She paused when the butler appeared to have swallowed something wrong, advised him to have a drink of water, then made her way upstairs. With contortions that would do an acrobat proud, she managed to disrobe herself. Clad in Dare’s cherry-red silk dressing gown—she preferred it over the demure blue of her own—she curled up on his newly refurbished bed with Vyvyan La Blue’s book and made notes about which connubial calisthenics were most suited to pacifying a husband who was in a sulk. She was mulling over the relative merits of Upturned Flowerpot Upon an Alabaster Pillar versus Cantonese Archery when a tremendous explosion rocked the house.

The floor beneath the bed shook as if the earth itself trembled, and in the throb of noise that followed, the sharp tinkle of glass hitting the paving stones outside could be heard. Charlotte sat for a moment, dumbfounded by the shock of the explosion. Then she was on her feet, racing barefoot down the stairs, calling her husband’s name, ruthlessly pushing everyone in her path out of the way. The glass in the kitchen windows was missing, wood and plaster and pieces of twisted metal everywhere. The door to the stairs leading to the subbasement hung drunkenly on one hinge, thrown backward toward the wall.

Someone called her name, but Charlotte ignored the warning, ignored the hands that reached to stop her. Heedless of the pain inflicted on her bare feet, she kicked debris off the stairs as she struggled to make her way downward, coughing and gasping in the thick cloud of coal and dirt and steam that filled the room. Her eyes streamed and burned as she searched desperately for Dare.

“Here!” a voice croaked from behind the remains of the heavy oak table Dare used as a worktable. “Joseph! Wills! Someone bring me a litter. And tell her ladyship—”

Charlotte was there in an instant, pushing Batsfoam out of her way so she could see her husband. He was covered in blood and black coal dust, dirt everywhere, shreds of wood and paper littering his body, small pieces of metal from the exploded engine piercing his skin.

Time seemed to stop and hold its breath as she knelt at his side, aware of the debris that pressed painfully into her knees, but uncaring in the face of the nightmare staring at her. Disbelief, fear, and anger all swirled around in her as Dare’s blood seeped into a pool that soaked her legs. She gently touched the bloodied mess that was the right side of his face and shoulder, horror at the damage inflicted upon him mingling with joy that his chest rose and fell, indicating that he wasn’t dead, he hadn’t been taken from her…yet.

Dimly she was aware of Batsfoam shouting orders as he and the footmen dragged the larger pieces of twisted metal and wood from where they surrounded Dare. She shredded her night rail to bind the worst of his wounds, walking beside him, holding his hand tightly in hers as his unconscious form was carried upstairs. All the while her mind was spinning in a confusion of answerless questions. How could anyone survive such an explosion? How could his heart continue to beat after such a horrible event? How could he endure the loss of so much blood? A sob tore from her throat as she gazed at the broken body that was laid gently on his bed. How could she live without him?