“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.
