He found Euphemia hunched in the corner in a cloud of violet silk. Her face was waxen in the moonlight, her lips bloodless and her forehead damp with perspiration. Her bosom rose and fell with every rapid, shuddering breath.

The vise on Gabriel’s heart squeezed tighter still, making it difficult for him to think or to breathe. He could only react. Sinking down next to her, he took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. She met his burning stare with wide, panicked eyes. “Scared,” he repeated. “Of heights?”

Tears started in her gaze. They shimmered there, unfallen, turning the dark blue of her eyes to the same deep shade of plummy violet as her gown.

“It’s all right,” he murmured gruffly. “You’re all right.” His thumbs moved over her cheeks in an achingly gentle caress. “I’ve found you.”

She nodded mutely as her teeth began to chatter. Her neck and arms were bare, but he doubted the reaction was from the cold. She appeared to be in some kind of terror-induced shock.

He continued stroking her, staring into her eyes, compelling her to focus on him—only him—until he felt her breath coming easier. The full skirts of her dress bunched between them. “Daft woman,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you just go back inside?”

“Locked out,” she managed in a whisper.

His thumbs stilled on her cheeks. He shot a narrow look at the glass doors. “Whose room is this?”

“C-Compton’s.”

Gabriel suppressed a swell of masculine outrage. What in the hell could she possibly be doing in Compton’s bedchamber? And how had she found herself locked outside of it?

“What was your plan?” he demanded in a low growl. “To remain here all night?”

“B-Break the window.”

“Which you would have explained exactly how?”

“Past explaining. Too…too frightened.”

A disconcerting wave of tenderness washed over him. It sank into his soul, overwhelming his defenses—and his better judgment. “All right,” he muttered, half to himself and half to her. His fingers gently cradled her jaw, his thumbs sliding over her cheeks. “This is what’s going to happen, sweetheart. I’m going to rescue you.”

Her gaze turned toward the railing. A quaver of fear went through her. She huffed another whimpering laugh. “Impossible.”

“Come.” He brought her face back to his. “I’d never have taken you for a defeatist.” The rough edge of his Birmingham accent emerged, turning his a’s into ai’s. This time, it wasn’t anger that summoned it, but another, more powerful, emotion. He didn’t stop to examine it.

“A realist,” she replied, just as she’d said at dinner. “There’s only one way down.” She trembled. “Down.”

“Quite. We’ll use those branches. It’s what—three floors? That’s nothing. All you have to do is calm yourself sufficiently enough to hold on to me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”