Chapter 11

11

Julian reacted on instinct, throwing himself over Caroline’s slender frame. His shoulders curled protectively around her as they hit the cobblestones. Debris pelted his back, sharp and bruising even through the layers of his tailcoat. The wave of blistering heat seared across his back. His ears rang from the concussive force, deafening him until all other sounds faded to a dull roar.

And then, stillness – stripped clean in the wake of violence.

No. Not stillness. Slowly, sound filtered back in. A high-pitched whine where there should have been noise. The groan of twisted iron and splintered wood settling into unnatural shapes. Soft, ragged cries painted the silence in shades of pain.

Julian’s focus narrowed on the woman beneath him. “Are you hurt?” His voice scraped raw and foreign to his own ears.

He scanned her for any sign of injury, every protective instinct roaring to life. She looked so small curled there on the ground, her coat spread around her like broken wings.

“I’m fine,” Caroline managed, though her face had gone bone-white beneath the layer of grit.

Julian grasped her shoulders to help her stand, keeping hold of her when she swayed on her feet. Blood slicked his palms, rubbed open by their impact with the street. He hardly felt it.

All around them lay utter devastation. Plumes of acrid smoke clawed at the night sky, searing Julian’s throat. Through the haze, he glimpsed the mangled wrecks of carriages and coaches strewn across the ravaged street. Wood splintered, ironwork twisted into jagged spikes, debris scattered into shrapnel.

Their footman came pelting up, his livery almost unrecognisable beneath the layer of soot. “Your Graces!” he gasped out. “Thank God you’re alive. What should I do?”

Caroline straightened up, the picture of poise even when coated in dust and blood. “Go summon the constables,” she said. “Fetch anyone available and tell them to bring doctors. Direct them here.”

The footman nodded and raced off into the night.

Julian began stripping off his ruined tailcoat, the fine fabric shredded beyond saving now. “You won’t go anywhere near that,” he said, gesturing at the devastation. “I’ll dig out the wounded. Stay back where it’s safe. There might be another blast.”

But Caroline had that stubborn set to her jaw, the one he knew all too well. “Don’t be absurd. We’ll work much faster together.”

Before he could protest, she gathered her silken skirts and picked her way into the wreckage. Glass crunched beneath the thin soles of her slippers.

“Damn it,” Julian growled. Cursing under his breath, he had no choice but to follow her.

The world was reduced to a blur of smoke and agony. Together with the gathering crowds, they shifted heavy planks by inches. Ragged edges scraped Julian’s knees and palms raw. Grit coated his tongue, acrid and bitter.

He swallowed back bile as shattered bones and mangled limbs were jostled. Screams filled the night. As he moved debris and stones aside, Julian kept an eye on his wife. Caroline tore strips of fabric from her ruined gown, wrapping the silk around wrists, arms, legs – any injury she could bind up and staunch the bleeding. Her makeshift bandages shone like gossamer against torn flesh.

All the while, she kept up a constant soothing stream of encouragement. “There’s a good lad. Just lie still, the pain will pass.”

And to another, “It’s not so very bad, miss. You’ll have a dashing scar to impress the gentlemen.”

If he hadn’t already loved her desperately, Julian thought he might have fallen in love with her then and there. The sight of her easing people’s agony with her gentle words and makeshift bandages brought an odd lump to his throat.

As they laboured on, more bystanders trickled in to assist. Men and women of all classes grasped the broken planks and moved rubble at Caroline’s crisp commands. She was in her element here – organising rescue with brisk efficiency even as her pristine silks became filthy rags.

Julian redoubled his own efforts, pulling apart the wreckage with single-minded focus. When he lifted a cracked wooden panel to reveal a bloodied elderly man pinned beneath, he called over his shoulder, “Caroline, I need you.”

In an instant, she was beside him. “Let’s get him out quickly. I’ll brace his head.”

Together, they shifted just enough rubble aside to pull the elderly gentleman free. Caroline cradled the man’s head in her lap, heedless of the blood streaking her gown.

“Is he—?”

“Alive,” she confirmed. Caroline’s voice was steady, betraying none of the bone-deep weariness Julian knew they both felt. “But concussed and in need of a surgeon.”

Another low moan drew their attention. Peering beneath the ruins of a splintered carriage, Julian spotted a young woman pinned under a heavy oak beam.

“Damn it all,” he growled, wrapping both hands around the jagged edge of the wood.

He tensed and heaved upward. But the beam barely budged, weighed down by bricks and debris. The woman’s whimpers faded to silence.

Julian braced his feet and gripped the wood once more. “Take her hands the instant the beam lifts,” he said to Caroline. “Pull her free quickly and get clear yourself. Understand?”

Caroline gripped the woman’s arms. She cast Julian a resolute look, ready for his signal. “One…” Julian tensed. “Two…” He drew breath scorched by smoke and gritted his teeth. “Three!”

Digging his heels in, Julian heaved upwards with every shred of strength left in his ravaged body. The beam shifted just enough for Caroline to act, and she dragged the woman’s battered form free. Then Julian’s strength gave out, and the beam crashed down once more in a plume of dust.

They collapsed together onto the blood-slick ground, chests heaving between wracking coughs. After a moment, Caroline crawled to the survivor’s side and pressed an ear to her heart.

Relief broke across her dirt-streaked features. “Her pulse is weak, but it’s there.”

Julian clasped her shoulder with a filthy, bloodied hand. “Well done.”

Caroline’s eyes warmed at the praise.

In the distance, the clatter of approaching horses and carriage wheels swelled through the smoky air. The authorities were finally arriving. Julian rose unsteadily and pulled Caroline up beside him, keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Together, they watched as constables and medical personnel swarmed the devastated street. Blanket-draped bodies were loaded onto stretchers while bobbies struggled to hold back crowds of shocked onlookers. Mattias Wentworth stood in the road, his face etched into harsh lines as he surveyed the destruction. Catching sight of Julian, Wentworth picked his way over through the rubble.

“Good God,” he said. “Are you both all right?”

“Nearly weren’t,” Julian replied.

Wentworth nodded once. “Meet me at White’s tomorrow at midday. We need to talk.” His eyes flicked to Caroline in polite acknowledgement.

Questions scorched Julian’s tongue, but this was not the time or place. “Tomorrow then,” was all he said.

Carefully steering Caroline through the chaos to their untouched carriage, Julian handed her inside. As soon as they were alone, he took Caroline’s hands and carefully turned them over. Her palms were scored with angry scratches and scrapes, her knuckles raw and bleeding.

They regarded each other for a long moment – the weight of everything unsaid pressed between them until Julian broke the silence.

“You took ten years from my life out there,” he said. “It was reckless of you to run into that catastrophe.”

“Only ten? I’ll have to try harder the next time I rush towards the danger.” she studied him as the horses lurched into motion. “You know who was behind that explosion. Don’t you?”

Julian’s jaw tightened. “Not yet.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, studying the angry scrapes marring her skin. Evidence of how close she’d come to harm. After a moment, she asked quietly, “But this has to do with your code-breaking?”

Julian hesitated, then gave a terse nod. “I believe so, yes.”

Caroline exhaled. “I thought as much. For Mr Wentworth?”

He didn’t reply, focusing on her torn dress. “Any other injuries? The absolute truth.”

“Bruises and scratches. Though I may need to burn this gown now.” She attempted a wan smile, but it faltered at his stony expression.

What had once been an exquisite, gauzy confection was a tattered, filthy rag. Julian’s throat tightened at the visible evidence of what she had faced tonight. He could have lost her.

Wordlessly, he brought her abraded hand to his lips, breathing in the scent of her skin beneath the smoke and dust. Then he threaded his fingers through hers as the carriage rolled on through the streets.