Page 9 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

eight

After Marcus had washed and changed into dry clothes and towel-dried his hair, he went downstairs. Thunder reverberated through the house as if a giant were punching the roof and the walls. Two days of that constant shaking and booming started to grate on his nerves.

Trevor and Emma were drinking tea in the wide drawing room in front of the large window. A blazing log fire warmed the air and spread the scent of pine resin; it was a cosy view, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

“The storm is getting worse,” Trevor said.

“How can it get worse?”

On cue, another crack of thunder boomed loudly enough to rattle the diamond-paned window. From that spot, he had an unobstructed view of the Tay Bridge, a paragon of modern technology battling against the ancient power of nature.

“It’s terrifying. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Emma sat in front of the window in a froth of fabric. “But I love watching a storm. It’s fascinating. Do you like watching a storm, Marcus?”

“This is more than a storm. It’s an unleashed monster.”

She stared up at him, shivering. The impulse to caress her cheek and reassure her was so strong he had to clench his fist not to act on it.

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the tea. A bolt of lightning lit the room while heavy rain battered the windows and the earth as if wanting to punish it. The lights of the trains crossing the bridge were hardly visible through the storm.

Another crack of thunder caused Emma to jolt. “Goodness. It’s getting closer.”

“The wind is picking up speed again.” Trevor lowered his cup of tea. “What is Father doing there? Isn’t it too dangerous for anyone to be on the bridge?”

Marcus agreed. The sea was foaming and roaring under the bridge, fuelled by the strength of the gusts.

He frowned, wondering where Father was and if the speed of the wind was truly a concern for the safety of the bridge.

Father hadn’t had time to inspect the beams properly that morning, and Sir Horace had carried out the last inspection.

The rain hit the glass harder, obscuring the view.

“If Papa wants to return home, I doubt he’ll be able to.” Emma draped a shawl around her shoulders.

Tension charged the air as the wind blew harder; it howled and screamed, slapping the sea waves this way and that. Snapped tree branches were whipped by the gusts across the road or got stuck against the fence around the house.

A train approached the bridge, its tail lamps flashing through the storm. Then there was a sudden, bright flash of light, followed by total darkness. The tail lamps, the sparks, and the flash of light disappeared at the same instant.

“Did you see that?” Trevor stood up.

Marcus sucked in a breath because what had happened couldn’t have been what he feared. He shot up and got closer to the window, trying to see through the rain.

“What happened?” Emma walked over to him.

“Bloody hell.” Trevor ran a hand over his face.

They stood in front of the window overlooking the River Tay. The rain diminished enough to allow them to see that the bridge had vanished; piers, abutments, and beams had been swallowed by the monster storm, wiped out into oblivion.

“It’s gone.” Marcus didn’t know if he’d said that aloud or whispered, but his throat hurt as if he’d screamed louder than the wind.

“Good Lord.” Emma clamped her hands over her mouth. “The bridge disappeared.”

“Is it possible?” Trevor asked.

“It is.” Marcus strode towards the door. “I must see my father.”

“Papa.” Emma followed him.

“Marcus, Emma.” Trevor held her back. “You’d better stay here.”

She shifted her weight. “No, I want to go. What if something happened to Papa?”

“We’ll waste more time arguing than driving there,” Marcus said. “We’ll all go.”

“Terrible idea. We should stay here.” Trevor shook his head.

Emma called Stewart. “Get a coach ready.”

“My lady?” Stewart looked horrified.

“I want to make sure Papa is fine. Marcus and I will go to the bridge.”

Frowning, the butler bowed and left.

“This is madness.” Trevor scowled. “You’re going to die out there.”

She paced, glancing at the window. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

Trevor put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure they’re all safe. The storm is too strong. They must have found shelter somewhere.”

“My lady,” Stewart said to Emma, “the gale is too strong. The coachman said leaving is too dangerous, and the horses will be difficult to control in such weather.”

“Finally some sense,” Trevor said. “If something happens to you, you’ll make things worse for Father, and someone will have to come and rescue you.”

“I can go alone,” Marcus said. “No carriage. I’ll walk to the bridge.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes so similar to his sister’s.

“Did you look outside? Did you see the uprooted trees, the strong gusts of wind, and the torrential rain? This bloody storm brought down a bridge, for Pete’s sake!

You won’t make it far, and if you get lost or hit by a falling tree, no one will come and find you.

You’ll lie in the rain for who knows how long. ”

“Trevor is right.” Emma slouched. “We’d better wait here, at least until the weather changes a little.”

Every instinct inside him urged him to leave, but then again, Father had to be preoccupied with the incident without adding the worry of knowing that his son was out in the storm.

“It would be a sensible choice, sir,” Stewart said.

“All right.” Reluctantly, he faced the window again.

The view of the storm only grew more terrifying with the sea boiling and the wind howling.

Oddly enough, that was the first time he could be completely himself while with Emma. In the oppressive space of the drawing room where she was sitting next to him, worried about her father, his heart didn’t stutter. His thoughts were for his father only and the implications of the incident.

The train had gone down into the sea in the blink of an eye, which meant the bridge hadn’t simply cracked but collapsed altogether.

There would be dead people, missing people, and many wounded, and Father would be in the middle of the aftermath.

Because Marcus couldn’t contemplate the possibility that Father was dead.

The maintenance of the bridge was Kingston they gave him a moment of respite and beauty from the horror outside.

“The storm has passed,” he said.

She rubbed her eyes and pulled back from him. “I hope Papa will be back soon.” She hid a yawn behind her hand. “Did I sleep on your shoulder?”

“You did.” And it’d been wonderful.

“Heavens, sorry.”

He cleared his throat, not to let her know how much her closeness affected him. “I’m going out.”

“I’ll come with you.” She reached out and shook Trevor’s arm. “Trevor, wake up. I want to go.”

Trevor raked a hand through his dishevelled hair. He stared at the devastated bridge for a few moments. “Bloody hell. It’s a nightmare.”

“Hopefully, the road is passable.” Marcus rose from the sofa. “Will you come or stay?”

Trevor rubbed his eyes again. “If the coachman agrees to go, I’ll come with you.”

Voices and footfalls came from the hallway. Stewart called someone in a booming tone.

“Papa.” Emma flung the door open.

Lord Pembroke stood in the middle of the entry hall, wet, covered in mud, and with wide eyes. The footman and Stewart fussed around him, removing the wet outer garments and asking him questions he didn’t acknowledge.

“Papa.” Emma rushed to hug him.

“Father.” Trevor hugged him as well.

“I’m fine.” Lord Pembroke patted Emma’s back, sounding weak and tired.

Marcus craned his neck to search for his father, but the footman had shut the door behind the earl. “Where’s my father, sir?”

Stewart helped the earl to the drawing room.

“At the firth with Sir Horace.” The earl sagged on an armchair. “An utter disaster. The Tay Bridge collapsed, and a North British Railway train full of passengers dropped into the river.”

Marcus heaved a breath. “As I feared.”

“Heaven.” Emma sat next to her father.

“We saw the bridge going down,” Trevor said.

“Any chance of finding survivors?” Marcus asked.

The earl shivered, and drops of rain dripped from his hair. “That’s why your father is at the firth.”

“I’m going then,” Marcus said. “If a coach isn’t available, I’ll walk.”

“I want to go as well,” Emma said. “There must be something we can do to help.”

Lord Pembroke massaged his forehead. “Yes, I came home to tell you the news. I’m going out again to join the search parties. They need every able hand at the firth.”

Emma nodded at Marcus. “We’ll go together. You won’t be alone.”

Those were the best words he’d heard in a while.