poses, not some beast who snapped and growled.

Then she climbed in and tucked herself against his side. "Never would I have imagined ending up with a man like you." Then she laid her belly against his side and her head on his shoulder. "I would very much miss my bear if you courted and wooed me," she chattered. "You growl when you try to hide sentiment, and it's so very sweet. Don't change. I want you to always be my cuddle bear. If you no longer growled, you couldn't be my bear anymore. You make me so impossibly happy that sometimes I cry. I didn't know such happiness existed."

Another pang, but that of heartstrings being pulled...very, very hard. His throat grew tight and tears welled.

"I hope..." her words interrupted with a yawn, "that I can make you just as happy someday. I ..." Her words began to fade as she wore herself out. "I hope one day you'll think its worth it for you to have left everything...to come to America...with me..." Her breathing evened out in sleep.

"Of course I'm following to the ends of the earth. I would follow you to Hell and back," he whispered and pressed a kiss to her hair. And the tears fell.