Page 118 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
He walked in now, his smirk already in place. She tensed, waiting for his taunts, but he merely glanced at her before moving toward a huddled Charlotte.
“It is time,” he said.
Eleanor wasted no time in launching herself between them, thrown off-balance by her bound wrists.
“No!” she shouted. “No, no, do not touch her!”
“Move, Eleanor,” Lord Belgrave snapped. “Do not make this more difficult than it has to be. You are aware of her fate.”
Eleanor didn’t take a moment to think—didnotwant to think, for she knew she’d do anything to save her friend tonight as she once had. “Take me instead.”
Lord Belgrave reared back, an eyebrow rising in surprise.
Before he could say anything, she continued, “Take me in her place, Lord Belgrave. I am the one who escaped you, after all. I am the one you could never truly catch. I am the perfect bait, not Charlotte. You want to catch my husband, do you not? He will come for us—you know he will. You know he has been investigating you; he is so very close to exposing your whole operation. One word from him and it all crashes down. Take me, and he will fight for me, and you can end him for good. You may silence him and keep your operation safe.”
Lord Belgrave studied her, silently assessing her words.
Eleanor met his gaze and did not flinch.
“Please,” she begged. “Please let her go. You do not want her. It was me from the beginning, was it not?”
Lord Belgrave smiled slowly, and it sent a chill through her. He stalked toward her, lifting a hand to her face. Still, she did not flinch.
He moved as if to caress her, but then he struck her head, and she cried out in surprise.
The last thing she heard was Charlotte’s screams.
Spencer stormed into St. Euphemia’s through the back entrance, not caring about the commotion he made. Anger fueled him as he began his hunt.
“Where is she?” he demanded, right as he approached a nun he had last seen in Quinley House. “Where is my wife, you wretched woman?”
But before she could answer, he heard a whimper, and he tore down the hallway toward it as constables flooded into the convent behind him. He heard a hard cry from the nun behind him.
“Do not take her yet,” he ordered, before following the whimpers to a small cell.
Inside, he found Charlotte huddled in a corner. The key was hooked on the wall outside, just cruelly out of reach.
In his rage, he almost yanked the door off its hinges. Charlotte cried out, throwing herself into his arms and collapsing against him.
“Spencer,” she sobbed. “Spencer, he-he took her! He took Eleanor. Lord Belgrave. She made him take her instead of me to make sure you came.”
Spencer tilted her face up to check for injuries, but her eyes were clear.
“I am fine,” she insisted. “Please, please, go after Eleanor.”
He nodded, before stalking back to Sister Martha. “Where has he taken her?” he snarled. “Tell me.”
Fear flickered in the woman’s eyes.
“Th-The Hartswood Wharf,” she whispered. “It is not far from here. His ship is docked there, Your Grace.”
Spencer was already moving, shouting over his shoulder, “The three of you, stay here to ensure she does not flee.”
And then he was gone, flying out into the night with the rest of the constables, his mind focused on his wife. He would get to her in time. Hehadto.
He blinked back the image of bloodied long hair, dead sunken eyes?—
No.
