Verity was his sister. His responsibility.
Everett hesitated. A huge groan sounded as a wall caved in somewhere in the distance.
“We haven’t any time,” King snapped. “Take the child and go.”
He nodded, knowing he would have to entrust his sister to his friend. They hadn’t a choice. Holding the weeping girl tightly, Everett ducked his head and rushed them through the remnants of the Children’s Foundling Hospital to the door, not stopping until they were outside.
Only then did he collapse to his knees on the pavements, coughing so hard he feared his lungs would rip from his chest. The child clung to his neck, crying and coughing.
Sybil rushed toward them through the smoke that raged from the orphanage, her arms open wide. She dropped to the pavements, wrapping Everett and the child in an embrace, weeping.
“Everett,” she exclaimed through sobs, “thank heavens you’re safe.”
He wrapped his free arm around her waist, holding her to him tightly, struggling for breath. She felt like heaven.
Like home.
He was so damned thankful she was here, that she wasn’t trapped in the flames. The thought of losing her… He couldn’t bear it. Wouldn’t even think it.
“Verity,” he choked out, turning back to the burning building.
It was all he could manage to say.
To his immense relief, Kingham emerged from the broken doors, ashen-faced and covered in soot, holding Verity in his arms. Her skirts hung, the hems smoldering, her arms dangling at her sides.
Thank God.
They werealive.
They were both out of the conflagration.
But his relief was short-lived. Everything was a blur as King moved through the parting crowd, bringing Verity to where Everett, Sybil, and the girl were huddled on the pavements.
That was when Everett saw the stark anguish on his friend’s face. And the blood in Verity’s hair, dripping onto the pavements.
“She needs a physician at once,” King said.
And Everett realized that his sister wasn’t safe just yet. Not at all.
Verity was drowning.
Drowning in a twisting, violent sea.
It was dark, and she couldn’t breathe. The water kept rushing over her head, her skirts twisting and bogging her down, down, down. She choked and fought, struggling to force her way back to the surface.
But her arms and legs became leaden weights, refusing to move, and the waves crashed over her head. And where there once had been sun and so much heat, everything was cold. She was cold, so very cold.
Nothing made sense.
But then, through the murk, came a voice that said her name, softly and tenderly. It was the voice of the man she loved. Her betrothed. The man she intended to marry.
Verity, can you hear me?
Verity, stay strong.
There was a rumbling sound as her body jostled, like the wheels of a carriage, but how could it be? There were no carriages in the sea.
Was she in the sea?
