The Stolen Bride (33 page)

He suddenly looked at her and then lunged to his feet. “Elle,” he gasped.

Instantly Eleanor saw cuts on his forehead and face. “Please let me inside,” she said to the aide, trying to fight her fear.

“Sorry, no one goes inside,” the solider replied.

“He’s hurt!” she shouted, fury erupting. “He’s ill!”

“He’s mad,” the soldier said. “Crazy like a loon.” He walked away, cell keys jingling, and returned to the anteroom. The door slammed shut behind him.

“He’s right,” Sean said harshly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Eleanor gripped the bars, facing Sean. She understood his panic and hoped to calm him. “Sean, ev
erything is going to be all right. Tyrell is outside, and in a day or two, you are going to be released.”

His eyes told her he did not believe her. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said. “Did you see Reed?”

“No, I didn’t. Brawley let us in.” She reached through the bars to touch his wet cheek with her fingertips. “I have good news.”

His gaze remained on hers. “What news could you possibly have?”

She fought to smile. “Peter’s father is related to the Prime Minister. He is also in London, seeking your pardon. We are all optimistic, Sean.”

Sean stared, his face hard. In that moment, Eleanor knew he understood what she had done.

She tried not to cry. “I have no choice,” she whispered. “This is a pact, unspoken but a pact nevertheless. His father is fighting for your pardon and when it comes, we will wed.”

“Good,” he said harshly. And his breathing became shallow again.

“Don’t! Take a deep breath, Sean!” she cried. “I love you so much—I would do anything to see you go free.”

He held up his hand. It was shaking. “This is
good
. This is what I
want!
You will never wind up…like Peg.”

She couldn’t stand him blaming himself for her
death, not for another moment. “You didn’t murder her. You married her—and that is far different.
Reed
ordered his men to savage her.
Reed
murdered her.”

He struck out blindly, hitting the iron bars. They rang. “It is my fault. When will you understand? If I hadn’t married her…she wouldn’t have been made to pay for what I did. I was supposed to protect her…I was supposed to love her. I did none of those things!”

“You would have protected her if you had been there that night—I know it, because I know you,” Eleanor cried.

He backed away. “I can’t even see her face anymore. I don’t even remember what she looked like.”

In that instant, she felt his burning pain and all of his raging guilt. “Oh, Sean. You have to let her go. If she really loved you, she would not be blaming you for what happened, and I am certain she loved you very much.”

Sean just stared, and his tears finally fell. Eleanor didn’t know what to do, because she had never seen a man cry like this. So, she waited.

When he spoke, his voice was thick. “She used to look at me with such confusion. She didn’t have to ask, but I knew…. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t love her.”

Eleanor didn’t know what to say. “She was so fortunate to be your wife. I’m sure she felt that way.”

He covered his face with his hands but failed to hide a sob. “Maybe I can forget what I did to Peg…but I can’t ever forget Michael. God, Elle!”

Eleanor stiffened. Sean had only spoken about Michael once before. Suddenly, she realized he hadn’t been able to talk about the little boy. Her senses told her that the child was as much the key to Sean’s torment. “How old was he?”

He met her gaze. “Six.”

“What color was his hair?”

“Red. Wildly red, like the sunset.” More tears fell, but he smiled. “He was a rascal, Elle…always in trouble…but I knew he just wanted my attention.”

She smiled, wiping her eyes. “He adored you, didn’t he?”

Sean nodded, now incapable of speech.

Eleanor reached through the bars. “You can tell me, Sean. Tell me what really happened to him.”

He looked blankly at her. Confusion and anguish covered his face. “That’s just it…I don’t know…no one knows. A sweet, innocent child…he probably died in that fire begging me to come, begging me to save him…waiting for me…. I didn’t come.”

Eleanor reached through the cell bars as he moved
closer to them and their palms entwined, clasping. And then he was leaning against her, the bars between them, weeping in grief, the terrible sounds coming not from his chest, but from his blackened soul. Eleanor managed to slip her arms through the bars and around him. “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to say.

Sean wept and she held him.

And when the tears were finally spent, he was still. He let her hold him awkwardly through the cell for another moment, before he inhaled raggedly and stepped back. Their gazes met. “He was a good boy. I wanted to be his father,” Sean said.

“I know.” Eleanor watched him carefully. She thought he had finally spent his grief and if so, then one good thing had come of this day.

He inhaled again. “I let them both down, Peg and Michael.”

“You did not let anyone down. You tried to stop the uprising, you took your family and fled Kilvore, and you could not have known the soldiers would seek revenge on your family in the adjacent town.”

He sighed. “I keep thinking ‘if only.’ If only I hadn’t been at the inn that day, if only I hadn’t married Peg, if only I had stopped the villagers from attacking the Darby estate. Elle…I am tired of
thinking about what might have happened—I am so tired of thinking about the past four years.”

She was relieved. “You should be tired of thinking about it. Sean, I know you hoped to punish yourself, and you succeeded. You can’t go back in time to change anything that happened. You are such a good man. Why do you think that Peg loved you? That Michael wished to be your son? Because they both knew how noble you are.”

Sean made a grudging sound. “I never thought to marry her, Elle. She told me she was with child a few days after the massacre. I was in such shock, she’d lost her father, and suddenly we were exchanging vows.”

“I understand.”

He studied her quietly. “Do you? Do you genuinely understand? Have you forgiven me, Elle?”

She smiled at him, recalling the anguish his betrayal had caused. “I do understand. I understand completely because I know you so well—and that is why I have forgiven you.”

He smiled, relief in his eyes. “I thought about you that day. I was so uncomfortable. There were so many memories. You were such an impossible child. Just before I left Askeaton, I couldn’t reconcile that child with the woman you had become. The night I left, do you remember it?”

She was thrilled. “I will never forget. I tried to kiss you and you were horrified.” She actually blushed.

“I was afraid,” he said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

“It doesn’t matter.” But now she truly began to understand what had happened to them, as she had grown from child to woman.

“Doesn’t it?”

“We agreed, there is no going backward.”

“But I let you down, didn’t I? You trusted me yet I left you—I failed
you
.”

“You could never let me down,” she whispered, meaning it with all of her heart. “You promised me you would come back, and you did. And I will always trust you, Sean.”

His gaze held hers. It did not waver. “That promise meant something different to each of us.”

She tensed, somehow knowing she would not like whatever he intended to say next.

“I’m glad you’re marrying Sinclair.”

Those were words she had never wanted to hear. “
Don’t
.”

“He will take care of you and he loves you. Once, that was my duty and my responsibility. Now, it will be his.”

“You sound as if we are over! We will still be friends!” she cried fiercely. “That will never change!”

He gave her an odd look. “I don’t think friendship is possible anymore.”

She cried out, aghast. “I may become Sinclair’s wife, but I will always love you exactly the way I do right now. You will always be my best friend—you will always be the one I turn to when in need!” She fought the urge to cry. “You are my heart, my soul!”

His mouth turned down, forming a hard line. A terribly intense moment fell. After the lifetime they had shared, after all of the pain and passion, Eleanor wanted to know if he also felt that their love would survive anything, even her marriage to Peter.

He finally said, “You have to go forward.”

She shook her head. “And away from you? Never.” Then, as he was not about to expound, she asked, “What will you do, when you are released, a free man?”

“If I am freed, I am going to America.”

She was stunned. “You will go home. You have to go home to Askeaton—it is where you belong.”

“With you and your husband a few miles away at Adare? No, I don’t belong there now.”

She felt the rush of more fear. “Of course you do! We never finished all the rooms! I can come over to help you, from time to time, when Peter and I visit Adare in the summer!”

“You cannot marry him and have me, too.”

“You’re my
best
friend! Of course I can!”

“Elle, stop! Everything is about to change. You are going to be another man’s wife. You will have his children. And it won’t matter where I am or what I am doing, because you will be happy—you will have forgotten this…us.”

She was aghast. “How can you think such a thing? Forgotten us?” she echoed. “I will never forget this—us—you! Sean, promise me that, when you are freed—”

He cut her off. “No!” he cried. “
No!
”

She stared, stunned. “Don’t ask me to let you go,” she begged desperately.

“Don’t cry!” He reached through the bars, “Please, this is for the best.”

She fought for composure. “It is best that I uphold my bargain with Peter and marry him. I am committed. But it is also best that you live in your home, where you are loved, where you belong—and we will remain good friends.”

He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “This debate is absurd, because I will probably hang. You should go.”

It crossed her mind that this was the end, then, for them, because he saw no possibility of continuing their relationship. He was so resolved. She did not
move, panic consuming her. She could not bear losing Sean this way. “I can’t go—not now, like this!”

He slowly looked at her. “I am happy for you…Eleanor.”

“No! It is Elle—it will always be Elle!”

He inhaled slowly, deeply. “You are going to have a good life. There will be children—maybe even an impudent girl, just like the child you once were. I am very happy for you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving, not yet. When will I see you again?”

He stared. “You know that is not a good idea. You know this is farewell.”

She cried out, clinging to the bars.

And Sean turned away, calling for the guard.

“D
ARLING
?”

Eleanor was in her mother’s hothouse, wearing heavy leather gloves, a trowel in hand. Although it was frigidly cold out and terribly damp, inside it was warm. She wore a light wool shawl over her cotton gown as she repotted several plants, all exotic species of roses. Eleanor had never had any inclination to garden until the past month, but her mother’s hothouse had become her refuge, where she could toil in the heated and humid atmosphere in isolation, her only companion her numb heart.

“Darling?” Peter dared yet again, his tone filled with hesitation.

Eleanor was still, not turning to face him, aware that he stood in the entrance to the hothouse. An entire thirty-two days and six hours had gone by since she had been to Kilraven Hill to see Sean. In that time, her fiancé had treated her with the utmost respect and
even more caution, as if afraid that she might break should he say the wrong word or use the wrong tone. Eleanor spent most of her waking hours in the hothouse, but when the weather permitted, she would don Sean’s shirt and her breeches and gallop across the hills on her stud, alone. She slept late and went to bed early. She slept with Sean’s shirt in her arms. There was no word from either her father or Lord Henredon.

Eleanor took a breath, smiled firmly and with resolve, and laid the trowel down. She turned to face Peter. “Hullo,” she said brightly. “Have I forgotten the time again?” She knew what time it was. She wore a small pocket watch pinned inside her bodice, and actually, it was thirty-two days, six hours and twenty minutes since she had left Sean’s cell.

She knew she should not be tracking time. After all, it was over, he had made it clear that he would not budge. If she dared to recall their last conversation—which she did not—she would be rushing outside and demanding a horse, any horse, so she could gallop to the fort to see him another time and beg him for any other recourse to their lives.

Peter smiled and approached, closing the door to the hothouse behind him. Perspiration instantly appeared on his forehead and cheeks. “I am going to Limerick with Rex. Do you need anything?”

“Something to read would be wonderful,” she lied. She had never had the patience to read before, just as she had never had the patience to garden, but locking herself in her rooms for hours at a time, she would insist she was engrossed in a new novel. There was a stack of such books by her bed, all untouched. Rex knew. He had come into her rooms unannounced one morning when she was supposed to be reading and had found her staring out of the window into the fog. He had instantly ascertained that of the half-dozen tomes on her bed table, not a single one had even been opened. He hadn’t said a word. Instead, he had asked her advice on his domestic affairs—apparently he was in need of a housekeeper.

Eleanor knew he wished to distract her; he had definitely become her favorite brother.

Now Peter nodded, his gaze searching. “I thought you might be ready for another book,” he said with an obvious effort at good cheer. “How is the planting coming?”

“Very well,” Eleanor said, gesturing behind her. Reading was impossible, as it required mental concentration. Planting required a repetitive physical act and she was quite good at it. “Take your time, Peter, enjoy yourself in town,” she added.

“We’ll pause for a light dinner.” He hesitated and
then took her gloved hand as if he wished to raise it to his lips. Eleanor tensed, then told herself to relax, as he could not kiss her hand—the glove was covered with soil.

Peter looked her in the eyes and leaned forward, brushing his mouth to her cheek. His own gaze had become dark. “Eleanor, I despise seeing you so morose!” he suddenly cried with fervor. “Maybe lingering here as we await some word regarding your brother’s fate is not the best idea. Maybe we should sail for Chatton. I am certain Cliff would not mind transporting us to England.”

Cliff had remained in the country,
The Fair Lady
now at port in Limerick. Eleanor was certain he would not leave until Sean had received a pardon, just as she was certain he intended to break Sean from jail and sail him away, should that pardon be denied. In fact, he had spent several nights at Askeaton with Devlin, Rex joining them, and she knew a conspiracy had been formed to answer the worst scenario. Devlin, of course, had left shortly after Sean’s capture. He, too, was in London, drumming up support for Sean’s pardon at the Admiralty.

“I can’t leave,” Eleanor said firmly. She did not attempt to smile now. “If your brother was in the
jeopardy that Sean is in, you would hardly desert him now.”

Peter was grim. “You are right, of course. But this is taking so terribly long. We have had one brief missive from your father, which merely said he was hoping for the best. I am beginning to worry, darling.”

Eleanor withdrew her hand and hugged herself, mindless of the dirt. “Your father and my father combined could
never
be denied,” she said fiercely. It was a refrain she believed with all of her heart, as there was no room for doubt. “And now Devlin is in town, too, and he remains a naval hero.”

“I know you are trying to be brave,” Peter returned seriously, “but it breaks my heart to see you so saddened, Eleanor.”

He could not know the real cause of her sorrow. “We will hear something soon,” she insisted. “Very soon, I am sure.”

“You are so brave!” he exclaimed. “At least Cliff and the runners found Flynn. He is our witness to the events of that horrid night.”

Eleanor pulled her gloved hand from his. Flynn had been brought to Adare two and a half weeks ago by a triumphant Cliff. Word had immediately been dispatched to the earl. “I am certain that Father will appear at any moment with good news,” she said firmly.

Peter clasped her shoulder and she was forced to face him. His gaze held hers. “I want to cheer you,” he said after a long pause. “How can I do that?”

“Bring me a new novel,” she said with a smile. “You know that will cheer me considerably.”

He turned away, but not before she glimpsed sadness in his eyes. And Eleanor became concerned. Did Peter suspect the truth? That she was frantic for Sean’s fate and grieving over the loss of their friendship? She had been so careful to be social and charming, to choose the right words, the correct replies. Her smiles, while artificial, were well rehearsed. And should he make a jest, she was quick to laugh at it—she was always the first to do so.

“I will see you at supper, then,” Peter said quietly.

Eleanor hesitated, and then she ran to him impulsively. “Peter!”

Surprised, he faced her.

“Thank you for your kindness and understanding,” she said, meaning it. “I am sorry I am not more amusing.”

He pulled her into his arms. Surprised, Eleanor stiffened, as they had not shared an intimate embrace since her return. “I do not want you to dissemble to make me happy,” he said earnestly. “I only want to see your eyes sparkle with laughter and joy again.”

She remained tense, but less so. “I will become my old self again, I will. I just need to know that Sean is going to walk away from all of this a free man.”

His gaze searched hers, and Eleanor instantly recognized the need there. Her heart raced in some alarm. “I cannot imagine our fathers failing,” he said quietly. “Eleanor?”

This was inevitable, she thought. After all, as soon as they received word of an amnesty, they would marry on the following weekend. It had been planned. And that night she would share Peter’s bed. She intended to give him all of the passion she could muster—he deserved far more and that was the least she could give. She hoped, vaguely, that in time, she could give him more than friendship, loyalty and respect. It didn’t matter. She would be the perfect wife; she had made up her mind. But then her mind betrayed her will and she thought,
Maybe one day,
Sean would return to Askeaton and they would pick
up the shattered pieces of their lives; maybe, when
they were older, their temples gray, they would finally
become best friends once more
.

Peter’s lips brushed hers, jerking Eleanor into the present. Instantly she reminded herself that she must not wish for a future that, in all likelihood, would
never be. She somehow smiled and returned Peter’s gentle, uncertain kiss.

“I do not know whether I should be so forward now,” he whispered.

“If you wish to be forward, it is your right. We are affianced,” Eleanor said firmly. She closed her eyes and waited for another kiss. This time, she returned it with more fervor.

Peter finally stepped back, appearing dazed and smitten. He touched her cheek. “You are beautiful, even when you are up to your elbows in dirt. Until tonight, then.”

Eleanor nodded, still smiling. Then he whirled and strode from the hothouse.

Eleanor began to tremble. She sat down quickly on a stone bench, her temples throbbing with a migraine, her knees uselessly weak. Once, long ago, Peter’s amorous kisses had moved her. Now, she could barely will herself to suffer through them. Somehow, she thought grimly, she was going to have to change that.

And then she heard a soft jangle, not from the vicinity of the front door, but from a distance behind her. She turned, her eyes widening.

Cliff stood behind a huge palm, staring at her. She could not imagine how he had walked in without
either her or Peter hearing him; he must have used the hothouse’s back door.

He strode toward her. He was wearing a beautiful navy blue coat over a silver waistcoat with tan pants; he made a conscious effort to dress fashionably when at the house. It didn’t matter. In spite of the attempt, he looked dangerous, more like a buccaneer pretending to be a gentleman than the genuine article. The sheathed dagger he wore beneath the jacket was visible and did not help the impression he made. Neither did his huge gold spurs.

Eleanor leaped to her feet. Every day someone from the family went to Kilraven Hill to visit Sean, the only exception being herself, as she could not go and would not be welcome if she did so. All of her brothers were kind enough to honestly tell her how Sean fared when she asked. Of course, she only did so in a privy moment. She wrung her hands. “How is he?”

“Are you all right?” he asked instead, his tawny brows lifting.

“Didn’t you just visit Sean?”

“No. The countess went with Lizzie today and they have yet to return.”

Disappointment claimed her. However, there was never anything new to report. Sean continued to have some anxiety and with it, occasional bouts of claus
trophobia, but apparently he was becoming more skilled at controlling these moments. Her brothers insisted that he was in good spirits. Eleanor felt certain that they all lied and that he was resigned to his fate at the gallows.

Cliff laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you cannot kiss your fiancé, how will you bear his children?” His tone was kind.

She felt herself blush. “I believe it is done all the time.”

“So you are a woman of the world now?”

“I think everyone already suspects that.”

He actually blushed, as the extent of her relationship with Sean had been carefully ignored by one and all, but his eyes turned black. “He admitted the truth to me, Eleanor. I almost choked him for it.”

She tensed in genuine alarm. “I do not need defending—Sean needs defending.”

“Your honor needs defense and you know it as well as I do. This was not the subject I came to discuss but upon brief reflection, there may never be a better moment.”

She was more alarmed now than before. She glanced toward the hothouse door, but it was closed. Peter was surely long gone; in any case, she lowered her voice. “I have no regrets. I gave Sean my heart a
long time ago and I will never take it back. I know that you disapprove of everything that transpired in Cork, but I don’t care. If I had the chance to go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything.”

Cliff folded his arms across his broad chest. “Are you with child?”

Her heart skipped. “I don’t think so.”

His brows lifted.

“This conversation is too intimate!” she snapped. Because the truth was that she hadn’t had her monthlies yet. Eleanor hadn’t dared to face the possibility that she might be carrying Sean’s child. Worrying about Sean’s fate was enough of a cross to bear.

Cliff stared at her.

Eleanor knew she flushed. She turned away, but he seized her arm. “Is there a chance that you could be with his child?” he asked very firmly.

Her color increased as she met his unwavering regard.

He realized her answer and his eyes widened. “Have you thought about this at all?” he demanded incredulously.

She pulled away. “I can’t think about it now,” she said unevenly. But she didn’t have to consciously think about it. For she knew she would be thrilled if she could bear a child of Sean’s into the world. And
she also knew that if she did turn out to be carrying his child, she would have to tell Peter the truth. Eleanor had no idea what would happen next. She doubted Peter would be able to forgive her such a trespass. Surely he wouldn’t want to raise another man’s child as his own. On the other hand, he loved her and had the most generous spirit she had ever witnessed in anyone. As for Sean, he had made himself clear. If freed, he was leaving; if there was a child, he wanted that child raised by Peter.

“You had better start thinking about it,” Cliff said sharply.

And suddenly Eleanor knew there was news. She seized his sleeve. “What is it? Why are you here? What have you come to say to me?” She was terrified.

He put his arm around her to support her. “I have news, Eleanor,” Cliff said, and he smiled. Her eyes flared with hope. “Devlin’s ship has been spotted off the coast and his signal flags have been raised. The earl is with him—and they have Sean’s pardon.”

S
EAN NO LONGER
feared sleep. Since being apprehended this final time, sleep had become an ally, for suddenly it was deep and, for the most part, dreamless. And when he drifted into dreams, he was swept far back in time to places that were warm and
inviting—places he longed to go. There were lazy summer days chasing a young barefoot Elle across the lawns of Adare, days filled with laughter and hope; there were evenings spent at Askeaton, during those early days when the manor was charred and ruined, evenings in which he and Elle were too exhausted to do more than eat a quick supper and tumble into their separate beds. There were wild madcap rides and equally wild races, there were days spent swimming at the lake. There were supper parties when she was home from her first Season. In his dreams, he marveled at her beauty and could not understand how he had been so blind and oblivious for so long. There were also moments of lovemaking, during the days they had spent in Cork, moments that were wild, hot, intense….