Addison reached behind him and gently squeezed her thigh. “It won’t break. I promise.”
“I’m sorry.” Addison heard—and felt—her attempts to breathe evenly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course. I—”
“Love? He cut into her apologies. “I’m going to get us out of here. I have an idea.” Because Rowan’s workers would not return until morning and with most of Mayfair’s residents vacated until spring, there was no guarantee that anyone had heard the collapse.
This had to have been the work of the vandals Rowan had told him about. There was no way Rowan’s construction would ever allow for such a catastrophe.
She found his hand and squeezed. She was scared. His precious, brave girl—hurt and scared. All because he’d brought her here. If only he’d taken her directly to her brother’s house instead. Or the park—anywhere but here.
But he couldn’t think about that now.
A tremor ran through her small body. Her gown was mostly gathered around her waist.
“You’re cold.”Because of him.
What had he been thinking to place her in danger like this?
“No.” Her teeth chattered. And then another tremor. He located his jacket again, shoved it above his head, and turned again to face her.
“Don’t worry about me,” she protested. “I’m fine. Do what you need to do. I’m fine.”
But worrying about her was exactly what was going to get them to safety. She was his sanity. If he worried about himself…
He cradled her face in his hands and then pressed his lips to her forehead. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“No. No. Should I scream for help? Would anyone come?”
Addison considered the size of the lot, how far they were from the street, and the thickness of the untended trees and shrubs surrounding them.
But if she thought it would help, and it provided her with a distraction, then he wouldn’t discourage her. “It can’t hurt.” And then he braced himself for her voice to shatter the cool silence around them.
“Help!” Her voice wobbled with her shout. Another shiver. “I don’t think I’m much of a screamer.”
“Let me help you into this.” He opened his jacket, glad that she seemed momentarily distracted from her pain. “Careful, love.”
The skin on her arms was cool and damp. And far too delicate for her to be laying in the debris that had worked its way into their small sanctuary.
Addison guided her hand into the arm of his jacket. Never had she seemed so fragile as she did in that moment.
She was his heart, his life, and she was oh, so very vulnerable.
Thank God they’d made it under the cot.
“Let me…” She arched her back so he could slide the jacket under her and working together, the two of them managed to get her covered.
Shielded.
It shouldn’t make any difference but knowing she was protected in his jacket provided him with some comfort.
“That’s better. It smells like you,” she said.
He smiled, calmed by her matter-of-fact observation.
“Still leather and wood?” he asked, wanting to keep holding her but turning again so he could renew his efforts to free her foot.
“I remember it distinctly. From the stairwell. I remembered it even after you left Warstone Crossing.”
“You are vanilla and spring—and sometimes mint. My favorite perfume in all the world.” He located the opening again and, contorting himself, tucked his knees up and pushed his feet through it.
