Page 13 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“I have every right. She is my bride,” Spencer spoke, just as the idea came to him.
He felt the silence descending on the room, the soft gasp behind him. He looked down at Lady Eleanor, extending his hand to her.
“Come with me, Lady Eleanor. We have a wedding to plan,” he told her, his voice firm, resolute.
Her eyes flickered, blinking slowly, her lips parted in shock and confusion.
Spencer kept his eyes on her, moving his head in the slightest of nods—a sign to show her that this was her only way out. And the only way to save Charlotte.
She glanced down at his hand, then back at him, and took it gingerly.
Spencer helped her to her feet, his eyes finding the nuns. “Tell Lord Quinley he can come and find me,” he bit out, his chin lifted. “You will never, ever lay another finger on her.”
And then he wrapped his arm around Lady Eleanor’s waist, supporting her as they walked out of the convent.
None of the nuns attempted to stop him.
And once Lady Eleanor was secure in the saddle, Spencer mounted his horse and they rode off into the night, back home.
Chapter Four
“Aroom,” Spencer barked as he strode into the inn, soaked with sweat and urgency, Lady Eleanor trembling in his arms.
The innkeeper paused mid-polish, his eyes drifting from the disheveled woman to the grim-faced man who held her.
“My wife is unwell. Do you have medicine?” Spencer snapped, his tone clipped, tight with strain.
He didn’t care how it looked—her torn dress, his coat barely covering her, the dirt and blood and bruises.
Let them stare. Let them wonder.
He had ridden hard, faster than was wise, but every jolt had made him wince for her. The welts on her back looked barely a day old.
How fresh are they, really?
The thought sickened him. A burning knot tightened in his gut and refused to let go. He could hardly focus on the road. He told himself it was nothing—only concern about her connection to Charlotte. That was why he took her with him.
But that lie was growing harder to believe.
She had trembled in his arms during the whole ride. Not once had she asked for warmth, comfort, or help, and somehow that made it worse.
He kept telling himself that it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the kind of man who rescued strangers. He didn’t feel things this deeply. And yet he kept glancing down at her, at the pale face buried in his chest, the shudders that wracked her body, the coat that offered barely enough protection from the wind.
By the time they reached the roadside inn, the tremors had grown so violent he could feel them in his bones.
It’s only because they are irritating, he told himself as he dismounted. But even that excuse sounded brittle.
The innkeeper frowned apologetically. “Usually, my wife would oversee such things, but she has gone to another town on an errand. At the moment, the best I have to offer is a bottle of brandy to use as a sterilizer.”
“I will take it.” Spencer stepped back and let the innkeeper lead the way, the brandy clutched in his hand.
The innkeeper led them to the last room on the upper level of the inn, and Spencer did not protest when he opened the door to a one-bedroom suite. It was nothing grand, typical for a roadside inn, but it was comfortable enough.
Far more comfortable than the place Spencer had rescued Lady Eleanor from.
It was improper for him to be in the room with her, he knew, but he could hardly bring himself to leave her alone.
He nodded, keeping up the act, as the innkeeper told him that he would bring up some leftovers from that evening’s dinner shortly.
