She frowned.

Mark listened to the lumberyard worker's chest for several minutes and even set a hand on it. Then he met her eyes from across the exam table. "We'll go grab some medicine from in back."

Following him to the stock room, she glanced up at him when he closed the door. "What's wrong?"

"I can feel what I suspect is an arrhythmia, but I can't hear it to confirm." Shame filled his eyes. "I need you to check."

"Alright. What am I listening for?" She set a hand on his arm when he hesitated. "Mark, there's no shame in making certain of a diagnosis before treatment. I can be your ears when you need it."

"And what if I don't know and miss something?"

Standing on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "You're a good surgeon and shouldn't let this make you doubt yourself. Teach me what to listen for, and I can check patients' hearts."

"A woman who plays medicine?" the man scoffed and pushed her hands away minutes later.

She held the man's glare. "No, a woman who has practiced medicine and saved lives. Of course, you're welcome to walk around with a fatal heart condition, if you prefer."

He looked her up and down. "Are you going to let your Injun talk like that?" Then his eyes returned to Mark.

"I didn't realize it was too complicated for you," she cut in. "What I said is you'll be dead within a month."

The man scoffed. "I don't need no Injun medicine." Then he got up.

"It isn't." Mark held up a packet of medicine. "It's digitalis. It'll help with your episodes, but first we need to confirm the diagnosis because the med could kill you if you don't need it." He listened again with the stethoscope. "And she has saved lives that I wasn't able to. If I were you, I'd take the chance on a free, second opinion."

He didn't move as she took the stethoscope and listened, although he mumbled under his breath.

"Minor mitral valve prolapse, as well." Thankfully another patient had been diagnosed before Mark had caught brain fever and lost some of his hearing. "It sounds exactly like that other case."

While Mark finished, she went down to the mercantile.

"Can I put in an order for something, Mrs. Johnson?" the merchant asked as she flipped through the ordering catalog.

"Mr. Pips," a glance around revealed no one else in the store, "I trust your discretion. My husband lost some hearing after his brain fever, and I'm hoping there is a stethoscope that might make chest sounds louder."

The older man stepped beside her and flipped through the large book to a small selection of stethoscopes. "When I was a youngen, old Doc couldn't hear a hoot and used this." He pointed to what looked like a miniature phonograph bell.

"Huh. I suppose it would work. May I put in an order?"

When she returned home, Mark looked up from where he dried surgical tools. "Where did you run off to?" He frowned.

"Do you have two dollars?" She walked over to him.

"What on earth do you need that costs two dollars?" But he handed it over anyways.

"Three, actually. I didn't have enough. It's a surprise." She took it and darted out.

She blinked at the mercantile owner. "Two months? There's no way for the stethoscope to come faster? Medicines come every two weeks."

"But this has to come on the stage coach all the way from New York." Mr. Pips shook his head.

"Alright," she sighed.


Mark's arm wrapped around and he pulled her across the bed against his chest that night. "I've been well enough for three days, my lady love."

"You said you're fertile yet," she whispered and stared at the lantern. The first couple times would be painful reminders that there'd never be more children. Tonight after the patient incident wasn't good timing to also be reminded that her body wasn't good enough at making babes.

He eased her onto her back and leaned up on his elbow to look down. "I couldn't see what you said." But his tone said he knew it was something sad.

She rolled away and tucked her hands under her cheek. A tear spilled.

His large hand splayed over her back. "There are so many things I never noticed about you before the deafness," he said quietly. "Your shoulders hunch the slightest bit when you're ashamed. Your heart speeds up when you try to force a brave front. Your eyes practically glow when you're happy. And your whole body and soul dim when you're sad. Right before you weep, your heart slows, as if there's too much grief weighing it down."

Pressing a hand to her mouth kept the tears silent as her face crumpled. He wasn't supposed to hear her soul louder in his deafnesss. His soul wasn't supposed to bind tighter to hers when the world closed in more every day.

"My Tanya," he whispered and eased her onto her back. He didn't seem surprised by the tears. "Talk to me." The tip of his finger brushed away a drop of sadness.

Something had happened this afternoon—she'd become so guarded and distant. It had to be more than just the patient's racist comments.

Tears made her beautiful eyes shimmer in the candlelight. There was so much pain in them that it almost hurt to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"You're gaining a reputation for an Injun lover."

"I don't give a rat's arse." He rolled his eyes, leaned down and kissed her creamy neck.

But she pushed against his chest.

Pulling back, he frowned. She rarely outright denied affection. "If it's your time, that doesn't phase me, but we can only kiss if you prefer." He leaned down.

"I prefer to not be your whore," she snapped.

That verbal slap made his head jerk back. "What?"

"The gossip is everywhere, like the soldier said."

His jaw clenched. Anger flared under her glare. "My apologies, I didn't realize that being a cripple's wife would ruin you," he barked and rolled out of bed to stand with the crutches.

She sat up. "I said nothing of the sort! That makes no sense!"

"It makes as much sense as what you said!"

"No! What I said is fact about what is swirling around the town!" She threw up her hands.

His teeth clenched. "That sure as hell didn't sound like a woman repeating a rumor," he growled.

Her eyes fell to her lap. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just...I'm so angry with you yet at times. She must have whispered because the world remained silent even though her lips moved. Then those big brown eyes looked up. "I can't pretend that I won't think about there being no more babes when we make love, or that people will talk like him—about all I'm good for now when no more babes show up is..." So much shame colored her face.

He eased onto the side of the bed and set the crutches aside. "And we couldn't have talked about this instead of ripping each other's heads off?" His hand rested over hers. "Tanya, people might say all you're good for is making babes if things were the other way around. We both know none of it is true. I know it hurts, but I also know we have to rely on instead of turn on each other.

"As far as making love, it'll take time to adjust to the new normal. You'll know when you're ready." A soft kiss sealed the promise, and he leaned his forehead to hers. "You're my world, my lady love. I need you to trust me in that if we're going to make it fifty more years together."


He faced the dresser and set his suspenders on the hook on the wall. It'd been almost two months of no physical affection besides a peck on the cheek. Never once did he push or even try to initiate more.

And the desire for him didn't return.

The need in his eyes slowly had faded over the weeks.

Mark threw his shirt in the laundry basket and then sat on the edge of the bed without a word and began to remove the prosthesis.

Marquess Debonairo almost despised physical contact, but Mark Johnson seemed to be withering without it.

"Mark?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" The kindness and patience in his tone hurt to hear when he didn't even turn, as if forcing himself to quietly suffer for her sake.

"Will it still...feel the same when we make love?"

He froze for a moment and then continued to pull on a nightshirt. The man only wore one when consciously avoiding physical intimacy—he had been wearing it for almost two months. "You won't notice a difference."

Scooting closer, she set a hand on his back. "But will you?"

He shrugged. "It's a surgery mostly done on criminals who then spend their lives in prison and are never intimate again."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It's my answer."

Meaning he didn't know.

"I've been nervous if it might hurt you." Her fingers ran down his shoulder.

His head whipped to her. "Is that why we haven't been intimate?"

"At first I was too sad, but then I started to be nervous that you'd hurt if we made love."

The man tore off his nightshirt and laid her down in one motion. "Dear god, Tanya, needing you hurts. We'll use protection just in case."

He collapsed minutes later, his body as sweaty as hers. "Sorry," he panted, "was I too rough?"

An embarrassed giggle answered. "I don't mind rough. You were very exuberant, husband." Then the smile faded as it dawned. "Do you not enjoy it as much...?"

A snort answered. "Was I not enthusiastic enough for you to tell?"

She frowned. "I wonder if you were so enthusiastic because otherwise it wasn't enjoyable."

"Women have such daft notions," he muttered. Then he glanced at her still waiting. "It's more enjoyable not being half terrified that you'll be impregnated and die from complications." He hobbled to the dresser on crutches, picked up the wash basin, and then stilled when he realized he couldn't walk and carry it. "This is damn incovenient," he growled.

With a smile, she slipped out from beneath the covers and sauntered over.

Blood rushed, taking in the candlelight glinting off her beautiful skin.

The woman took the basin and looked up from beneath her lashes. "Are you going to bathe me, husband?" she purred.

It wasn't the plan, but it sounded like a damn fine idea. Nodding like a speechless idiot, he hurried after her to the bed.


She set a package on his clinic desk the next morning.

Looking up from reading the latest medical journal while Della sat in his lap coloring a picture, he frowned. "What's this?"

Charles stilled and looked up from the floor where he played with his toy horses.

"It's for you." Tanya beamed and leaned a hip against the side of the desk.

"There's nothing that I need." It was still two weeks until Christmas, too. Even as the words came out, his hands tore open the brown shipping paper. She rarely gave gifts without an occassion, but when she did, they were thoughtful and because it was something he didn't realize he needed—like the cane where she'd inscribed the handle or the crutches or the prosthesis.

Charles scrambled up. "What is it?"

An old-fashioned stethoscope.

He blinked. She was a woman of technology and advancement. Why would she buy equipment that was decades outdated?

But she undid her top buttons and set the large bell to her chest, the smile on her lips growing.

"Tanya, I only hear muffled thuds of a heartbeat now. I can't—"

"Just try."

Biting his tongue, he stood and set his ear to the smaller end of the bell.

A perfect heartbeat, each sound magnified to be as clear as a bird. It couldn't be. "Take a deep breath."

The slight whoosh of air filling her chest came through, a sound not heard in months since the brain fever. "No," he gasped in amazement, grabbed her hand, and practically ran behind a patient curtain.

The wonderful woman laughed as he stripped her from the waist up and set the wide end of the stethoscope against her bare chest. Clear, beautiful sounds of a normal heartbeat. Then he stepped around to her back. More breathing sounds and the soft drumming of a heart.

Pulling up her dress, he darted around the curtain. "Charles, Della, let me listen." Dropping awkwardly to the ground with the prosthesis, he set the bell to Charles's small chest. It even worked perfectly on him. Della would be too small—there had to be some pitfall with this.

Della limped over and whipped up her dress to bare herself to the world.

"No!" Charles raced over and yanked down her dress. "A boy might see."

With a bottom lip pooched out in a pout, Della's little brow furrowed in displeasure. "Papa doc-or."

Suppressing a smile, he scooped up Della. "Yes, I'm a doctor, but Charles is right that we should do you behind the curtain too." Not that anyone would think anything of seeing a two-year-old's chest. He took her behind the curtain where Tanya finished buttoning up.

The little love yanked up her dress again, but when Charles came over, she waved her little fist. "No boy!"

Charles looked up at the ceiling and dropped his head back in exasperation. But he stepped away and mumbled, "I don't count."

Tanya laughed and went after Charles. "She's little and doesn't understand. As you both get older, you will need separate bedchambers."

He set the bell to Della's chest that she proudly stuck out for him to listen to. Two seconds later, she grabbed the bell. "Me too! Me too!"

"You want to listen, poppet?" With a laugh, he unbuttoned his shirt and set the bell to his chest. "Put this one in your ear."

Her mouth dropped open as he helped her. Those brown eyes flew up. "Boom! Boom! Papa boom!"

Charles and Tanya returned, her eyes twinkling. "Can you hear Papa's heart?"

Della lifted her head and shook it vigorously. "No! Boom boom!" Then she patted his chest.

"Yes, that's Papa's heart, love. Yours goes boom too."

"Right here!" Charles ran over to an anatomy diagram on the wall and jumped to try to touch the heart.

"Very good, son." Mark rose and took Charles to his desk where he opened up the cardiology section of a medical book. "This is what it looks like inside a heart. See..."

Charles seemed enraptured, clearly sharing his father's love of medicine. The two of them leaned over the book with their heads together. Although Charles didn't even remotely resemble Mark physically, his mind and heart followed in Mark's footsteps.

"Mama play."

Glancing down, she forced a smile as Della tugged her skirt for attention. "What should we play, love?"

"Dolly."

"Can you say, 'We play Dolly?'" She held out a hand to walk with Della. Her speech didn't progress as Charles's had at this age.

Mark was watching as she stepped out from behind the curtain with Della. Apparently he was beginning to think the same thing, if the worry in his eyes gave any indication.

"Dolly!" Della said in frustration and tugged her hand.

Charles jumped down from Mark's lap and ran through the connecting door. He returned almost immediately with Dolly.

"Thank you, Charles, but it's good for her to walk on her own."

He looked up and frowned. "She wanted Dolly now."

Mark walked over and ruffled Charles's hair. "That's good of you to watch out for your sister, but her leg won't get stronger if she doesn't use it."

"Oh." Charles ripped Dolly from Della's hands and ran back into the house.

"No, Charles...ugh," Mark groaned.

A sob broke the silence. "My Dolly!"

"Let's go get her." Taking Della's hand encouraged the child to walk instead of lift her arms to be carried. Charles ran back in without the doll and clapped, cheering on his baby sister.

A glance at Mark revealed him studying the children, as if deep in thought. And a mother's instinct said they weren't happy thoughts.

Setting up the children to play in the foyer, she left the connecting door open and marched to where Mark still stood studying them. "You think there's something wrong with her, don't you?" The words snapped out harsher than intended.

He blinked at her in surprise but quickly recovered. "She's still very young." The man walked around his desk and sat to read the journal that laid open.

Stepping forward, she leaned her hands down on the desk as every muscle clenched with tension. "Don't give me a canned answer for patients' parents. I'm your wife and the mother of your children. I have a right to know if you think she has brain damage," she barked.

He stilled, the wheels clearly turning as he figured out exactly how to respond. Then his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. Guilt shined. "I've attributed her lag in motor skills to the brace and in speech to Charles doing everything for her."

Dread and panic clutched. Della's physical disability would make her ridiculed if it couldn't be fixed before she became of school age, but a mental disability would make her an outcast for life.

"I told you that when we did an emergency cesarian, she had no heartbeat when I got her out. It was only for a few seconds, but maybe she was in cardiac arrest inside you longer than I thought." His voice trailed away as his eyes returned to Della.

Shock numbed every sense. There was nothing wrong with their baby. There couldn't be.


"Mama! Mama!" Della's little voice cut through the haze of slumber.

"Papa! Mama! Get up! Get up! It's Christmas!" Charles called in excitement.

The bed jiggled.

She pulled the pillow over her head. "Mark, your children want you up," she mumbled. The children had been so excited last night that they didn't go to bed until late, and then Mark had requested to have her as his Christmas present until nearly two in the morning. And then an emergency case of influenza had arrived at the clinic an hour later.

"They're your children before eight," he yawned. The bedsheets tugged, as if he'd pulled them over his head.

"Papa bye?" Della sounded so confused that Mark had disappeared.

"Come on!" A grunt from Charles and the blankets pulled away.

"Papa!" Della squealed in delight.

The bed shifted from substantial weight, as if Mark moved, and then the children laughed with excitement.

"Alright, you hooligans, wake Mama up," Mark laughed.

The light weight of Della suddenly sat on her back.

All laughter ceased.

"Wake up, Mama!" Strong arms swung her up out of bed.

She squeaked in surprise, and her arms flew around his neck.

He stood beside the bed and grinned down at her in his arms.

"How did you get your leg on that fast?"

His eyebrows wiggled and he set her down as the children cheered and danced around him. He handed her a robe and then scooped Charles onto his back and Della in his arms. "Let's go open presents from St. Nicholas!" Mark charged out of the room, with the children shrieking and laughing as they hung onto him.

The happiness faded a bit. Della was about to turn three and shouldn't be confused that Mark had actually disappeared under a blanket. Her sentences still hadn't progressed past two words, either.

"Tanya, they're going to tackle me in a minute!" Mark laughed from downstairs.

Hurrying down, she stopped short at the library door where Mark was on the floor wrestling with the children to keep them from seeing the presents inside. Such pure joy shined and laughter filled the air. Never in a hundred years would she have imagined Marquess Debonairo on the floor with children climbing on him and look so positively happy.

A smile bloomed and she knelt beside the human pile and grabbed Charles. "The tickle monster is coming!"

Both of the children screamed and tried to tickle her first. When Mark laughed and tugged her down, she gasped. "Cheater! You cannot help them!"

He grinned as he pinned her and silenced her protests with a kiss.

Except little hands attacked her sides. Bursting into laughter, she broke the kiss and squirmed. "Stop, stop! Let go!" Her sides heaved with belly laughs, and she rolled away as Mark freed her.

"Mama said enough," he chuckled and scooped off the children. Then he held down a hand and helped her up.

"Alright, one present until everyone is here. Are you ready?" She held the library door handle and looked over her shoulder.

The children nodded in excitement, their eyes shining bright.

Mark smiled and gave a nod for the doors to be opened. "There's no chance your grandparents or Teresa and Brigands will want to be woken up at six in the morning."

Shrieks of excitement filled the air as the children raced to the Christmas tree and dug through the presents.

She sat on the settee and held Mark's arm to help him sit. And tried to avoid noticing as he uncharacteristically eased the prosthetic off.

"Say it," he growled.

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at his profile. "Say what?"

His eyes remained on the children playing with a new teddy bear for Della and a set of wooden blocks he'd carved for Charles. "You only bite your lip when you worry. You want to say you told me so."

Releasing her lip, she eased his poor, swollen thigh across her lap and gently massaged the swelling away. "You already are paying for taking hours with the blacksmith in order to get the children Christmas gifts. We always have a lull this time of year at the clinic. And you always insist on getting work with the blacksmith, and then are practically bedridden for two days after. I told you that my hair is long enough that I could've sold some and still had it well past my shoulders."

He grunted. "You of all people know I do not mind your hair short. It is the fact that you'd have to cut it that I do not like," he growled.

Her face burned at the memories of years ago when she had cut it. The man had turned into an insatiable rake. But the smile faded as she looked down at his poor thigh and gently stroked. "It makes me nervous when you don't take care of your leg, Mark. Last Christmas you gave yourself a stubborn ulcer from lifting so much metal all day."

The man's head whipped around and he gave a dark glare. "I did blacksmith work all day for weeks when we first moved to America. You had no qualms then," he snapped.

Leaning over, she rubbed her nose to his. "You don't have to bite, my bear. I'm not saying you're an invalid because of your leg now, I'm simply saying that you must pace yourself better."

A deep grunt of disagreement vibrated his chest, and he snapped his head back to face the children. The silence lasted but a moment before he growled, "I'm perfectly capable of providing for this family. Unless if the children are starving, I forbid you to ever sell your hair again."

"Yes, Mark," she smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He stretched his arm out behind her to accommodate, a slight, arrogant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps I shall cut it for fun for your birthday."

His hand darted down and gave a soft swat on her hip. "Behave, woman, or we shall repeat last night in broad daylight."

He glanced down. Her eyes widened and she set a delicate hand to her burning cheek, carefully avoiding eye contact. She'd clearly enjoyed his boldness in the marital bed last night, but even she wasn't bold enough to play 'doctor' in daylight. A smile threatened at seeing the minx speechless for once.

"A gentleman wouldn't say such things," she scolded and raised her head to meet his gaze, with a slight twinkle in her eyes.

Dear god, it got his blood hot whenever she challenged him like this. So small in physical size, but her courage and determination were far larger than him. Although she often won at this battle of wit, it was so fun to try to best her. And heartwarming to see that she never feared him.

"I warned you when we wed that I was no gentleman," he purred and let his eyes peruse down and back up her body before meeting her gaze.

She blushed such a perfect shade of pink. "You're a rake, Dr. Johnson."

But before he could retort to that sassy reply, she captured his mouth in a very bold kiss and set her hands against his chest in that way that she knew drove him mad with lust.

Then she pulled away with a satisfied smile and joined the children on the floor.

Dammit, the wench left him not only speechless but longing to return to the bedchamber already.

She gave a soft smile over her shoulder as she took Della into her lap.

The scene of her playing with his children caused a wonderful ache in the chest. He worked too damn much and missed too damn many of these moments.

"Mark?" The soft voice cut through the daydreaming. Tanya looked over and held out a hand. "Come play."

Charles looked up from where he sprawled on his belly on the floor building something with his blocks. "Papa, come look at my castle!"

He scooted to the edge of the sofa to put the prosthesis back on.

But Charles popped up just as Tanya glided up onto her feet and set Della down. "You don't need your leg, Papa!"

The three of them came over, with Della hugging the stump and Charles taking his hand and Tanya sitting beside him to ease under his other arm like a crutch.

For a moment, it damn well took his breath away.

"Mark?" Tanya looked at him in concern and touched the corner of his eye where her finger came away wet.

With a shake of his head, he smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Simply a moment when I realized I'm blessed," he croaked and cleared his throat.

She gave a loving smile and then reached behind to hold his waist tight in a manner she'd perfected over the years to be his stable crutch. Charles, although far too short be of too much support, eased his hand onto the little shoulder to help balance.

Together, he stood on one leg.

Della looked up. "Me too!" she shouted in frustration, still holding onto the stump.

Tanya kept a firm grip but looked down. "You make sure all of the toys are out of the way so Papa doesn't fall down."

The little princess gave a grunt as she tried to lift his leg, as if to help stand a bit too late, and then seemed satisfied. She spun around and made sure the cleared path was still clear.

Once he sat near the toys, Della ran over to the sofa and pulled at her leg brace.

"What are you doing, poppet?" He frowned as she tried to shake it off her leg.

"Me too!"

Charles heaved a sigh. "Della, Papa has no leg and needs us to help. You have a leg!"

He choked back a laugh. "It's alright, son. She just wants to feel included."

Tanya got up and helped remove the brace. Then she took Della's hand to help.

But the little princess looked over with sad eyes and held out her other hand. "Char-we? Papa?"

"Oh, love, Papa doesn't have his leg on either," Tanya explained.

Charles sighed in irritation at the unnecessary pause to Christmas morning.

That little lip stuck out as tears welled.

"Poppet, it's alright. I'm coming." Scooping Charles into his lap, it wasn't too difficult to slide backwards across the hardwood floor. Charles laughed and held on.

Upon reaching Della and Tanya, he set her hand on his shoulder as Tanya held her other hand and Charles walked with his hands on her back.

"Look, Mama! She's doing it!" Charles crowed.

The limp wasn't too pronounced, but the little princess had to concentrate hard to make her leg take the weight.

Glancing at Mark in concern, she bit her lip. If Della could walk for a little each day without the brace, perhaps her leg would get stronger and straighten more with stronger muscles. But one glance at Mark revealed him studying her gait just as hard and not seeming hopeful.

"Ow," Della whimpered and let her leg buckle on the next step.

Mark scooped her into his lap before she fell and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Good girl. Such a good girl," he whispered and looked over the little brown curls to her, with tears of grief in his eyes.

Her heart fell. Mark had seen something that must've indicated the brace wouldn't be just for a few more years.

Charles clapped and grabbed Della's hands, doing a dance himself. "Yay, Della! You walked!"

But Della just sniffled and rubbed her chubby little baby fists to her eyes. "Leg on. Owie."

Tears sprung at hearing Della ask for the brace rather than reject it. She sank to the floor beside Mark as he kept Della in his lap and strapped on her brace. "Where's the owie?"

Della rubbed her eyes and patted her thigh.

"Her knee sits at a strange angle when she puts weight on the leg without a brace. She must've grown more since I checked her last month—it didn't used to be that lopsided." He set Della to her feet and gave her a kiss. "All better, poppet?"

With an enthusiastic nod, she took Charles's hand and started copying his dancing around the room.

Mark turned and met her eyes. "I thought it was the bones that were growing crooked and damaged, but as she gets bigger, it becoming more apparent that it's her knee. She was so tiny for the surgery as a newborn that I couldn't tell that her knee was affected." He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, as if he was going to be ill. "I'll wire some specialists and see if they've come across this type of issue and if they can fix it."

There had to be something more to it. "Why do you look this upset?" She slipped her hand into his, somehow knowing his comfort would be needed.

Grief clouded those blue eyes. "She'll never be cured like we thought." Then he dropped his gaze and his hand tightened in hers. "I did this to her," he whispered.

Scooting closer to sit thigh-to-thigh, she cupped his cheek to raise his eyes up. "Neither you nor I did this to her. It just happened, and we'll take care of her and get her any specialists she needs." But another dark shadow still lingered in his gaze. "I've noticed that she seems to be a bit behind mentally for her age, too. If it turns out to be anything, we'll figure out what we can do for her."

But he simply gave a soft shake of his head and stared down at his lap.

"Look at me." She let go to capture his face in her hands. "You cannot assign yourself the blame. I need you to be my husband and her father and a surgeon through this. We need you using that brain to figure out what we do for her, not all the ways that you can be at fault, alright?" Her voice cracked. "I..."

His eyes narrowed on her mouth like he couldn't hear what she said with her voice growing so thick.

Clearing her throat to steady the warble, she spoke louder for him. "I need you to be my partner in this. I know I'm going to go into panic mother mode and not always absorb what the specialists say. I need you there being a physician, not a guilt-ridden father."

He nodded and pulled her into his lap and clung. "I'm so sorry, Tanya." His hand rested through her clothes over the cesarian scar. "For what I did to her and to you and not being able to give you more healthy babes."

Muscles ached from holding him so tight. "This isn't your fault," she sniffled, her heart feeling like it would physically break from this pain he carried the past three years.

"I'm the only differentiating factor from Charles's pregnancy." Her shoulder grew wet, as if Mark wept. "I need you to forgive me."

"Mark—"

"Please, Tanya. Please, just tell me."

The fact that Marquess Debonairo felt he needed to grovel for something that he couldn't have even controlled and perhaps didn't even cause made her chin quiver as tears blurred everything. Leaning back so he could see the words because her voice wouldn't be strong enough, she whispered, "If it was your seed that unintentionally caused it all, I forgive you. But never will I see you responsible for any of this. You quite literally saved my life when I started to hemorrhage during and after childbirth, and you saved hers when you got her out and got her breathing again. I'm never going to understand why you think you're the villian in this because you aren't. And when she grows up and understands all of this, she will still think you hung the moon and stars."

Tears slipped down his cheeks, the guilt still haunting his eyes.