Author's Note: Thanks for all of the reviews! I wasn't sure if anyone was still reading this story. :)
Female "hysteria" treatments have been in existence since before 3,000 BC to treat normal sex drive to believed (incorrectly) to help mental illness. In our day, such "treatment" that Mark does would be a criminal offense, but it was wildly accepted in England and the U.S. at the times. The alternative treatment he mentions that is so "heinous" is actually still in practice today in some cultures. Other "treatments" were incredibly dark and literally drove some patients to insanity, so they were not mentioned here—I had no desire to research those tortures deeply enough to write about. This chapter is simply meant to bring light to the historical medicine of the era.
We've always seen Mark do what is best for the patient; this time we see him grapple with the impact it has on Tanya. They're thrusted into a situation that pushes their relationship to the edge and could easily break their marriage.
Grandfather looked in Mark's ears at sunrise. "I don't see anything wrong. I researched cases, and there's a small chance it's temporary as the brain swelling goes down that his hearing will return."
Mark sat propped up in bed, his body too weak to support himself. His eyes darted from Grandfather to her, clearly anxious for answers.
Grandfather scratched down on a piece of paper what he'd said.
Mark looked down as best he could with his neck still painful. His eyes skimmed across the paper, and his throat constricted in a hard swallow.
She sat beside him and wrote.
We work on getting you stronger. As your body is able to fight off the last of the infection, your hearing may heal too.
A slow nod, but sadness clouded his eyes. The odds were against him, and he knew it.
He slept the rest of the day.
The next day, she entered with a lunch tray to try some actual food. The poor man had slept right through breakfast. He'd insisted on removing the feeding tube yesterday, so he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.
Mark had worked himself up slightly to recline against pillows. He looked under the sheet with a scowl. Then he looked at her and dropped the sheet. "Take it out."
She blinked.
He pointed to between his legs.
"You still sleep for nearly a day at a time. You will be alright with a catheter." When his eyes narrowed on her lips, she wrote it down.
The man crumpled the paper and pointed again.
A small laugh escaped. "You look awful, but your temper is returning. That must be a good sign."
"I don't know what you said," he snapped. "But take it out now. My head hurts too much to move."
Setting her hands on her hips, a smile tugged as she shook her head.
He positively glared. "Fine. If we can't have a marriage bed because I break it, it's your fault."
"I highly doubt you can break yourself there."
His eyes flew up. "What?"
"What?"
"Say something."
"I said, I highly doubt you can break yourself there."
His face brightened. "I hear mumbles."
"Christ, I look like the walking dead," Mark muttered on the way past her vanity days later.
"You should've seen yourself a week ago. You very much were on your deathbed." Keeping a hand on his back and a firm grip on his arm seemed to help keep him steady on the crutches.
"Hm?"
His hearing gradually returned more each day, but he needed everything said loudly yet. When she repeated it, he scoffed. "Clearly. I wouldn't have let you come at me with a catheter if I was remotely conscious."
A laugh bubbled up, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "You'll hold that against me for the rest of your life, won't you?"
"And in the after life," he muttered. Then he eased into the chair on the other side of the bed. "I feel a hundred years old to be tired after simply walking around the bed." A sigh of relief and he let the crutches fall beside the chair.
"You were deathly ill for two weeks. Once I get you fattened up, you'll have more strength." She sat on the edge of the bed and draped a towel across his lap and chest. "Hold still. I didn't run myself ragged to have you perish from scissors."
The corner of his mouth curled up as she started trimming his beard. "I'd much rather go in your arms than from a coma." He frowned. "Did we talk about anything? I have the distinct feeling we had a profound conversation, but I don't recall anything."
Swallowing down a moment of hope, she shook her head. He didn't know about being expelled from university yet, and it would feel so good to talk to him about it. But he was still so weak. "You were quite out of your head with delirium. There were many things said, but I highly doubt anything meaningful."
Mark frowned and his gaze could be felt burning as she focused on trimming near his mouth. His hand reached up and lowered hers. "You look upset. I sense that I said something, and you're wishing very much that I remembered," he said in a low, gentle tone.
Searching his eyes didn't portray any recollection of anything. "Do you recall a conversation with Grandfather?"
His brow furrowed. "Something about university? I was fired for missing so many classes, wasn't I?" The man didn't seem to care overly much.
A forced smile and shake of the head didn't deter him.
Mark caught her hand. "You're upset. Tell me what happened."
"You need a haircut and a nap, sir. Nurse's orders." She stood and began to trim his hair. "Why is it that a man gets long lashes and soft hair?"
His arm slipped around her waist and guided her to stand in front. "Come. My neck still hurts to turn my head too far." He looked up. "You're trying to be brave when I can feel a tidal wave of hurt in you. Tell me what happened, sweetheart."
Slowly taking the scissors to his hair, the conversation was recaptured.
Near the end of his haircut, the story ended.
He remained silent for one minute and then two.
"It was delirium, Mark, and—"
"And every word meant until I started losing my mind," he finished. "I confess that I was far from eloquent in that conversation, but most every word is true. I wouldn't hide you or the children." He turned at the waist and looked up at her. "I shouldn't have unburdened myself like that on you—"
"Because Anna taught you not to?"
Even he blinked at the sting of those words but remained patient. "Because I don't want you to misunderstand that you or the children are some kind of burden because of your heritage."
His hand slipped into hers. "I adore everything about you and think you're extraordinarily beautiful. I was terribly wrong in my teaching style at the university that day and worrying what others thought about you, not because I'm afraid they'll judge you or I for your pedigree but because they would judge your character. You earned your place at university on your own merit, not because you lifted your skirts for the professor. I can't make everyone respect your nationality, but I can make them respect your sex.
"There are times that I hate the fact that you're a woman because if you were a man, every university would be vying for you, publishing your work and inventions in every journal." His face grew sad. "But because you are a woman, you must work twice as hard for even less recognition than a goddamn quack barber like Mr. Price's. And because you are half Native American, they deem you worth even less.
"I hate what the world tries to do to you, and there are times when I hate myself because I lie about your heritage to keep you or the children safe. I hate that I don't always know what to do and it makes you question if I'm ashamed. But do know that I'm never ashamed of you or the children." He eased her across his lap.
"And do you not want more children partly because of what I am?"
"Truthfully, there is a small part of me that does worry very much about life for our children if they take on Native American characteristics, but they will also live in a time where there is hopefully less prejudice. Do you worry that they'll look too much like me to be accepted by your people?"
She blinked. "Oh. I never thought about that. I never really thought about teaching them about, much less visiting, the tribe. I think I'm glad that Charles has many English characteristics, but I do worry about Della sometimes because she does look like Grandmama and I."
His eyes began to droop from so much conversation. "See? I have many of the same worries as you. It's not shame."
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she stood. "We should get you to bed. But, Mark?"
"Yes, my lady love?" He looked up.
"Thank you. I didn't realize how much this all has been bothering me."
"I only wish you'd brought it up sooner. And, Tanya? Have you truly forgiven me for being the stupidest man alive a couple weeks ago?" He caught her hand.
With a nod, she held his eyes and set a hand on his shoulder. "I'll always forgive you, Mark."
"Then I am a blessed man," he answered quietly and rested a hand over hers.
"Papaaa!" The children screamed with excitement when she brought them home a few days later after no one else showed signs of illness.
He laughed and pulled them into a hug as they climbed on the bed. "How have my little ones faired? I trust you were good for Mrs. Brigands and Grandmama?"
Della climbed under the blankets and Charles sat facing Mark, nodding his head vigorously. "We ate our vegetables and went to bed on time." Then he whispered behind his hand, "Della didn't eat all of her vegetables."
Mark simply chuckled. "Della, what are you doing, poppet?" He lifted the blanket.
"Leg!"
But she dove for Della too late. Mark yelped in pain as she pulled Della out from patting the end of Mark's leg and his less than three-week-old incision.
"Della, no! You hurt Papa!" Charles scolded.
The little one burst into tears.
"It's alright, Charles," Mark gasped and shifted. Then he held out his arms for her. "Poppet, it's alright. You didn't mean to."
"Papa has an owie right now, darling." She brushed the tears off of the little face as Mark cradled the babe.
"She kept touching everyone's legs at Grandmama's house," Charles said in irritation. "She had a tantrum that no one had a leg like Papa's."
"It probably makes her feel less different to have someone else around with some kind of brace." She stroked Charles's hair. "She's just trying to understand why she has one."
Mark looked at her over the children, guilt heavy in his eyes.
"Oh, don't you look at me like that. It was no one's fault." Then she scooped up Charles and set him on the floor. "Wash up for lunch."
"Me too?" Della clung her chubby little arms around Mark's neck and peeked out from under his chin.
"Yes, you too." She lifted Della down.
"Papa too?" Della held up her little hands for Mark to pick her up.
"I can't carry you for a while, poppet," he said sadly and stroked the tiny cheek.
"Why?" Della kept her arms up.
"Here we go." Charles rolled his eyes.
"Excuse me, young man?" She set a hand on her hip. It wasn't like Charles to be short tempered with his sister.
"It's all she says all day, Mama! Grandmama told her no more 'why'!"
Mark suppressed a smile. "You did it too at that age. Go wash up and help Mama set the table."
"Why?" Della turned to her with arms outstretched.
"Because it's time to eat." She scooped up the babe.
"Why?"
She stopped in the doorway and gave Mark a look. "You're coming to run 'why' control too."
"Why?" He grinned.
Setting Della down, she patted the little bottom. "Go to the sink and I'll be right there to help you wash your hands."
"Why?" Della turned around and looked up with those big brown eyes.
She leaned her hands on her knees and bit back a smile. "Why?"
That made a wrinkle of confusion mar Della's smooth brow. "No! Me why!"
Mark snorted a laugh. "Don't tell your mama 'no,' Della."
"Scoot." She pointed to the sink.
"Why?"
"Della," Mark warned.
The little poppet clasped both hands to her mouth with a gasp at being caught causing trouble, and she giggled as she ran to the sink.
"Why is it that when you tell them something, they do it right away?" She turned to him.
He shrugged. "Why?"
With a roll of her eyes, she pointed at him. "You, sir, are well enough for your hands to have tried wandering last night, so you're well enough to help me with the children for lunch." She walked over and helped him haul himself out of bed.
Those blue eyes searched hers as he looked down. The hospital pallor had yet to leave his face where his eyes and cheeks had slightly sunken in, but the sparkle was back in his eye. "Thank you, Tanya."
"For what? Not throwing you to the two little wolves out there?" She pulled off his nightshirt and helped him on with a shirt and pants.
"I can dress myself now." He kept a hand on her hip to balance without the crutches.
She shrugged. "I strip and dress everyone in this house, so I might as well add you to the list," she teased. "You're still quite weak. There's no harm in me helping."
"I certainly won't complain if you want to strip me." He cracked a smile. The wise man quickly changed the topic. "Thank you for taking care of me. And for wedding me, and for the children. And for loving me even when I'm a stupid blockhead." An intimacy filled his voice that hadn't been there in a long time. His voice fell to a husky baritone. "We're so busy with the children and clinic that sometimes I forget to stop and have these moments with you." His eyes dropped to her lips.
Rising onto her toes, she laid a hand on his chest that was still too thin. "I don't remember the last time you made my heart flutter," she breathed.
His head lowered to hers.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" Della squealed in delight.
Mark heaved a sigh of exasperation and looked down where Della pulled on his pants. "And there's one of the reasons why," he smiled and raised his eyes to her. He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "We'll resume this tonight, Mrs. Johnson. Della, don't say 'stupid'."
Except he was so tired from the children during lunch that he slept all afternoon and right through dinner.
"You've lost fifteen pounds." She frowned and looked up from the scale.
"It'll come back soon enough, woman." He grabbed the crutches and stepped off. "Get on."
"What?"
"You lose weight when you're stressed. Your dress is a bit loose. Get on the scale."
Her mouth moved, but she turned away. Silence. The world of silence and mumbles unless everyone spoke louder was enough to drive a man insane. "I didn't hear you, and you're not looking at me to be able to lip read." Sometimes it grew hard to remain patient, but she was adjusting to this as much as himself.
She turned and met his eyes. At least there was an upside of being partially deaf now—being able to see her beautiful face more. "I said, you're the patient."
Irritation rose. Almost three weeks of being the patient began to grow quite old. She still fretted as if he was about to perish. "I'm the physician, woman. Get on the scale."
"You're incredibly bossy."
"Mm, you're the one who married me," he replied dryly, caught her hand, and guided her on. "Eight pounds. You didn't keep on any weight from having Della to be able to lose anything. At least she's done nursing so maybe you'll stop burning so much energy."
She stepped off and looked up at him. "What if we have one more?"
So much hope filled her eyes. A punch to the gut would've been preferable to denying her yet again. "We talked about this. The last pregnancy was dangerous; we're not pushing our luck. If you want another babe terribly, we can adopt."
"But maybe it was all the stress of the tribe and—"
"Tanya, no. We talked about this." Turning away, the damn crutches to get to the bed were yet another reminder of his lacking attributes, on top of everything else.
"No, you decided!" She must've stomped because there was a faint thud and floorboards vibrated.
Turning, every muscle flinched finding her right there.
"Sorry," she mouthed, as if speaking softly, and set a hand on his chest.
At least she wasn't angry enough to not have patience with this new disability, but the humiliation only fueled the irritation.
He tossed the crutches aside and sat. "Dammit, it's not safe for you!" he snapped. "Aside from the tumor, you had severe morning sickness with both Della and Charles! Add in the facts that we have no idea what caused the tumor and you almost hemorrhaged to death from it, and I sure as hell am not getting you pregnant! That's it and final!"
Turning away, she walked over to the vanity with a heavy heart and picked up the hairbrush.
God, it hurt to see her so sad. She'd wanted a house full of children, and he'd built it for her. Now, two rooms upstairs would forever be empty to remind her. "Sweetheart, I know you wanted several children. If this was reversed, you wouldn't want me to take such a risk." His voice softened with regret.
She stared down at the brush for nearly a minute and gave a small shake of her head, as if she spoke. Not being able to hear made her little expressions so much more noticeable. Every emotion traveled through her whole body, whether happy or sad. And right now, her head hung and shoulders slumped and even the soft shake of her head revealed heartache.
"Come, love. I'm a bit dizzy from being upright for so long. I think you said something. Come tell me where I can see and hold you, sweetheart." He held out his arm and scooted back against the pillows.
She looked over her shoulder at him and then at the floor, as if debating. It wasn't hard to see that she contemplated simply pretending that she hadn't just admitted something, which meant she'd said something very vulnerable that needed to be heard.
"Please, Tanya. I want to know what you wanted me to hear. I don't want this deafness to be something that drives you away. I know it's frustrating and an easy way out if a confession escapes. You only let me in when you speak softly, and I can't hear that anymore." Tears burned at the thought of never hearing her soft whispers again. "Please don't take that away too."
The hairbrush lowered to the vanity and she came over, her footsteps silent in this new world. She curled up against him and rested her head on his chest, but her chest didn't vibrate, as if not speaking.
"Say it loud enough so I may hear it while I hold you," he whispered and laced his fingers with hers on his chest.
"The pregnancy with Charles was awful, from conception to us practically hating each other to you faking your death in England. The pregnancy with Della started out with severe morning sickness and then progressed to the tribe massacre and the tumor and then a terrible birth. I want a pregnancy where we're just happy, Mark." Her voice broke on the last words.
Taking a deep breath to blink back the tears helped. She needed strength right now. "I wish I could give you that. Even if there was another pregnancy without complications, there is no guarantee that it's all hearts and flowers the entire nine months. Life keeps going during pregnancy—illness, fires, layoffs... We have a healthy family, sweetheart. Don't ask me to risk losing that." He pressed a kiss to her hair.
"Accidents happen. What if there is a babe? I won't terminate a pregnancy."
"I wouldn't ask you to do that. I've been thinking that maybe I should have a vasectomy to ensure you can't get pregnant." Even saying it caused fleeting panic. It was an experimental surgery yet and said to be a painful recovery, but the thought of losing her was far more frightening.
Her shoulders shook but there was no other sound as she buried her face against his chest. It took a moment to realize that she wept.
"My Tanya," he whispered and held her close. "It's only because I don't want you in danger." He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Don't cry, my lady love. Don't cry," he breathed.
It hurt to even face him the day of the surgery. He'd gained back his weight and muscle the past weeks, but he refused the marriage bed without protection on. And she refused with it.
"You're welcome to come, even if you'd rather not assist." It was said with hesitation, as if he wasn't sure how she'd react.
The professor was doing it in the clinic next door. If something went wrong, she'd be near but there was no need to be a part of it. She gave a small shake of her head and carried more breakfast dishes to the sink. His deafness made it easier and easier to not speak, simply nod or shake her head in response.
"Are you sad, or would you be truly upset if I do it?" His leg wasn't quite ready for the prosthesis, so he stood on crutches between the sink and table and transferred dishes over.
"It's not my decision. Legally I don't have a say either," she replied quietly.
"Tanya, please look at me if you speak softly," he pleaded.
She repeated the words louder, not wanting to look at him because it would just hurt worse.
"But I'm asking for your say, Tanya. I don't want to do something permanent that you're not ready for."
Spinning on her heel, she flung a dishtowel on the counter and everything exploded out. "I don't want any of this! I don't want to use protection but you won't go without! Someone has to give because there is no compromise in this! I'm the one who doesn't get say because you're the man!"
He glared. "I have not held the man card over your head! I don't know if I'm ready for a permanent step like this, but I do know that your life is in danger with another pregnancy! I want to give you more babes, but it's not possible! This is a no-win situation for both of us, and I really wish you'd try to be supportive instead of see me as the bad guy!"
Her eyes widened in surprise.
The fight left his voice, revealing only hurt and sadness in its wake. "I know you hate any decision that doesn't mean a babe, and I wish more than anything that I could give that to you but I can't. I have to do what's safe for you, and if you won't agree to protection paired with avoiding certain times of the month, that leaves me with this. Frankly, I'm not chomping at the bit for a knife to slice and dice down there in a surgery that is still largely experimental, but I'll do it if this is what will keep you safe and not using protection will make intimacy not so heartbreaking for you."
It was a sacrifice and risk he was willing to make for her sake, and he felt all alone in this. Something tugged hard in her chest. Stepping closer, she set a hand on his chest and looked up into his eyes.
"Mark, I'm not ready for something permanent, and I don't want you having an unnecessary surgery where the complications aren't even understood. It's a surgery largely done only on criminal attackers to subdue their...urges, not done on healthy, normal men. I'll give in to using protection; I just need time to kick and scream and come to terms with it. I know you're not trying to be the bad guy...I just wish for the impossible." The words breathed out with heartbreak.
His eyes softened and he wrapped his arms around, "I know. I'm sad too, Tanya, but we're in this together."
Bless his heart, he hadn't made any advancements for the past two months and hadn't said a peep about it since cancelling the surgery.
He stood in candlelight in the bedchamber with the prosthesis on and peeled off his shirt after a long day at work. His back had filled out again and now rippled with large muscles.
A fire ignited deep inside simply watching him ready for bed. He was as beautiful as that night in England when she'd run into his chest after he stopped her from cutting off her hair.
He undid his pants and let them fall, revealing a beautiful backside and a thick, strong thigh. He reached for the prosthesis strap around his waist.
Stepping forward as the need to touch him grew too powerful to resist, her arms wrapped around and brushed his hands aside to do the straps herself.
The poor man jumped, and he looked over his shoulder. A soft smile touched his lips. "Are you going to help?"
Pressing a kiss to his back served as the answer. It was still so easy to forget that he struggled to hear, and she made him startle more often than not. He claimed it was because her delicate frame floated about a room like a fairy. She's have to remember to approach him from the front. He had unending patience with her and the children as everyone tried to adapt to his semi-deafness, which only made the love for him grow.
The strap fell. Such delicious hills and valleys of muscle as her hand trailed across his back and she stepped around him.
Those blue eyes searched hers, with a slight smile on his lips, as if curious what she was about.
She stroked once between his thighs.
A gasp as his body bucked in reaction and his hands clutched her shoulders. His head fell back. Such a simple touch, and yet his reaction was instant and complete. "Tanya, it's been almost nine months. Don't poke the dragon," he begged.
Stroking a finger along his jaw brought his eyes to hers so he would see the words. "Make love to me," she breathed.
"Are you certain?"
She nodded.
Embarrassment colored his cheeks. "I'll need the light on. I wouldn't be able to see or hear you in the dark if you got frightened."
"I trust you, but I don't mind the light." Raising onto her toes, she guided his head down for a kiss.
His fingers rested on her throat as he kissed and elicited a moan. "Does this frighten you? Just so I can feel your purrs of pleasure since I can't hear them anymore," he whispered between kisses, but the ache of loss was in his tone.
Frightened because the assault had been accompanied by choking and a slit across the throat. His sadness, however, is what hurt and caused a need to soothe his pain. "It doesn't frighten me," she said loud enough for him to hear and let the next moan be louder.
His hands bit into her hips with need as she kissed his neck. "Oh god, I heard you," he gasped and yanked her bodice apart. "I'll buy a new one if I tore it," he panted and quickly stripped her free.
A giggle answered. "You're so eager."
"Giddy that I have a woman who doesn't mind the light or being loud so I can hear her whimpers of pleasure." He grinned and laid her on the bed.
She frowned and captured his face to watch her lips. "Have you been worried about making love because of your hearing?"
Self-consciousness filled his eyes and he couldn't quite look at her. "If you preferred in the dark, I wouldn't know if I was pleasing you—"
"Oh for heaven sakes, you always please me." Then she pulled him down for a kiss, and her back arched with a cry of pleasure as his hand wandered.
"You shouldn't wake me like that," she panted the next morning.
He rolled off. "Why not?" The man gave a naughty grin and kissed his way down her belly.
"Because the children might hear." She gasped as he reached under the sheets.
"My lady love, I shall have to remember to never have a house close to neighbors, at the risk of them hearing you." Then he rolled her on top to straddle his hips, and he tucked his hands behind his head. "Have your way with me, my Tanya. This way you won't wake the children, and I'll still know if you're pleased."
Her eyes widened at the scandalousness of it.
But her hesitation only made his hands clamp down on her hips and show her what to do.
She collapsed on his chest minutes later. "Mark?"
He tilted her head up to watch her lips.
A shy smile tugged. "I think we sinned."
The man chuckled and stroked her hair, his chest heaving as much as hers. "That was absolutely amazing, wife. You are quite beautiful to watch."
"Hush." She buried her face against his chest in embarrassment.
His fingers gave a lazy stroke up and down her spine. "I'm beginning to not mind this deafness so much. There are surprising benefits to it."
"Scoundrel." Swatting his chest, she sat up and took the sheet with for modesty.
He smiled and sat up to follow, tugging the sheet away. "Let me admire my beautiful wife." His hands skimmed over curves and he pressed a kiss to her neck.
"You can't possibly not be spent," she said loud enough for him to hear, even as her hands fisted in his hair and he stirred embers.
"Yes, but you aren't. I intend to leave my woman completely satisfied," he breathed and laid her down again.
She finally dragged herself out of bed a bit later, her knees wobbly enough to need to hold onto the wall as she clutched the sheets tight to her chest and turned to face him.
He reclined on his side and propped his head in one hand, a rakish smile on his lips. "You look quite thoroughly ravished, my lady love."
Running a hand through her tangled hair, she threw him a look that didn't seem very effective with the dazed, weak-kneed feeling he'd left behind. "You seem to think you're a Casanova. The children need breakfast."
"I'm content to continue exploring my wife until the children wake up. It's only seven."
She frowned and looked at the clock. "It's eight."
A mischievous grin split his lips. "I set the clock ahead so you wouldn't object to me waking you at five."
Her jaw dropped in a silent gasp. "You rake!"
"Yes. Let me show you how much." He slid to the edge of the bed and reached for the sheet.
She batted his hand away but couldn't help but giggle as he reeled her in. Standing between his legs with a hand on his shoulder and the other clasping the sheet to her chest, she looked down at him. "It feels like it's been forever since we had time like this to just play and relax."
He parted the sheet and kissed up her belly. "It has been, my Tanya. Let me have you a bit longer."
"Mamaaaaa!"
Della's voice carried loud enough that Mark must've heard because he sighed and looked up. Happiness glittered in his eyes, in a way it hadn't in a long time. "Let me wake you up at five again tomorrow."
A hot flush rose that made it impossible to hold back the smile. "I suppose I shall not protest."
He grinned and threw her down on the bed, leaving her knees too weak to get up seconds later.
"That's...not fair," she panted and sat up as he strapped on the prosthesis at the edge of the bed.
The man looked over his shoulder. "I have nine months to make up for. I agree, it wasn't fair—I expected to play with you for another hour." Then he pulled on his shirt and pants with a grin and slipped out the door.
"She'll be behind in size and perhaps a little bit of learning, but she appears fine." He tucked the babe back in the basket.
"Thank you, Dr. Johnson." Relief filled Mr. Theodore's eyes.
Tanya stood on her toes and peeked in the basket on the exam table, with a longing smile in her lips. "Is the wet nurse working out?" She reached in and stroked the babe's cheek with a finger.
God, it hurt to see her eat up every moment with the babe. She managed to be the perfect work partner, the perfect wife, and the perfect mother, yet she wanted to make room for another little one in the family.
The blacksmith shifted his feet. "She...well, I don't know that she's patient with Mary."
Tanya's eyes flew to the man, her look fierce. "She hurts her?"
"No, ma'am, just that Mary seems hungry again even minutes later. I give her goat milk. I can't help but think the wet nurse isn't feeding her all the way and only taking a paycheck."
Oh dear. Taking a step back from Tanya would be safest. Edging back, the door barely missed his nose as she barreled out.
The blacksmith blinked. "Um, where is she going?"
Heaving a sigh, he shrugged on his cape and grabbed Tanya's. "She's going to give the woman what for. Next time, keep your mouth shut and tell me in private."
The winter wind whipped snow, but Tanya didn't appear to feel it because she marched forward. Trotting to catch up, he threw the cape over her shoulders. "Do I dare ask if you need assistance?" he called over the wind.
She threw him a look. Apparently Mama Bear was on the loose.
Upon reaching a house in the lumberyard, she stormed up the steps and barged right through the door.
"Tanya!" He scrambled up the stairs.
An hour later and there was still ringing in the ears from so much women's screeching. He shifted Charles to the opposite leg and glanced up over the children's book to where Tanya rocked a sleeping Della in the library. The wet nurse had been fired, but it clearly still weighed heavily on Tanya's mind about whom would nourish the babe.
"Papa!" Charles shook the book.
"Patience, Charles. What is it?"
Those gray eyes looked up with hurt. "I asked you three times."
A frown pulled. "My apologies, I didn't hear you say anything. What do need?"
"What's th...?" The sound faded away as Charles looked down at the book and pointed.
"Charles, I need you to look at me so I can hear you."
The boy grabbed the book and threw it and then shoved himself to his feet. He spun around with his little fists at his sides in outrage. "You never listen to me anymore!"
"Charles!" Tanya looked up in shock. "Papa's ears got hurt when he was sick! He's not trying to ignore you—"
He held up a hand. "Let him express if he's hurt." Scooting to the edge of the settee, he leaned his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "It makes you feel not important when someone doesn't listen, doesn't it?"
Charles nodded and rubbed at his eyes as he started to cry.
"You and Mama and Della are the most important things in the world to me. Sometimes my ears don't work, and it makes me mad too."
"You're a doctor. Why don't you fix them?" He sniffled.
A sad smile tugged. "Sometimes a doctor can't fix things. Your voice is soft, like Mama's and Della's. A lot of times I can't hear Mama either. When you talk to me, I need you to either grab my hand so I can see your lips to tell what you're saying, or to talk loud so I can hear it."
"Like this!" Charles bellowed.
A chuckle burst out. "Perhaps not quite that loud." The smile faded. "If I don't answer, you come grab my face to look at you. Like this." Capturing both of Charles's hands, he held them on his cheeks. He let go, but Charles didn't.
"Papa?" He leaned his little forehead to touch.
"Yes, my boy?" Such a sweet moment with a son already and brave and kind and intelligent as his mother.
"Did I do a good job reading to you?"
The happiness fled, replaced with grief. There'd been no sound, just flipping pages. But apparently Charles had been trying to read the book to him.
"You did a very good job, Charles," Tanya said, as if reading his expression. "I think Papa would like to hear it again."
Charles grabbed the book and climbed up in his lap.
She held his eyes with a sad expression. "Things will get better as we all learn how to adjust." Then she gave a pointed nod to Charles.
He looked down. Charles's mouth moved and he turned the page, but there was no sound. Tears blurred everything.
"Papa?!" The boy's voice carried a bit too loud.
Brushing at his eyes quickly, he looked down. "Yes, son?"
"Mama said to read louder! Can you hear me?!"
A watery laugh escaped. "I can hear you this time." Giving him a hug, Charles eagerly stumbled through reading the pages.
"The end!" Charles looked up with a proud grin.
His eyebrows shot up and he glanced up at Tanya. "He read."
She smiled. "He's been practicing hard to be able to read books to you if you get sick again."
If that didn't damn well melt a heart. "Oh, my boy. That was very good! Maybe you should read me bedtime stories."
Charles laughed and scrambled down. He dropped to the floor and pulled out several from the shelf. "I'll find a good one!" he shouted.
Tanya winced. "A little bit softer so you don't wake Della, Charles."
But Della lifted her head and rubbed a fist to her eye.
"How's my girl?" Getting up, there was a knock on the door as soon as he reached for her.
"It's probably for you anyways." Tanya's chest heaved, as if she sighed, and kept ahold of the babe.
Everything was so goddamn hard not hearing softer sounds. "Was that a sigh of irritation or disappointment?"
"Both." She looked up as her voice faded into silence but her lips kept moving. "We haven't had time together like this in a while."
"I know. Maybe it's nothing." Setting a hand on her shoulder on the way past, a glance out the window revealed what appeared to be a man dragging a woman back to the door.
Whipping the door open, he snapped, "Get your hands off her!"
Running a hand over his face minutes later, he slammed the clinic door on the way through the house to find Tanya. She wasn't going to like this one bit.
Mark stormed into the library looking like an enraged bull. "Tanya."
Setting Della on the floor to play with books with Charles, she walked to the doorway where Mark waited. "What's wrong?"
"There's a pompous arse who dragged his wife here claiming she has fits of temper and mood swings," he spat.
Her eyebrows rose. "And you sound disgusted because...?"
He snorted. "His manner is giving me fits and mood swings. The batshit bastard is demanding a cliteroidectomy."
Oh dear heaven. "As in Isaac Baker-Brown's theory from the '50s of cutting off a woman's...?"
He nodded. "It's a popular practice in London and apparently has reached here, from what I hear from the university professors. How the hell anyone thinks a heinous act is medicine is beyond me. He's a goddamn moron who will simply drag her to another clinic if I turn him away."
Her stomach dropped. "You're doing it?"
"Of course not," he snapped. Then he glanced at the children and dropped his voice. "Have you heard of hysterical paroxysms?"
When she shook her head, his cheeks flushed.
"Hear me out first. It sounds like he's just doing this because she isn't a meek woman but may have normal mode changes associated with her cycle. She's of very sound mind and has no physical ailment that I can find. Many physicians claim its hysteria in women and even go so far as to institutionalize them. I can give him the hysteria diagnosis to shut him up, but it does mean hysterical paroxysms accompany as treatment, which is no harm to her. Legally, I can't tell her to lie to him and say she had treatment."
She frowned. "So just do it."
His cheeks burned. "Well, I think you might prefer to do it yourself instead of me. Hysterical paroxysms are orgasms."
"What?"
He had the sense to wince at that dry tone. "I can show you stacks of literature that this is considered a real treatment. It's using the hand to do it, nothing more. I'm not exactly comfortable with this because we are wed, and I'm doubtful you'd be comfortable with me doing it either."
"Damn right I'm not!"
"Which is why I wanted to see if you'd be comfortable doing it."
Swallowing down the embarrassment, she searched his eyes. "You'll have to teach me what to do."
He lowered the anatomy book a minute later.
"Have...have you done this before?" Not looking at him would make the answer more bearable.
"When I was in Africa," he said quietly, "there was a woman suffering depression after childbirth. Nothing else worked and the mental ill are treated terribly there. It was the only thing I could think of that wasn't cruel, ineffective treatments. She came twice a week for five months, and it helped get her through until her body righted itself after having a babe. It was nothing sexual any more than when you've seen me need to give a female exam."
She caught his hand to stop the explanation. "I believe you. I'll try it."
"Absolutely not!" The man roared in the clinic. "A female surgeon?! You should horsewhip sense into her! She's just as mad and won't touch my woman!"
Mark stepped forward, his neck red with anger. "You'll do well to watch your mouth," he hissed. "She has saved lives, and yours is getting close to being one of those."
"Fine! I'll take her to Price's surgeon!" He grabbed the woman's wrist.
Horror flashed through the woman's eyes. "No! Please! No!" She sobbed and tried to break free.
Price's quack will butcher the woman, if not kill her with infection. Setting a hand on Mark's arm, she turned so he'd see her lips because looking at him would only bring tears. "Do it." Then she hurried to the door to the house.
"Tanya." He caught her arm in the doorway.
With a shake of her head, she said loud enough for him to hear over the woman's sobs, "She won't survive the barber. Do it." Then she shut the door.
Theresa looked up from her chair in the library with the children. "Done with your procedure already?"
Procedure. If only Theresa knew what Mark was doing, to have someone at all to talk to. Tears threatened. "Not quite. Can you stay a few more minutes?"
She nodded.
Charles came barrelling over. "Mama?"
Blinking back the tears, she knelt. "Yes, Charles?"
His little finger wiped a tear just as it fell. Then he gave a soft kiss on the cheek. "There. You're not sad anymore." He smiled.
Forcing a smile, she kissed his brow. "Thank you. Go play with your train."
He ran back to Della and the toys, and she shut the door to keep out any sound.
Hurrying to the bedchamber before the children saw more tears, she shut the door.
A soft cry of pleasure came through the wall that hurt to hear so much that tears fell. But it was the low murmur of Mark's voice saying something, followed by another gasp, that made a sob burst out.
Scrambling for the door so fast that she nearly fell, she yanked it open and ran up the steps. Anywhere to escape hearing another woman pleasured by his touch.
It felt like a panic, a madness—darting from room to room upstairs trying to escape the growing cries of pleasure.
His stomach clenched tighter walking into the house. The woman hadn't been quiet and hadn't finished quickly, despite attempts to get it over with as fast as possible because Tanya would no doubt be upset.
Quickly crossing the house, he whipped open the library door where she must be cocooned in with the children for comfort.
The children and Theresa looked up. "Theresa? Where's Tanya?"
Her eyes widened. "I thought she went back to you. Is the patient alright? It sounded like she was in a lot of pain."
Oh god, Tanya had heard. "Yes, she's fine now."
"Papa?" Charles frowned. "Mama was sad. I gave her a kiss."
And probably in tears. He had to find her. "That's a good boy. I'll be right back."
Hurrying to the bedchamber revealed nothing. Stepping into the dumbwaitor, the rope wouldn't pull fast enough to get upstairs like he could've with two legs. Each moment she was missing brought more and more worry over how heartbroken she must be.
Not in the children's room either. "Tanya?" The empty room intended for more children that would never be had the door closed at the far end of the hall, opposite of the clinic. Trotting to it as his heart pounded faster, he barged through. And it was hard not to sink to his knees with heartbreak.
She sat in the far corner of the room with her knees curled up to her chest, head bowed, and arms folded over her knees in a way that covered her ears. Her soft sobs brought unbearable pain.
He walked over. "Tanya?" He laid a hand on the wall to get down on the floor with her, but she flew upright and flung her arms around his neck.
Her entire body trembled with distress.
"Shhh, sweetheart. What are you doing in here?" The empty room of all places that broke her heart.
"It w,was the only...one where I couldn't hear her," she sobbed.
Looking up at the ceiling didn't stop the tears from welling as he held her tight. "There was nothing sexual or arousing for me. My mind was on how hard you may've been taking it and getting back to you."
"What did you say to her during it?" Her small frame shuddered trying to breathe between the sobs.
Oh god, she had heard just about everything. "I lied and told her the treatment would work better if she was quiet. I kept her skirts down and didn't even look at her. I'm faithful to you, Tanya. I told her how to do it herself and advised once a month to hopefully placate him. She shouldn't be back for this, and I won't do it again if she comes."
"But—"
"He may take her to the barber anyways. I won't destroy us." He pressed a kiss to her hair.
She sniffled and pulled back enough that he wiped her soaked cheeks. "If this was another desperate case of depression or illness, I think it'd bother me less." Her face crumpled. "I just...hearing your voice in the middle of it was just too much."
The tears fell freely and he sniffled. "Tanya, I promise that I was and am so worried about you that I seriously doubt I can have a physical reaction right now. There was not one sexual thought—"
"I know. I trust you. It was just...awful."
"I know, sweetheart. Let's go back down with the children and spend time together."
"Mark?" She said softly in bed that evening and slid her small body on top and peeled off her nightgown. "I need it to be just you and me." A need for love to heal the pain reflected in her eyes.
His fingers laced with hers. "It's always just you and me, my lady love." A kiss sealed the promise as his hands buried in her long locks. But it didn't cause a need like it should've.
Minutes later, he lifted his head. "Tanya, I don't think tonight will work." She was being so patient, and this was damn embarrassing.
"You're in your head, aren't you? Relax and give yourself time." Her hands caressed his chest and neck.
"I keep thinking about you sobbing and—"
She guided his hand down and ran a leg up his. "Then let my pleasure help you find yours," she purred.
"Tanya, I can't," he whispered minutes later and kissed down her body.
Dear god, she was flushed and slightly sleepy and purring like a cat, stretched out on top of the sheets in the candlelight for his eyes to feast upon. She was absolutely gorgeous, and her body rose in a graceful arc as he played the strings that made her pleasure. She offered every inch of her body, every reaction to his touch, to the candlelight for his pleasure alone.
"Then have me as you will," she whispered and responded again to a caress.
"My god, you're exquisite," he breathed and kissed her thigh. A fleeting ember lit and then died.
"Mark, I need you," she gasped and her hands clutched fistfuls of the sheets at her sides.
Something snapped. There was suddenly an instant, consuming need to claim her immediately.
"How did you know?" he asked minutes later in the tub.
She shrugged with a smile. "A woman knows her husband." But her smile faded as she reclined in his lap and leaned back to look up. Her mouth moved, but no sound came. Sadness clouded her eyes.
"Sweetheart, I can't see your mouth enough to know what you said."
Her voice raised a bit. "Did your father shame you for expressing your feelings?"
A frown tugged. What an odd question. "Why do you ask?"
"You're better than when we first wed, but you try so hard sometimes to hide your sentiments. Yet when Charles was angry with you, you didn't stop him from yelling at you." She turned a little bit more to face him in the small space.
He sighed. "He didn't beat me, but there were plenty of days in isolation and without food in the nursery room. My mother would sneak in at night and bring me food and hold me when I'd cry from the dark...until one night my father caught her and dragged her out." The door slammed on that terrible memory. "She didn't come again for nearly a week, and she moved slowly." His voice hardened. "I think he beat her for it. From then on, I learned that expressing sentiment meant being locked away to 'man up,' which meant my mother risked herself trying to sneak in. I don't think I cried from the time I got lost in the woods that night until Anna died." He gave her a dry look. "But you seem to drag it out almost weekly, woman."
Her arms wrapped around from an awkward angle. "It's good for you. You're a sentimental man, but I shall keep your secret. The men at the lumberyard seem to respect but also fear you." A smile played on her lips.
An eyebrow cocked in warning. "And it shall remain that way. No one will tamper with a man's wife or children when they fear his wrath."
She giggled as he scooped her up to curl across his lap. "Such a fierce dragon his is," she smiled and trailed a finger down his cheek.
"Best you remember that," he growled. "The bath is growing cold, and you have chills." He slipped her over the edge and onto her feet. "Put on a towel and fetch my crutches."
That beautiful face fell. "We're going to bed?"
"No, wife, we're going to the library where I can warm you by the fire. Should I had to seduce you to warm your blood, so be it."
Happiness shined in her eyes. "Yes, Mark."
He held up a finger. "And I don't want to hear a word of protest."
"No, Mark." A shy smile bloomed on her face.
Anticipation mounted waiting for a saucy response. When none came forth, he prodded. "Snap to it, woman, unless you wish to irk my temper with your disobedience."
Her head bowed with a grin as she wrapped a towel around herself. "No, Mark."
He scowled. The woman wasn't being any fun at this usual game of wits. "Do not even think of giving me sass."
"No, Mark. I heard you—I'm to submit to your throws of passion on a bed of seduction and only let you hear my cries of pleasure."
He blinked. She was certainly bold in her sass.
Then she handed over a towel and continued. "I have demands of my own, husband."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. She never made demands.
"Before you ravish me to oblivion, we will lie by the fire and talk of nothing and everything like we used to and then I'll fall asleep in your arms before the fire after we make love."
It sounded entirely perfect and romantic.
She snapped her fingers. "Stop dawdling, Mark," she ordered.
Hauling himself up, he frowned with a haughty look that made even the King of England shrink back. "You snap your fingers at me?"
Her head wiggled with sass as she raised her brow. "I shall snap my fingers if I please when you simply gawk instead of do my bidding."
"Is that so?" Don't smile, it would ruin her lovely self-confidence. "Must I remind you that I'm the head of this household—"
"And I'm the neck, husband. I simply let you think you run everything when I'm actually the one telling you where to look." Her lips pursed with a threatening smile as she set her hands on her hips over the towel.
Speechlessness finally hit.
The minx smiled, set his crutches against the tub, and then sashayed toward the library.
Scrambling to wrap the towel around his waist and step out of the tub, he called, "Wait, don't truly do that, do you?"
She stopped with one hand on the doorframe and gave a knowing grin. "Don't I?" Her laughter followed her out.
His jaw dropped. "You little minx, come back here, woman! Do you do that?" He hurried after her on the crutches.
The woman turned in the library when he caught up. With a sultry smile, she trailed a finger down his chin. "Husband, there are some things a woman never tells."
