Rebel's Bargain

‘My jaw. You’ve broken my jaw.’

Orsino looked at the man sprawled at his feet He recognised him—the guy who’d badmouthed Poppy by the river.

A ripple of bloodlust shuddered through Orsino and he surged forward, only to pull up short when Poppy’s hold on his arm tightened. She dragged at him with all her weight.

Orsino drew a juddering breath and forced himself to stand back.

‘If it was broken you wouldn’t be able to talk.’ It was Poppy’s voice, crisp and unsympathetic.

Orsino swung round to her. His hand trembled as it cupped her face, slipped over the satin perfection of her cheek and brushed the soft richness of her hair.

She looked unharmed.

His heart clenched around a single shaky beat of relief that rose to his throat and shut down his larynx.

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t. Something welled up inside, like a hot tide, filling him and spilling over.

‘Orsino. Are you all right?’ Then she was warm against him, hands clutching so hard he winced as pain awoke. The rustle of her dress almost drowned out her little cry, half sob, half gasp, as she lifted his bruised knuckles to her lips.

‘You really need to see a doctor.’ Poppy worked to keep her voice firm as she dipped the face cloth into warm water and wrung it out.

Her hands were unsteady, she realised. Her bones had turned to water when she’d seen Orsino locked in that writhing, vicious brawl and they still hadn’t recovered. How she’d found strength to support him back to their rooms she didn’t know.

That he’d managed to limp here defied logic. By rights he should be lying down, waiting for medical attention.

When he’d flown through the air to take down her attacker, fear had held her frozen and disbelieving.

She shook her head. Orsino had fought for her. Disabled as he was he’d thrown himself into danger.

To protect her.

The cloth slipped back into the bowl, her nerveless fingers shaking like silk ribbons before a wind machine.

No one had ever protected her like that.

No one but her mother, whose efforts had been ineffectual against an enraged, drunken brute.

Poppy squeezed her eyes shut, reliving those heart-in-mouth moments when Orsino had put himself between her and danger. When he’d absorbed the blows of a man made unnaturally strong by drink and jealousy.

She knew exactly how powerful drink could make an angry man.

‘Poppy? What is it?’

Her eyes snapped open and she saw her hands twined together so hard the knuckles gleamed white.

‘Why did you do it?’ She whipped round, her full skirt swishing around her legs.

Orsino sat on the edge of the bed wearing only jeans and boots, hair tousled and dark features brooding. Blood oozed from a cut on his collarbone and his lip was swollen. Red marks, soon to be more bruises, marred his body and the hand cradling his plaster cast was bloody.

He’d never looked more devastatingly charismatic, more potently male. Deep, deep inside, something vital melted as her gaze skittered over him.

‘What do you mean?’ His brows drew together.

‘Why did you tackle him?’ Her voice wasn’t her own. It wobbled uncontrollably, like the trembling that started up in her knees.

Orsino reared back, his eyes widening.

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Look at you!’ Her voice rose despite her effort to keep it even. ‘You’re still recuperating from being crushed in an avalanche! No one thought you’d survive. And now you … you …’

Poppy shook her head, her unbound hair swirling around her in a dark cloud. She couldn’t find words because she didn’t understand what it was she felt.

Fear for him, yes. Worry that he’d damaged that arm again, or his ribs, or worse still, his eyes. But something else, too. Something so huge and inexplicable she couldn’t begin to analyse it. It pressed down on her chest, an immovable weight, and clogged her throat when she tried to swallow. Her head reeled as if she’d been clouted in the head—her and not Orsino.

‘I didn’t need you to rescue me. I’m not your responsibility, remember?’ Her breath shuddered into her lungs. ‘It’s not as if you’re …’ She waved a hand in the air.

‘Your husband?’

Her eyes snapped to his. Ebony dark, they stripped her to the core. Despite her ball gown she felt as if she was naked before him. Worse, as if he saw the confused, distraught woman she hid inside.

‘That’s precisely what I am. Your husband.’ His eyes narrowed assessingly.

‘In name only.’

She watched Orsino’s jaw tighten, cords of tension roping his neck.

‘You think I’d leave any woman to that bastard’s mercy?’