Addicted. Charlotte Featherstone

blue and trembling, would not be able to sustain their hold on the curtain rope much longer. Her eyes were round as saucers as she slipped farther. There was no recognition in those familiar blue eyes, just terror, he realized as she looked blankly up at him.

      “My wrapper…I’m pinned,” she gasped, choking as the smoke filled the chamber.

      “Don’t look down, Anais. Here, reach for my hand. Trust me, love. I’ll save you, Anais. Have faith in me.”

      She looked down at Garrett who was standing below, his arms outstretched. Lindsay knew what thoughts were running through her mind. Garrett could be trusted to catch her. Lindsay feared that he was just a specter she saw through the growing smoke. The distrust he saw in her eyes, the hurt and pain made him realize the depth of the destruction he had caused. Never before had she chosen Garrett over him, but it was clear to Lindsay that Anais was going to put her trust—and her life— in Garrett’s waiting arms.

      “Damn you, reach for my hand,” he ordered, leaning out of the window as his shirtsleeves billowed in the wind. Terror was ruling him now. There was no way that Broughton could catch her from this height. His arms would not bear the weight or the force of her fall. She would be crushed and broken, and Lindsay could not stand to think that he would bear witness to it.

      “Anais, reach for my hand. Do it,” he commanded. “Do it now!”

      And then he saw the delicate muslin cuff give way. Saw her eyes go round and her pale mouth part on a silent sound. “No!” he roared, heaving himself forward in a desperate bid to reach her, but she slipped through his fingers, and he was forced to watch her fall backward, her arms stretched out to him. Her hair, loose from its pins, floated about her. Her name was ripped from his soul as he saw his vision being born before his eyes.

      He watched her, helpless, frozen in time as his gaze stayed locked on her wide, frightened eyes, and he swore he could almost hear her say, “You’ve done this to me, Lindsay. You’ve killed me.”

      6

      Racing out of the chamber, heart pounding, Lindsay lunged for the stairs, heedless of the flames that were busy devouring the wooden banister. Reaching the main level, he ran outside and froze on the step, his breathing coming in hard gasping pants. Before him, Broughton stood with legs braced wide and Anais draped in his arms, her long golden curls cascading over the sleeve of Garrett’s black greatcoat.

      For what felt like minutes Lindsay could say nothing as his gaze stayed riveted on Anais, waiting for some sign that she had made it through the ordeal unscathed. When he saw her chest rise and fall, he fought the urge to sink to his knees in relief. At that moment, he didn’t care that it was Broughton she had chosen.

      “I’ve got Darnby,” Wallingford called from his horse, jolting Lindsay out of his stupor. Anais’s father was in the saddle in front of Wallingford, barely conscious. Lindsay could see that the man had suffered a deep wound to his head and that it was bleeding heavily.

      “I’ve sent one of the stable boys to Broughton’s estate,” Wallingford called over his shoulder as he took the reins in his gloved hand. “Broughton says Robert is in residence. I shall meet you back at Eden Park, then?”