"Did he- No, well, yes, just a little bit." Her hand went to her cheek.

THUNK. Blake kicked Oliver in the ribs. He looked back at her. "That's for hurting my wife."

She swallowed. "It was really more the shock than anything else, Blake. Maybe you shouldn't-"

THWAK. Blake kicked Oliver in the hip. "That," he spat, "is for shocking her."

Caroline clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in nervous laughter.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

She shook her head, afraid that if she opened her mouth one more time he would kill Oliver. Not that the world wouldn't be a finer place for it, but she had no wish for Blake to go to the gallows.

Blake cocked his head slightly to the side as he looked at her a little more closely. "You're bleed­ing," he whispered.

She lifted her hand from her cheek and looked at it. There was blood on her fingers. Not much, but enough to make her instinctively press her hand back up against the wound.

Blake pulled out a handkerchief. She reached out to take it, but he dodged her hand and instead dabbed the snowy white linen to her cheek mur­muring, "Let me."

Caroline had never before had anyone to tend to her wounds, minor or otherwise, and she found his touch oddly soothing.

"I should get some water to dean this off," he said gruffly.

"I'm sure it will be fine. It's a shallow cut."

He nodded. "For a second I thought he'd scarred you. I would have killed him for that."

From the floor, Oliver emitted a groan.

Blake stared at Caroline. "If you ask me to, I will kill him."

"Oh, no, Blake. No. Not like this."

"What the hell do you mean, not like this?" Oli­ver snapped.

Caroline looked down. Obviously, he'd regained consciousness. Or perhaps he'd never lost it. She said, "I wouldn't mind, however, if you booted him out of the house."

Blake nodded. "Gladly." He picked Oliver up by his collar and the seat of his pants and strode out into the hall. Caroline scurried after him, wincing when Oliver bellowed, "I will summon the magis­trate! See if I don't! You'll pay for this!"

"I am the magistrate," Blake bit out. "And if you trespass on my land again, I'll arrest you myself." With that, he tossed him out onto the front steps and slammed the door.

He turned around and regarded his wife, who was standing in the hall, staring at him open-mouthed. There was still a bit of blood on her cheek, and some on the tips of her fingers. His heart clenched. He knew she hadn't suffered a serious in­jury, but somehow that didn't matter. Prewitt had hurt her and he hadn't been there to prevent it.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice somewhere be­tween a whisper and a murmur.

She blinked. "But why?"

"I should have been here. I should never have let you see him alone."

"But you didn't even know he was here."

"That's not the point. You are my wife. I swore to protect you."

"Blake," she said gently, "you can't save the en­tire world."

He stepped toward her, knowing his heart was in his eyes, but somehow not minding this weak­ness. "I know that. I only want to save you."

"Oh, Blake."

He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close, heedless of the blood on her cheek. "I won't fail you again," he vowed.

"You could never fail me."

He stiffened. "I failed Marabelle."

"You told me you'd finally accepted that her death wasn't your fault," she said, wiggling free.

"I did. I do." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It still haunts me. If you could have seen her..."

"Oh, no," she gasped. "I didn't know you were there. I didn't know you'd seen her be killed."

"I didn't," he said flatly. "I was in bed with a putrid throat. But when she didn't return on sched­ule, Riverdale and I went out looking for her."

"I'm so sorry."

His voice grew hollow as the memories overtook him. "There was so much blood. She'd been shot four times."

Caroline thought about how much blood had gushed from Percy's flesh wound. She couldn't even imagine how awful it must be to see a loved one fatally injured. "I wish I knew what to say, Blake.

I wish there was something to say."

He turned to face her abruptly. "Do you hate her?"

"Marabelle?" she asked, startled.

He nodded.

"Of course not!"

"You once told me you didn't want to compete with a dead woman."

"Well, I was jealous," she said sheepishly. "I don't hate her. That would be rather narrow-minded of me, don't you think?"

He shook his head, as if to dismiss the subject. "I was just wondering. I wouldn't have been angry if you did."

"Marabelle is a part of who you are," she said. "How can I hate her when she was so important in making you the man you are today?"

He watched her face, his eyes searching for some­thing. Caroline felt naked under his gaze. She said softly, "If it weren't for Marabelle you might not be the man I-" She swallowed, summoning her cour

­age. "You might not be the man I love."

He stared at her for a long moment, and then took her hand. "That is the most generous emotion

any­one has ever shown to me."

She stared at him through moist eyes, waiting, hoping, praying that he'd return the sentiment. He looked as if he wanted to say something important, but after a few moments he merely cleared his throat and said, "Were you working in the gar­den?"

She nodded, swallowing down the lump of dis­appointment that had just formed in her throat.

He offered her his arm. "I'll escort you back. I should like to see what you've done."

Patience, Caroline told herself. Remember, pa­tience.

But that was far easier said than done when one was courting a broken heart.

Later that evening, Blake was sitting in the dark in his study, staring out the window.

She had said that she loved him. It was an awe­some responsibility, that.

Deep down, he had known that she cared for him deeply, but it had been so long since he'd even thought about the concept of love, he hadn't thought he'd recognize it when it arose.

But it had, and he did, and he knew that Caro­line's feelings were true.

"Blake?"

He looked up. Caroline was standing in the door­way, her hand raised to knock again on the

door-jamb.

"Why are you sitting here in the dark?"

"I'm just thinking."

"Oh." He could tell she wanted to ask more. In­stead, she smiled hesitantly and said,

"Would you like me to light a candle?"

He shook his head, slowly rising to his feet. He had the oddest desire to kiss her.

It wasn't odd that he wanted to kiss her in and of itself. He always wanted to kiss her. What was odd was the intensity of the need. It was almost as if he positively, definitively knew that if he didn't kiss her that very minute, his life would be forever changed, and not for the better.

He had to kiss her. That was all there was to it.

He walked across the room as if in a trance. She said something to him, but he didn't hear the words. He just kept moving slowly, inexorably to her side.

Caroline's lips parted slightly in surprise. Blake was acting most oddly. It was as if his mind were

somewhere else, and yet he was staring at her with the strangest intensity.

She whispered his name for what must have been the third time, but he made no response, and then he was right in front of her.