Page 77 of Seduced

Poppy was sitting on one of the gilded chairs at the very back of the room, as she had since the moment she entered it. Her hands were neatly folded on the skirt of the ugliest dress in Christendom, her hair curled in an adorable, disheveled way, her cheeks pale, her lips pink, her green eyes endless sad pools, inviting him to drown.

And blood was pouring down her face.

She kept staring straight ahead, not even noticing that she had gotten a nosebleed.

Alexei found himself on one knee in front of her chair, cupping his one hand underneath Poppy’s chin as her blood pooled onto his palm, and supporting her neck with the other

Her skin felt cold under his fingers, and he had the strange sensation of holding a rare and fragile flower as its petals drooped, dying in the snow. That was all he thought about as he pulled her to him and picked her up in his arms.

It did not occur to him to shudder or to remember the vile hands that had tried to kill him when he was a child as he clutched her to his chest. All he thought of was how he could carry her to safety without hurting her. How he could best cradle her body, hide her, protect her. Save her.

That, and the real possibility that she might bleed out before he had a chance to take her to his rooms. He tried not to say so out loud, but he was panicking and the words spilled out of him.

“Don’t be silly, Alexei,” Rania said, running beside him as he carried Poppy down the stairs, “she won’t die of a nosebleed.”

“Would you like one as well?” Alexei flung at her cruelly. “It can be arranged.”

But Rania only swatted at him as if he were an insolent child.

He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. And yes, it did feel as if Poppy was dying in his arms. She was barely breathing and she kept making these choking noises that tore his heart to shreds.

He knew what was happening to her: she was drowning in sorrow.

And yes,thatcould kill you. He knew that from personal experience.

…

He carried Poppy to his own chambers and tried to make her as comfortable as he could. Rania rang the bell for help,but no matter what she or the servants did, Poppy was unresponsive to their ministrations. She just sat there, perfectly still, not even making an attempt to stem the blood flow.

It was as if she was not really there and all that was left of her was a shell.

Alexei finally shooed the girls away and took to wiping the dried blood off Poppy’s face himself.

They were left alone in the small parlor next to his bedroom.

The room was warm with fires blazing in two fireplaces, and the sudden silence as everyone left was more comforting than music. Alexei watched her; she was breathing somewhat more easily now and the nosebleed had stopped. Finally, he could stand the silence no longer.

“How are you feeling, love?” He tried to sound unconcerned, but a break in his voice betrayed him.

Poppy sat perfectly still, as if her mind was unattached to her body, but he saw her fingers begin to fidget and tremble and he couldn’t bear it. Impulsively, he reached out and covered them with his hand.

As soon as his skin made contact with hers, the familiar burning panic surged, but Alexei breathed deeply and tried to tame it; to his surprise, it wasn’t hard at all. There was something inside him that felt like a calmed child when he was in her presence. He was drawn to touch her as he had never been drawn to anything in a long time.

Something spilled onto the back of his hand, startling him out of his trance.

It was a drop of water.

A tear.

“No, don’t,” he murmured quickly.

Another followed and then another, her tears spilling onto their joined hands. He had never seen anyone cry like this: she cried in the same way she had bled, quietly and without moving a muscle, as if she did not realize she was doing it.

As if she had been taught not to bother anyone with her pain.

Alexei felt a revulsion so deep at that thought that his stomach rolled and he saw spots dance in front of him. He abruptly reached out and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to him. He moved a bit more roughly than he would have liked, but he was not used to touching others, and his limbs felt awkward to him, foreign, but the emotion that was surging through him as he watched her fall apart in front of him was so violent, he did not have a choice.

He pulled her to his chest and let her cry against his shirt, feeling her heart thud against his own like a trapped, wounded little bird.

---