Page 21 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
“The day I came here, Belgrave visited me. He had come to the convent a couple of times over the past three years to gloat. To remind me of my place and what happens to people who cross him. He was the one who told me that Charlotte was engaged to Follett, his associate. So… well, you know the rest, I suppose.”
Silence ensued, so thick that it pressed against her ribs.
Eleanor looked up at the Duke, but his eyes were fixed on some distant point, unblinking, his jaw clenched tight. Every muscle in his frame was tense, as though he were holding something back. Whether it was rage or disbelief, she could not tell.
The fire crackled. A floorboard creaked. And yet he did not move.
Her breath caught as the silence stretched on, sharpened by the weight of everything left unsaid.
“So that is why I had to warn Charlotte,” Eleanor finished. “She cannot marry?—”
“One moment,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “I just need to think.”
He rose to his feet, pacing back and forth, his lips moving as he muttered to himself.
Spencer’s mind was working on overdrive, processing everything Lady Eleanor had just told him.
Beneath the confusion, the pieces that he needed to put together, there was a deep, hot anger at what she had endured. At the callous actions of Lord Belgrave. At her parents, who had not sought the best for her, who had chosen to believe a liar.
“I have traveled extensively,” he murmured, returning to his confusion about the things that did not make sense. “I returned two years ago to see my sister into Society. When Lord Follet expressed interest—whenever any suitor expressed interest, I looked into them at length. So, yes, I have been away for a long time, but I did my research. There was no trace of criminal activity around Lord Follet. He is clean.”
“You doubt me.”
He stopped sharply and turned his head to her. There was an accusation in her brown eyes, rich with knowledge that had been kept at bay, rich with intelligence that he should not underestimate.
“No,” he told her and then paused. “Yes, but not because your words are meaningless. It is—it is only that there have been no rumors about suspicious dealings, and his finances are immaculate. I conducted thorough research, Lady Eleanor. If something was there to be found, I would have uncovered it.”
“It is the truth,” she spat, just as fierce as he was.
The tone, the defiance, stunned him enough that he turned to face her properly.
“I would not have risked everything trying to shout about these truths. There are clever men in Society, Your Grace. Men like Belgrave and Follet have cover upon cover to conceal their dealings. They have several layers of stories, lies, and witnesses. They can never be placed at the scene and they escape law and detection. What else must I give to be believed?”
Her question was not asked in desperation or hysteria. It was posed in rage. Quieter rage, but rage all the same. As if she had long learned how to stifle such feelings and thoughts.
Spencer was struck, his jaw slackening.
And then he thought he truly saw her for what she was: a woman who had dragged herself all the way here the night before, who had possibly been screaming for help for longer than anybody knew.
“I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I thought Follet was simply an astute businessman. Of course, that can easily translate into greed and ruthlessness.”
At Lady Eleanor’s nod, Spencer took a deep breath in a bid to slow his racing thoughts, trying not to work out too much without having the full puzzle before him. He did not know where all the pieces fit yet, where the gaps were, but he would.
“He is greedy and ruthless,” Lady Eleanor murmured.
“I will deal with them,” Spencer vowed, steel in his words. “I do not care if that means going up against them publicly. I will fight them with everything I have. I will keep you safe, Lady Eleanor. I will keep Charlotte safe.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyes flickered with unease. “If we marry, Lord Belgrave will retaliate. It could put Charlotte in more danger.”
“I will deal with that.”
“No,” she insisted. “No, I must—I must return to the convent, and maybe… maybe you could bribe the nuns to keep quiet about all of it.” Her eyes met his, fearful and hopeful. “That way, Lord Belgrave and Lord Follet will remain in the dark and?—”
“No,” he snarled.
No, he would not let her go back there.
In his mind’s eye, he saw chestnut-brown hair sprawled across a rug, soaked with blood, and eyes that were the same as his own, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Bruises and welts and more injuries covered up. The treatment his twin sister had endured?—
