Rain paced the length of her bedroom while the cats watched her with yellow eyes, probably annoyed that she was disturbing them. But she could not sleep. And so she was pacing the floor with her nightgown billowing around her. She should be elated. Marcus had agreed to let her leave. To let her live her life as if they were not married. And yet... She was far from happy. Rather, the opposite. Between the hollow feeling that had settled in her abdomen and the general feeling of frustration, it took her a moment to realise what she was feeling.

She was angry. Mostly with herself, but also with Marcus. Yet again, he was ready to let her go without a fight. After some of his confessions lately, she had dared to believe that maybe—just maybe—he cared for her after all. But if he did, why was he so quick to let her leave him? Why would he not try to convince her otherwise?

It was unfair of her. She knew that. But her temper would not subside. The more she paced, the hotter her anger burned.

The door opened, and Marcus entered. His dark hair was—if possible—even more mussed up than before, and he'd divested himself of his waistcoat already. Before she knew what she was doing, she picked up a cushion from a chair and threw it at him. It hit him squarely in the chest, and he stared at her with eyes wide in shock. She picked up another and lobbed it at him. This time, he was ready and swatted it away before it hit him.

"Rain?" he questioned as he took a step towards her.

She picked up another cushion and threw it. Again, he swatted it away. Like it was no more than a fly. With anger burning hotly inside, she looked around for another projectile but could find nothing suitable. As a child, she had thrown anything she got her hands on, but she knew better now and had enough presence of mind to see through the haze of anger to not start throwing anything that could actually break or hurt someone.

"Why are you angry?" he asked, coming closer still.

Backing away, she glared at him. "You are such a coward!"

His dark brows knotted as he advanced on her. "Pardon?"

"You're a coward," she repeated, backing a few more steps. "You didn't fight for me then and you obviously won't fight for me now."

"You said you didn't want me to fight for you," he reminded her.

She moved past a chair and picked up another cushion, which she threw at him. "Maybe. I don't know!" she snapped. "I don't! I do! I... I..."

Picking up another cushion, her words died in her throat as Marcus dashed forwards and captured her wrists in his hands. Pushing her back, she hit the wall, and he trapped her wrists against it, making her drop the cushion. Maybe she should be scared of him. He was at least a head taller and probably twice her weight. Yet she did not fear him. No matter what, she knew he would never hurt her. At least not physically. And any other way had never been intentional. She did not believe he had ever set out to hurt her when he decided to court her. It wasn't his fault his target had been stupid enough to fall for him.

His eyes burned as he glared down at her. "I did not fight for you," he growled, "because you let me believe you slept with my brother! I thought you loved him. Believed you married me for my title alone."

"You fool!" She raised her chin to glare back. He was so close, his face mere inches from hers, and his body close enough that her palms tingled with the need to touch him. "I never married you for your title."

"I know that now." His fingers around her wrists flexed. The grip was strong, but she suspected he would let her go immediately had she tried to pull free. "You want nothing to do with me. All these plans for your own house... No, I understand you did not marry me for my title. Which begs the question. Why did you marry me at all?"

Because I loved you. The words burned on her tongue, but she could not bring herself to say them. Could not leave herself vulnerable like that.

Silence stretched out between them as he stared down at her, and she could have sworn she forgot how to breathe. He released her wrists, and his hand cupped her face as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Tingles of awareness spread through her as he caressed her lower lip with his thumb. Her lungs burned.

Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes still on her mouth and, without thinking, her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I do not know what you want from me, Rain. I will give you anything. If you want me to fight for you, I will. If you want to leave me and never see me again, I will grant your request. But you must tell me what you want."

She didn't know. There was only one thing she was certain of at that moment.

"I want you to kiss me."

His eyes widened.

"And not like those last two kisses," she continued. "But properly."

"Properly?"

"Yes. Like the ones before."

He exhaled. "Rain," he said slowly. "I don't think you understand how desperately I want you."

She raised her chin defiantly. "Prove it."

He blinked, obviously shocked. His gaze dropped to her mouth again, and she saw him take a slow breath.

"You do not know what you are asking for." His hoarse voice set off an explosion of fluttering wings in her abdomen. Maybe not, but it did not make her want it less. Her breath hitched as he leaned in a little closer, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin, but he was still hesitating.

She met his gaze, and emboldened by the desire she saw reflected in his eyes, she whispered, "Don't hold back."

There was a moment where neither of them moved. Neither spoke. The perfect calm before the storm. Then his lips crashed against hers in a hungry kiss that made her insides flip. His hands ran down along her back to her waist and he pulled her closer, while her arms wrapped around his shoulders. A whirlwind of emotions coursed through her as he deepened the kiss, stirring every nerve in her body from its slumber with every stroke of his tongue.

A hand came up to palm her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown, massaging and kneading until she moaned against his mouth. Bending lower, he trailed hot, wet kisses along her neck until he found a spot that made her exhale loudly. Focusing his attention, he licked and nibbled until she writhed in his arms as languid heat spread through her body to pool at the junction of her thighs.

His large hands followed the shape of her ribcage, her waist and down over her hips, warmth following in their wake. Gripping the cloth of her gown, he pulled it higher, letting cool summer air caress her feverish skin. Bunching the fabric in his hands, he bent down to grab her thighs, and before she could react, he hoisted her up. With a surprised yelp, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pinned her against the wall with his hips. She gasped as his hard length pressed against her through the fabric of his trousers. No one could accuse him of being impotent, that much was certain.

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into his hazel eyes, now on the same level as hers. He looked sinfully sexy, with his dark hair mussed with a few strands hanging down over his forehead, and his hazel eyes hooded and darker than normal. His body was hard and solid against hers, and he held her up so effortlessly she could have weighed as much as a feather.

"Better," he mumbled as he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, and she had to admit that being able to kiss him without having to crane her neck was definitely an improvement.

He rolled his hips against her, setting off a burst of pleasure, making her head fall back and a moan escape her lips. As he repeated the movement, she gripped his shoulders in an attempt to stay afloat in a sea of new sensations. His hands on her bottom angled her hips slightly, allowing him to move against her most sensitive spot. She bit her bottom lip as pleasure coursed through her with every roll of his hips against her.

"Shit!"

Marcus's exclamation made her eyes flutter open. He'd annoyingly stopped moving, even if he still had her pinned against the wall. She blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"What's the matter?"

He groaned. "Your wound. I think it's torn open."

"Oh." She looked down at her side to see a dark patch on her white nightgown. Blood. "Oh," she repeated. Taking a deep breath, she tried to fight the lightheadedness, but to no avail.

"Rain?" Marcus's soft voice came to her through a haze and she shook her head, unable to answer as a wave of nausea hit her.

She took another gulp of breath, trying not to think of the blood. She failed and, with a frustrated groan, she felt herself slump against him.

When she came to a few moments later, Marcus was laying her down in bed.

"Terrible idea," he muttered to himself. "Don't hold back, indeed. Bloody hell."

"I'm dreadfully sorry!" She buried her face in her hands as her cheeks burned from the humiliation of fainting mid-kissing.

"Do not apologise. I should have been more gentle," he said gruffly as he walked across the room to call for a servant. "I will get some clean water and cloths, and something to re-bind your wound."

She wanted to argue that she did not want him to be more gentle as she had loved every moment, but she was far too embarrassed. And still somewhat lightheaded. Keeping her eyes on Marcus rather than risk looking down at her stained nightgown, she pushed herself into a sitting position, leaning back against the pillows. He waited by the door, looking sexy and rumpled with his unkempt hair and partially undone shirt. Had she done that? She couldn't remember.

"We must clean your wound." He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "You will have to remove the nightgown. At least partially. Since I assume you do not wish for me to rip another one." There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

She giggled. "I'd rather you didn't."

A servant appeared at the door, disappearing as quickly again after receiving Marcus's request. Coming back to the bed, Marcus scratched at the back of his head. With a smile, she realised he was trying to decide how best to remove her nightgown while still preserving her modesty. Considering that she wore nothing underneath, such a task seemed rather impossible.

"The neckline opens quite wide," she said helpfully. "We can slip it off my arms. If you pull it down far enough, you should be able to get to the wound."

"That'll do," he agreed. Looking at the door, rather than her, he added, "Are they not back yet?"

"You only just spoke to them. Give them a moment." She patted the space next to her. "Sit down until they return."

"Thank you, I will stand."

The absurdity of the situation—and possibly her lightheadedness—made her feel giddy. "Do women often faint in your arms?" she asked mischievously.

His eyes flew back to hers, but seeing the mirth on her face, he visibly relaxed and even smiled. "No. You are the first."

"I feel special." She giggled again.

"You are."

The seriousness of his tone brought back the fluttering butterfly wings in her abdomen. He was watching her quietly, his expression unreadable. She did not understand him. Not long ago, she had believed he hated her. He had offered to fight for her. For their marriage. He had said he cared for her. But he had said similar things when courting her, and that had ended terribly. She didn't know if she dared believe him. Dared to open her heart to him yet again. A flicker of hope burned in her chest, and it terrified her. What if she let him back into her heart and she found out it was all a game again?

"You must not say such things," she mumbled, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"Why?"

Chewing on her bottom lip, she considered her response. How much to give away. "I do not know if I can trust it."

"I have never lied to you."

She looked up with a frown. "You were not completely honest about your reasons for courting me, either. Did you not say that a lie of omission and an outright lie are equal? The result is the same."

A wry smile touched his lips. "Touché. I cannot argue that point. I can only—"

A knock on the door interrupted him, and a maid entered carrying a bowl and a pile of cloths. Setting it down on the nightstand by the bed, she curtsied and disappeared again. Marcus came over to the bed and sat down at the edge.

"Undress," he said as he took one of the cloths and wet it in the bowl of water.

Wondering what he'd been about to say, Rain untied the laces at the collar of her nightgown and shrugged it off her shoulders. It slid down her arms to pool at her waist, but she made sure not to look down, not willing to risk seeing the wound still bleeding at her side.

Turning back to her with the damp cloth in his hand, Marcus froze. For a brief moment, she worried something was terribly wrong with her wound, then she saw his gaze following the curves of her exposed upper body. She should be embarrassed—was embarrassed—but she also enjoyed watching him admire her. His hand flexed around the cloth and he cleared his throat.

When his eyes returned to hers, she couldn't stop the teasing smile or the impish question. "Do you like what you see?"

His lips twisted. "I think you know I do." The mattress shifted as he moved a little closer and gently touched her arm, lifting it over her head to allow him a better view of her side. Carefully, he touched the damp cloth to her skin and began cleaning it. "You are very beautiful."

It sounded less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact, but she'd take it. She wasn't unaware that men found her attractive. Her popularity during the Season had not been solely because of her dowry and those dreadful bets. When Marcus had courted her, though, she had appreciated how he had not been one of those who waxed lyrical over her beauty. She had felt as if he saw her for a person and not just the currently most popular unmarried lady. What a fool she had been.

Her playfulness all but forgotten, she stared down at her hand in her lap. "When you courted me," she said. "Was it only to gain access to my dowry?"

The hand at her side stilled, and silence settled between them. She didn't dare to look at him. Not that he was likely to betray any feelings. She scoffed inwardly.

"Yes," he finally said, and her heart plummeted. His hand resumed its gentle ministrations. "Initially. But by the time I asked for your hand, I would have married you even if you had nothing."

She lifted her head to stare at him, shocked by the admission. He wasn't looking at her, instead staring at her side, concentrating on cleaning her wound, a line between his brows.

"Which would have been a terrible decision," he continued, sounding almost surprised by the admission himself. "It would have been incredibly illogical. But"—his hazel eyes met hers—"by then I could not imagine not having you in my life."

She blinked, fighting against the lump in her throat. "Why... Why didn't you tell me this when I asked you on the wedding night?"

He made a wry face. "If you have not noticed by now, I am not the most eloquent of men. Especially where emotions are concerned. You were visibly upset and I could not find the words to explain myself properly."

"So you... Cared for me?" It was difficult to believe. But she wanted to. Wanted to think she had not been as blind as she had thought. That there had been something between them during his courtship. Something that made him marry her other than money.

"Yes."

"You could have told me," she muttered. "It's been nearly two years."

Turning slightly away from her to put the cloth back in the bowl and get a linen bandage, he shrugged. "After finding you in Dash's bed, I did not think it mattered. I was certain you married me for my title like everyone around us said."

She shook her head in amazement. "We have both been such fools. Stubborn fools."

Marcus made her lean forward slightly so he could wind the bandage around her midriff. Finally, he tied it off and nudged her back against the pillows. Meeting her eyes again, he looked serious. "I meant what I said, Rain. If you wish to be rid of me, I will let you go as soon as it is safe."

It was her turn to look away. There was too much to take in. Too much new information. He had cared for her. Still cared for her. He had never mentioned love, but maybe this was enough? She was not sure. Only knew that she had never stopped loving him, and getting to know him more these last few weeks, her feelings were stronger than ever. But was she brave enough to tell him so? That she did not know.

"Let us finish our deal," she said. "Ten kisses."

"Ten kisses," he repeated. "That was number seven. Three left."

Only three? It did not sound like nearly enough. She watched him quietly as he put the water bowl away and began undressing for bed. The way the muscles danced under his skin made her throat dry. He was such a handsome man.

"Please," she blurted out. "Sleep in the bed with me tonight."

His hands froze on the buttons of his breeches as he lifted his head to stare at her. When his gaze travelled down her chest, she blushed as she remembered she had not pulled her nightgown up yet. Quickly sliding it back on, she waited for his answer.

"I do not think that is a good idea," he said.

"You have spent enough nights on the floor. I have faith in your ability to restrain yourself," she added, her tone teasing even as her heart beat wildly against her chest at the idea of sharing a bed, no matter how chaste.

He scowled. "I do not share your certainty. You made me promise to ensure we do not consummate our marriage before the tenth kiss." He shifted from one foot to the other, the scowl dissolving. "I cannot..."

His reticence would usually annoy her, but he looked adorably awkward as his words faltered. If she was absolutely honest with herself, she didn't necessarily want him to restrain himself. At least not completely. The kiss they had shared before she fainted had been amazing. She wanted to experience that again. And possibly more. Which was a terrible idea, since if they wanted to part ways after this ordeal was all over, they could not risk there being a child. That would complicate everything.

"It is only sleeping," she said. "The bed is large enough. I do not wish to sleep alone."

He groaned and raked a hand through his hair.

Sensing his waning resistance, she scooted over in the bed and folded the sheets down. After another moment's hesitation, Marcus padded over to the bed on his bare feet, but he kept the breeches on. Which was probably for the better. She wasn't sure she was quite ready to see him completely naked. The bed shifted as he lay down at the very edge of the bed, as far away from her as possible.

Smiling, she lay down. It was a strange feeling to be in the same bed as her husband, and she had to fight the urge to move closer to touch him. Feeling cheeky, she looked over at his stiff form on the other side of the bed.

"Would you please hold me as we sleep?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Are you torturing me on purpose?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted.

"Turn around."