“Weekly?” he pressed.
“Yes.”
Viciously forcing down his rage, Christopher strived to address the problem.
“You were right to worry you might not survive another beating. This,” he touched her belly gently, “could easily have resulted in fatal internal injuries. I won't have your death on my conscience.”
“You didn't hit me,” she pointed out, her eyes pleading for he knew not what.
“But I know what's happening,” he replied. “If I don't take action, I'm just as
responsible. Marry me, Katerina. Let me take you away from all this. Please?”
She bit her lower lip and winced as her teeth hit the sore spot he'd noticed the
other day. “Is this a valid basis for marriage?”
“I have to do something,” he insisted, gesturing with his hand.
She flinched away from the movement.
Dear Lord, what a mess. What can the right answer possibly be?
Forming the question produced the answer. No matter the outcome, I cannot
let her die. I will not let him kill her. “Once you're safe, we can work on making it what we want it to be. Please, love, let me help you.” He knelt beside her on
the floor. He longed to embrace her but could find no place to put his hands that
would not cause her agony, so he cupped her face instead. She hissed. Removing
his hand, he found it thickly smeared with cosmetics. “What are you covering up?”
“Don't ask questions, Christopher,” she begged.
He swallowed. “Fine. I can guess, but there is one thing I have to know.”
“What is it?” She lowered her eyelids halfway, as though trying to block out
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?
