Page 117 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
Rage ripped through him as he stormed out, mounting his horse in one furious motion.
Night had fallen, but he did not care. He had to rescue them. He had to know they were safe. He could not let more women die because of his cowardice, because he had not been there—he had not been there.
His head spun, and he pressed a fist to his chest to tether himself.
The anger kept him anchored. Desperation kept him fast, urging his horse on and on through the dark countryside.
“I will burn that damned place to the ground,” he growled as he rode hard through the night.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eleanor woke as she had woken far too many times over the last three years—to a cold, stone room and the creak of a wooden door.
For a moment, she was convinced it was all a dream: Spencer, Everdawn, her marriage. All of it was a truly beautiful dream. But now she was back in the convent, a deep ache in her spine and legs and?—
And a woman next to her, slumped.
A woman who stirred.
A woman who Eleanor had thought desperately about while at the convent. But now she was there, and Eleanor’s eyes welled with tears, for she knew it wasn’t a dream.
“Charlotte,” she whispered.
There was a rope around her wrists, digging into her skin. She trembled at the sight of the old, cold rooms, but her heart had long steeled itself against these memories. She was stronger now, even if she was still scared.
I have escaped before; I can do it again.
Charlotte stirred slightly, her head lolling back and hitting the hard wall behind her. Her eyes flew open, blue and terrified as she looked around. “Eleanor? Eleanor, where are we?”
“It is all right,” Eleanor whispered, grateful that her voice didn’t tremble. “We are at St. Euphemia’s.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “S-St. Euphemia’s? Heavens, Eleanor, we must?—”
“It is all right,” Eleanor repeated more urgently, wanting her friend to remain calm. “It is all right. We… we planned to be here tonight, after all.” Her light-hearted attempt fell flat, but she tried anyway. “Our plan was simply sped up.”
But Charlotte didn’t seem consoled, and Eleanor was quickly distracted by the sound of footsteps on stone, the drag of gowns across the floor as the nuns approached the room. Her heart rate spiked, and she watched the door as she had always done, braced and ready.
It was Sister Martha and Sister Susan who entered, those cruel smiles she had never thought she would see again plastered on their faces.
“Eleanor Barnes,” Sister Martha crooned. “How you have fallen even further than when you last came to us. A duchess in our fine establishment. The Lord looks fondly upon you to grant a second chance at repentance.”
“Let us go,” Eleanor snapped, her voice breaking. “Let us go, Sister Martha.”
The sisters ignored her.
Sister Susan tapped her cane on the floor in warning, and Eleanor flinched, remembering its bite.
“Do not hurt us,” she pleaded. “Or at least release Charlotte.Please, she has done nothing to be involved in this.”
“We have it on good authority that is not true,” Sister Martha told her. “What a delight for us to save such sinners. Obedience can be such a salvation,Your Grace, and many girls have found peace here. In God, in praying their sins away. Tell us, did your sins wash away when you left, clinging to the Duke of Everdawn? The Lord sees all, Eleanor.”
She stared her down as if her story since leaving St. Euphemia’s was written all over her body.
Perhaps it was, but Eleanor did not care.
She lifted her chin. “And the girls who leave here? Never to be seen again? Where do they go, Sister Martha?”
Sister Martha’s eyes narrowed, and Sister Susan tapped her cane harder, impatient. But then the sound was joined by another set of footsteps, and suddenly Eleanor was thrown back to that day months ago when Lord Belgrave entered her room in the convent.
