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Blinking open my eyes, I was relieved to perceive several individuals urging others to remain composed as well, counseling patience.

The pounding and hammering and raised voices heard coming from outside the door, indicating the efforts to free us, undoubtedly helped. It was only a matter of time now.

Slowly, I resumed my progress through the rubble in the direction Gage had gone, moving just a few feet before I nearly collided with him.

He was bent over, helping to shift a chest of drawers which had fallen on top of someone.

Once it was moved, I crawled closer, seeing what could be done for the man.

He was covered in dust and debris like the rest of us, but it was not difficult to spot the large contusion on his forehead bleeding freely.

A large fragment of hearthstone lay on the floor beside him, and I feared this was what had struck him. What horrendous luck!

Scrutinizing the man’s features as best I could, I realized I knew him. This was the man in brown tweed that Mr. Innes had addressed as Smith when he’d interrupted his argument with Reverend Jamieson the previous day.

Before I could say anything, a mighty thwack coming from behind us drew all our attention. Particularly since it was followed by the crackle of splintering wood. Similar noises were coming from the opposite side of the room, where the other door was also being broken down.

“Help me to lift him,” Gage told another man standing over the injured Mr. Smith.

“Oh, move me easily,” Smith groaned faintly. “I am very much hurt.”

“Dinna worry,” the other man said. “We’ve got ye.”

Maybe so, but I feared that Mr. Smith’s contusion and whatever other wounds he’d suffered were too severe. As it was, he appeared to be barely conscious.

I followed the men as they picked their way through the rubble toward the now open door, wheezing and hacking with each step.

As I neared the door, several pairs of strong arms reached out to steady me and guide me through.

Once on the other side, I took a deep breath of sweet fresh air and promptly dissolved into a coughing fit which nearly brought me to my knees.

“Young lady, you should sit,” an elderly gentleman urged me.

“No…I’m…well,” I assured him, pointing in the direction Gage had gone. “My…husband.”

He frowned but did not stop me when I crossed the dining room toward where Gage now stood, his head swiveling left and right as if searching for something. When he caught sight of me, he hastened forward to draw me to him.

“Mr. Smith?” I rasped.

He turned me toward the far wall where he’d deposited Mr. Smith onto a couch. A man bent over him, and Gage explained. “A physician is attending him.”

Though he didn’t say so, I could tell from my husband’s grim expression that he believed Mr. Smith wasn’t long for this world either.

I pivoted to survey the other victims, wondering how many others had been gravely injured or killed.

We made a ghastly sight coated in dust and lime, our clothes torn and tattered and in some instances shredded from the debris.

One man was calling for a blanket or coat of some kind to shield a woman whose gown had been ripped apart.

I crossed my arms over my chest, covering myself lest the split seams along my shoulders and bodice give way.

I scarcely recognized those nearest me, begrimed as we were, but we all seemed to be sporting similar expressions of pensive shock.

The filth undoubtedly masked many bruises and contusions, but there were few who were not streaked with blood in at least one place or another by a scrape or puncture.

I was startled as Gage’s coat sleeve fell away to see that his fine linen shirt beneath was soaked red at his biceps.

“Sebastian,” I gasped, grasping for his arm.

But he shook his head, asserting, “It isn’t serious.”

Perhaps not, but I would insist it be seen to nonetheless.

Though it needn’t be here. The physicians and surgeons present were rightly tending to those with more severe injuries.

As for those of us who had been able to walk away from the catastrophe, there was no reason we couldn’t leave to return to our own abodes and send for our physicians to attend to us there.

It would certainly relieve the strain and congestion here, particularly as we were still coughing and struggling to clear our lungs.

Gage appeared to have realized this as well, for he began to shepherd me toward the entrance hall.

Still dazed from everything that had happened, I cast one last glance behind me, wondering if I should be committing it all to memory.

But surely the floor collapse had been an accident.

A terrible, awful accident. Though I doubted that fact would be much of a comfort to Mr. Smith’s family should the worst happen.

In the end, I was too weary and stunned to do more than allow myself to be propelled from the house and past the phalanx of observers who stood along the pavement outside, having been alerted to the calamity within.

The cool air had a bite to it, especially without our coats and with our clothing in tatters, but in all the tumult, we weren’t about to turn around to retrieve them.

I realized then that I must have also dropped my reticule.

That, or it had been ripped from my arm by the falling debris.

I shivered, and Gage tightened the protective arm he’d draped around me—the one that wasn’t bloodied—and hustled me down the line of carriages, searching for our coachman and conveyance.

Most of the scene was but a blur to my overtaxed senses, but I noticed the cluster of city police in gray greatcoats standing to the right of the stairs.

Apparently, someone had summoned them, or else they’d come of their own volition.

None of them made an impression on me except the brawny bear of a man with a crooked nose.

Even then, I had to blink several times before it fully penetrated my consciousness that I was looking at Sergeant Maclean.

Though stoic as always, his countenance was not without compassion.

I suspected Gage had seen him, too, but he didn’t pause to speak with him, instead straightening as he spotted Joe and our town coach.

In short order, I was bundled inside as Gage urged Joe to return us to Albyn Place as quickly as possible.

I sank gratefully back against the squabs, tipping my head to the side to lean it on Gage’s shoulder as he joined me, merging my dirt with his.

The carriage would be filthy once we emerged from it, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

I felt grateful he’d taken control, for my mind refused to focus.

Left to my own devices, I would probably still be standing immobile in the late Lord Eldin’s dining room, my gaze fixed on the splinters of wood that had fallen to the floor when they’d broken down the door to extract us, while my mind filtered through the same ream of sensations.

The heat of the room. The press of the crowd.

The pound of the gavel. The floor giving way.

The cloud of dust engulfing me, filling my lungs.

I gulped a breath, half afraid I couldn’t, and gripped Gage’s arm tighter between my hands.