The Duke's Perfect Wife
Page 84

Eleanor lifted her small valise and started walking down the platform, ignoring the porters and the duke’s footmen, who looked shocked that she was actually carrying a bag by herself. She spied Mac’s tall bulk in the crowd in the main part of the station, Aimee on his shoulders, Isabella beside him. No babies, so they must have been left in the charge of Nanny Westlock at home. Aimee would have insisted on coming along.
But no Hart. Eleanor tried not to let her heart sink. Her husband had many things to do now, and some crisis had likely prevented him from leaving Whitehall. That was probably why Mac had come instead.
Eleanor waved across the platforms and crowd to Isabella, and Isabella and Aimee waved back. She walked quickly onward, making her way to the main platform. She could almost feel Isabella’s hug and kiss, and see Mac’s huge smile and hear the booming baritone of his voice in greeting.
How splendid to be part of such a family—a large, unpredictable family with her husband at its head. Eleanor walked faster, feet light.
When she neared them, Eleanor saw, at the far end of the platform, entering the station, the unmistakable form of Hart Mackenzie. With him was the tall David Fleming, he and Hart debating something as usual. The pugilist bodyguards trailed behind them.
Eleanor resisted the urge to run straight to Hart and stopped to hug Isabella and Mac.
“There’s Ian,” Mac said, looking across the platforms. He shaded his eyes. “What is he doing?”
Ian was standing at the edge of the platform, two over, where their train had pulled in. His gaze was fixed on something near the waiting room, but Eleanor, glancing that way, couldn’t discern what had caught his eye.
Her gaze was drawn back to Hart, and Isabella laughed. “Go on. He needs someone to be glad to see him.”
Mac snatched Eleanor’s valise out of her hand, and Eleanor thanked him and started pushing through the crowd toward Hart. So many people, so many bonnets and tall hats, so many bustles and folded parasols and umbrellas to wade through. Did they all have to be here today?
Hart loomed through the crowd, Fleming having dropped back. Across the space between them, Hart’s gaze met Eleanor’s. She felt warmed, happy.
She saw Hart stop, turn, scowl, then lift his hands to his mouth and shout Ian’s name. Eleanor turned to look, and her mouth went slack as Ian dropped from the platform to the tracks, sprinted across them, climbed the next platform, and dropped onto the next set of tracks, never minding the giant steam engine chugging into the station toward him.
Beth saw, and screamed. Hart kept shouting. Ian cleared the tracks and leapt onto the platform with seconds to spare, his kilt flying as he ran for Hart.
A loud noise sounded to Eleanor’s left, nearly drowned by the groaning breaks of the approaching train. Eleanor turned her head, heard a boom! then saw a giant cloud of smoke, rubble, and glass expand and rise to cover the entire platform and all the people on it.
Eleanor felt her body pushed backward. She fell against a man in a long wool coat and then slapped onto the surface of the platform. Then she was rolling toward the edge, the iron face of the engine coming at her, and she heard the horrible hiss of steam and squeal of metal on metal as the train tried to stop.
Chapter 19
At the last minute, Eleanor stopped her wild rolling and shoved herself away from the edge of the platform. The locomotive slid by, and Eleanor lay on her stomach, trying to catch her breath.
She heard screams and smelled smoke, saw bricks, stone, and glass raining like bullets onto the crowd. She dimly heard Mac swearing, and Isabella frantically calling her name.
Eleanor pushed herself up, blinking grit-stained eyes as she climbed painfully to her feet. Around her people lay groaning, crying, some trying to rise as she was. She peered through the smoke to where Hart had been standing not a yard from the explosion, and did not see him.
The train next to her was intact except for broken windows and frightened passengers looking out of them. Across the platforms, through the thick air, she glimpsed Beth and Ainsley running for her, the fearful nannies staying behind with the babies.
Eleanor shoved her way forward, ignoring Mac and Isabella, her heart constricting as she searched for any sign of her husband.
“Hart!” she shouted. She cupped her hands around her mouth, tears and smoke stinging her eyes. “Hart!”
She kept moving forward, gaining strength as she went, until she was running. “Hart!” She heard Beth’s voice shrill behind her, “Ian!” because Ian had vanished too.
Eleanor saw Hart’s bodyguards frantically shoving through the mob. They were searching, turning every which way, not finding him.
Eleanor’s limbs turned icy with fear. “Where is he? Where is he?” she screamed at the nearest bodyguard.
The man shook his head. “He was right there. He was right there.” He pointed a thick finger to a patch of platform that did not exist anymore. The wall of the station house was gone as well, and remains of vendors’ carts were scattered across the rubble.
Eleanor ran to the heap and started pulling away stones. Her hands were too small, her gloves too thin. The leather ripped, and her hands bled. The bodyguard started helping her, and others around caught on, reaching for stones.
A hand came into view, one groping for life. Eleanor clutched it. The bodyguard shifted a stone, then reached in and pulled the person out. An older woman, one of the vendors. She clung to Eleanor, and Eleanor held her, stroking her back.
Mac reached her, bellowing into the smoke and dust. “Where is Hart? Where is Ian?”