Page 64 of To Bed the Bride
I have a problem and you’re the only one who can help. May I call on you at noon?
Within an hour he’d answered with one word.Yes.That was all. He hadn’t inquired as to the nature of her problem or why she thought he would be able to help. Just yes, that was all.
When she was moved or touched she allowed herself to cry, but that wasn’t very often. Today, however, no doubt because she’d not slept the night before, she found that one simple word had the ability to reduce her to tears.
What she was about to do would probably be labeled as foolish by any number of people. Looking at the situation from the outside, she would probably agree. Her actions wouldn’t be deemed wise. They could probably even be called rash and impulsive.
Everything she’d initially told Logan was the truth. She hadn’t wanted a puppy. Nor had she wanted the responsibility or the work. Nowhere in her protestations had she considered that she might come to love Bruce. Somehow, he’d carved a place in her heart. She cared about his well-being and his health and had thought she could provide him with a wonderful life.
It was all too evident that she couldn’t because of Michael.
She had to protect Bruce. She didn’t trust Michael not to take matters into his own hands if he thought she wasn’t fast enough to obey him.
Today she wore another one of her newer dresses, this one a green-and-white pattern. Of all the garments made for her in the past few months, this one was her least favorite. If she got muddy paw prints on it she would not be overly disturbed.
The day was rainy, the storm clouds hovering over London as if in punishment. Thunder had been a constant accompaniment to the morning. Perhaps she would be better served by waiting until the weather was better, but she had a feeling that time was not a friend in this instance. She had to get Bruce somewhere safe, somewhere Michael wouldn’t be able to touch him.
To her surprise, Bruce jumped into the carriage with no hesitation, settling beside her on the seat and staring out the window. He hadn’t been this good a passenger on the trip from Scotland. Perhaps he thought he was going home. In a way, he was.
She’d expected Logan to live in a small flat and had even anticipated having to climb a few sets of stairs. If not that, she’d thought his residence might be a small house tucked away among other small houses. When Liam slowed in front of a townhouse that was the equal to Hamilton’s home or even larger, she was astonished.
Painted bright white, it had at least a half-dozen black sash windows on the first and second floors. A wide set of six stairs, bordered on each side by a black wrought iron railing, led to the front door, shielded by a small portico with two columns on each side.
She remained where she was until Liam opened the door and unfurled the steps. She stared up at the black door with its enormous fan-shaped brass knocker.
“Are you certain this is the address?”
“Yes, Miss Eleanor,” he said. “The London streets aren’t difficult once you get the hang of them.”
He held out an umbrella and she left the carriage, heading for the steps. Evidently, being an MP paid a great deal more than she thought.
Behind her Liam grabbed the large satchel she’d packed while she held Bruce’s lead and guided him up the front steps.
The door was answered only seconds after she knocked. Instead of a majordomo, she was greeted by a short, plump woman with a round face and a mop of curly blond hair. The woman, who looked to be about the same age as Eleanor’s aunt, possessed a rosebud mouth and a spot of color on each cheek.
“Aye, you’d be Miss Craig, would you?” she asked in a thick Scottish brogue.
“I am,” Eleanor said.
Logan must’ve informed his staff of her arrival. So much for making this visit as secretive as possible.
Bruce preceded her into the foyer.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, instantly noticing the track of his paw prints. Here she was a guest and she already had reason to apologize.
The woman surprised her by reaching for a bit of toweling stacked on a long table against the wall. “Now, don’t you worry, Miss Craig. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that with this mucky day we’re having, he’d be tracking himself in.”
Less than a minute later, the mess had been cleaned up and Bruce had his paws wiped as well.
“Isn’t he a dear?” the woman said, ruffling Bruce’s fur. “He puts me in mind of those dogs that guard the sheep.”
“That’s exactly what he is,” Eleanor said. “Or at least on his mother’s side.”
“We’ll go into the parlor where I’ve already laid a fire. It might not be cold enough yet, but it’ll warm your bones all the same.”
“Would it be all right to bring Bruce?”
“Of course. He’s a guest, too. Aren’t you, Mr. Bruce?”
