Arden’s face was ashen, his mouth drawn tight. “The report only says that severe damage and injuries are confirmed. There is another suspected device which was found in Trafalgar Square, at the base of Nelson’s Column. It did not explode.”
Bloody, bloody hell.
“I have to get to her,” he said, even as the same old panic assailed him.
It was visceral. Like a hand closing on his throat. His chest hurt. He felt hot and dizzy. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. The signs were undeniable, the fear, the pounding of his heart, as if it were about to burst free of his chest. He was about to suffer one of his fits.
He clenched his fists, denial roaring through him as he attempted to ward it off. He could not afford to be laid low now. But his vision was darkening, and he could not seem to drag in a breath.
The last fit to claim him had been when Verity had been lost after the fire. And Johanna had been there with a calming hand, a reassuring voice. But she was not here this time.
Indeed, she may never be again…
The explosions. Injuries. Arden’s pallor. Johanna’s tear-stained face as she had been led away. She was alone. Without anyone to protect her. Without anyone to save her. And there had been dynamite.
All the facts swirled together in a sickening sea of dread. If something had happened to her, he did not know how he would make it through such a loss. Especially when he had only just found her.
It was terrifying. He attempted to drag in a breath, but his lungs were burning. The walls around him seemed close. Too close.
“Winchelsea?”
From far away, the concerned voice of Arden reached him, pricking through the haze of panic infecting his mind. Laying him low. Making him weak.
Think of Johanna, he told himself.
You must be strong for her.
You must find her. Make sure she is safe.
At last, he inhaled. The breath was a struggle. But after it followed another, and then another. And Arden was there at his side, pressing a whisky into his hand.
“Drink this to calm yourself,” he ordered. “We will go to Scotland Yard posthaste and find out what has happened.”
With great effort, he unclenched his fist, his hand trembling as he accepted the tumbler from Arden. He blew out another unsteady breath and tilted his head back, downing the contents of the glass in one gulp. It burned a path of fire straight to his gut.
But with it came a return to lucidity. He fought back against the panic. Pushed it back down where it belonged, in the dark recesses of his mind. Decisiveness returned to him, and he was able to think. To breathe.
“Thank you,” he managed to tell Arden, grateful for the man’s calming presence at his side. “Let us go now. We have not a moment to spare or waste.”
Arden nodded. “Time is of the essence, more now than ever.”
Truer words, Felix was sure, had never been uttered.
Chapter Fifteen
Johanna was lostat sea, alone in the darkness. The waves were storm-tossed. Lightning bolts shot across the sky. Ominous thunder boomed, the crack of it so loud, she could feel the reverberation in her chest. Her heart was thumping wildly, her mouth dry.
She was in a boat, but the vessel was taking on water as rain poured from the angry skies overhead. She was cold—colder than she had ever been—and drenched. Her skirts were sodden, her hair matted to her face. That was when she saw the hole in the bottom of the boat. Water was rushing up from the sea beneath her, threatening to fill the boat and sink her.
She scrambled to find something to plug the hole, but the boat was slippery. She fell headlong into the water, and for a moment she feared she would drown then and there. But somehow, she found the power to rise to her knees. Thinking she might use it to cover the hole, she clawed at a piece of wooden trim on the boat until her fingers bled. Until the fleshy pads felt as if they were on fire and the pain of a hundred tiny splinters embedded in her skin left her screaming.
The rain turned to hail, pelting her. Hitting her head, her face. Her head began to ache abominably. There was a white light searing her eyes from seemingly nowhere, and a voice she had never before heard was calling her name…
“Miss McKenna, can you hear me?”
The unfamiliar female voice cut through the nightmare, gradually chasing it from Johanna’s mind. The light was still there, however. Bright and painful. Everything seemed painful, actually. Her body felt as if it had been run over by a team of carriage horses.
“Miss McKenna?”
