She raised her head and forced herself to breathe deeply, but that didn’t help. For the last while, she’d pushed aside the steadily ballooning tiredness dragging at her limbs; she would have plenty of time to rest later. But now her hands were icy; looking down, she spread her fingers and frowned as she noted that her nails appeared leached of all color.
Now she thought of it, her whole body felt chilled.
She didn’t know what made her glance toward the front of the train, but she did and, through the fading chaos of the night, saw Devlin walking toward her.
He’d come.
Her heart—stupid organ—leapt, at least as much as it could manage. She might have been wrong in thinking what she had—she still wasn’t sure about that—but Child would have told Devlin why she’d rushed off, why she’d run away, and yet, here he was.
Regardless of whether he loved her or not, he’d come after her, and she had no doubt whatsoever that, now he was there, everything would be all right.
She could relax, set down the burden of caring for all these people, and let him pick it up. She knew he would.
A smile blooming on her lips—the first in hours—she shuffled to face him and started to raise her hands, extending them in welcome.
Abruptly, the energy that had been holding her upright drained to her soles.
“Oh.” She swayed.
She blinked and saw Devlin’s expression, which had been affectionately amused, transform to one of flaring concern, and he started to run toward her.
Her vision turned hazy, then blurred.
And she realized she was falling, crumpling where she stood.
The last touch she registered was Devlin’s strong arms wrapping about her, then he swung her up, into his arms.
The last thing she heard was his voice as he said, harsh and insistent, “I’ve got you.”
Then the world faded, and impenetrable blackness swallowed her whole.
Devlin searched Therese’s chalk-white face and softly swore. Shock? Delayed shock? Was that all this was?
Or was it something more sinister?
He held her in his arms and felt utterly helpless.
Parker rushed up, closely followed by Dennis.
“Oh, dear.” Parker caught one of Therese’s limp hands and started chafing it. “She seemed perfectly all right, my lord. Shaken at first, of course, but once she started helping, she seemed right as rain.”
Dennis nodded. “She was giving orders right and left, like she usually does.”
“Let me take off her bonnet.” Parker deftly undid the ribbons tied beneath Therese’s chin.
Devlin adjusted his hold to allow Parker to ease off the bonnet, with its wide flared brim that, until then, had partially shaded Therese’s face.
As Parker drew the bonnet away, Devlin stared at features that were achingly familiar but, surely, far too pale? Therese’s complexion was normally creamy, not alabaster white.
“Oh, my Lord!”
Parker’s shocked exclamation had him glancing at the dresser. She was staring down at the bonnet in her hands, at the silk lining, which was soaked in blood.
Therese’s blood.
Dennis blanched. Devlin was certain he did, too. He raised Therese’s shoulders and tried to examine the back of her head. All he could make out was that a large patch of golden-blond hair was dark and matted with blood.
Parker shook herself out of her frozen state and crouched, carefully searching, gently touching, then straightened. “It’s a gash, my lord. Across the back of her head. It doesn’t look to be still bleeding.”
It probably wouldn’t be; it had been at least an hour since the crash.
“How did it happen?” He looked around, trying to spot one of the doctors.
Parker frowned, clearly thinking back. “It had to have been during the crash, before she put her bonnet back on, but she didn’t say… I’m sure she didn’t know.” Then her face cleared. “I was sitting next to her, and when the crash occurred, we were flung forward, and the cases fell on top of us—some on our backs, but others struck our heads.” Parker raised her gaze to Devlin’s face. “Her dressing case fell on her head. I remember lifting it off her. And it has those metal corners. One must have struck her.”
Devlin fought to rein in the panicked desperation that had sunk steel-tipped claws into his soul. With Therese in his arms, he turned. “Find one of the doctors. She was helping them—now they can help her.”
Parker and Dennis darted away.
Devlin grimly hung on—to his temper, to his wits; inwardly, he repeated, over and over again, that Therese was merely wounded, that she was alive and would remain so. That he hadn’t lost her and wouldn’t lose her.
Never in his life had he felt like this.
After several minutes, when incipient anguish rose almost to the point of making him howl, he switched to sternly reminding himself that he couldn’t afford to indulge in such histrionics, that she needed him now—she, and the children and his people.
Never before had he so resented the demands of being an earl.
Then Parker and Dennis returned with an older man. He took one look at Therese’s face and said, “Oh, dear.”
Devlin clenched his jaw.
“Let’s see.” The doctor shifted and crouched as Parker had done. From beside him, Parker whispered about what she’d found and pointed, and he looked, then nodded and straightened.
The man met Devlin’s eyes. “It’s a nasty gash, my lord, but please remember that head wounds always bleed copiously.” He glanced again at Therese’s face. “She’s been pushing herself hard, so even though I doubt she’s lost that much blood, the loss nevertheless has taken its toll.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice and again met Devlin’s eyes. “The wound needs to be washed, but we have no clean water. I wouldn’t want to attempt to tend her ladyship’s wound here—the risk of infection is too great.”
He glanced at Therese’s face again. “My humble opinion is that, as I judge she’s not in any immediate danger, you should remove her to where she can receive appropriate treatment.”
Devlin stared at the man, analyzing his words, then forced himself to nod. “Thank you. I’ll do as you suggest.”
The man bowed. “My lord.” He straightened and added, “Her ladyship was of great help to all those here. I’ll pray for a speedy recovery with no complications.”
Devlin stiffly inclined his head, then settling Therese more securely in his arms, turned and carried her out of the harsh light, then started climbing the embankment.
Parker and Dennis flanked him, walking close enough to be able to steady him if he faltered.
In one corner of his mind, he was relieved and grateful that Therese, the children, and the staff had survived the crash unharmed, but most of his mind was swimming with dread, a dark emotion that inexorably tightened the vise clamped about his heart.
Regardless of what the rational part of his mind reiterated, his emotions were in tumult and refused to settle, to believe.
All he could focus on as he carried Therese along the path toward the lane was that he absolutely couldn’t lose her.
If he did, he’d lose himself.
London’s bells were tolling for midnight as Devlin carried Therese’s limp form up the steps of Alverton House.