The Stolen Bride (12 page)

“Has something happened, Eleanor,” Rex continued softly, “to change your mind about Sinclair?”

Sean might never forgive her if she betrayed him,
but he would be alive and he would be free. “Every bride has nerves.” She was shaking. “Every woman has moments of indecision.” She needed all of her courage now.

Cliff studied her suspiciously. “The sister I grew up with knew her mind and always got what she wanted. What is it, Eleanor? What has you on the verge of tears? Why do you think to jilt Sinclair? Why were you scrounging for my clothes this morning?”

An image flashed in her mind, of Sean’s heated silver stare, but lust wasn’t love. She certainly knew that, having seen her brothers racing after more women than she could ever count. If she gave him up now, she wouldn’t see him that night. Would there even be a goodbye? She felt a tear slipping down her face.

Before Eleanor could speak, Rex said, “Who are you running off with, Eleanor?”

She could do this. She thought of the lifetime they had shared, the happy warm moments filled with so much affection, trust and laughter. She saw Sean smiling, his face unscarred, his eyes open and unguarded. Maybe, one day, in America, he would become the man he’d been before.

“Is Sean here?” Rex asked grimly.

She met his dark, penetrating eyes, and nodded.
“He…” She could barely speak. “He is in dire need. He needs you both.” Then more tears fell. She felt sick.

“Where is he?” Cliff demanded, but quietly. His palm covered her shoulder. “You know we will do anything to help him, although I might kill him for hurting you this way.”

She managed to look at him through her tears. “He is in mortal danger—but he thinks, as he always does, to protect everyone but himself!”

Cliff and Rex exchanged a potent look. Rex spoke. “If you have been in contact with Sean, then you know that his crimes are exceedingly serious and we must race the clock.”

She was so anguished that the fact that both of her brothers seemed to know about Sean’s status as an escaped felon only mildly surprised her. “When did you find out? And why was I not told?”

“Two nights ago, Captain Brawley stopped here to ask the earl and Tyrell what we knew. As we knew nothing until that moment, we had nothing relevant to impart to him,” Rex said.

“Was anyone going to ever tell me the truth?” she managed to ask with bitterness.

Cliff spoke. “I think one and all decided that you did not need this distraction on the eve of your wedding. Clearly, that judgment was the right one.”

“And when did you learn the truth about Sean?” she cried, finally becoming indignant and even angry. “Oh, let me guess! The moment you walked in the door! I am merely a woman, so I did not need to know that the man I have loved my entire life was still alive and in dire need of my help!”

“We understand that you still believe yourself to be in love with him, but he needs to flee the country, and I intend to help him do so. He needs my help, not yours, Eleanor.” Cliff stared. His expression was one she had never before seen and she realized this must be how he appeared on his ship when about to do battle with his enemies.

Eleanor shook her head. “He begged me to keep his confidence. He is afraid that the earldom will fall, that Devlin will lose his estates—and he is right.”

Cliff’s dark brows slashed upward. “And you, also, planned to run off with him. I hope, Eleanor, that you have come to your senses, because jilting Sinclair on the morrow and fleeing with Sean could only hurt him, not help him.”

“I have realized that!” she cried. “But you would not understand! You have never been in love! I have missed him so terribly these past years, I thought I might die from heartache. Now, you will sail him to foreign shores! I will never see him again and I will
never be able to convince him that I am the woman he must love.”

“Where is he?” Cliff had clearly decided to ignore the outpouring of her heart.

“In the woods.” She briefly told them how to find Sean.

“He is hurt?” Cliff asked, clearly making plans.

“He is scarred and thin, and his voice is weak and strange. He is terribly wounded, not physically, but in his soul.” She had to sit down and she collapsed into a chair.

“So he is physically able to ride and to walk?”

She glared at him. “Yes! But he is filled with pain, Cliff! Not that you can possibly understand.”

He was rigid. “I despise seeing you so distressed, but given the circumstances, I am not sorry he has rejected you. Sean has no future now.
You
have no future with him. Your future is with Sinclair.”

“You are arrogant and obtuse!” she cried, ignoring his surprise. “I hope you are struck by Cupid’s arrow one day and that the lady realizes you are nothing but a boor.”

“You are my only sister, and it is my duty to look after you and do what I think is best,” Cliff said, his jaw flexing. He turned to Rex. “I prefer that we leave Father, Ty and Devlin in the dark. I will send
a man to Limerick to order
The Fair Lady
readied to set sail. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.” And before Rex could even nod, he had strode from the room.

Eleanor wished she had a book to throw at his departing back, or any object in hand, but she did not. She glared after him instead.

Rex pulled an ottoman forward and sat down beside her. He handed her an immaculate handkerchief, embroidered with his initials. She accepted it, wiping furiously at her eyes.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “I understand the extent of your love—or at least, I think I do—and I also understand the extent of the sacrifice you are making.”

She stilled, meeting his kind brown gaze. “Thank you.”

“You are very brave, Eleanor, but your courage has never been in question.”

“My heart is broken,” she replied.

“He is a fool,” Rex said with heat. “And I intend to tell him so. Any man—except Cliff, obviously—would give his right arm to be so well loved.”

“Before the war, you were a romantic. You are still one, I see,” she managed to say.

He touched a curl. “I will arrange a farewell for you.”

She gasped in surprise, and then she seized his hands. “Thank you, Rex…thank you!”

He smiled. “What? You will not insist I am your favorite brother?”

She had no words left. She merely nodded, using the linen against more tears.

He took up his crutch and stood. “You have done the right thing for our stepbrother.”

Eleanor closed her eyes against the stabbing pain. It was a moment before she could speak. “I know,” she said.

S
EAN SLIPPED THROUGH
the window of Eleanor’s room. Once inside, he had to pause. He had been in her room countless times, but not since he had left four years before.

He pushed past the heavy gold velvet draperies there and slowly looked around. Once, her bedroom had been blue and white; now, it was green and gold, lush and feminine, the bedroom of a woman, not a child. It felt and looked and even smelled terribly sensual.

He saw the table, set for one. She had made certain a meal was waiting for him. His heart stirred with gratitude. Then he thought about Rex and Cliff, looking for him in the woods. She had betrayed him and that infuriated him, but he had easily eluded his brothers. He shouldn’t have come. He should be on his way to Cobh. But he had to say goodbye. He could not leave otherwise.

Her image filled his mind now, as she had been
the first moment he had seen her yesterday night, in Sinclair’s arms, passionate and breathless and clinging to the other man’s shoulders. He wished he could forget her damnable offer; even now, he was acutely aware of it and it was affecting him terribly. A huge tension filled him but he intended to ignore it. He understood now that he needed release. There would be whores on the ship—there always were.

He’d never used a whore in his entire life. From the time he’d lost his innocence, there had always been young women in pursuit of him. But they had wanted Sean O’Neill, the dashing younger son of an Irish nobleman, the stepson of an earl. None of those past lovers would look at him twice now, not that he cared. He wouldn’t look at any of them a second time, either.

And as he stood in Eleanor’s luxurious accommodations, he wondered for the hundredth time how his life had come to this. How had he become such a stranger, even to himself? He wanted to remain disconnected from that other man, that boisterous yet solidly dependable younger son who would do anything for his family and who had a penchant for the ladies. The bridge to that past remained and he saw it in his mind’s eye, a trestle bridge spanning a huge gaping gulf of events, emotions and time, but
it was rotting and pieces of it were missing. What would it take, he wondered, to completely sever the connection, to watch that bridge released from its cables so it might shatter on the deadly rocks of mistaken choices below?

His two years spent in prison had not been enough to destroy it, he now realized. While there, he had believed the past completely erased. He had been wrong.

A new life in America might do the trick. If not, he would have to throw stones at that bridge, day after day, until it finally came down.

Suddenly he saw the old stone bridge that was on the roadway between Askeaton and Adare. It spanned a particularly deep part of the river that was an offshoot of the Shannon. As boys, he and his brother had leaped from the bridge a hundred times, but that was only half the fun. The currents were strong at certain times of the day and once in the river, it would sweep them swiftly downstream, through a series of rapids, until it bent and slowed in a calm pool. They would leave two horses at the pool, riding two horses up to the bridge, one horse double, another ridden triple if all five of them were present. They would spend entire afternoons leaping off that bridge.

He didn’t want to remember; it was too damned late.
“SEAN!”

He was soaking wet and shirtless, riding back up
to the bridge with Rex and Cliff, Devlin and Tyrell
behind them on a different mount. At the sound of
Eleanor’s voice, his gaze veered, searching for her,
and he was already alarmed. Had she followed them?
She was only six years old, but she was becoming far
more than fearless recently. She was as reckless as
any of them, even though she was half their age.

“Sean!”

He saw her standing on the bridge, grinning
happily and waving at them in her white dress.

His heart stopped. He knew what she intended.
“Elle! Don’t you dare!” he screamed at her.

She laughed and lifted her skirts, revealing thick
white stockings and black button-up shoes, and
started to climb onto the balustrade of the bridge.

“Shit,” Rex exclaimed. He rode in front and he
spurred the hack into a canter.

“Elle, get down!” Sean yelled, sandwiched between
his stepbrothers.

Elle stood on the balustrade now, no longer
smiling, staring down at the river.

She was going to jump, he realized in horror. And
Cliff verbalized his worst fears. “She is going to do it.”

Sean pushed Cliff off the back of the horse, then
followed. Eleanor suddenly lifted her arms and
leaped off the bridge.

He ran to the edge of the road and scrambled
down the grassy and slick bank, never taking his eyes
from her. She hit the water with a cry and as she disappeared
beneath its surface, he saw exactly where
she had gone in.

But that was not where she would surface. He
knew the currents and he kept racing for a point
farther down the river. He didn’t look upstream
now—he reached the bank and dived in.

The water rushed over him, pulling him downstream.
He heard her choking and he fought to tread,
an impossible task, so he could visually locate her.
And he saw her white face and her frightened eyes,
just before the river sucked her into its depths.

He reached out as he dived underwater and seized
a piece of her skirt. He was absolutely determined that
the river was not going to beat him. He fought to swim
closer, against the raging current, and he put his arm
around her. Then he charged to the surface, where he
threw her above him. He heard her choking for air.

“I’ve got her,” Tyrell said, taking her from him.

“Sean.” Devlin seized him, helping him stay
above the surface now so he had a chance to breathe.

A moment later the four of them were in the quiet,
still pool. Sean stood up, trembling. The child was
mad. She was only six years old; she had almost
drowned! Devlin had also stood, grimly silent, but
Tyrell sat in the shallow waters, appearing relieved.
Elle sat with him, her eyes wide.

She looked up at him, her face beginning to lose
its pallor. She started to smile as she stood. “Can we
do that again?”

He charged her. Seizing her hand, he yanked her
from the water, hard enough to hurt her and she cried
out in protest. “Are you stupid?” he shouted at her
when they were on the bank.

“If you can do it, so can I!” she yelled back.

He was so angry he reached for the closest branch
he could find. She understood; she paled and backed
up. “You wouldn’t.”

“Someone has to have the honor,” he said furiously.
His heart was still racing in pure terror, he
realized. He wasn’t sure it would ever stop.

“Sean.” Tyrell took the branch from him. “She
won’t do it again.”

Sean felt an odd moistness on his face and realized
he was starting to cry. Horrified, he turned away
from everyone.

Elle hurried to stand there. She took his hand, her
mouth pursing. “I won’t do it again. Why are you so
sad, Sean?”

H
E WAS STIFF WITH TENSION
now. He did not want to recall any more of the past. Once, he and Elle had shared a special bond, and he would have done anything to protect her. They no longer had that bond, and she had Sinclair to protect her now.

Sean sat down on the edge of the canopied bed, the soft mattress giving way to his body instantly. He had lost his best friend a long time ago, and there was simply no going backward. Old memories did not help, they only deepened the confusion. When he looked at her now, he didn’t know what to think or do. He saw Eleanor, but then he saw Elle. He was in the present, but the past beckoned. Nothing made sense anymore.

Especially not his being in her bedroom and her having made such a damnable offer.

He had to stay in the present, he decided. It was too dangerous otherwise. Elle was gone. She’d been gone for years. He had no friends. And what he needed to remember was that he was a traitor and a fugitive and she was a stranger named Eleanor.

But he still needed to say goodbye.

H
AVING PLEADED
a headache she genuinely suffered, Eleanor had left Peter with the men and the ladies by themselves. Supper had been interminable; all
evening she had been acutely aware that Cliff and Rex had not been able to find Sean in the woods. He had disappeared and she knew he had left, as he had said he would.

It was incredible. He was gone. Just like that, as if he had never come home, a nightmare come true. There wouldn’t even be a farewell.

“Eleanor, dear,” the countess said, approaching from behind her.

Instantly Eleanor stiffened. It was a moment before she could breathe and turn to face her mother as she stood there on the stairs.

The countess, Mary de Warenne, was a very beautiful woman. Technically, of course, she was not Eleanor’s mother, but the mother of Sean and Devlin. But Eleanor’s mother had died giving birth to her. Until she was two years old, she had been raised by a nurse and her father. Mary was the only mother Eleanor had ever known and she loved her deeply. In fact, she had often secretly wished that she could be more like the countess, who was graceful, gracious and generous to no end.

Eleanor tried to smile at her.

Mary paused before her. “My dear, I can see that you are terribly distressed. Would you like to speak about it?”

“I can’t.”

Mary’s blue eyes were searching. “All brides worry and fret before their weddings, but I am afraid that this is something more. I only wish to help.”

Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes. She knew that the countess had wept for Sean privately and that she had believed her son was dead. And even though her mother had given up hope almost two years ago, Eleanor did not want to raise a painful subject for her. She did not have to.

“Darling, is this about Sean?”

Eleanor nodded. “I miss him so terribly it is a pain in my chest.”

“We all miss him.” Mary seemed anguished then. “I thought that you had gone on with your life. I thought you genuinely cared for Peter and perhaps were even falling in love with him. Your father and I have been so pleased and so relieved that you and he seem to get on so brilliantly.”

“I thought so, too,” Eleanor said. “I was wrong. There is only one man I can love, and that is Sean.”

The countess blanched and put her arm around her daughter. “We should sit. There is something I must tell you.”

Eleanor shook her head, pulling away. “I need to go to my rooms. I am very tired. Tomorrow will be
a long day.” She no longer had the strength to fight her fated marriage. She could not care less what happened tomorrow.

“Eleanor! I know what it is to be fond of a man, to marry well—and to love someone else, my dear.”

Eleanor had heard the love story of Edward and Mary many times, but not from either her mother or her father. She had heard it from the local lords and ladies; she had heard it from her old nurse and from the now-deceased family physician. “It’s true? You didn’t love your first husband?” she whispered.

Mary smiled. “I loved Gerald because it was my duty to do so. He was a good man, the father of my two sons. And in spite of his philandering, I knew that he loved me in his way and would do so until he died.”

“But?” Eleanor cried.

“I loved Gerald because it was my duty, dear. When Edward rescued me and my sons from the British, after Gerald’s murder, I found the kind of love and passion I had never even dared to dream of.” She hesitated. “I met your father about five years after Gerald and I married, when we had just become his tenants. Although I refused to ever admit to myself that something was there between us, I knew the very moment that Edward walked into our hall that he was different, and not just a king among men.
I think we exchanged a dozen entire sentences in those five years. He was polite and correct. But Eleanor, when he finally took me in his arms for the very first time, I knew that I had never understood love—or passion—until then.”

Their stories were so similar, and yet not similar at all. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Mary touched her face. “I want you to have what I have, darling.”

She trembled. “I will never have what you have. I have always loved Sean. He doesn’t love me. Excuse me. I am exhausted, I have to go upstairs.”

“Eleanor! Please! I am so worried about you!”

But Eleanor was running up the stairs. At her door she paused, the pain in her temples acute. Now, finally, she would have the time and the privacy to grieve for losing Sean all over again. How many times would her heart break over the same man?

Eleanor stepped into her bedroom, closing the door. Then she saw the table where she’d had his beautiful meal laid out. She had forgotten to tell her maid to cancel it. She stared at the covered platters, and her heart stopped, then leaped wildly.

The dinner plate was used. Some leftovers were on it. Incredulous, she turned to the wine bottle—it was almost empty.

He stepped out from behind the heavy gold velvet draperies by the windows. Instantly his gaze met hers.

He had stayed
.

He didn’t love her the way she loved him, but she didn’t care. She had missed him for four years and she missed him now. She had never been happier to see anyone. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, acutely aware of his hard chest beneath her soft breasts, his broad shoulders beneath her hands. That terrible feeling of being lost and alone, of being abandoned, of being cold, vanished.