Chapter 27

Eleanor did not know how long she sat there, staring straight ahead. There was a roaring in her ears and she was dimly aware of Nathan's pained face staring back at her.

We were never married.

Of course, that was not true. At least, not in the literal sense. They were married – heavens, she had been at the ceremony. She had been the bride! The priest had been there, so had her parents and various other guests. Unless the man who had stood by her and sworn to love and cherish her until death do them part had been his identical twin brother, Nathan and she were certainly married.

'What nonsense,' she remarked with false bravado. Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears even though rational thought convinced her otherwise. 'Of course, we are married. Unless I married another Nathan Huntington a couple months back.'

Nathan blew out a long breath before reply. 'It was me. And while the ceremony was very real, it was not legal.'

'Not legal?' she asked in a tiny whisper, failing to see how their marriage was not legal. They had obtained a license; they had wed at the local parish by the local clergyman. The banns were not read as it had been a hasty wedding but everything else had been very much legal to her knowledge. Bloody hell, their names were on the marriage registry as well!

'When I went to procure the special license, I was denied,' Nathan continued. 'The archbishop had not deemed it necessary and was also quite prejudiced.'

'But I saw it!' she screamed in aguish. The more Nathan talked, the more she wished she wouldn't. They couldn't not be married...they just couldn't.

'You saw a forgery,' he replied tightly before looking away from her. 'We would have had to wait months if we married via standard license; months I did not have. So, I had it forged.'

'But, how could we have gotten married, then?' she asked. The tears that she had managed to hold in started to flow freely again. 'How did no one notice?'

'It was a very good forgery. Only weeks later did they question the validity; after we'd left for India and the news of our marriage had circulated amongst the ton. The archbishop, when he heard, questioned the legality, especially when he had denied the special license.'

'That was why you wanted to leave so soon. Why you accelerated your plans,' she whispered and hung her head, her gaze coming to rest on her thighs. There was a smear of blood there although she didn't know whose or how it had gotten there. She did not think it was hers – she did not hurt anywhere, at least not physically. But her heart, oh, her heart! It hurt so much and she did not think it would stop anytime soon.

How could he have done this? No – it was not the fact that he had done it. Everyone was motivated by different things and he had been desperate. She understood desperation. But the fact that he hadn't told her, after how close they had gotten, after all they had been through – her gut wrenched and it was like she was being suffocated all over again. Only, this time, it was a different kind of suffocation.

She wished the physical pain of it was back. The emotional pain – she was not sure if she was strong enough to bear it. She knew she wasn't.

'I am sorry, Eleanor,' Nathan cut in hurriedly. 'I never meant for it to go this way. I really am so sorry, darling.' She met his eyes. He looked like death. Before, even with the bloody gash on his head, he had looked like Adonis in full battle gear. But now? To her, he looked like he was nothing more than the dirt beneath her shoe. Her head throbbed but her blood rushed. He was nothing to her. Not anymore. Not after betraying her so.

When she didn't respond, he continued, 'Please, say something.'

The last vestiges of her anger snapped. 'I have nothing to say to you,' she declared angrily, aware her body shook and simmered in rage.

Nathan reeled back as if he was slapped. His throat bobbed and the muscles on his face flexed as he regarded her, a broken-hearted look on his face. But what else had he expected? That she would forgive him and take him back with open arms?

The pressure at her throat was suddenly gone and she briefly remembered that it was not just her and Nathan in the room but Gresham and his goons as well, who stood guard at the doors and windows. He circled around and stood right in front of her, blade in hand, ready to strike.

'Why did you think Salford arrived?' he asked, genuine curiosity on his face. 'London runs amok with the news. They came here to whisk you away from the clutches of the big, bad wolf.' He pointed the blade at Nathan and Eleanor saw his eyes burn dangerously at Gresham. 'I'm curious, Wolverhampton. What did you tell her was the reason for her parents' arrival?'

Nathan's eyes glinted as he answered, shame coating every word. 'They had written many letters to Eleanor but they addressed them to my estate in England and she never got them. When the news finally broke, someone who was posted here recalled seeing me here and alerted them. They got on the next ship to India. But once I told them she was with child, they agreed that it was best not to tell her so as not to give her undue stress.' He gulped. 'So, we told her that rumours were abound that we were sympathisers.'

That had been a lie as well. It all made sense too – why her parents and Nathan didn't seem to get along, the furtive glances her father kept sending his way, his overprotectiveness. Was there no end to his lies?

Gresham barked a laugh. 'You keep secrets of the rebellion far more secure than that of your personal affairs.' He waved the blade around, gesturing to the room. 'Why else do you think I'm holding you hostage for information instead of ransacking your study?'

'You're right on that count, Gresham,' Nathan said coolly, his previous agony no longer evident. 'Because unlike you, I have the good sense to burn any and all evidence of my traitorous dealings.'

'There is always evidence left behind,' Gresham snarled and grabbed the collar of Nathan's nightshirt. 'Tell me where it is or she shall burn.' He pointed to where Eleanor sat, unmoving.

Nathan flicked a glance at Eleanor, his eyes softening for a moment before moving back. 'I shall not because there is no evidence.'

Gresham gave a strangled cry before he released Nathan and turned to Eleanor with purpose. 'Fine, then. Have it your way.'

Before he could even start for her, the loud shattering of wood pierced her ears. Nathan had smashed the wood chair against the ground and it now lay in splinters all around.

Gresham stood frozen for a moment before he lunged for Nathan and shouted orders at his men though it was of no use. Nathan had managed to procure Eleanor's discarded revolver from the floor and now held it in front of Gresham's forehead, the tip of the barrel pressed firmly against it. The men surrounding them also came to a standstill as they witnessed the scene. Eleanor was still very much tied to her chair and she could only witness the scene, dumbfound.

'Move and I shoot,' Nathan ground out. His eyes were alight with vehemence and Eleanor knew he would be true to his word. Eleanor stared dazedly at him. This was not the man she knew. The man she had dreamed about only half an hour back was perpetually smiling, a mischievous glint constantly in his eyes. The man before her, however, with a gun aimed at another man was strong and virile, a man who could probably kill a man without hesitation or a second thought.

Gresham stood still, his face half-parts fear and half-parts torment. His men froze as well, not sure whether to proceed lest their master be cut. 'Stay down,' he finally ground out, waving a hand at them. None of them glanced Eleanor's way and she took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. There had to be a way out of this. Somehow, she did not think the revolver pressed against his forehead would be enough.

A light winked at the corner of her vision as she followed it to the window. Their room was on the first floor and through the window, she saw the tell-tale sign of a lantern and its bearer hidden safely out of view, biding his time. Eleanor looked closely and instant relief washed over her as she recognised him as one of Nathan's men. He met her eyes then and lifted up a finger to his lips. She was not to move and stay silent.

Swallowing, she looked away to not draw suspicion. Nathan still held Gresham at bay and the two men were unmoving, their gazes trained on each other with ferocity.

And then the worst happened.

In a move so quick she barely even saw it, Gresham ducked and twisted Nathan's arm. In shock, Nathan's finger pulled at the trigger and a shot was fired.

Eleanor screamed as Gresham wrenched the gun from his hand and trained it on Nathan who now lay on the floor. Eleanor's blood ran cold. The shot, had it hit him? She had not seen clearly in which direction his arm had been turned.

She breathed a sigh of relief however when he groaned. He had not been shot, merely had the breath knocked out of him. Her eyes roved around the room and found that the bullet had instead lodged itself in one of the goons now being tended to by the others. She looked back at Gresham who gleamed maniacally, his finger on the trigger.

He's going to shoot him.

But he didn't – couldn't. The glass of the windows broke and Nathan's men poured in, armed with guns and rifles, effectively pinning down everyone else, including Gresham. He was knocked down before he could even fully comprehend what was happening and the gun fell out of his hands, another shot firing into the air. This time, however, it managed to graze Nathan's forearm and he inhaled sharply but lifted himself up to his feet, groaning and clutching at his arm.

Eleanor's arm suddenly went slack and she realised her knots were being untied. A young man – she remembered his name to be Mahendra Singh – was cutting away the ropes that bound her to the chair with gentle care.

'Thank you,' she whispered to him, flexing her numb arms. He simply nodded grimly and went to help Nathan.

Gresham was being dragged away screaming, his men at bay now that they were outnumbered. She looked at him. He was looking right at her, agony etched onto his features. He started to come towards her but she shook her head forcibly and he stilled. She didn't need to use words for him to know that she needed to be away from him.

She did still love him – she knew that with every fibre of her being. Her earlier panic at the thought of him having been shot made it all the more obvious. To deny it was stupidity. But that did not mean she had to forgive him. Her heart ached to run into his arms and cry after the ordeal. But her mind told her to hold her ground – that she would get through this, no matter what. She and her baby would, without him.

She could not do that. She could not let her baby grow up without a father, not knowingly. But then the bitter truth came crashing into her. She was not married – her child would be a bastard. How could she even live with him? Most men set up their mistresses and bastards in a house and that was that.

Of course, she knew, Nathan was too honourable for that. But she also did not think she could bare to live with him as if nothing had happened. Oh, how her heart and mind warred!

After a few minutes, Eleanor finally rose, not really knowing where to go but in no mood to linger in the same room as him. Any more time spent with him in close proximity and she knew her heart would win – a truly unwise decision. But she stilled as soon as her thighs rubbed against each other.

They were slick and she could feel the squelching between them. An awful sense of foreboding filled her and she hurriedly turned to the chair she had just vacated.

Nathan must have sensed her panic for he soon stood next to her asking her what had happened. She didn't need to answer though. As soon as he saw the chair, and the floor on which it stood, dark and wet with blood, he began to curse and mumble.

'No, no, no, this cannot be happening,' Nathan said next to her, his voice shaking, on the edge of a sob. 'This can't be happening!'

Eleanor could just continue to stare at the chair, unable to look away. It was then that she noticed the pain. Sharp, shooting pain as her womb pushed out what seemed to her like a bucketful of blood. The pain clawed at her some more and her hand went to her stomach in a futile attempt to stop it from moving. To stop it from contracting. She could not bear it; she could not bear to see all that blood. Her mind throbbed and it hurt more than her stomach. It was pure agony and a strangled scream tore from her throat.

And although she had only heard of this happening, not even witnessed it, she knew for certain what had just transpired.

Her baby was gone.

***********

Well.