Helena sunk herself deeper into the rapidly cooling bathwater as she peered over the rim at Mercy, who was very nearly emptying out one of Helena's trunks.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I think the wrong trunk must have been brought up—I cannot find the yellow gown," the lady's maid fretted.

"No matter. Any will do," replied Helena, bringing her knees to her chest. The water sloshed around her. She was acutely aware of the effort it had taken to bring the heavy cast-iron tub to the room, the water carefully heated and carried by the servants. She resolved to remain in it for as long as decency allowed, if only to honor their trouble.

"Oh dear. There doesn't seem to be any gowns—just coats and spencers." Mercy cast a worried glance toward her. "I must fetch the right one from the carriage."

"Don't trouble yourself by bringing in the entire trunk. Find an appropriate dress and bring it here."

Mercy bobbed a quick curtsy. "Yes, Your Grace." She disappeared behind a folding screen that hid Helena from the rest of the room.

Left alone, Helena sighed. Perhaps bathing this morning had been a mistake. Despite Lowen's assurances that there was no need to rush, the lengthy process of preparing the tub had already consumed a good part of the day. She had scrubbed herself thoroughly, but now there was nothing to do but wait for Mercy to return.

Her fingers trailed idly through the soapy water as her thoughts wandered. The tub was generously sized—large enough that, were Lowen to join her, they could share it comfortably. The idea brought a heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the bath. It wasn't the time to ask, of course, despite his newfound tenderness toward her.

Yet, she couldn't help longing for him—not just the comfort of his arms around her, but the intimacy they'd shared. Another frustrating symptom of her condition was this heightened desire, a constant, aching reminder of their separation. During their time apart, she had tried to soothe herself in solitude, but it was never the same. Her own hands lacked the warmth, the intent, that only Lowen could provide.

The thought lingered, vivid and insistent, stirring a restlessness within her. Her gaze flicked toward the screen. Mercy would return soon, no doubt. She had only a moment to indulge the idea of leaning back, letting her fingers wander beneath the water, and conjuring an image of Lowen—his hands, his lips, the way he could unravel her entirely.

Helena shook her head sharply, banishing the thought. Some desires would have to wait.

An indeterminate amount of time had passed, and Mercy still hadn't returned. The bathwater, now uncomfortably cold, urged Helena into action. She rose from the tub, shivering as the chill air clung to her damp skin. Her towel lay forgotten on the bed, far across the room, and she reluctantly decided to retrieve it herself. Stepping over the rim of the tub, she misjudged her footing. Her wet foot slid against the polished floor, and before she could right herself, she toppled forward with a startled gasp.

Helena landed hard, certain that the thud of the impact was heard in the room below, as cold water splattered everywhere. Pain flared through her her knees and elbows, the sting sharp enough to make her grit her teeth. She winced as she pushed herself up slowly, cursing herself for not waiting for Mercy.

Before she could fully gather herself, the sound of the door opening froze her in place.

"Helena!" Lowen rushed into the room, carelessly slamming the door behind him as he dropped to the floor, gathering her into his arms. "What in God's name happened? Are you injured?"

She must have looked a sight—soaked, sprawled on the floor, her hair plastered to her face. "I'm fine," she managed, though her breath caught as her wet breasts pressed against his waistcoat. "I slipped getting out of the tub. That's all."

Lowen was not so easily reassured. He cast a wild glance around the room. "Why were you alone? Where is Mercy? She should've been here to help! And what of the baby?"

"This was entirely my own fault. Please, me and the baby are completely fine," she insisted, offering him a steady smile. "Albeit I am a little bruised."

"Bruised?" Lowen's expression darkened as he eased his grip. His gaze dipped, intent on examining her, before his eyes widened in realization. He stiffened, suddenly and acutely aware of her nudity.

Helena wasn't sure why she felt inclined to hide. Lowen had seen every inch of her naked body countless times. Yet, he hadn't seen her body like this before. Her waist had thickened with the ever-increasing swell of her belly, her breasts seemed to have nearly doubled in size, and what shocked her most was the way her nipples had darkened, like overripe cherries. She was still coming to terms with these changes—and reckoning with the knowledge that her transformation wasn't yet complete.

In a futile attempt at modesty, Helena pressed her thighs together and crossed her arms over her chest. It did little to conceal her—her breasts, obscenely full now, only pressed together under the motion, making her effort feel more erotic than effective.

"The towel is on the bed," she told him sheepishly.

Lowen seemed to startle at her words, his trance broken. The tips of his ears flushed a deep red. "Yes, of course," he muttered, turning quickly.

He reached a long arm behind them, retrieving the towel from the counterpane, and carefully wrapped it around her trembling form. Without hesitation, he gathered her into his arms again, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, and carried her to the bed.

"Thank you," Helena murmured, scooting herself back toward the bed frame, her face burning with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment.

"I'll call for a doctor," Lowen said firmly as he hovered over her.

"It's really not necessary to call on a doctor for something as trivial as bruised knees," Helena replied, extending her legs to reveal her knees, which were already beginning to discolor from the fall.

This did nothing to placate him, only deepening the furrow of his brow. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shin, his touch comforting despite its careful restraint. "I should have been here to help you."

Helena tilted her head playfully. "To help me bathe? It sounds like you have ulterior motives."

Lowen huffed a quiet laugh. "Perhaps, but given your knack for mishaps, I'd call them entirely necessary. Someone needs to keep you upright."

"Upright? You think you can manage to keep me upright?" She replied wryly.

It took a moment to understand her meaning, but once he realized, another laugh escaped him, deeper than the first. "There's no need to test my resolve, it's as unshakable as it appears."

"I find that hard to believe. It took you entirely too long to come to Lancashire." Helena only meant to tease him but his smile quickly faded.

His reply was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Mercy entered at Helena's bidding, but the moment she noticed the water pooled across the floor, she gasped in dismay. "Oh, Your Grace! I'm so sorry—please forgive me—"

"Mercy, it's quite all right," Helena offered gently, but the maid was already hurrying to fetch towels, her apologies tumbling out with every step.

"The trunk was difficult to retrieve," Mercy said, her voice wavering as she moved across the room.

"Then why didn't you have a servant see to Her Grace in your place?" Lowen snapped.

Helena cast Mercy a sympathetic glance. It was her fault that Lowen was on edge again, after reminding him of their separation. "Really, there's no need for the fuss. Thank you for bringing the dress, Mercy."

The lady's maid nodded in relief but eyed Lowen warily. He had never behaved like this with the staff before, and it seemed as curious to Helena as it did to Mercy..

"I shall take my leave, then, so you may ready yourself," he said, giving her leg a parting squeeze, his hand lingering briefly to stroke her skin. He turned toward Mercy. "If there is anything you require for Her Grace, come to me directly."

"Yes, Your Grace." The lady's maid bobbed a quick curtsy as Lowen strode from the room.

Mercy dressed her without her usual jovial chatter, uttering an apology with each article of clothing she added. Truthfully, Helena's knees did pain her but if she dare mention it. If she did, Lowen would undoubtedly summon every doctor in the vicinity to soothe his own anxieties, delaying their journey back to Cornwall by hours, if not days. So, as she climbed into the carriage, she stifled a wince. Lowen trailed in after her, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching cautiously, still unconvinced of her wellbeing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as the carriage began to joggle with movement.

"I'm quite well, thank you."

"No nausea today?"

Helena shook her head. "It doesn't happen every day, thank heavens. I feel mostly like myself today, though I often feel like I could fall asleep at any moment." The constant fatigue was such a bother, leaving her confined to bed on more days than she cared to admit. "It's just one of my symptoms."

He frowned. "Are there other symptoms I should know about?"

"A few," she admitted, "though some are more troublesome and noticeable than others..." She hesitated, biting her lip in thought.

The desire within her had been steadily rising, an ache she couldn't fully soothe on her own. It was humiliating to even consider confessing such a thing—especially when Lowen had wrongly questioned her chastity for so long. If she admitted to her base needs, would he wonder how she had spent her time during their separation? Still, she wanted intimacy, it was easier than words, the act spoke for itself.

"Helena, what is it? You've gone all red."

"It's... not an easy thing to explain," she began, smoothing her skirts uncomfortably. "But lately, I've found myself unsettled—restless, in a way. A longing I can't seem to satisfy." Her cheeks burned, and she quickly added, "I've no doubt it's tied to everything else I've been feeling, but... well, it's rather embarrassing to admit."

Lowen raised an ebony brow. "I don't think I understand."

"I want you to make love to me!" Helena blurted.

Despite her husband being a man of few telling emotions, she had at least expected some sort of reaction—another raise of the brow, perhaps. Instead, he gently cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. "I'm not certain we should."

"Oh," she croaked.

Helena bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay—another dreadful symptom, this newfound tendency to cry at the slightest provocation. But, as always, her resolve faltered. Reluctantly, two fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Oh God, Helena, I'm sorry!" Lowen exclaimed, throwing himself to her side, his expression frantic as he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

She accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her cheeks. "At this rate, you'll be running out of these in no time," she said with a sniff.

"It's no matter—I'll always have as many as you need," he said softly. He leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching. "All I seem to do is make you cry."

"On several occasions, yes," she hiccuped, and wiped at another tear. "I know you didn't mean to...but it still hurts."

"Hurts?" He questioned.

Helena nodded, keeping her eyes lowered. "I don't... I don't feel like myself anymore. My body feels wrong—like it's not my own. And when you refuse me, I can't help but think it's because you find me disgusting too."

"Disgusting?" The word came out sharp, almost offensive. "Helena, don't be ridiculous. That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?" she pressed.

Lowen sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "It's not about wanting you. God knows I do—more than anything. But look at what's happened recently. You've been ill. You're exhausted most days. You fell out of the tub, for God's sake. I can't take the chance of making things worse."

"But I feel fine today," she argued softly, though even to her own ears, it sounded feeble.

"Today," he agreed. "But I can't stop thinking about what could happen if something went wrong. Until we've seen a doctor in Penhollow and I know you're both safe, I can't risk it, Helena. I won't."

His earnestness was unmistakable, but it didn't stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks.

"Helena, look at me," Lowen commanded gently.

Her eyes connected with the diaphanous silver of his, the intensity in his gaze locking her in place.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. So beautiful it's indecent."

Helena gestured to her stomach, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Even as I grow rounder and rounder?"

Lowen's hand found hers, guiding it gently to rest over the small slope of her belly. "Even then," he murmured. "In fact, I'm greatly looking forward to it."

"What if I'm too big?"

"All the better." He brought his lips to her neck and pressed a soft kiss just beneath her jaw. "More to touch. More to kiss."

Helena's skin prickled at his touch, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. Her gaze drifted downward, catching the unmistakable strain of his arousal against his breeches. She inhaled sharply, her breath hitching as she tilted her face toward his, her lips just barely brushing his.

"If you won't make love to me," she purred, "why don't I make love to you?"

"I don't think that would be wise—" he began, but his words faltered as Helena brought her hand over his erection.

"I still need to repay you for what you did to me in the carriage. Do you remember?" She asked, the tip of her finger circled the sensitive head of his cock. Even through the fabric, the sensation caused him to shudder and moan.

"Yes, but you don't need to repay me," Lowen said, his voice strained. Despite his words, he made no move to stop her.

"But your pleasure is my pleasure." Slowly, Helena began undoing his falls, savoring the tension as Lowen watched her with anticipation.

"Really, Helena," he groaned. "There's no need." He tried again, his resolve crumbling. "I won't make love to you until I'm certain you're in good health."

"I can agree to that arrangement," she replied coyly. "But, as I said, I want to repay you."

With his breeches undone, her hand slipped between the open flaps, her fingers curling around the hard flesh beneath. She leaned closer, her lips near his ear as she continued, "You made me feel so good that day, Lowen. You lifted my dress and spread my legs for you. You kissed me where I've never been kissed before."

"Where no one but you will ever kiss me," she whispered as her hand worked up and down his cock with teasing slowness. "You brought me to such ecstasy that day. Let me do the same for you."

Lowen bucked beneath Helena as her hand quickened its pace, her grip tightening slightly at the tip—just the way he liked. She hadn't forgotten how to unravel him; it was almost second nature. It was entrancing to watch his pleasure—the way his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck taut, and the short, shallow bursts of his breath as he tried to maintain control. To her satisfaction, his relief came fast than she anticipated. His seed erupted over her fingers, and she tightened her grip, continuing her movements to ensure she drained him of every last drop.

"You little minx," Lowen breathed, his head dropping back against the seat as he watched her beneath half-lidded lashes. "It's not going to work."

Feigning ignorance, Helena cocked her head. "What's not going to work?" she asked, cleaning both herself and Lowen with the handkerchief.

"You're seducing me, Helena." He answered as he buttoned up his falls.

"But I just did."

Lowen chuckled, low and throaty. "I won't be touching you until after you see a doctor."

Helena shrugged as if disinterested. "If you say so."

~

A minx indeed, Lowen thought wryly to himself.

After Helena used her skilled hands to bring him to climax, she promptly fell asleep, looking as content as a kitten curled up after a bowl of cream. Despite feeling boneless and euphoric himself, Lowen couldn't shake the flicker of concern that lingered at the back of his mind. He was eager for his trusted physician to assess Helena once they were home in Cornwall—not just to ease his mind about lovemaking, but to find anything that might soothe her when she was ill or help with her constant fatigue. Part of him was grateful that she felt comfortable enough to sleep through the monotonous carriage rides, but another part was envious. Lowen couldn't fall asleep if he tried, and he was near losing his mind in the confines of the carriage, the torment made worse by Helena and her intoxicatingly sweet scent.

He glanced down at her, slumped against him with a peaceful expression on her face, and his attention shifted to her knees. Without thinking, he carefully lifted her skirts, his fingers brushing the fabric of her petticoats as he examined the damage. The deep purple bruises stood out starkly through her stockings. Helena had scarcely mentioned a word, brushing off the pain despite the clear evidence on her body. Just as she had done the night he first lay with her, she silently bore the pain. Lowen's jaw tightened, his frustration rising. He was angry with himself for his neglect. Angry with himself for how he had treated her, from the very start.

They were passing through Staffordshire now, surrounded by birch, bracken and endless fields of wildflowers. It would be ideal to stop and rest here, enjoying the picnic he had packed at the previous inn.

He pounded on the roof of the carriage, startling Helena awake.

"My apologies," he said with a guilty smile as the carriage came to a rumbling halt. "We're stopping for a moment. Are you hungry?"

Helena sat up excitedly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I dreamt we were attending a magnificent feast."

"I cannot promise you a magnificent feast right now, but I do have bread and cheese," Lowen replied, helping her out of the carriage.

"Well, that sounds rather magnificent to me," she said cheerfully, blinking as the sudden sunlight hit her face.

Before she began wandering off, Lowen quickly snatched her bonnet from the seat of the carriage and held it out to her. "If you will," he drawled.

Helena accepted the bonnet with a grumble. "I suppose my hair's a bit of a mess."

"Your hair looks lovely, but it's a warm day, and I'll not risk you fainting or burning on my watch."

"I neither faint nor burn," she sniffed. "In truth, I do quite well in the sun."

Raising a skeptical brow, Lowen gently poked the tip of her nose. "You're still red from your previous outing with Alden and his wife."

She waved his hand away with a laugh. "It's merely a blush because you vex me so."

Though he knew she was teasing, Lowen couldn't help but recognize that there was truth in every jest. He had done more than just vex her—he had hurt her in so many ways.

Lowen extended his arm and guided Helena between the trees, leading her into a clearing blanketed with soft waves of wildflowers. Their colors merged into one, swaying with the wind like a painting come to life.

Helena pointed to a patch of purple blooms. "I remember these—heather!" she exclaimed, crouching to lightly caress their delicate tops. "You taught me so much about wildflowers and their uses. I quite enjoyed myself that day. Did you?"

"I did," he replied truthfully. That had been the day he sought her forgiveness, only to wound her again not long after. Lowen swallowed hard, the guilt rising like bile in his throat.

"Is something the matter?" Helena asked, looking up at him with a touch of concern. "You look as though you're in pain."

Lowen blinked, realizing he'd been frowning. "Nothing's the matter," he assured her, forcing a softer expression. "I was merely thinking."

"Nothing too troublesome, I hope."

He crouched down beside her, and took her hand in his. The sunlight bathed the field in an incandescent glow, falling on her face and catching in her lapis eyes. In the bright light, they looked paler, like stained glass against the morning sun.

For a moment, he was silent, simply looking at her. Helena tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Lowen? Truly, what are you thinking about?"

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat, but he knew they could not stay there forever. "You," he finally admitted. "You're always on my mind, Helena. More than you know. Even before we wed."

Her lips parted in surprise, but she remained silent, allowing him to continue.

"I've wronged you in more ways than I can count," he said. "From the very start, I accused you of things you did not deserve and treated you with harshness. I held you to impossible standards—not as a wife, but as someone I thought had to earn my regard. Yet, in truth, you've had it from the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Wh-why are you saying this now?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I've been a terrible husband to you, Helena," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I've been blind to my own faults and careless of your needs. And when we were apart, I nearly went mad. I need you—not just as my wife, but as my other half. Without you, I am not whole. I can only be my true self when I'm with you."

For a moment, she looked as though she was about to say something, but Lowen pressed on. "I will not ask for your forgiveness—not when I've done so little to earn it. But I swear to you now, I will spend the rest of my days being the husband you deserved from the start."

To his surprise, Helena threw herself into his arms, the sudden weight knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling onto his back in a soft bed of flowers. Helena climbed over him, straddling his hips with her hands resting on either side of his shoulders.

"We must make haste to Cornwall!" she declared with a radiant smile, then bent down to plant a firm kiss on his lips.