Free Her Defiant Heart by Jo Goodman Page A

slightly. She caught it between her teeth and held it still.
    "I would like to think that you aren't going to hurt yourself more than you already have this evening. It was a dangerous stunt that you pulled earlier. I'm not certain you grasp what could have happened to you. You were half frozen when Liberty delivered you here. You were unconscious. Another hour or so out in the cold and you very well may have arrived here dead. My only motive in bringing you inside was to see that you survived. Now, if you prefer to survive as a cripple that is entirely up to you. But permit me to give you a small idea of what you can expect that to look like." Hoping that he had her full attention, Christian moved to the edge of the bed and stood. Without exaggerating his limp, he slowly walked to the fireplace before he turned around.
    Jane's blistered hands flew to her face. She smothered a gasp but could not suppress the look of horror in her eyes.
    Christian was embarrassed by her reaction. There was no amount of whiskey that could numb him to what he saw in her face. He felt heat creep into his cheeks. In contrast, he imagined every other part of him had iced over. He knew his limp made him ungainly, but it damn well did not unman him. After Gettysburg, that was one of the first things he had proven to himself, as well as to a succession of painted ladies at Mrs. Quilley's House of Blue Hearts. There was no reason that he could see for her complete revulsion to his infirmity. Gritting his teeth, his voice as tight as the fists at his side, he said, "It's not pretty, is it?" When she continued to stare, he advanced on the bed again, unaware that his approach was menacing or that his aquamarine eyes were colder than anything his guest had experienced during her escape from the hospital. "The same thing can happen to you," he said. "Why do you think—"
    Christian did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence. He stopped as Jane scrambled off the far side of the bed. She wavered on her feet for a few seconds, barely able to remain upright. The towels on her feet nearly unbalanced her, and before he could offer advice to the contrary, she shook out her legs and kicked the towels away.
    "Jesus, Jane, what do you think you're doing?" He unclenched his fist and threw up his hands, palms out. "Didn't you hear anything I said? Are you out of your mind?" Christian swore softly as he heard himself. He knew he could be an insensitive bastard, but he believed he had finally crossed some invisible line that marked the difference between callousness and cruelty. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair and raised his eyes upward. "What in God's name am I doing here anyway?" he said under his breath. He caught a glimpse of Jane as her eyes darted about the room and settled momentarily on the door. There was no doubt in Christian's mind that she had every intention of trying to escape. He quickly moved to the foot of the bed so that he could block her way. "I'm not sure what just happened here, but I'd be a lot happier if you'd get back in that bed. I'd prefer not to have to put you there, but I'll do it if I have to." Unconsciously his hand dropped to his thigh and he massaged his wound. "And I can. You were lucky earlier, but I don't think you'll be so lucky this time."
    Jane's dark eyes dropped to Christian's leg and the horrified look appeared again.
    It came to him suddenly, if somewhat belatedly, but Christian finally understood the bent of her mind. Jane thought she had caused his limp. The idea was laughable because it was so absurd. "I don't think you understand," he said, rounding the corner of the bed. "You didn't—"
    Once more Christian was forced to stop in midsentence. As soon as he came around the bed Jane threw herself onto the mattress, rolled to the other side, and dropped to the floor. Before Christian could reach her she was hobbling toward the door.
    Christian had seconds to decide his best course of action. Every step