“Edith.” He cupped her face, searching her beautiful green eyes, but if she recognised him, she didn’t give any signs. “It’s me. Please say something.”
Her companions were nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t care less. He gathered her in his arms and climbed out of the pool, dripping water from his suit. Climbing out wasn’t an easy procedure given his lack of coordination and the slippery tiles. His heavy, wet clothes didn’t help.
The indifference of the people he’d been so grateful for minutes ago now irked him. No one came forth to help him, likely thinking he was only playing some wicked game with a half-naked, half-unconscious woman.
Holding Edith, he made his way through the crowd of people who were dancing, drinking, and kissing until he found an empty spot.
“Edith.” He laid her down on a sofa and patted her cold cheeks. Her eyes wide open but unblinking worried him. “Please say something.”
She wheezed. Each breath sounded raspy. Her pupils were so dilated they turned the whole irises black. He unhooked her corset and shrugged off his wet jacket to cover her. Her wet chemise was plastered to her skin, hiding nothing.
Spewing out water, she took a big breath that brought some colour to her cheeks, but fear clouded her eyes.
“It’s all right.” He rubbed her back, holding her. “You’re out of the water. You’re safe.”
She shivered, resting her cheek on his chest. His heartbeat pounded faster out of sheer fear for her.
Even though he didn’t remember anything of the night of the incident after the blow to his head, holding her, drenched and shivering, brought him back to the inky water of the Thames.
She could have drowned in the pool, paralysed by shock. She could have died under the indifferent gazes of the people thinking only about their own pleasure.
“Edith.” He caressed the top of her head. “You’re safe.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. She could collapse if she didn’t breathe deeply. He had no idea if she’d been underwater for too long. His breath sped up with all the horrible possibilities. He’d been slow and clumsy. She might have been without oxygen for too long.
She blinked, finally gazing at him. “Perry?” Her lips quivered.
A little, involuntary spasm started in his arm, and it was his turn to freeze.
Not now.
A bitter taste filled his mouth. The spasms made him release her none too gently as the seizure took hold of him. He tried to fight it, tried to force his muscles to loosen, but he blacked out.
Edith still remembereda few things about seizures—the patient’s head needed to be kept still and slightly up to prevent suffocation, and even the legs needed to be held down if they started kicking to avoid injuries or straining the muscles.
The shock of seeing Perry drop to the floor had woken her up from her freezing panic. After she held his head still on her lap, she didn’t have time to think about what Perry was doing in the Scarlet Room of all places.
Edith swept her gaze through the room, but the people around her didn’t pay her the slightest bit of attention. Those who did looked away disgusted. Daphne, Valentine, and Neville had vanished.
“What’s happening to him?” a man asked, stepping away.
“Help me,” she said.
The man ignored her.
“It’s all right, Perry.” She stroked his cheek.
He convulsed, heels kicking against the tiles, but she didn’t let him go.
As the seizure died down, he sagged against her, his arms becoming limp. His eyes rolled back into the skull, and his mouth twitched. Edith’s heart clenched for him. He’d written to her the seizures weren’t common, but they still plagued him. The uncertainty of not knowing when he might have a fit had to be exhausting for him.
“You’re safe,” she whispered, sweeping his wet hair from his cheek.
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.” A woman stared at them in shock. “Sick people shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to catch a disease.”
“It’s not contagious,” she yelled. Wasted breath.
The woman marched away, followed by her friends who showed matching frowns.
