Page 10 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“She does!” Eleanor shouted, not hysterical but panicked. “Her life is in danger. Your Grace, you must believe me.”
“I find it hard to believe any word coming out of your mouth, My Lady,” he snapped.
Eleanor could not stop trying. She couldn’t give up. Not when she had already failed too many women. Charlotte would not join that endless list of names she had once caught a glimpse of in Belgrave’s study.
“Please,” she begged. “I-I have to speak to her.”
“You have nothing to say to her for now, Lady Eleanor. You can send her a letter of congratulations after her wedding,” the Duke said, flicking the reins.
“You are willing to risk your sister’s safety?” Eleanor hissed.
But the Duke was unruffled.
She could try again.
She could escape again.
She would never stop trying—not for Charlotte, not for the women she had failed, not for her own freedom.
By the time the Duke slowed his horse down as the Jacobean manor came into view, Eleanor thought she might be sick—both from her stinging wounds and the fear coiling in her empty stomach.
Terror made her shake. If the Duke felt it, he did not care.
He pulled the horse to a stop before the entrance. Eleanor was lifted off the horse before she could even resist, fear rendering her limp.
The door was already opening, revealing the shadowed face of one of the younger acolytes.
“I must see the head sister,” the Duke barked. “Tell her that the Duke of Everdawn is here.” His voice was so different from the man who had teased her in the library.
How differently people spoke with her upon learning who she was.
Eleanor’s heart broke as the acolyte nodded. She stiffened in his arms, awaiting the arrival of Sister Martha, for Mother Caroline would not be roused over a runaway. Not until Eleanor was punished by the senior sisters first.
Tremors of fear racked her entire body. She could swear she felt the Duke’s gaze on her for a moment, but his features were still twisted in that angry detachment as he watched the doorway.
Moments later, Sister Martha’s pale and tired face appeared. As soon as she laid eyes on Eleanor, a warm smile that Eleanor had not seen since she had first been brought to the convent—a smile that had quickly morphed into a cruel, twisted sneer—spread across her face.
“Oh!” she cried, pressing a hand to her bosom, making sure to clasp the cross she wore around her neck. “Heavens, Eleanor! We were so worried about you. I prayed for the Lord to guide you back to us. Merciful he is, he has brought you back!” Her eyes flicked to the Duke. “Your Grace, thank you for returning our wayward charge.”
Behind Sister Martha, Sister Susan, with a terrible gleam in her eyes, came forward with a younger nun, their fingers already reaching for Eleanor. They grabbed her arms, and she tried to buck them off.
“N-No!” she screamed. “No! Your Grace,please!Please, you do not know what they?—”
Her shouts were cut off as she was forced past Sister Martha with quick, brutal efficiency, dashing any hope of salvation. She cried out once more, but a hand was clamped over her mouth.
Spencer Vanserton, the Duke of Everdawn, hesitated as Lady Eleanor was taken away—no,draggedaway.
Something ignited the anger that had driven him out of his estate, away from his sister’s engagement party.
“Please, you do not know what they?—”
Her cries were cut off as she was forced through the dark entryway, and he caught sight of the sisters shoving her head down and pushing her forward. Something about the way they handled her had him on edge.
This is none of my business.I needed to keep her away from Charlotte, and now I have.
He forced himself to nod at the head sister and turn back to his horse. But then he paused and looked back at her.
“What is it exactly that you will do to her?” he asked. “To Lady Eleanor?”
