Henry didn’t normally touch her face; he was careful, keeping the blows always below the neckline. She was his prize, nothing should mark her but him, and he didn’t like to be confronted by the evidence; it reminded him of how angry she’d made him, how disappointing she could be. He liked her injuries to remain safely beneath her clothing, there for only her to see, to remind her how much he loved her—he would never hit a woman if he didn’t care so damned much.
