He glanced from the table where he held Charles in his lap as she cooked lunch with Teresa. It was a dark, smoldering glance that made her toes curl in anxiousness for bedtime.

The man was a passionate lover who didn't seem to care about the time of day - when the need to make love overcame him, he succumbed to it. Such a thing wasn't at all proper, but there was never a reason to want to deny him.

Anna must not have been very loving to have shamed him for trying to be romantic in daylight. She scowled at the thought of the woman who hadn't appreciated such a wonderful man.

A large hand cupped her entire belly, and a hard chest pressed to her back. Charles appeared to the right in Mark's arms and babbled.

"What's on your mind? A blushing bride one minute, and then scowling and stirring the soup like the devil the next." His low, intimate tone vibrated his chest against her back, and he pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

"Mark," she scolded in embarrassment and glanced at the table. Brigands and Teresa must've left.

"They took the lemonade out to the porch. Teresa once had a new bridegroom."

She glanced to see Teresa returning inside with an empty glass. And hiding a smile as she began to set the table.

"Still, you don't need to be so obvious ogling." Goodness, Teresa was here to witness him behaving so now too.

"Wives do not like their husbands to ogle?" He feigned ignorance and asked Teresa, who only giggled.

"Don't egg him on," she ordered and pointed the ladle at Teresa.

"I didn't realize how much I missed seeing you with child in English dresses," he whispered in her ear, his breath tantalizing and carressing strands of hair. "This is about the size of your belly when we met." His desire pressed through the skirts as he leaned in closer.

"As I recall, you were going to leave me for the favorable country estate," she retorted, feigning disinterest.

"I was an idiot. God, Tanya, I need you again," he begged in agonized whispers.

With the bedchamber being right off the kitchen where everyone would notice and hear, there was no chance of his wishes coming true. "Go sit for lunch."

"You know very well I'm indecent," he breathed in her ear.

"I was thinking of how Anna didn't enjoy your affection."

He scoffed in disgust. "That killed the mood." Turning on his heel, he returned to the dinner table.

As she set his bowl in front of him, she kissed his cheek.

The rake turned his head and caught the kiss on his lips.

Hurrying away to the stove to fill another bowl and hide her burning cheeks, she couldn't help but notice Brigands enter and exchange a knowing smile with his wife.

"In Russia, we have upwards of a dozen children," Teresa filled in the awkward silence.

"I shouldn't mind a dozen," Mark grinned.

She set a bowl down in front of Brigands and patted Mark's shoulder. "You let me know how your seven childbirths go."

Laughter broke out around the table. "I think her limit is bearing you five children," Grandfather chuckled.

She brought over the last bowl and sat to Mark's right.

He lifted her hand to his lips. "I shall be happy with however many she's willing to bless us with."


"You're a terrible rake," she huffed under her breath after Charles was in bed and Teresa and Brigands departed the kitchen.

Mark picked up the last plate from the table and added it to the pile in the sink. Then he pulled the rag out of her hands and tossed it on the counter.

"I have to wash the dishes."

His arms wrapped around as he backed up toward the bedchamber. "They'll keep." His husky voice reverberated deep in his chest, and his lips pressed against her neck.

"As will you." Pulling out of his grasp, she returned to the sink and began to pump water.

A large hand took over the lever. "You enjoy seeing me in misery," he growled.

"Yes, Mark," she retorted and turned to hide the smile.

"Saucy wench." A swat on the backside followed the words.

Without batting an eyelash, she picked up the rag and started washing a plate. "No, Mark."

"You know what your sass does to me, woman." He gave the last pump extra exuberance in irritation.

Biting her lip to keep from grinning, she pressed between him and the side sink - a bit tighter than necessary - to set the plate down to dry. "I certainly don't know what you mean, Marquess."

He groaned with such agony that it almost caused regret at tormenting him so. "You called me that when we were first wed. I stupidly thought it meant I'd married a timid woman." His hands leaned down on each side of the sink, trapping her.

"Mm, you made it abundantly clear that you wished it," she snorted and gave him a look over her shoulder.

"It does a man good to be wrong, on occasion." Those hands moved from the sink ledge to cup the babe. "Leave the goddamn dishes."

Pursing her lips, she cocked an eyebrow and turned to face him. "I don't obey your every whim."

The man blinked, as if momentarily speechless, and then the corner of his mouth slowly quirked. "You enjoy defying me just to see if you can." He swept her into the bedchamber and stripped, leaving on only his prosthesis and the thick, terrible straps that came with it.

She stared at his burden as he reached around and unbuttoned her dress. "I wish I knew how to get rid of those straps."

"It's better than being bedridden. I have no interest in discussing my leg, woman."

A small smile tugged, and her hands roamed his beautiful body. The moment he freed her from clothes, though, shame slammed and she curled up her arms.

"Don't hide from me." His hands eased her arms down. "Let me touch and teach you that I still desire you." Those gentle eyes searched hers. His head bowed and lips brushed hers. "Just as you taught me to stand naked before you without shame time and time again," he breathed. "If you were capable of teaching me that, you're capable of doing this." His lips trailed down her neck.

He had faith she could do anything. He loved her more than anything. So she buried her fingers in his hair and welcomed his lips to wash away the marks of shame.

A while later, she cuddled up to him and closed her eyes. "That was good, husband," she purred.

"Do you feel alright?" He rubbed her belly on his hip.

"Mm hm."

"You'll need to sleep on me again now that your belly is growing. I know you like to sleep on your back, but...I missed this."

The sentiment in his voice made her eyes open.

"No one needed me, and then you swept in, not fearing my fire and looking to me for protection from the monsters at night. Sometimes I still fear you're just a dream."

Leaning up on her elbow, she searched his face.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye that he brushed away quickly.

"Why, Mark, you're never this outright sentimental." She brushed a kiss over his cheek.

He scowled. "I should hope not. A blubbering surgeon does no one any good, woman. This is your fault," he grunted.

She smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"Should you sass me, I'll be forced to bed you again tonight to teach you a lesson."

"Of course, Cuddle Bear." A giggle escaped when he blinked, clearly not expecting to be left speechless.

He climbed on top and held her wrists beside her head.

Before he could speak, she bit her lip in a feisty grin. "Are you going to make love to me? You haven't tried with your leg on like this." Her foot trailed up his good leg.

His eyes rolled back in pleasure. "You play with fire, wench." Then his blue eyes met hers with an intimate look that made her toes curl. "You've spent me, and it would serve you right if I left right now."

With a giggle, she wrapped her legs around him as he settled in closer. "You wouldn't make me want for anything."

"I've spoiled you too much," he growled and let go of her hands to figure out how to brace with the prosthesis on.

His cheeks reddened and embarrassment crept into his eyes as he struggled to get his leg comfortable.

"Mark?"

He stilled and looked at her.

"I love you."

That reminder seemed to chase some of the embarrassment away. "I love you too."

"You can lean into my leg to take some of your weight." Bringing her legs up a bit higher on his hips seemed to help.

"Am I too heavy with the babe?"

With a smile, she shook her head.

He had to adjust the prosthesis and then a naughty smile touched his lips, as if he had an idea. He moved her legs a little bit higher still and then laid claim.

A cry burst out at the unexpected pleasure.


"Everything seems normal." He pulled down the sheet that evening in bed and then palpated her belly.

"Mark...?" Her brow furrowed.

Her belly grew firmer, but only for a moment, as if imagined.

In the next instant, she doubled over and cried out in pain.

"Shit, we're not doing this again." Dumping the medical bag on the bed, he reached for chloroform to start sedation.

She breathed far too hard and was in a sweat already. "Mark, I have to push."

"No, don't push!" His hands shook trying to get the stopper off the bottle. The babe would die coming only at four months.

But she panted and grabbed handfuls of the sheet. "Check...something's there."

He pulled back the sheet. Fluid and blood soaked the bed. Air stilled, making it impossible to breathe. Please, no. A sob escaped before it could be stopped as a tiny leg began to emerge. It was too late.

His chest heaved. Don't think, just do. It was too late for the babe, but there was still time to help Tanya. Experience had gotten women through miscarriages. The concern now was getting her through this without hemorrhage or infection. Brushing the tears away with his shoulder, he scrubbed again. "Deep breaths."

She burst into tears amid the panting and pain of labor. "He's dead, isn't he? I feel him coming."

Climbing onto the bed, he laid out a towel and pulled her to her knees. His eyes locked with hers. "I need you to focus on me and do everything I say because this is dangerous for you." Tears blurred her. "I can't lose you, alright? We're a doctor and nurse right now, not parents."

Her tears still fell, but she nodded, as if realizing he needed her to be strong because he was terrified.

"Promise me?"

She panted through the pain but held his shoulders and nodded.

Checking again, the urge to vomit hit upon feeling the leg of their dead babe.

"Mark," she panted and tears still slipped down, "what do...textbooks say next?" Her face contorted and soft cry of pain escaped, but she panted and forced herself to hold it together.

His face crumpled, trying to let go of the grief. She was trying to get him focused on the medical side of this.


Consciousness drifted closer when waking up from sleep. Stroking the swell of her belly, relief escaped. It must've been a nightmare. But, shifting caused pain from sutures. Her eyes flew open.

Brigands sat in a chair beside the bed.

It had been real. Jason hadn't let the dead babe come into view, claiming it'd been some kind of tumor. Delivery had been hard and fast and incredibly painful. It'd felt as large as a babe. He had no idea what had happened, but he'd found a heartbeat in her belly afterwards.

She rubbed, and the babe gave a soft kick in protest, content to remain inside where he should be.

He set down his book. "The master is at the clinic. Teresa is sleeping in Master Charles's room for tonight. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. What time is it?"

"Just after midnight, my lady."

Sitting up to move a pillow, she stilled when Brigands jumped up and moved it so she could recline. "Thank you. Did he have an emergency?"

Sadness flickered through his eyes for a moment before he shook his head. "Just some work. Do you need water? Perhaps some food to get your strength up?"

Rubbing the smaller bump of her belly, tears blurred him. "It was a babe, wasn't it?"

He hesitated.

"Brigands, please. He wouldn't let me see."

"My lady," he said in that fatherly tone and took her hand on the bed, "we aren't sure. The master seemed so distraught that I sat with him for a bit at the clinic while my wife stayed here. I agree that you should not see."


A half hour later, Brigands dozed off. There was only soreness from stitches, so she tugged on Mark's robe and patted through the kitchen to the clinic connected to the living room.

Only one patient occupied the clinic, who was fast asleep. A light came from under the lab door in back.

Mark sat at the microscope, and he had something spread out on a rag on the counter. A stench of something rotted filled the air.

The floorboard creaked.

He spun around on the stool, his eyes wide with surprise and he shot up. "Tanya, you need to stay in bed. I don't know how fragile the pregnancy is." He caught her arm and tried to turn her around.

"Is that the babe?" The man was too tall and broad to see around.

"I'm trying to find out - " His eyes were red like he'd been weeping, and he looked...haunted.

"Are you dissecting him?!" Panic and horror slammed.

His arm wrapped around when she tried to get past. That question made him look ill. "The tumor. You need to stay in bed."

Grief slammed full force the tighter he held to keep her away. "It was a deformed babe, wasn't it? What are you doing to him?!"

"Tanya, stop it!" he snapped with a small shake, he forced her to turn to meet his eyes. "I have no idea what happened! Stay in bed before you miscarry, do you hear me?" he hissed, his jaw clenched like he would've screamed it if not for being at the clinic.

Such harsh coldness hadn't existed from him since the first week of marriage. Her chin quivered as tears burned, the fight suddenly gone.

No hug or caress followed to soften the blow or ease the grief. He took the chance to swing her up in his arms and storm into the house. Without hesitation, he stuffed her in bed, jerked up the blankets, and then stormed out with the slam of the door.

Brigands stared from where he'd been rudely awoken in the chair. His eyes darted from her to the door, clearly expecting Mark to return as her sobs broke free.

Rolling away in bed, even Brigands's fatherly hand on her shoulder and gentle words couldn't calm the sobs from the loss of a babe. Or Mark's hatred.

Mark didn't return that night.


Brigands remained the ever faithful friend who didn't leave even after the numbness set in and tears faded, leaving the only option to withdraw into a shell of numb depression. He shoved food and water, and it was only consumed for the babe's sake. Staring out the window that faced the fields where the children were supposed to play at the house built of love was the only thing to do now in the house scarred by death and hate.

Someone set Charles beside her in bed. He slept under the covers. It must've been his afternoon nap. Teresa came and took him away when he woke up and fussed.

Another day and Mark still hadn't come.


Heavy, slightly uneven footsteps entered.

"My lord," Brigands said at the door she was turned away from, "she's hardly moved and hasn't spoken."

"Eating? Drinking?" Mark's tone had little patience.

For some reason, the sound of his anger brought silent tears to life.

"Some. She hardly reacts even to Master Charles - " Brigands's words cut off and his footsteps echoed. The door closed. Mark must've sent him away.

He came around the bed and set his medical bag on the nightstand.

Dropping her gaze, she brushed away the tears. He had every right to hate a wife who bore him another man's son and had killed his own, with the other twin likely to abort soon too.

He turned without a word and pulled down the sheet and palpated her belly.

His coldness rushed back all the shame and fear from those months ago. He'd always asked permission or explained what he needed to do next. This time, he simply did, as was his legal right to her.

When he reached between her legs to check the babe, his touch emotionless and commanding, her thighs clenched shut and breath hitched as panic tried to rear. Emotionless, just like that horrific night nearly two years ago.

His hand hesitated, but shame prevented from looking up to see the disgust in his eyes.

Forcing her legs apart, every muscle trembled and air trapped in her lungs in a desperate attempt to fight back the panic. He's offered a lifeline the first time he'd done an exam to check Charles - his hand to hold and gentleness in his voice to soothe away the demons. This time was simply expecting submission.

The moment he touched, fistfuls of the sheet crushed in a death-like grip and thighs clenched around his arm, ironically locking him there. Horrible images flashed, and even squeezing eyes shut couldn't keep them away.

A soft stroke on her cheek. "It's just me," gentle words cooed and the caress disappeared, replaced with a hand slipping into hers. "Look at me, my Tanya."

Forcing her eyes open, it was hard to focus on him as spots monopolized vision.

"Don't hold your breath," he said softly and his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

Gulping in a huge breath helped vision return.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes just as red as last night. With hair disheveled and a five o'clock shadow, it was obvious he hadn't slept much. His soft touch withdrew and eyes still avoided hers as he stood. "I have to finish checking the babe."

It was hard to hold in the sobs. Staring at the ceiling and trying to pretend he didn't hate having to touch the thing that would likely kill his own, remaining child.

"Don't leave bed. You're still slightly dilated," he said without emotion. Then he wiped his hand on a towel and grabbed his bag. And walked around the bed to the door.

The pain of losing the babe and then Mark hours later made it impossible to breathe. Pushing herself up a bit to go after him, it dawned at the last minute that the babe needed to stay in bed. "I'm sorry." The sob burst out.

Mark stopped mid-reach for the doorknob and his head whipped to her, his eyes wide. He stood there, as if stunned.

"I don't know what I did wrong versus Charles. I ate more and tried to sleep more than with him - " The sobs wouldn't stop.

He dropped the bag and hurried around the bed, with tears shimmering in his eyes. "It wasn't your fault." When he sat on the edge of the bed, he took her in his arms and slipped her down. "You have to lie flat for the babe." Then he leaned over and brushed her tears away. His brow knit and chin quivered as he tried to hold himself together. "I think it's my seed that did it to you."

"Mark - "

"No, I..." He gulped in a shaky breath and a tear fell from his lashes as he met her eyes. "I could only find one other case of this happening, and the only common factor was the man. He sired two of these things. The woman went on to have normal children with another man."

She reached up and brushed away his tears, her other hand touching her belly. "But this one is fine."

That made him burst into sobs and bury his face in his hand.

Fear constricted her chest. Maybe he knew something was wrong with this babe too.

"I cut it up," he choked, horror and shame and grief making him lose it. "I tried to find a b,brain or heart...t,to see if it was a babe. I,It had...l,legs and w,would've been a girl."

Pulling him down, she held tight as he wept out his nightmare.

"I c,couldn't find o,organs. I d,don't know i,if I c,cut up our ba,babe," he sobbed.

Oh god. It was too horrific to think about. He needed help from this insanity and grief that tried to take him. "Mark, if you couldn't find organs, it wasn't a babe. You needed to find out what happened."


It had done something to him. He moved in a fog over the next few days. Brigands reported finding Mark often staring at walls for hours.

She got dressed her first day out of bed.

Brigands looked up from the kitchen table where he and Teresa fed Charles breakfast. His face held grief.

Walking over to Charles, she kissed his head and then looked at Brigands. "Where is he?"

"The library. He's been staring out the window since dawn. He's barely eaten in three days. I don't know if he's even removed the prosthesis to check his leg." Concern filled his eyes. "I think...my lady, I think he's afraid of himself - of what kind of man would chop up his own babe. He won't listen to me."

"I never saw it. You don't think it had been a babe at one point?"

He bit his lip. "He sent for the professor at the university the next day. I was worried about the master, so I followed him to the clinic. I heard the surgeon say if everything had gone right, it would've been a babe. But it was like a cancer, and one of the tissues took over the body. The professor couldn't find any evidence of organs either. He doesn't know why the legs formed but nothing else. The professor thinks the master mistook parts of the tumor for genitalia." Brigands looked ill. "I looked one night what he had done in the lab that haunted him. My lady, sometimes I had to help the master with autotopsies of foetuses to find out what had caused the death. I saw nothing on that table resembling anything, aside from the legs. Even those were horribly deformed."

Drawing a deep breath to brace for anything, she walked into the library. Mark sat on the settee, completely oblivious, and stared across the room out the window. Sitting beside him, she set a hand over his.

A slow blink, as if coming out of a haze, and he turned his head to look at her. There was an eery vacancy in his eyes.

"You did an autopsy on a tumor, not a dissection of our babe, Mark."

"You don't know that."

"And you have no evidence to know otherwise."

"I'm no more fit to be a father than a murdering cannibal," he whispered. Those blue eyes, faded to gray with the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes, returned to the window.

The babe kicked. Setting his hand on her belly, she held him there. "You'd never do anything to hurt us. You're a surgeon, and you did what any other good surgeon would do - you tried to figure out what happened so you could prevent it from going wrong again."

No reaction.

"I never felt movement in the left side of my belly until after it came out."

His eyes flew to her.

"I've felt the babe kick for weeks, but never on that side. It was uncomfortable when you'd check the babe, although it never hurt." She searched his eyes. "I'm glad you did an autopsy because I would've always held onto grief."

"There were legs - "

"Legs that Brigands said were terribly deformed, and no organs." Looking down at their joined hands, she swallowed hard and then looked at him through tears. "I know that it was supposed to have been a babe to have had legs, but something went very wrong so it never was alive. The umbilical cord feeding it blood wasn't formed right."

When he opened his mouth, she shook her head. "I've studied books and worked with you closely enough for births that I know it was far too slim and had begun breaking down. The placenta was too small and disintigrating already. I've seen and delivered a few placentas before, and I know it's not supposed to hurt like that - it's not supposed to be calcified. I'm sad because it was supposed to be a babe, but it never lived, Mark. We have a babe growing. I think God gave us a twin pregnancy so we wouldn't feel the grief so strongly. He kicks so much more already. I feel it in my bones that he's going to be alright. I need you to be alright too."

"You should hate me," he breathed as a tear trailed down his cheek. "I did this to you, and I did unspeakable things - "

Setting a hand to his lips, she shook her head. "You don't know that your seed caused it, and you had no control over whatever happened with the pregnancy. You wouldn't have done that kind of dissection if it'd been formed as a babe. You were doing your job and trying to protect me by finding out what it was and what had happened. And you were grieving. I do not hold anything against you, and I cannot say I wouldn't have done the same thing if I'd been in your place." She stroked his face. "I need you. Charles and the babe need you."

He looked down at her belly and his face crumpled. "There's no way to know this babe won't die or be born with some horrid deformity."

She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes. "We can't live in fear. Even if the babe is deformed, we'll still love him. I need you, Mark," she whispered and cupped his face. "I need you to fight through this."

His arms wrapped around. "I've been so afraid that you'd hate me and leave," he wept.

"I thought you weren't coming because you blamed me."

He shook his head and held tighter.


"I feel fine. It's been two weeks of puttering around the house. Just half days. I miss working with you," she begged. "I don't even have to walk to work - the clinic is in the next room!"

He set a hand on his hip. "Tomorrow is two weeks. I said nothing more strenuous than playing with Charles. You will ease back into things before you start working."

"What?! You said two weeks of being quiet at home!"

"Yes. I didn't say anything about returning to work." He cocked an eyebrow and wouldn't move away from the bedroom door.

Raising her chin, she pointed to his leg. "You shouldn't be on your feet all day with your leg." The stupid man had gotten a small ulcer from wearing the prosthesis too much. It wasn't healing as fast as it should with him being on his feet all day at the clinic.

Those black eyebrows shot up. "I'm not five months with child."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I didn't climb on top of myself and get pregnant."

One eyebrow snapped down. "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

"That you need help at the clinic. I can sit in a chair for surgeries - "

"No."

Stomping a foot in irritation, she pulled on his arm to get him away from the door. "Two hours a day."

He didn't budge. "I told you 'no.'"

Her jaw dropped. "You can't tell me what I'm allowed to do."

"Uh, legally I do," he snorted. "This is for the safety of you and the babe."

She thrust a finger at his chest. "No, this is because you're paranoid that something might happen."

Irritation crossed his features. "I wonder why," he snapped. "I told you to stay home and keep quiet. Good day, Mrs. Johnson." He walked out and slammed the door. The clinic door slammed a moment later too, rattling the house.

Oh dear. He hadn't used a surname address before.


Mark returned at lunchtime. He sat at the table and took Charles in his lap without a word. Then he glanced up when she walked over to the stove again to stir the soup. "Why are you on your feet cooking?"

All motion froze. He sounded mighty angry.

"My lord," Brigands jumped in patiently, "the mistress is restless being housebound. Perhaps I could escort her outside to play in the yard with Master Charles this afternoon..." The words withered under Mark's glare.

"You cannot coddle me for four more months, Mark." She set down a bowl of soup before him.

He shot to his feet and handed Charles to Brigands before meeting her eyes. "In the bedchamber. Now," he hissed. The man stormed off without waiting for a response.

She followed and closed the door. "The babe and I are fine, Mark."

The man whirled around. "You do not know that!" he boomed. "Get on the bed. You can have a full exam right now."

Heaving a sigh, she kept quiet as he checked everything possible. When he was nearly finished, she caught his face between her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips.

But he pulled away. "No. There's no sex until after birth."

Biting her lower lip, she smiled. "Yes, Mark."

"No pains when I press?"

"No, Mark." Her finger trailed down his chest as he straightened. And let it keep trailing down.

His breath hitched and he pulled her hand away. "I said no - "

"Sex, I know. It doesn't mean I can't play with my handsome husband." She looked up from beneath her eyelashes.

"Woman - "

"You're so tense. I'll keep my clothes on, if you're worried about the babe," she whispered, "and want to play with my husband."

The man choked on a laugh before he composed himself. "You need to rest."

"Alright. Get yourself undressed." She patted the bed.

He cracked a smile. "Tanya."

"Please? You've hardly let me even hold your hand the past couple weeks. I miss you."

With a sigh, he peeled off his shirt. "Kissing, nothing more."

A grin took hold upon seeing his hard muscles, and she held out her arms for him.

The man laid down beside her.

"Oh god, Mark," she sighed as her hands roamed every hard inch of his torso. "You're so perfect."

"Mm, I see the babe has you restless. I - " His words cut off with a gasp as she slid a hand down. "Tanya," he breathed.