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kitchen!”
    He spun her around so fast her teeth clicked painfully together. His eyes flashed and for the first time she felt a true quivering of fear lick low in her belly. “Marcus, I –”
    “Why would I need to find a whore when there is one right in front of me?” he asked silkily, shifting his weight forward until she was trapped between his hard body and the window. His hands were the opposite of passionate now as they swept up her slender ribcage and she cried out when they closed painfully around her breasts.
    “Stop it! Marcus, what has gotten into you? Let me go this instant!”
    “Why? You let other men touch you. Isn’t this what you like, being treated like the whore you are?” he growled before he lowered his head and ravished her mouth in a kiss intended to plunder and punish. Keeping her pinned against the window with his body, he dropped one hand to cup her sex through her gown and grinded his palm against her in a grotesque exaggeration of how he had pleasured her last night. Now his fingers brought only pain, not pleasure, and when she tried to twist free he tangled one hand in her long hair, tearing it free from the silk ribbon.
    Tears born of pain and panic stung her eyes. A mewling whimper forced its way past her lips. With no other way to defend herself, she bit down on Marcus’ invading tongue as hard as she could.   
    On a savage oath Marcus abruptly released her and staggered back, his eyes so dark in his pale face they looked black. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Catherine… Cat…. I never… I am so sorry… I don’t know what came over me… Please, I…” He reached for her but she darted around him and stumbled to the front door, her breath coming out in wheezing gasps and stutters.
    “You’re a monster. A monster! And I h-hate you!” she cried in anguish. Flinging the front door open so hard it slammed into the opposing wall, she fled the cottage as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
     
    Marcus drew in a deep, trembling breath as the front door slammed shut. He wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, dully noting the spots of blood that stained the white cotton. Blindly he stumbled into the living room and slammed his hands down on the bar, making the bottles and tumblers jump. He stared down at his hands, regarding them as if they belonged to another, for surely it had not been his hands that had touched his wife in cruelness and anger. Not his hands that had pinched and groped and bruised her delicate skin. Not his hands that had filled her sapphire eyes with fear and loathing. 
    He clenched his hands into fists. Catherine was right. He was a monster.
    The bottle of scotch was where he had left it the night before. He downed the first shot without blinking, and poured himself a second. The alcohol mocked him as he held it aloft and on a muttered curse Marcus flung the glass against the wall where it shattered upon impact. His legs shook from the weight of his guilt and he collapsed into a leather chair to bury his face in his hands.
    Where had it all gone wrong? They had been so bloody happy. So certain of their love for each other. He had never imagined he would ever find someone like Catherine. Someone so sweet and loving. Gentle and kind. But he had found her, and then he had left her. Left her when she begged him to stay, only to return and promptly leave her again. He had driven her into the arms of other men. She had been young and naïve, an innocent bride of eight and ten. He abandoned her to the wolves to pursue his bloody fortune, and what had that gotten him? How did his cursed riches serve him now? His money did not keep him warm at night. It did not kiss him good morning. It did not put a child in the nursery. He was a fool. A selfish, arrogant fool.
    Abruptly Marcus stood. This was his chance, he realized with a sharp intake of breath. His chance to make things better. To repair the damage he had caused. He needed Catherine in