“You’re shaking.” He frowned, his voice a lower, soothing register. The hand supporting my arm was gentle now, his thumb stroking unconsciously against my sleeve. “Russel, send for Captain Branning. Have him examined for anything that might hint at his affiliation. And take this.” He offered the dagger forward. “It’s a Hadrian design. Silver, lynx embossed in the hilt. We need to know who he is, who hired him, and why he targeted the princess.”
Lord Quinn returned his attention to me, clinically assessing my condition. Before I could protest it, he scooped me into his arms and walked back inside.
Blood had settled into the fabric of the viscount’s white gloves. I tried not to notice, feeling like I was in the maw of a lion, yet there was a strange benignity to him now; I could almost forget that he’d threatened to kill me on our first meeting. Almost.
“I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, Lady Alana. Abduction is an act punishable by swift and certain death, and he injured you in the process. The bastard deserved much, much worse,” he said quietly, carrying me to my apartments. Once inside, he eased me onto the divided chaise longue. “I performed my duty, but I regret that you had to witness such violence.”
My weight shifted onto my good arm. Lord Quinn’s gaze went straight to the injury.
“Let me help you.”
The pain worsened by the moment, so I had no room to argue.
I bit my lip, sat up, and turned my back to him.
The viscount took a moment to evaluate me. His hands hovered near my shoulder without touching. When he finally spoke, he did so with the authoritative tone of someone confident in his skill, as if he’d witnessed similar injuries in the past.
“I can fix it. It’ll hurt, but only for a moment. Do I have your permission?”
I didn’t recognize the person speaking to me. He’d been so callous and arrogant until now. I wanted to chalk his kindness up to mandated subservience, to my change in position since our initial introduction, but somehow it seemed possible that both facets of his personality could be true.
“Lady Alana?” he asked.
I managed a nod.
The viscount offered forth a handkerchief. The cloth smelled like spices and something tangy. When he moved closer to position me, I became acutely aware of the solid bulk of his chest against my back. He felt like armor.
“You’ll want to bite down on it,” he suggested, so I did, gagging my mouth for the second time that day.
Lord Quinn repositioned me so that my back was slightly reclined, supported against his thigh. His breathing was controlled, steady where mine was ragged. He took my wrist firmly in one hand, my shoulder in the other, and met my eyes for reassurance.
Curiously, I felt none of my usual resentment or fear. I felt nothing at all, save for the slightest awareness that his lashes were strangely pretty.
With a steady and gradual traction, the viscount pulled my arm outward, applying a counter-pressure in my shoulder.
I bit down hard on my gag, tears welling up as I fought against the pain.
Don’t scream.
Don’t make a sound.
The viscount rotated my arm, exhausting my muscles into a forced state of relaxation, and with a terrible pop and an excruciating jolt, he snapped it back into socket. His hand immediately gentled on my shoulder, fingertips ghosting over the joint toassess his work. The most painful relief I’d ever felt was stifled by my inability to express myself, and then it was over; I looked down to find that everything was once again in order.
I pulled the handkerchief from my mouth, panting.
“Try not to move it for a few days.”. The viscount made a whimsical, exhausted smile, and put his hands on his hips. “Your resilience has unnerved me, I must say. Most men would have screamed.”
A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead during the procedure. He pushed it back, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Quinn!”
The two of us turned to the door, startled to find the prince standing in the entryway. He’d only just arrived, his eyes frantically searching the scene. He crossed the room at once, kneeling at my feet, his expression wild. “My lady, I was informed—how do you fare?”
I paused, observing this side of the prince with curiosity. His care was…genuine. I smiled and nodded.
“Curses; we must have a lock installed at your door.”
“I’ll arrange for a guardsman to be stationed outside,” offered the viscount.
