the sight of his banked rage.

“In order to protect you, our marriage has to be… consummated. Prove

impotence cannot be used as an excuse to force an annulment.” His cheeks burned, but he forced himself to continue. “The easiest way to demonstrate that

is…”

“A bloody sheet?” she interrupted.

“Yes. Is it… possible? Has his abuse ever gone in that direction?” He hated

even asking the question, though he knew such things did happen. Please, Lord,

not that at least.

“I'm not sure what you mean.” She blinked, clearly struggling to focus. “I've

always wondered where the blood came from.”

A hint of tension left his shoulders. “Likely he didn't then. Good. I'll explain

the rest later. We should go.”

“Go where?” she asked weakly.

“First of all, I need to collect Cary,” he explained. “His uncle is a bishop. If

we can get him to agree, we can get the license tonight, have the wedding first

thing in the morning. It can all be over by tomorrow afternoon.”

“All right,” she said.

“Yes?” He blinked in surprise. She's not going to resist the suggestion?

Really? Can it be that easy?

“Yes. I don't want to die, Christopher.”

He kissed her tenderly. “You won't. Not now. You've found a champion.”

She smiled wanly.

At last, he noticed that in examining her injuries, he had also revealed her breasts. How lovely they were, small but sweetly rounded, with dusky brown nipples. He felt a jolt of desire mixing into his tender protectiveness.

Carefully he eased her chemise up over her body. He settled her dress into place, startled to note that it fit without the body shaping undergarment. Vanity is a terrible thing.

Her modesty restored, he continued, voicing his plan aloud as he made it. “In

order to get Cary and his uncle on our side, we need to show them how bad things are. I doubt you're going to want them to see your bare back. If you wash

your face, is what's underneath… convincing?”

“Probably,” she replied.

With a deep breath, Christopher tucked away his wild imagination and

channeled his fury into motivation. “All right. I'll be right back. You wash up.”

He kissed her once more, briefly, and left the room.

It took her several tries, but Katerina managed to hoist herself upright and make her way to the mirror. On a wooden commode below rested an ewer, creamy white and painted with pink roses. She washed the heavy powder away from her

battered face, sparing herself a single glance in the mirror. I look terrible.

Christopher's going to be furious when he sees.

Suddenly, Katerina felt ill. I’m intentionally defying Father. If we fail, I’m dead. She had to trust her future to her little-known champion, a man of two weeks' acquaintance. He seemed kind, but how could she trust him? How could

she marry him and give him complete control of her? What if he changes after

we're married? She was subtly aware that the abuse a husband could inflict on a wife would be different from that of a father. Just look at how Mama suffered allthose years until she finally died of it.

In Christopher's defense, his mother had been one of her closest friends for the last year. There's no way such a good woman could have raised an evil son.

Realistically, he should be trustworthy. But the terrified creature inside her shied away from trust.

Injured and frightened, nausea at last overcame her, and she stumbled stiffly

to the chamber pot, knelt painfully, and vomited.

That was where Christopher and Cary found her a few minutes later.

As the last of the spasms passed, her suitor placed his hands on her

shoulders, supporting her.

Cary approached with a glass of cool water. She rinsed, spat and took a deep

sip.

Christopher helped her to her feet, turning her to face them. Both men

reacted to the sight of her face.

“Good Lord,” Cary said.