“Yes,” Christopher replied simply. Katerina could see his focus was on her and not the conversation. His warm, gray eyes gave her something to hold onto,

pushing unconsciousness back once again.

“I see you're making rather free with the young lady.”

Christopher glanced at the bishop and Katerina could see the anguished twisting of the lips. “I beg your pardon. She's injured.” He cuddled her gently.

“Injured?” Doubt hung heavy in the bishop's voice.

She lowered her lids in shame.

“Her father has beaten her nearly to death,” Christopher explained. “If I don't

marry her immediately, I doubt he'll let her live another week.”

In his arms, Katerina shuddered. He's right, and yet I hate to hear the words

aloud.

“How can I know this is true?” The bishop asked, suspicion thick in his expression and tone. “Sounds like a clever ploy to circumvent his wishes. Has he

forbidden you to court her?”

“He's not safe to approach. If you doubt me, just look at what he did to her

face.” Christopher waved one hand in the vicinity of her cheek.

She recoiled instinctively from the movement.

The bishop approached and regarded the livid bruise.

“He did that with a walking stick. He could have knocked all her teeth out.”

Christopher's blunt, horrified assessment of the abuse struck Katerina as

strange. What's been normal my whole life is suddenly abhorrent.

“I have seen bruises like this feigned before,” the bishop pointed out. “A skillful application of cosmetics can easily imitate an injury.”

Katerina's breath caught on what must have been the hundredth sob. Please,

Lord, let him listen. She closed her eyes against the sting of tears.

Christopher growled with frustration.

“Please, Uncle. Listen to him,” Cary urged. “Christopher would not be doing

this if it weren't vital. Last week he was all for wooing her slowly. Tonight, he's

frantic to marry her. Something terrible has happened. Besides, you've known him since we were at school together. You know he's not the sort to take advantage of an innocent woman.”

“My dear,” the bishop addressed Katerina directly, “you would be best

served to listen to your father.”

She shook her head, but speech had abandoned her. Her tingling lips refused

to follow her mind's commands and her tongue felt useless as a plank of wood in

her mouth.

“I promise you, I'm not trying to dupe anyone.” Christopher's tone softened.

“Katerina, I think we need to show him. I'm sorry, love. Will you let him see your back?”

She nodded numbly.

“All right, I'm going to set you on your feet. Don't worry, I won't let you fall.

Just lean on me.” He stood, still holding her close, and then lowered her to the

floor, his arms under hers. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Cary,” Christopher started. No. That's too formal. After everything that had gone on this evening, their friendship had moved to a new level. “James. Can you… can you open the back of her dress?”

“What? Why?” the other young man asked, his entire face scrunched in

consternation.

“Trust me. Please,” Christopher urged.

He approached. “What in heaven's name is all over her dress?”

Christopher glanced over her shoulder. “Damnation!” Quiet, fool. Cursing in

front of the bishop isn't going to help. “I beg your pardon, Right Reverend Cary.

It's blood. Looks like more of her injuries have opened up. I've moved her too much. Sorry, love.”

James reached for the fastenings of her gown but hesitated. “This is wrong.”

“It's necessary, and she agrees, don't you, Katerina?”

Katerina nodded against his shoulder. Her weight was growing as her

trembling legs lost strength.