Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Have been having some medical problems and am scheduled for major surgery next Monday.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. It's scandalous. You're not leaving the house," he barked a few mornings later. "Days ago you were in as much pain as childbirth! You will not go bouncing on a horse!"
She finished putting on his belt and looked down. "For years, women have been having pains and riding horses the same day. I think I'll survive a few days later."
"Don't mock me, woman! I'm the surgeon and your husband, and I say you will not get on a horse for a few more days!"
"I've never heard of a woman dying because of menses and riding a horse." She gave him a dry look.
"You're welcome."
Rolling her eyes, she ignored his comment. "Pantaloons feel odd - no wonder men are cranky. If I find a horse with a smooth gait, it won't hurt for you to ride him to the clinic when we go back to work in a couple days. Price said if you're there to supervise me, you keep your job. It's either that or I start showing him a little ankle - he might requires calves."
He glared, not seeming to find that funny.
"Oh, come now. I wouldn't really, and he wouldn't dream of touching an Ingine." She tightened the belt more.
"Don't use that word," he snapped. The man's vibrant blue eyes darted to her legs. Then he shifted, as if to hide his straining pantaloons. "Those cling too tight. There's a reason why females don't wear pants, woman."
They were a tad revealing across the hips and thighs. "No one will see but you and Brigands."
He sat on the bed and cocked a dark eyebrow, that roguish, aristocratic arrogance still deep in him. "Until someone passes by the front of the clinic. Woman, do you have any sense of how improper this is?!" he barked.
She smiled. "I do love it when you call me 'woman.' You do that when you're ornery but not so far gone that you can't be teased back into good humor."
A deep growl vibrated up his throat. "I have no qualms about locking you in the bedchamber should you continue to ignore me."
Stopping for a moment, she glanced at him. He did sound serious now. "What would you have me do? Let you jostle until the arteries and veins burst open in your thigh and you hemorrhage? You would leave Charles and I for the sake of your pride over your wife not wearing pants?"
"That's not at all why - " He began to argue and stood on the crutches.
"There's no one around to see. Should you so vehemently object to anything else, I would not press the matter; however, you are risking your health." She turned her chin up to him in challenge. "I'm not Anna, whom no doubt obeyed your every command. Sometimes, husband, a wife knows better. I won't back down, so stop wasting your energy."
His eyes narrowed. "You were far easier to handle when you feared me," he rumbled in his chest. "Although, I should've known to run the moment you opened your mouth at your father's house and began arguing with a marquess."
A laugh bubbled up, completely nonplussed, and she stood on her toes, setting a hand on his shoulder.
He leaned down to accommodate. When she pecked a kiss on his cheek, he simply growled in a way that said it appeased his ego somewhat. "You're still not leaving the house in that."
Turning before the small mirror, she looked at her backside to see what he was so upset about. It hugged improperly tight. Her jaw dropped and she ran a hand over it. "My bottom is bigger than yours!" Spinning around away from him, she covered it with her hands in embarrassment.
The man groaned and followed her on his crutches. "It's your hips that are fuller, which they're supposed to be." When she backed into a wall, he continued to advance until his body pressed again hers. "Even convalescing and considering myself more gentlemanly than many, I still want to rip those pants off," he whispered against her lips.
Shivers of pleasure ran up her spine. "Oh?" she breathed, completely mesmerized by his husky voice.
"Purr for me, my lady love," he whispered in her ear. His hand dipped between her thighs, and she grabbed his shoulders as her knees buckled. "I love how your body responds to my commands," he rumbled, stirring strands of hair near her ear.
"Arrogant, marquess?" she panted as her head fell back when he nibbled her ear. Her heart sped up in anticipation for him to kiss her neck in that perfect way of his.
"You love that I know how to wield and command power," he whispered in her ear but didn't kiss.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head. A cocky smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Arrogant rake," she breathed. "You have no intention of kissing me."
He chuckled and leaned in.
Tilting her head to give him access, she smiled.
But his lips didn't touch. "Do you want me?" His hot breath against her neck was like a drug, weakening her willpower and fluttering her heart.
Biting her lower lip, she nodded.
His fingers stroked her jaw, and the pad of his thumb freed her lower lip.
Each deep breath from her pounding heart brushed her breasts against his hard chest. "You just want to see me want you," she accused breathlessly.
He tilted her chin up with enough force to make the gentle touch a command and met her eyes. "Do you want me to make love to you?"
Every fiber yearned for him, needed him, breathed him. She nodded and clasped a fistful of his shirtfront to pull him closer. Of course he was too wounded yet, but there were other ways. Her eyes fluttered closed as he bowed his head for a kiss, his other hand coming to rest on her hip in a way that was so protective and safe and strong and sexual.
"This moment," he breathed. "Remember that in this moment, you once wanted me so much you trembled."
Opening her eyes, quiet strength and sad acceptance met her gaze. "I'll always want you." Raising onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down and crushed her mouth to his. As his arms embraced, she continued the kiss and unbuttoned her borrowed shirt.
"Tanya, I can't for a couple weeks yet." He pulled back and looked down in confusion as she shrugged off the shirt and reached for her belt.
"I said you can have me as many times as it takes for you to believe that I still desire you. You lit this fire, so you can put it out." She quickly got rid of her clothes and pulled him down again for a kiss. When he kept his hands on her shoulders, as if unsure if he should take advantage of the offer, she wrapped his arms around and guided his hips closer.
"Tanya, I should undress too so I don't frighten you," he panted. Trigger memories is what he meant.
She shook her head against his lips. "Want me so bad that you can't wait." Unbuttoning his shirt, she pressed against his bare chest. The vibrations of his heart against hers were enough to keep the demons away.
"You seemed well pleased," he said in bed a bit later.
Sitting on the edge and facing away from him, her cheeks burned as she put on his borrowed shirt again. "Hush. I will not verbally compliment your abilities too."
"You were quite vocal a few minutes ago." A cocky smile lightened his voice.
With a glance over her shoulder, she suppressed a smile to see him lying on his back with a hand tucked behind his head - like he was quite comfortable in his own body for once. "You can wipe that grin from your face. Pretty soon your complete celibacy will backfire. In the middle of surgery when you look across the table, you'll want me so bad that your body will react of its own accord."
His grin only grew. "Mind over matter, sweetheart. However, should we be at home, I look forward to even the thought of you sending me over the edge."
Ignoring that comment, she pulled on his pants and rolled up the legs to take up the extra length.
A playful swat hit her bottom. He gave an innocent smile when she looked over her shoulder.
"Oh, I thought Paul came in."
He blinked. "Who's Paul?"
Holding in a smile, she gave a wide-eyed look. "Er...I suppose you were bound to find out about my lover."
"Wench, you're trying to make me jealous - sitting there all sexy in my shirt, pretending to have a lover..." He grinned and pulled her backwards across the bed onto his chest.
With a giggle, she turned over to face him.
The laughter in his eyes was replaced with something more tender. "I've seen men lose so much after an amputation. But, nothing seems to devastate them more than losing that look from their wives." He looked away for a moment, obviously unused to speaking such sentiment. "I'm glad you're the one I'm going through this with." Then he guided her head down to rest on his chest as he stroked her hair.
"We'll get through this, Mark. It'll be easier once you get a fake leg and can get back in the daily routine." She held him tighter.
"Tanya?" His voice grew thick. "I know I'm often difficult, but don't mistake it for not being glad you're here."
A lump rose hearing his voice crack. "I know." She scooted up to straddle his hips and press her cheek to his as her own tears fell. "It's alright to be sad sometimes and cry. You don't have to be strong all the time with this."
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and his shoulders silently shook.
Tears burned for his pain and that he'd needed her reassurance to fall apart. "I promise it'll be alright." Cradling the back of his head in her hand, she held him close to be strong because he needed it. "I love you. No matter what happens, I'll always love you."
The back of her shirt tightened as he clutched fistfuls to hold on with everything he was worth.
He hardly spoke the rest of the day and refused to come outside that afternoon while she tested two horses that the professor brought along.
"Brigands, enough. Mark needs someone to test their gaits," she ordered when the man protested. Again.
"He's ready to chop off heads should you continue. He sent me out here to stop you." Worry added wrinkles to the dear friend's brow.
"I will be fine. I've taken a tumble many times before and been alright. You have too much trouble with your back to try this, and we don't need the surgeon who is attending to Mark to be injured too. Plus, I have two surgeons on-site should I fall." She picked up the reins and tucked up her leg to mimic Mark's predicament on horseback as best as possible.
"We'll start with a slow walk so you get used to compensating," the surgeon said and held the horse's bridle.
The horse started forward. In the next moment, she tasted dirt.
"Are you alright?!" Brigands grabbed her arm as she blinked to clear her vision.
"No, don't move her." The professor touched her neck and back as she started to sit up. "Do you hurt anywhere?"
"No, I'm fine."
"You're stunned, you aren't fine." Brigands pulled out a handkerchief and set it to her nose.
"Let me see if it's broken." The surgeon pulled away the handkerchief for a moment and tilted her head back. The linen had quite a bit of blood on it.
The front door banged open and Mark whipped down the steps with impressive speed. "Is she hurt?" He dropped the crutches and leaned on Brigands' shoulder to lower himself to the ground.
"For heaven's sake, I'm not dying, you three."
"Does it hurt?" The professor lightly palpated the bridge of her nose.
"No, it's just a little tender."
"Can you see alright? Did she lose consciousness? Follow my finger." Mark held up a finger and moved it side to side.
"I'm fine." She held the handkerchief to her nose and stood.
"You're not fine," Mark snapped and worked his way onto the crutches. "Get in the house."
"No. It's lucky that it was my nose and not your leg that took a hit." She pinched the bridge to get the bleeding to stop. "Get the other horse," she told Brigands. "That one spooked from the uneven weight."
Mark's eyes iced over and he ground out, "Get. In. The. House."
He'd be furious if she continued, but he might also end up dead if she didn't. A final wipe revealed that the bleeding had already slowed significantly. Tucking the handkerchief in her waistband just in case, she held Mark's icy glare for a moment. He didn't deserve to be embarrassed in front of anyone for having a disobedient wife, but he also didn't deserve to be put on a skittish horse in a couple days. "If it didn't literally mean your life was on the line, I'd obey you." Turning, she walked over to the other horse nearby and climbed on bareback to go find the horse that had escaped. She gave the horse a kick and took off.
"Tanya!" His roar tore down the streets, over the thundering of her horse's hooves.
The horse had stopped not far beyond the mercantile down the road - not far enough for Mark's temper to cool by time of return, though. Taking the long way behind some of the buildings for as long as possible, she finally came out on the road through town with the spooked horse in tow.
Mark stood in front of the clinic - no larger than a small figure down the road. But, his anger vibrated even at this distance. When she stopped before the clinic, it was worse than imagined.
His jaw flexed, visible even through his beard, and his glare held such intensity that the urge to hang her head burned. Without a word, he took both sets of reins and tied them to the watering post. It served as a silent command that didn't dare be disobeyed.
"Mark - "
The words silenced at his cold look. He turned and made his way inside the house without a backwards glace - another sign that he expected her to follow.
Brigands stepped forward to help her down.
"Go inside so he's not angry with you too, Brigands. I can't just put him on a horse without knowing if he'll be safe."
"My lady," he said quietly, "I understand why you're doing this, and I would too. However, now is not the time to press him. I agree with him that you took a hard fall and at the very least need to rest."
"We have two days to figure out how to train a horse to accept his uneven weight and him to learn how to balance without causing himself a hemorrhage. I'd rather have an angry husband not speak to me for a week than a dead one."
"Let one of the ranch hands nearby come train a horse. It does not need to be you. He is just as afraid of you being injured and killing yourself as you are of him getting hurt." He held out his hand. "Come. There are some battles in marriage that do better to temporarily surrender."
"He will not ever come to accept this. Please go see to Charles. The surgeon and I will be fine."
"My lady, I must insist."
"I heard your warning, Brigands. And I must insist that you withdraw because neither he nor I will surrender, and you shouldn't get caught in the crossfire."
The other horse didn't spook, but it took well over an hour to figure out how to compensate the horse's gait without the sensation of pitching over the side. Another hour of modifications to the saddle passed before it grew too dark to try anything further.
She entered the house. Teresa and Brigands finished making dinner in the kitchen.
"The master had me take the babe upstairs to him. It's been quiet, so I think he fell asleep," Brigands said.
It wasn't worth asking if he meant Charles or Mark because Mark would be just as furious tomorrow as today. "Thank you. Don't wait for us to eat dinner - we might be a while."
Brigands gave an empathetic smile.
Trudging up the stairs, she stopped in the nursery. Charles napped in the crib. "I fear Papa is quite angry with me, and I might be spending the night in here, love." She gave a soft stroke over the silky curls and went to face Mark's wrath.
There was no answer when she knocked, although she hadn't expected him to be in a mood to respond. Opening the door, she quietly stepped in and closed it. He sat in a kitchen chair set at the window. Something in her chest twisted - he'd been keeping watch even though he'd been too angry to come outside. "Mark, I'm sorry that you didn't agree with me and that I disobeyed you in front of others. But, I'm not sorry that I didn't listen - if you had taken that fall, it might've burst arteries and vessels not yet healed and killed you."
He didn't take his eyes from the window, but a long sigh filled the silence. "I could care less if anyone thinks I can't 'control my wife.' It's your lack of care for your own well-being - and for Charles and I for that matter - that angers me." The words came out quiet and calm, perhaps from anger burning itself out and leaving disappointment and hurt in it's wake. "You know the guilt that you feel about my leg? Imagine the guilt if I died because I tried figuring out for you how to ride a horse."
"Mark - "
"Enough, Tanya." He sounded so weary. "I made myself clear multiple times and was discarded. I have no wish to continue." He pushed himself up onto his crutches and made his way to the door.
"And my guilt if you were to be thrown and die?"
He stopped and met her eyes. "That's just it - I was never going to blindly try riding. I had a man - near my own size - whom I had lined up to help train a horse."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"Would you have even listened?"
She looked away. Probably not because there would've been the worry that she'd train it better or figure out a better method than anyone else because no one would protect him like she would.
"Today was not a partnership, Tanya," he said without emotion, portraying just how much he hurt. "Today was you seeing not a husband or surgeon or man of rational thought, but an invalid that needed coddling."
She grabbed his arm to stop him. "No," she seethed with grief and anger welling, "today I saw the man I love - having too much to bear already - be forced into returning to a job that is dangerous for him to travel to, because all his dreams are hanging on a thread! Today I saw my husband being backed into a corner when there's a way for me to help! I am so terrified of you dying on the way to that damn clinic that I've had nightmares about it every night since his asinine agreement arrived! This amputation has me terrified every moment of every day - I've read the books, Mark! I know the risks of gangrene and ulcers and cellulitis and a thousand other things that could kill you because of an amputation, that you're forever at high risk for complications, and there's nothing I can do about them!" Tears rolled down, and she thrust a finger at her chest. "A horse not throwing you to your death is the only damn thing I can control!"
He held her eyes, and his brow knit, as if he finally understood. The man yanked her into a fierce hug. "You can't live in this fear every day. I know how crazy it makes you because I have psychotic moments when I'm afraid you cough because you have cancer or have menses pain because of cancer...sometimes you have to force yourself to just be in the moment so you aren't missing life. We have two surgeons' and a damn good nurse's eyes on my leg. It's healing as it should, even a little faster because of how meticulous you are with wound care. Checking it over twice a day has to be the normal forever - I know that even the slightest rub from the prosthesis could cause an ulcer and infection and be fatal. If we're careful, it will be fine."
"Can I check it with you every night?"
"Of course."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset about the horse."
He pulled back enough to dab at her tears with his handkerchief. "I don't expect you to 'obey' me in most circumstances, but when it's because of your safety, I do expect you to honor my wishes. You have a little bit of blood still." The soft dabs he gave didn't hurt, but his brow furrowed. "I think you might get a black eye." With the pad of his finger, he barely palpated the bridge of her nose. "Did you put ice on this?"
"No. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Come. You'll want ice on it."
Poor Mark seemed to do well practice riding - it was angry looks from the townsfolk thrown his way when they saw her black eyes that drew attention to him the next day.
"I beg your pardon," he said to an older woman when his horse shied too far left due to the uneven weight and nearly ran the woman over on the road.
"Hmph. Maybe ya should be apologizing to yer wife." The old woman glanced at her near the front step, glared up at Mark and hurried toward the mercantile.
She smothered a smile and walked closer to Mark as he rolled his eyes. "Would you like me to wait in the house?"
With a grunt, he pulled the reins and led the horse toward the cabin. "I'm done anyways." He paused, as if debating how to dismount.
Brigands stood on the other side but knew better than to offer Mark suggestions while she grabbed the bridle to keep the horse still.
Mark seemed to make up his mind all the sudden - he swung his good leg over and held the front and back of the saddle as his body slid down to land on his foot.
Something about his confidence, in doing what he'd probably been afraid of not being able to do in front of others, made her heart flutter. She walked up to his side as he held the saddle for balance while taking his crutches from a saddlebag. "Impressive, Dr. Johnson," she purred and brushed against his arm.
He turned his head and smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson." When the surgeon stepped forward, his smile faded and he became very subdued.
"Ready for those sutures to come out?"
His eyes remained downcast as he gave a single nod.
She slipped her arm through his as he headed toward the house. "Mark? What's wrong? Do internal sutures need removing too?"
Again, one solemn nod. It would mean a skin incision and more pain, but just the thought of more surgery is probably what bothered him most.
"Then it's good I have time on my hands today for my cuddle bear," she teased.
That didn't win a smile from him. Instead, he stopped on the front porch and turned. His eyes searched hers, but he didn't seem to be able to find the words. Anxiety and fear and weariness mounted in his eyes. The moment she touched his cheek, it shattered his last wall - the poor man burst into tears right there for all to see.
"Oh, love," she whispered and stood on her toes to hug him, "we're almost at the end. This is the easy part. We can use ice to numb for the incisions, and I'll help him so you'll have just small cuts. This part will be so easy." Tears burned seeing him suffer so much that he clung and sobbed like a terrified child. "I promise this will be easy, love." She pressed a kiss to his hair and held on tight until he wept it all out.
When he pulled back and she dabbed at his tears with his handkerchief, the poor thing looked away in embarrassment. "You aren't wed to a brave man," he said, his voice still thick with tears.
"I think you're the bravest man in the world." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and held his eyes. "It's the brave ones who can weep and then forge toward what frightens them."
He was so tense that she didn't have the heart to tell him that his grip on her hand hurt as the surgeon cut the outer sutures while the ice took effect. "Mark, it looks so good." She flashed him a smile. It faded upon the sight of his head turned away like he didn't want to see the long scar. Even with the tattoo, he seemed to hate anything to do with his leg.
It was eery, the way he didn't respond when she let go of his hand to help make small incisions to cut the sutures out of the muscle flaps that had been sewn together over the bone. He just stared at the wall, the only movement his slow breaths.
"Mark?" No response. She glanced at the surgeon working on the other half of the leg.
"It's not uncommon for men to not be able to handle any more and shut down. He's distantly aware of us," the man explained.
"Like he's catatonic?" Her eyes widened in horror.
"To a degree."
Mark needed her more than he needed to get minor surgery done faster. She washed her hands and then sat on the edge of the bed where he sat up and stared at nothing. "Mark?" She touched his hand. When that didn't gain a response, she leaned into his unfocused line of vision and stroked his cheek. "Honey, I'm going to sit right here with you. The doctor is almost done." A steady flow of gentle words didn't seem to reach him either. So, she cupped his face in her hands and brushed a kiss over his lips. "I'm right here," she whispered.
He blinked and silently pulled her close to hold onto.
"Do you hurt?" She cupped the back of his head and stroked his back.
A gentle shake of his head served as his reply.
"Sweetheart, we're in this together. Tell me what you need."
"Just stay," he whispered. He didn't let go the next half hour that the surgeon worked.
She crawled into bed and laid beside Mark, pulling the sheets over their heads.
"What are you doing?" he sighed.
"You've hardly said a word and have had no interest in anything since the surgeon left yesterday. Didn't you ever make a tent with sheets when you were a child?" she chattered. "You can say anything in the tent because it's a magical safe place."
No response.
She climbed up to drape over his chest and looked down into his dull eyes. "I miss my fierce dragon," she said in all seriousness. "Everyone here loves you. Let us in, Mark. Why won't you leave bed?"
Tears shimmered in his eyes. "He didn't tell you, did he?"
"Who tell me what?"
His throat convulsed in a hard swallow. "When you went downstairs for more ice yesterday, the professor said I can't have a prosthesis. The way it's healing is uneven and will cause pressure points to lead to ulcers and gangrene."
She jerked upright. "Then we use crutches until we figure out a way to build a special padding so you won't get ulcers. He can't just declare a prosthesis impossible! I - "
He pointed to a crutch in the corner. It had a very slight bend.
"Then we find a stronger metal!" She stormed over and snatched up the crutch. It should've been able to accommodate Mark's weight. Setting it down, she moved it to mimic's Mark use. "The angle," she whispered. "It can handle weight, but it cannot handle angles." A broken cane hid next to the nightstand. "I'll work with the blacksmith and figure out a different metal - "
"Tanya," he said quietly. Too quietly.
She shook her head and clenched her teeth to hold back the tears. "It might take heavier crutches, but you're strong enough to carry them. We can try mixing metals so there is strength without weight - "
"Tanya."
"No!" She sniffled and grabbed the other crutch and marched to the door. "I'll figure out different crutches!"
"I'm bedridden." His voice cracked.
"No!" Pain tore down her throat with the force of the shout as she flung the crutches down. Heaving in air to hold back the tears of watching his world fall apart, she ran her hands through her hair and turned away. She locked her hands behind her head. Think! Think! There had to be another way.
"Tanya."
"No!" She whirled around and thrust a finger at him as he blurred behind tears. "I will not watch you die from bedsores or pneumonia because you can't get out of bed! I will figure out something! And it'll be better than a wheelchair that will only weaken you!"
"Tan - "
"No!" she spat, "Don't tell me it's futile! If I have to drag you out of that damn bed to try new crutches or prostheses, I will! You are not giving up!"
"Would you listen?!" He pushed himself up to a stand and held onto the bedpost, his empty pantleg swinging as if laughing at its own freedom. When he hopped a step and grimaced in pain, she walked over to him.
He grabbed her wrist and jerked her against his broad chest, his breath coming hot and quick over her face from his efforts against pain. "We have no money right now, and you will not squander it on prototypes." He stripped off his nightshirt and tossed it aside. Then he kissed her neck and reached behind to unbutton her dress.
"What are you doing?"
"You know what it does to me when you come cannons blasting, woman," he growled and let her dress drop around her ankles. "Lie down - I can't balance to bend and take off your stockings at once."
"You mean you want to...?" Her eyes widened.
"Did you not just finish telling me that I can do anything?" he snapped and removed her remaining clothing. "What, you will blast cannons, but you're bashful of your husband?"
That arrogant cock of his eyebrow made her heart flip-flop. "You had no confidence a minute ago, but now..." Her cheeks burned.
"Never say you have no power over me," he rumbled deep in his chest and held the post with one hand while cupping her cheek and dipping his tongue past her lips in a passionate kiss.
She clung to his shoulders and grew drunk on his kiss.
"Lie down," he breathed against her lips.
It was like being under his spell, willing to do anything he commanded. There was something so sensual, so tender in the way he sat on the edge of the bed and glided her stockings off while holding her gaze with those beautiful blue eyes. All the shame and pain and burdens fled his face, replaced with the love and confidence of simply a husband seducing his wife.
"Are you sure it's safe for you yet?"
"If we aren't vigorous and have care, it's fine."
He eased his body over hers and searched her beautiful eyes. Only his Tanya could make the impossible seem possible. "I don't know if I can like this, but it's been so long since I've had you like this..." Bracing on his hands and knee, he swallowed back the scorching humiliation. This angle would be damn awkward without leverage or a way to keep the hideous stump from pounding against the mattress.
She brought her knee up to the side, slipping her thigh and shin under the mutilated appendage to be the perfect pillow and support that would prevent any injury. Of course she would give of herself and not recoil with repulsion. Her breasts rose and fell in soft pants, her beautiful brown eyes so dilated with desire. God, it shouldn't be, but she even trembled with need for him.
"I don't know that I..." This was so goddamn emasculating. Minutes ago, wanting her hadn't been an issue.
"Relax, husband, it's only me," she purred and tugged his forearms until he rested down on his elbows, with his lips a breath from hers. "I can't take your weight. Do what you please with me to believe that I desire you."
"Tanya, it's not you." His face burned as the self-consciousness made it impossible to bed her.
Delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided his hand down to her. She had to know that his desire was gone, but she didn't try to force his body to reawaken or even acknowledge it. Instead, she sighed at the brush of his hand, closed her eyes and held the edges of her pillow in surrender to him. "I love you," she breathed as her hands fisted in response to his stroke.
My god, she was exquisite - the embodiment of love and strength and passion. She offered her body, to swallow her own embarrassment to be the center of attention herself so that he might find confidence again.
"I love you, Mark. I want you," she breathed, and her body rose in a graceful arch in response to the simple trailing of his finger down her belly.
Her unconditional love was too much. This sudden rush, this primal instinct to have her suddenly surged. "I love you, my Tanya." Raising onto his hands, he thrusted.
Her fingers dug into his back as her body arched up to welcome him, and a soft cry of love escaped her lips. She gave herself over immediately and completely, somehow finding pleasure as he joined her body.
"I'm sorry," he said seconds later in embarrassment as she cuddled up to his side.
That fairy-like laugh filled the air. "I like that I made the marquess lose control for once."
A swat to her backside only won more giggles. "Hush, woman," he growled.
"You're not as fierce as you once were, you know."
"I shall have to rectify that," he grumbled.
"Oh, I tremble," she giggled.
Laughter came straight from her heart, as if she didn't care that he was still so exhausted from surgery that he had no stamina or that he couldn't bed her quite properly anymore. It helped staunch the humiliation. "Saucy wench. I should have a firmer hand with you. We'll start with punishment for your sass," he snapped and pulled her onto his hips for a proper kiss that would make her swoon.
A squeal of laughter pierced and she grabbed his hands to pull him off. "Don't tickle."
He chuckled at her contagious happiness. "I didn't mean to tickle."
"Liar, you know I'm ticklish on my ribs." She giggled and squirmed free.
"No, I didn't," he laughed. "Come back."
The woman escaped off the bed and held the edge of the sheets over herself. "Promise you'll let us help you come downstairs to play with Charles first." She tilted her head down and looked up with those beautiful big eyes and a shy smile that only an idiot would resist.
"Fine. If you promise to come to bed without your nightdress tonight." The corner of his mouth curled up. Two could play at this game.
Her cheeks reddened to a lovely shade. She raised her chin in challenge. "Fine."
He flung back the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Come help me change my bandage and get dressed, wife."
"I'm putting on clothes first - and that's not negotiable," she cut in when he opened his mouth.
"I must say, it's good that I didn't live in America before now."
She gave a questioning look as she pulled on her dress and walked over.
"If all American women are as spirited as you, I'd have enjoyed my youth too much."
That flustered her speechless, so she turned and presented her back for him to do the buttons. "Or it was my heathen childhood that taught me to not curb my tongue."
"Why do you say such things?" He eased her back to sit on his good leg and spoke into her ear. "Have I ever told you that your unique beauty excites me?"
"You are delusional with pain. Ask anyone in town, and they will tell you that an Injun is not beautiful." She kept her gaze locked forward.
"I'm quite comfortable at the moment and of very sound mind. You're quite erotic, but should I have said so before now, you would've taken it in offense."
She glanced from the corner of her eye in uncertainty. "And I should not take offense now?" Her tone came slightly sharp, but not enough to do more than sting.
"No, you should not." He laid her down on the bed and leaned over, tracing a finger along her soft jawline. "You're like a sapphire among the diamonds. Diamonds lose their significance when so prevalent, their sparkle not quite as bright and their edges sharp. But a sapphire is rich and deep and so very rare in a sea of diamonds. If others see a flaw because the sapphire is not a diamond, you should not care. Because your husband sees something gorgeous and rare that outshines anything else he's ever seen."
She swallowed hard. "Others will shun you because of me. It's not so easy here to hide what I am like it was in England."
"I do not want you to hide," he whispered and leaned down near her ear. "I already look across the room and desire you - it doesn't take celibacy for that to happen." He brushed a kiss over her ear and leaned up on his elbow to meet her eyes. "When they say you're too dark, I say you've danced with the sun. You say they see eyes and lips too big, I see beautiful chocolates that pull me in to kiss lips of passion. If they see a figure too curveless, I see a willowy gracefulness that rivals a queen. There is such beauty because you do not look like others." He brought her hand to his lips.
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she smiled.
Just like that, she chased away all the self-consciousness and self-doubt and grief. She still needed him as much as before, if not more here in America. He hadn't fallen in her eyes as a cripple or now without a leg - he'd convinced himself that she saw him as less. But these past couple days had proven that she needed him as much as he needed her.
He took her hand and got out of bed.
