She came to in Marcus's arms as he carried her up the steps to their home. Something she was grateful for, as she wasn't sure her legs would carry her yet. Whenever she fainted like this, it always took her a little time to recover and find her balance, and if she tried too soon, she would often faint again.

He felt strong and warm with his arms around her back and knees. He smelled good, too. Manly with a hint of bergamot. His face was close to hers, close enough that she could see the faint beginning of stubble on his cheeks. She reached out a hand—the uninjured one—to touch his chin, letting the stubble rasp gently against her fingertips. It was not unpleasant.

Noticing that she was awake, Marcus looked down at her, his hazel eyes kind. "You must stop fainting on me," he said softly, a trace of humour in his dark voice.

"I will do my best." She giggled. Sharp pain in her side made her stop immediately. "Ow."

"The doctor will be here soon," Marcus promised.

He brought her to her room with a few anxious servants trailing after him. As he lay her down on the bed, he barked some orders at the servants and they scurried away to fetch him clean sheets and boiled water. Sitting down next to her, he put two fingers on her chin and gently pushed her face to the side.

"Don't look," he said, and she closed her eyes just in case.

She could feel him remove his jacket from her side. When he couldn't get a good enough visual of the wound behind the cut dress, he used his hands to tear it open further. She heard the rip of fabric and gasped.

"I certainly hope you are not destroying my favourite dress," she said, her eyes still closed. She did not wish to faint again.

"I will purchase you a new one," he muttered. "I need to see if you are still bleeding."

She groaned. "Please, don't even talk about it."

His large hands were gentle as he inspected her side. "I don't think it is too bad," he finally said. "Once I can clean it, I will be able to see better. The doctor will tell us for certain."

Nodding, she opened her eyes but made sure not to look down, instead focusing her gaze on him. It wasn't a bad distraction and gave her a perfect excuse for staring. She had not noticed before how long his dark eyelashes were. As he bent lower to inspect her hand without bringing it into her line of sight, she could see them lowering towards his cheeks. It seemed rather unfair that a man would have lashes like that. They almost rivalled her own, and she'd been told hers were the envy of many.

"You're a very handsome man."

His head shot up to stare at her.

Oh. Did she say that out loud? Maybe her lightheadedness was loosening her tongue. Deciding to keep her mouth shut for fear of blurting out something else, she watched as a maid came bustling in with a bowl of water and some clean cloths. Taking it, Marcus proceeded to clean the blood off her skin. She grimaced as it stung, but was relieved it wasn't too painful. When he picked up her hand and carefully began cleaning the red stains off it, she sucked in a gulp of air as his warm fingers against hers sent sparks up along her arm.

"How did you hurt your hand?" he asked. "Did you touch the knife?"

"I think so," she said, trying not to react to the tingling sensation of his hands on hers as he moved the damp cloth between her fingers. "It was a gut reaction as it came towards me. Is it bad?"

He put the rag and bowl away and inspected her hand. "No, it doesn't look deep. Hands just tend to—" He stopped himself before saying the word, and with the hint of a smile, he said, "Rain more."

She laughed. It felt good to laugh. "I like that. I don't bleed, I rain."

Lifting her hand, he placed a soft kiss in her palm, just below the cut. An explosion of butterflies fluttered through her abdomen, stealing her breath away as she stared at him. He held on to her hand as he watched her.

"I am so sorry you have become involved in this," he said. "I never intended to put you in harm's way."

"You could not predict that this would happen." She gave him a lopsided smile. "And at least I cannot say that my life is boring."

The look in his eyes set the fluttering off again, and when he leaned in closer, she held her breath. Hoping he would kiss her like he had last night. The passion hiding behind his stoic demeanour was astounding, and she wanted to see it again. Experience it again. His lips brushed hers in a soft kiss. Pulling back slightly, he lingered with his nose barely touching hers, his breathing slow and measured. Then he sat back.

"That's five," he said gently. "You are halfway there."

Disappointment washed over her. She had hoped for more. He'd given her a taste of what kissing could be like, and now he went back to this? It had been a sweet kiss, but she did not want a sweet kiss. Shocked by the realisation, she averted her face, worried he might somehow see the warring thoughts on her face.

A knock sounded at the door, and the butler entered with Dr Hill in tow. Marcus moved out of the way to allow the physician to examine her. Trying not to think about the gash in her side, she focused on the light pattern of her blue wallpaper.

"You've done a good job of cleaning the wound, Your Grace," the older man said. "It does not look too deep, but I would consider stitching it."

"No!" She shook her head. "That is out of the question. You will not sew me up like a torn garment!"

"Rain..." Marcus came into her view and took her hand. "If the physician thinks it's best—"

"No," she said again, emphatically.

He looked at the older man, who huffed. "I really would recommend it, Your Grace. It will make it heal quicker."

She knew she was being unreasonable, but the very idea of someone sticking a needle into her skin made her want to hurl. "I cannot do it." She gripped Marcus's hand tighter. "Please don't make me do it."

He sighed. "Doctor?"

The physician stood with a wry smile. "If she will not have it stitched, at least keep the wound clean. Don't let her move around too much to allow it to heal better without tearing open again. In fairness, it is not too deep and may be on the verge of whether it needs stitching. If she takes a turn for the worse, please call for me again."

With a bow, the older man disappeared, leaving them alone.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling foolish. "I just... I cannot."

Marcus sat back down next to her. "Not to worry. It sounds like it will heal fine without stitches. But maybe remain in bed for the next couple of days."

That sounded dreadfully boring. But better than a needle piercing her skin. She nodded. "If I must."

Lifting her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles, he smiled. "I insist."

He disappeared to find a servant to fetch them some water to drink through the night, and as she watched him talk to them at the door, she flexed the hand he'd kissed. The affection and care he'd shown tonight were confusing, to say the least. Lying back against the pillows, she stared up at the ceiling. For someone who only married her for her dowry, he had been awfully attentive the last few days. Did he actually care about her? She wished she knew.

The last fortnight had been so confusing. Asking for an annulment. Kissing Marcus. Someone attacking her. It was all too much. And in the middle of it all were her twisted and knotted feelings about her husband. The kisses had brought back every memory of how she had felt during their courtship, and added another layer of excitement on top. Five more until their deal was done and they could get the annulment. She did still want the annulment, didn't she? Why was everything so complicated? She groaned.

"Are you in pain? Do you need me to fetch you anything?" It surprised her to hear Marcus's voice next to the bed, not having heard him walk over. How could such a large man be so quiet?

"No," she said and sat back up, allowing him to fluff the pillows up behind her back. "It aches, but it's not too bad. Did you get a chance to see who the attacker was?"

He shook his head as he sat down on the bed. "No. The hood stayed on and it was too dark. He ran off before I could catch him, and I didn't want to give pursuit when you were hurt."

She smiled. "You should have. Next time, do."

"I hope there will never be a next time," he said grimly. "But no, I will never abandon you when you are hurt."

She frowned. "Why are you being so sweet to me?"

"I am not."

"You are, and it's confusing."

He didn't look like he understood what she was saying, his eyebrows drawn. "Confusing?"

Her cheeks heated as she realised she had said too much. "I... You..." She sighed. "You were easier to deal with when you were ignoring me or acting indifferent. These little signs of affection... Taking my hand. Kissing me."

"The kissing is part of the deal," he pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Not those kisses." Though those are amazing. "The little ones on my hand." She waved her hand to make her point, earning her a raised eyebrow.

"I do not understand why it is confusing."

He could be so obtuse sometimes. Would he truly make her say it? She groaned inwardly. "They speak of something which is not there."

His hazel eyes bore into hers as he seemed to consider her words. "Rain," he said slowly. "I have never been indifferent to you."

"You have certainly acted indifferent," she muttered glumly.

"And that is my failing," he agreed. "Emotion is... Not something I am particularly comfortable with."

She chuckled, but it was lacking her usual joy. "You chose the wrong wife then. I am rather emotional."

"I appreciate that about you." The admission surprised her, but he looked earnest. "I do not want to be this way."

"I know. You told me of your father." She reached out and put her hand on top of his, lying on the cover. He looked down at it but did not move.

Meeting her eyes again, he took a deep breath. "No matter my failings, Rain, I do care for you and I do not want to lose you as my wife. I do not know who it is you have met and want to leave me for, but I hope I can convince you to stay."

She averted her gaze. She'd forgotten about the lie she'd told him when she first asked for the annulment. There was no one else. She just hadn't wanted to tell him the reason she wanted the annulment was because it was too painful to be married to him. To be reminded of how much she'd loved him, only to find out he had only married her for money.

"There is no one else."

For a moment, he did nothing but stare at her, making her fidget on the bed. Finally, he spoke, his words measured. "Why did you say there was?"

She shrugged. "To give you a reason for my request."

"What was your actual reason?" There was a tightness to his voice she did not understand. What answer was he expecting? She did not wish to answer. Did not want to lay her feelings bare for him to pick at and analyse.

"My reasons are my own," she mumbled.

"What else have you lied about?"

Her head snapped around to glare at him. "I did not lie about Dash," she snapped. "You never asked me, and I never told you. But I never lied."

Standing up from the bed, he moved over to her writing desk to pour himself a glass of brandy. Looking back at her, his face was back to its impassive mask. "It is all the same in the end. Lie by omission or lie outright. The result is the same."

"I disagree."

"What are you planning to do if we have an annulment?" he asked. "It doesn't matter how it comes about. After two years of marriage, the scandal would tarnish both of our reputations, you must realise."

She nodded. As much as she hated the idea that such a thing would be scandalous, it did not change how their peers reacted to it. While she didn't relish the idea of abandoning the London social scene, she did enjoy the countryside and could easily see herself learning to accept living there full time.

"I do realise," she muttered.

"Then what is your plan, pray tell?"

She had not planned to tell him, but by now she supposed it did not matter. "My uncle was a wealthy man with several properties not entailed to his title. He left one each for me and my sisters. Knowing the state of our marriage, he did not legally give me mine but willed it to my brother with the agreement that should I ever wish to take ownership, it is mine to have."

"Clever." He took a sip of his drink. "Had he willed it to you, it would have come under my ownership."

Ignoring his jibe, she continued. "So when we have an annulment, Nathaniel will give me my house and what's left of my dowry, and I can live a comfortable life there."

"You have planned this out well." He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it up, and his shoulders lifted as he sighed. "So you want out of this marriage badly enough to risk your reputation and no longer being welcome in high society. To live out your days—potentially alone—in the countryside."

"I will have plenty of animals as company," she said pertly. "And enough nieces and nephews to visit that I doubt I shall ever be bored or lonely."

"And this is preferable to remaining married to me." It was not a question. He wasn't even looking at her anymore. She wasn't even certain he had directed it at her. There was no emotion present on his impassive face, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had hurt him worse than the dagger had wounded her.

"Marcus..."

He held his hand up. "No need to explain further. Your feelings are quite clear."

With that, he sat down and began rifling through his paperwork, his profile in stark relief to the oil lamp on the desk. She sighed and lay back down. That was just the thing. Her feelings were anything but clear these days.

~~~~~~