"Marcus, no! Don't do this!" She pushed at his shoulders, freeing the hood, which fell back, exposing his face in the candlelight.

Her eyes went wide with shock.

His heart clutched. His stomach lurched. She had only been fooling herself. And him. The moonlight had softened the horror, had made him seem less of a beast and more of a man. The light revealed the truth in her eyes.

She could not bear to look at him.

Marcus never took his eyes off of hers as he lowered his mouth toward hers. When she tried to close her eyes, he rasped, "Look at me, Eliza. See what you have married. Love the beast, for that is what I am."

He crushed her lips with his, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth in a violent imitation of a loving act. His hand throbbed painfully, along with his shaft. He took no time to prepare her-there was no time before the pain would be upon him-simply grabbed the cloth gown and shoved it aside, freed himself, and thrust inside her.

She was not ready for him, and he knew he had hurt her without hearing her cry of pain.

"Marcus! Stop!"

She pounded at his shoulders, yanked on his beard, left bloody scratches to mar what was left of his beauty.

He paused, gasping, and stared down at her tear-streaked face. The horror was gone. Her golden eyes glared at him, daring him, defying him to continue.

Suddenly his hand spasmed, the muscles clenching tight. He was still embedded deep inside her, his body throbbing. He closed his eyes and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but still the groan of agony escaped.

When he opened his eyes, her gaze had shifted to his twitching hand.

"I don't-need your-pity!" he grated between cramping spasms.

"Marcus, let me help you," she pleaded.

"I don't-need your-help!" He thrust savagely, an animal in pain seeking solace. He spilled his seed inside her with a cry of rage and pain and shame.

He heard her hiss as he withdrew himself and turned from her and readjusted his clothes. She scrambled away from him, nearly falling as her knees buckled when her feet landed on the floor. She pushed herself upright and ran for the door.

He got there first and blocked her way.

"Let me out!" she cried. "I cannot bear to be near you!"

"You made a bargain, wife. The nights are mine."

She made a frustrated sound in her throat. She could not get past him. He was too strong. And she knew it.

"You may take all you want from me as brutally as you wish, but I will give you nothing more of myself," she snarled at him. "Animal! Monster!"

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. God, what had he done to her? What had he done to both of them?

He opened the door and stood aside. "Leave." When she did not move, he shouted, "Get out!"

When she stood where she was, he slammed the door and bolted it, locking her inside. With the beast.

Eliza had made up her mind in an instant-of stupidity? of sympathy?-to stay with Marcus. She did not know why he had attacked her. She had not expected it. She was certain anger-and pain-must have driven him to it.

She had no idea what had provoked the anger, but before the night was over, she intended to find out. She knew exactly what had caused the pain.

Eliza crossed to the hob and checked the water in the kettle over the fire. It was more than warm shaving water now. It bubbled and boiled with a hiss. She headed for the tall chest where she knew Marcus kept his clothes and began to open drawers.

He took a threatening step toward her. "Why are you ransacking my clothing?"

"I am looking for handkerchiefs. Here they are," she said breathlessly, pulling a handful out. She shot him a bold, sidelong glance. "It seems you will have a great deal to return to your brother when he shows up again. The children. The title. And handkerchiefs." Kerchief after kerchief she unfolded was monogrammed with a B.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Eliza crossed back to the kettle and dropped all of them into the pot. "Go sit in that chair in the corner," she ordered.

He shrugged and said, "It is as good a place to sit and drink as any other. Find Griggs and tell him to bring me a bottle of brandy."

She had no intention of allowing Griggs to add drunkenness to the Beast's other vices. But she was going to need the sergeant's help. "Very well, Marcus." She headed for the door.

"Eliza," he said, settling himself in the thronelike chair.

She turned to look at him. "Yes, Marcus?"

"Don't come back," he said in a soft voice.

She looked into his face, realizing belatedly that she was not seeing the scars that ruined his beauty, only the expressions of agony and despair.

"I will bring Griggs when I return," she said.

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. His right hand clenched the arm of the chair. His left hand twitched spasmodically.

Eliza was nearly running by the time she reached Griggs's bedroom and pounded on the door. When he did not answer, she shoved the door open and was startled to discover he was not there.

She swallowed hard. Could she do this alone? Would Marcus hold still for her ministrations without Griggs to lend a hand? Should she bring Marcus the brandy, after all? She knew that was the way he had escaped the pain in the past.

But Eliza had seen her mother ease the ache in her father's feet with hot water. Surely the remedy would work just as well for a hand.

She hurried back to Marcus's bedroom, figuratively rolling up her sleeves. It was not going to be easy to convince him there was another way to allay his pain besides drinking himself into a stupor.

"Where is Griggs?" he said the instant she closed and bolted the door behind her. "And where is my brandy?"

"Griggs was not in his room, and-"

Marcus pounded the arm of the chair with his right fist. "Damn and blast! I forgot I sent him up to take care of the children."

"What is wrong with the twins? Are they hurt?" she cried, hurrying to his side.

He shot her an angry look. "Reggie took one look at my face and screamed her bloody head off. I would not be surprised if she woke the entire household."

Eliza stood stunned. She now knew the reason for his wrath. "She saw your face?"

His lips twisted bitterly. "She woke up when I was putting Becky to bed. You deceived me completely, Eliza. I believed the faradiddle you told me in the moonlight. It seems the scars are not bearable. At least, not to a child,"

"You cork-brained idiot! I told the truth! Waking up to find anyone-especially a long-haired, wildly bearded man-lurking in your bedroom in the middle of the night would be enough to frighten any child."

"I tell you my face-"

"If you were right, I should be quailing at the very sight of you." She walked right up and stood nose to nose with him. "Do I look the least bit frightened by your bloody face?"

Marcus frowned, but whether at the blasphemy or her apparent lack of fear, she was not sure. Eliza watched as his lowering forehead squeezed the scars at the edge of his eye into a spray of white against the darker skin. There was nothing grotesque about it; the left side of his face was simply spider-webbed with very thin, very smooth white lines. She was itching to shave him, to see what his face looked like without the beard.

That would have to wait.

She left Marcus sitting where he was and crossed to the fire, using the iron poker to lift one of the handkerchiefs from the boiling pot. She let it drip on the stone floor as she made her way back to Marcus. She reached out to see if the cloth was cool enough for her to wring it out in her hands. She pulled it off, leaned the poker against the chair, and wrung out the handkerchief, letting the excess water splatter on the floor, where it ricocheted onto his boots.

She was reminded of the first night she had met him, the first time he had kissed her ... at the well. So long ago. A lifetime ago. She looked up and saw Marcus's eyes were focused on her. And that he was remembering, too.

She swallowed over the ache in her throat. "This should not be too hot," she said, passing the kerchief from hand to hand like a hot potato.

He eyed her skeptically.

"It has to be hot to relax the muscles."

He started to get up, and she put a flat hand against his chest. "I will use force if I must, to keep you where you are."

He lifted a brow. "You think you can?"

She picked up the poker and brandished it. "A lump on the head would work, I believe."

His lips curled. "Very well, wife. Do your worst." The humor disappeared from his face as a spasm racked his hand.

While his eyes were closed and his teeth gritted against the pain, Eliza wrapped the hot handkerchief around his hand from palm to knuckles.

"You'll likely burn the thing to a crisp, and I can knock off the ashes and be done with it," he said when he was able to open his eyes and study her handiwork.

She was already at the kettle retrieving another kerchief. "I think I can leave this one a little hotter and put it over the other," she said.

Eliza watched the sweat pop out on Marcus's forehead as she added the steaming kerchief to his spasming hand. Saw the bead of blood where he had bitten his lip through. Watched his right hand clench the arm of the chair and dig in until his fingernails left white crescents in the dark wood. His whole body strained to survive the torment.

"I cannot do it, Eliza," he gasped between spasms. "I need something to dull the pain. This is not working."

"It will," she promised. "A little longer, Marcus." She leaned over to kiss his wounded cheek above the beard.

Their eyes met-his shocked, hers compassionate.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, watching her face carefully.

"It is a bribe," she admitted with a smile. "Someone told me once you can get almost anything with a bribe. Is it working?"

"It depends on what you want," he said, his lips quirking.

"Another thirty minutes to see if this treatment will work. If it does not ... I will bring you a bottle of brandy myself."

Marcus looked at the ormolu clock on the tall chest. "Thirty minutes," he agreed.

Eliza knelt at his side on the hard stone floor, her knees aching as she massaged his fingers.

"That is only making it worse," he said through tight jaws, pulling his hand away.

"Let me try," she said, holding out her hand until he laid his hand in her palm.

He turned his face away, tightened his right hand on the chair, and shuddered as another spasm racked his clawlike hand.

Eliza kept the handkerchiefs as hot as she-and he-could bear. She started at his little finger and worked her way to his thumb, curling the fingers forward and straightening them out. She massaged the joints. The space between his thumb and forefinger. The palm of his hand. His wrist. And back the other direction.

It took twenty-two minutes.

"I ... I think the pain ... the spasms have stopped," Marcus said in wonder. He stared at his gnarled hand, which lay in her palm.

Eliza looked up at him, a relieved smile on her face. "I am so glad, Marcus. Now that you know what to do, you can begin the treatment as soon as you suspect the muscles have begun to clench." She curled his little finger almost all the way to his palm. "Do you see how flexible this finger is? I think they all might become so, if you worked with them."

He pulled his hand from hers. "I can do this for myself now. Thank you."

Eliza rose, keeping her gaze lowered, so he would not see how much his rejection hurt. "If you no longer need me," she said, "I will go."

"Eliza," he said, his voice raw. "Don't leave."

She turned to face him, then opened her arms wide. "Here stands your whore, Marcus, whom you feel free to rape for your pleasure."

He winced.

"I cannot live that life. I deserve much, much more. I will not stay tonight, nor will I come to this room again, unless you ask me here as your wife."

"What does that mean, Eliza?"

"It means I want to be honored and respected. It means I want to share my life with you night and day. It means I want your love, Marcus, before I will give you mine."

"I admire you, Eliza."

She shook her head sadly. "It is not enough, Marcus."

"I need you."

"You need my body, Marcus. I want your soul to be the other half of mine, to fill an emptiness inside me. Until you want all of me, body and soul, you can have none at all."

"I do not think I am able to love you," he said, the words torn from him.

"Then I am sorry for both of us, Marcus. I will live my life the best I can without you-in the light. You may stay here in the darkness forever if you like. But you will be here by yourself."

Eliza unbolted the lock and left the room, closing the door with a silent snick behind her.