Then the door burst open.
A shout tore through the room, raw and furious.
“Get away from her!”
The weight vanished.
Eleanor slid down the wall, coughing violently, her hands flying to her throat as she dragged in air. The room spun. Shapes blurred.
She saw James.
He crossed the room in a heartbeat, tackling the intruder with brutal force. They slammed into the dresser, wood splintering as the impact shook the walls.
Eleanor watched as if from underwater.
James’s face was contorted with something feral. He struck the man once, twice, his fists landing hard against the shadowed mask. The intruder staggered but did not fall.
“Stay down,” James snarled.
The man bucked violently, throwing James off balance. They grappled, boots scraping across the floor, breath and curses colliding.
Eleanor forced herself upright.
“Arabella,” she said hoarsely.
Her sister lay crumpled on the floor, hair spilled across the boards, one arm bent at an unnatural angle. Eleanor’s heart seized.
She crawled to her, ignoring the chaos behind her, her hands shaking as she touched Arabella’s cheek.
“Arabella,” Eleanor said, louder now. “Arabella, wake up.”
No response.
Eleanor pressed her fingers to Arabella’s throat, praying she would find a pulse. Her hands were clumsy, slick with sweat.
“There,” Eleanor whispered, relief crashing through her so sharply it made her dizzy. “She is breathing.”
A violent thud sounded behind her.
Eleanor looked up just in time to see the masked man shove James backward and dart toward the door. James lunged, fingers brushing the man’s coat, but he slipped free and fled from the room, shoving an out of breath Roderick and Mr. Pritchard to the ground as he disappeared down the corridor.
“No!” James shouted.
Footsteps thundered away.
James did not pursue him, but Roderick took flight.
Mr. Pritchard yelled something about contacting the constables, and he too disappeared down the corridor.
James turned back to Eleanor.
She was on her knees, cradling Arabella’s head against her chest, her own breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands trembled as she smoothed Arabella’s hair back from her face.
“She is breathing,” Eleanor said again, as if saying it might keep it true. “She is breathing.”
James dropped to the floor beside them. “Arabella?”
He checked her quickly, his movements practiced and precise. “She is alive.”
