To Bed the Bride Read online

  “I want you to get rid of him. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  The cloud on her horizon, the storm cloud of her marriage, was growing closer and looking even more thunderous. Yet a half-dozen people were expecting to be blessed by that union. Every member of her family was overjoyed that they would soon be related to a peer. Michael’s earldom would spread its influence and that’s all they noticed. They wouldn’t, after all, pay the price. She was the only one who would do so and it was becoming all too obvious that this marriage would be very costly indeed.

  “And you agree?”

  Of course she didn’t. What he was demanding of her was unkind at the least and barbarism at the worst. What did he expect her to do, simply abandon Bruce within the city? Take him to the park, remove his lead, and bid him go fend for himself? Did he expect her to drown him in the Thames? Or take him to the worst part of the city and allow him to be tortured by gangs of ruthless children? Or, perhaps, give him to someone—like Michael—who would kill the puppy without a thought?

  Was it possible to hate someone temporarily? She doubted if hate could be borrowed and then be put back wherever that emotion lived when it wasn’t used.

  What would happen if she allowed herself to hate Michael about this situation? She suspected that the hate would bleed over into other circumstances. Even worse, she suspected that the man who was to be her husband could also be her enemy.

  She and Logan had talked about lies one day. She’d admitted that she hadn’t always told the truth. Now she lied to Michael while meeting his eyes. She nodded and said, “Yes, I agree.”

  He smiled, finally satisfied and generous in his despotism.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Her driver, Liam, was still in London. Eleanor hadn’t sent him back to Hearthmere since he was enjoying his visit to the city. The next morning she sent him to Logan’s home with a note and a request that he keep this errand to himself. It wouldn’t do for the Richardses’ household to know that she was communicating with Logan. Liam had only grinned at her and promised.

  “If he’s home, wait for a reply. If he isn’t, then leave the note.”

  Knowing how long Logan’s workday was, she honestly didn’t expect to get an answer as quickly as she did. Her note had been direct and short.

  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?”

  She could swear that Bruce nodded.

  One of the woman’s hands fluttered in the air while the other patted her chest.

  “And here I am, not introducing myself properly. I’m the housekeeper for himself. Mrs. Campbell.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Campbell.”

  The housekeeper smiled at her, such a bright and cheery expression that Eleanor couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “And I you, miss.”

  The drawing room was another surprise. The walls were a pale yellow, the furniture upholstered in dark blue. The tables were mahogany and less cluttered with statuary than those in her aunt’s house. One wall was filled with paintings of Scottish scenes from Ben Hagen to Edinburgh, each framed in gold. The fireplace surround was black stone that reminded her of slate, but it was carved with thistles and vines. Overall, the impre
ssion was of a masculine, welcoming room honoring Scotland.

  Soon enough she was tucked into an overstuffed chair, one of two in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Campbell pushed an ottoman close to her. “You go and put your feet up right there. I’ll be bringing you some tea and some biscuits we made this morning.”

  “That really isn’t necessary, Mrs. Campbell. I don’t want you to go to any extra effort on my account.”

  “Don’t be silly. The only guests we ever have here are politicians, gruff sorts all. It’s a pleasure to entertain a young miss. A Scot by the sound of it, too, am I right?”

  Eleanor nodded. “I am,” she said. “I was born at Hearthmere, in the Highlands.”

  “Ah, not far from the Duke of Montrose’s home. That’s how you know himself, then.”

  Before she could answer, she heard a door close not far away. Bruce began to wiggle and whine, a sure sign that Logan was coming. In less than a minute he appeared in the doorway.

  Mrs. Campbell glanced toward him, her broad smile making her face appear even rounder.

  “There he is, then. Himself. And here I thought I was going to have to make you stop reading all those papers of yours and come and visit your guest.”

  “What would I do without you, Althea?”

  To her surprise, when Logan reached the housekeeper he bent and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs. Campbell’s face reddened in response.

  “Oh, get away with you now,” she said, obviously flustered. “I’ll go and get that tea.”

  “And whatever you were baking this morning,” Logan said. “It smelled delicious.”

  “Just a bit of shortbread with some currants. Sweet enough for you, I’m thinking.”

  “Do you have a sweet tooth?” Eleanor asked after Mrs. Campbell left the room.

  Logan came and sat on the adjoining chair. “I do. Luckily, Mrs. Campbell does as well. Cook keeps us both well supplied.”

  Bruce forgot his manners and tried to crawl into Logan’s lap. He only laughed and pushed the puppy down to the rug again.

  “He’s grown a great deal in two weeks,” he said.

  “A little over two weeks,” she answered. “Fifteen days.” With a little time she could probably calculate the hours.

  He held her gaze for a minute before glancing down at Bruce again. “Yes, fifteen days.”

  He looked tired, but from the newspaper reports there was reason for it. There was speculation that Mr. Disraeli would not be reelected as Prime Minister. Mr. Gladstone had more support. When she said as much to Logan, he smiled.

  “You’re remarkably well informed, Eleanor. I think you read more than one newspaper every day.”

  She had, at least in the past fifteen days. Because of him she’d taken to reading everything she could find. She wanted to know what he was doing during the day, what he thought, and what he said.

  Her father would’ve liked him, and her uncle as well. Logan was a man of convictions and sometimes fervently defended them. He never forgot that he was a Scot or that his loyalty was owed first to his homeland. Occasionally, he went toe to toe with an English politician who made no secret of his disdain for the other members of the Commonwealth: Wales, Ireland, or Scotland. According to the newspapers, Logan lost no time or opportunity excoriating the man. He’d gotten a reputation for being fiercely defensive. Some reporter had labeled him the Savage Scot.

  Eleanor thought that it might be the perfect nickname for Logan.

  “But you didn’t come here to talk to me about politics, did you? You said you needed my help.”

  There was no good way to explain her idea, what she hoped he would agree to do. All she could do was tell the truth. If that didn’t work she would resort to begging.

  Anything to save Bruce.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I need to find a home for Bruce.” Eleanor willed her voice not to quaver. “A good home with someone who will love him.”

  Logan didn’t say anything for a long moment.

  “It’s become impossible for me to keep him,” she continued. “I need you to take him. Please.”

  She hadn’t meant to be emotional, but she didn’t want to lose Bruce. What she was doing was for his safety.

  The puppy came and sat on her feet, looking up and tilting his head slightly, almost as if he were trying to understand. She bent and scratched that area he liked so much just in front of his ears.

  “What’s wrong, Eleanor?”

  He really shouldn’t sound so sympathetic. Or so kind. She really would start to cry.

  “I think he’s in danger,” she said.

  The words were probably disloyal but they were the truth. Was she supposed to lie about Michael?

  “Tell me.”

  She took a deep breath, repeating what Michael had said. Even as she repeated the words she heard how ugly they sounded. What kind of man threatens a puppy?

  She wasn’t all that surprised when Logan said the same thing.

  “The man is an ass,” he added.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she said. Her tone lacked conviction. “He just doesn’t like dogs.”

  Logan sent her a quick glance. She could read its meaning well enough. His opinion of Michael had dropped even further.

  “I need to protect Bruce,” she said. “That’s the most important thing.”

  “I’ll take him,” he said.

  Three words, but they summoned her tears.

  “Now what have you done, Logan McKnight? Made the poor thing cry?”

  Bruce chose that moment to bark, a sound of pure puppy happiness because of the smell coming from the tray one of the maids was carrying.

  “Now don’t you start, wee one. If you behave yourself, I’ll give you the bone I fetched you from the kitchen. Not another sound out of you, though.”

  Mrs. Campbell directed the maid to put the tray down on the table between them, then waited until the girl was gone before putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Logan.

  “He’s been very kind,” Eleanor said, pulling out a handkerchief from her reticule and blotting at her eyes. “Truly, Mrs. Campbell. If anything, I was weeping at his kindness.”

  “Then it’s sorry I am for my words,” Mrs. Campbell said, nodding at Logan.

  He smiled back at her. “If you brought me shortbread we’ll call it even.”

  She reached for the plate, but handed it to Eleanor first. She declined with a smile.

  Logan waited until the housekeeper left the room again before turning to Eleanor.

  “He’s a bastard. Not only for what he said about Bruce, but for making you cry.”

  “He didn’t make me cry,” she said. “You did. I didn’t lie to Mrs. Campbell. I was hoping that you would save Bruce and you have. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He startled her by moving to sit on the ottoman. Bruce tried to get into his lap again and Logan picked up the puppy and held him at eye level. “You’ll mind your manners, Bruce. Or it’s to the back you’ll go.”

  Bruce licked his nose.

  Logan laughed, then put the puppy back down on the rug before turning to her. Reaching out, he grabbed both of her hands.

  “I’ll give him a home, Eleanor. You needn’t worry about him anymore.”

  “Could I come and visit him from time to time? He’s such a dear little thing and I’ve grown to love him.”

  He looked down at her hands.

  “I won’t be a bother,” she said.

  “Of course you can come and visit him,” he said. “I think, under the circumstances, however, that it would be easier if you came when I wasn’t here.”

  Perhaps it would be easier for him, but not for her. Even a chance to see him would be enough to make her anticipate the day.

  That confession would never be said, couldn’t be said. It’s not just that the words were disloyal, but that they were wrong. She was engaged to another man. She was going to be his wife. She couldn’t fall in love with Logan McKnight. She couldn
’t.

  She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t have made the situation even worse. If she hadn’t been so worried about Bruce’s fate she wouldn’t have.

  “Logan . . .” Her words ground to a halt. She couldn’t say to him, Let me into your life. Let me be a part of it, however small. Talk to me about your day. Tell me of the legislation you want to get passed. Who did you argue with today? What did you learn?

  She had no right to any of his time, his thoughts, or his experiences.

  The best thing to do was return to her aunt’s home and never look back. She wouldn’t return to see Bruce. She wouldn’t communicate with Logan. She would face her future and think of him as a distant memory or perhaps even a dream.

  Otherwise, it would be too painful.

  She’d never questioned her own bravery. Yet she knew that leaving without a chance of seeing Logan again would require more courage than she’d ever demonstrated. More than leaving Hearthmere.

  Perhaps she wasn’t brave enough. She couldn’t lose both of them. Not just yet.

  “What day would be best for you?” she asked.

  “Wednesdays.”

  “Then I’ll come on Wednesdays,” she said. “In the afternoon.”

  “And I’ll be absent on Wednesdays.”

  She nodded. What else could she say? If he didn’t want to see her again she understood. It would be easier for both of them. Yet she’d still be able to see Bruce, until such time as even that would be difficult. She didn’t know if she would be living at Abermarle or London after the wedding. Wherever it was, it would be solely at Michael’s discretion.

  “Thank you,” she said, grabbing her satchel. She placed it between them. “Bruce’s blanket is in there, along with his rope toy. He appropriated one of my shoes and I included that, too.”

  It shouldn’t be so difficult to turn over Bruce’s belongings, but somehow it was.

  “Stay for tea,” he said. “Otherwise, Mrs. Campbell will get her feelings hurt.”

  She had the feeling that he would do anything rather than allow Mrs. Campbell to be hurt. Was he that considerate of all the employees in this surprisingly large house? She suspected he was. Just another facet of this man. This amazing, fascinating, enchanting man.