Page 14 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
The innkeeper lingered in the doorway while Spencer set Lady Eleanor near the hearth.
Spencer took the brandy with a nod of thanks. “I will need bandages,” he said. “Do you have them? And hot water.”
“Of course.” The innkeeper nodded his way out of the room, and Spencer was left alone with Lady Eleanor.
He moved back for a moment, studying her.
What had he gotten himself into?
Before he could move, she stirred on the floor, subconsciously curling her fingers into the collar of his coat with a soft, content noise. He could swear he saw her brush her nose along the fabric before she froze. He watched her go still, before her eyes flew open and landed on him.
“Lady Eleanor,” he said slowly, carefully.
She bolted to her feet, only to sway. He caught her easily, gripping her hips. She wrenched herself out of his grip, only to stumble again.
“Get away from me!” she shouted.
His eyes flicked to the door, fearing that the innkeeper had overheard her. Heavens, that would be hard to explain.
“Stop touching me. Stop—stop manhandling me! I am not a sack of grain.”
“You are not,” he relented, his tone clipped. “But a thank you would not go amiss.”
She glared at him, her chest heaving. The fire behind her cast flickering shadows across her pale, furious face. He saw the hollows under her eyes, the tremor in her limbs she was trying to hide.
He didn’t want to be angry with her. But he was tired. And worried. And she was impossible.
To his surprise, she drew in a breath and said, “Thank you. For taking me out of there.”
It wasn’t begrudging. It was clear, and quiet, and real.
“But,” she added, lifting her chin, “if you listened to me when I first came to Everdawn, you might not have had to face those women at all.”
Spencer let out a sharp breath—almost a laugh. “The moment you stepped into my house, you involved me, My Lady.”
“No.” She shook her head, and it made her sway again. “I tried to warn you, Your Grace. But you—” Her voice faltered, then steadied. “You looked at me like the rest of them. Like a scandal. A ruin. A madwoman wandering out of obscurity.”
His jaw tightened. She wasn’t wrong.
“I had the truth,” she continued, soft but insistent. “I have it. But you wouldn’t hear it over the noise of what everyone already believes about me. And now your sister is engaged to a man who?—”
She drew back instinctively, and the tension in the room thickened. Spencer straightened.
The door creaked open to reveal the innkeeper holding a small basket of folded bandages and a steaming basin.
“There’s more if you need it,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to Lady Eleanor. He didn’t linger, just nodded and stepped back into the hall.
Spencer took the basket and basin without a word, pushing the door closed with his boot. The scent of boiled linen and lavender-scented soap filled the room.
Silence followed, thick and uncomfortable.
Eleanor’s hands curled around the mantelpiece again. She didn’t look at him.
Spencer set the basin down on the small table near the fire, the clink of porcelain breaking the quiet.
“I didn’t know what they’d done to you,” he said at last.
Her eyes rose to his, tired and wary. “No. You didn’t.”
