Page 97 of To Bed the Bride
Logan owed Mrs. Campbell an apology.
“What are you doing in my home, McKnight?”
Well, hell.
He turned to see Richards standing in the middle of the hall in his bathrobe. Now was not the time to enter into a debate about rescuing Eleanor. Nor was he going to stand there and allow Richards to call the Watch.
There was only one thing to do.
“Eleanor! Are you in there? Eleanor!”
The voice that answered was weak, but it was hers. Bruce began barking uncontrollably which was probably enough to bring the rest of the household down on their heads.
Before Richards could say anything or anyone else appeared, Logan lunged at the door. The first attempt didn’t do anything but bruise his shoulder. The second time Phillip added his efforts. Together they managed to damage the jamb sufficiently that the door could be opened.
Eleanor was beside the bed, one hand holding on to a nearby table as if to keep herself standing. She wore the same nightgown he’d seen earlier this morning, but that was all. No slippers. No robe.
She looked as if she’d lost weight since he’d seen her last. Her face was gaunt and pale. Her hand shook as she extended it toward him.
Logan made his way to her side, pulled the bedspread free, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
What had they done to her?
“I thought I dreamed you,” she said, her voice faint. “I thought you were a fantasy, but you aren’t, are you?”
She looked down at Bruce sitting at her feet, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked especially pleased with himself, as if he’d rescued Eleanor single-handedly.
“Bruce?” The tears in her voice were difficult for him to hear.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the room, Bruce following.
Richards had been joined by his wife and a few maids and footmen. If they all rushed him he and Phillip wouldn’t have a chance. Logan had a feeling, however, that they wouldn’t. People like Richards and his wife operated in secret. They disliked witnesses to their cruelty. Right now they had a half dozen of their servants overseeing their actions. He doubted they would say or do anything.
He was right about Richards, but not Deborah.
“I don’t care that you’re an MP, McKnight. You have no right to come into our home and remove my niece from it. This is a private matter and you have no business interfering.”
He turned, Eleanor still in his arms.
“I can’t say whether what you’ve done is illegal or not, Mrs. Richards. I know, however, that it’s morally reprehensible. Perhaps we should allow the public to learn of your actions and let them decide.”
The woman took a step backward, her hand at her throat, her other hand at the belt of her wrapper.
“You’re threatening me? Who do you think you are?”
A man in love. A man with a well-developed sense of right and wrong. A man who was more than willing to see the Richardses ruined. Instead of answering Deborah, he smiled.
In the next moment she gathered up her courage again, because she advanced on him. Bruce’s growl was loud and threatening enough that Deborah stopped.
“He’s never bitten anyone,” Logan said. “Not yet. I imagine, though, that he’d like a taste of you.”
Deborah’s eyes widened and she wisely didn’t take another step. He and Phillip descended the stairs, Bruce following. Phillip grabbed their shoes as they left the house.
No one stopped them.
He spoke to Phillip as they headed for the carriage. “Go and tell Pete that we have Eleanor,” he said. “Don’t worry about being quiet. I’m all for letting this whole sordid mess being made public.”
No one left the Richardses’ home to summon the Watch.
