The Stolen Bride (9 page)

He was staring at her, so she smiled back. “There’s a nice change of clothes in the oilskin,” she added.

“Thank you,” he finally said, grim and grudging at once. He sat down in the dirt, opening the bag. He glanced up at her, then bit into the cheese. In that moment, she felt how hungry he was. Eleanor went still, realizing she had been right to bring him food now. In minutes, he had devoured it all.

Had they starved him in prison? she wondered. She looked away so he would not realize how upset she was.

Suddenly he said, “Elle, I didn’t leave anything for you.”

She inhaled and turned, smiling. “I’m not hungry.”

His gaze met hers. “You’re always hungry,” he said softly.

The present slid away, and she knew he felt it, too. She had always had a huge appetite for a woman and no one knew it better than Sean. She thought of those
long days at Askeaton when she had labored at his side to rebuild the manor house from charred ruins; they had taken their meals on the floor, seated crosslegged before the hearth. “I had a huge breakfast,” she lied.

“Do you want some wine?” he asked, standing up. This time there was no mistaking that he was moving stiffly and awkwardly, as if hurt.

“No, thank you,” she answered.

He uncorked the bottle with a very frightening dagger. Then he hesitated, their eyes meeting.

She understood. “I don’t mind—you will not offend me by drinking from the bottle.”

He nodded and tipped the bottle. A look of sheer pleasure crossed over his face and she suspected he had not had a sip of wine in years. Her heart broke for him. The gentleman remained, there inside the felon, and he was trying to reappear, whether Sean knew it or not.

She took the opportunity to really enjoy the sight of him. He might be thinner than he had once been, but he had always been the most stunning man she had ever set eyes on, and that had not changed. The planes of his face might be harder and sharper, but every angle was beautiful and perfect. When they were children, he had been so beautiful, while she had been so plain, that they had both been teased about it.

And in a way, his body was perfect, too. Because he bore no fat, every movement caused an interesting reaction in the muscles and tendons there beneath his dark skin. There was no mistaking how hard and strong his body was. Her glance strayed to his narrow hips and she recalled the times she had so brazenly spied on him making love to the local wenches. Sean had been a rake as a young man, and she had glimpsed far more of his perfect body than she should have. She lifted her eyes, aware of blushing, thinking about the fact that he was excessively virile, vaguely aware that he had become so still. What would it be like to taste him? What would it be like to have him kiss her—really kiss her?

“Don’t,” he suddenly warned.

She tensed, their gazes locking. “I’m…not… doing anything.” She cleared her throat. “Sean, are you hurt? You are almost limping.”

“I’m tired,” he said slowly. “I’m sore,” he admitted.

She tried to imagine spending two years in a cell with no opportunity to hike or ride. In one way, she and Sean were alike—neither one of them liked the indoors at all. “You need to rest.”

“You need to go…back to the house. Your behavior this morning…has been too suspicious.”

“I’d like to talk to you first,” she said earnestly.

He faced her warily.

She stiffened. Why did he think to guard himself against her? “Sean, I am on your side—only on your side. You do know that?”

He was rigid and at first, unresponsive. “Elle… it’s not a clever idea…for you to help me in any way.”

She knew better than to argue. “Cliff returned last night.”

Sean’s expression relaxed. “How is he? Is he still cruising the West Indies and West Africa, fighting corsairs…taking prizes…shipping wine and silk… seducing Hapsburg princesses?”

“
Has
he seduced an Austrian princess?” Eleanor smiled. That would be just like her reckless brother.

“Yes, he is never home—he is always at sea. He has made a fortune, I think. He hasn’t changed very much,” she added.

Sean’s mouth moved, as if he wished to smile. “That’s good…. Cliff may be a rogue, but he’s the youngest son. He can do as he pleases…. He is fortunate.”

“Just as you did as you pleased?” She heard herself ask, thinking of the night he had left her.

His jaw flexed and he turned away from her.

She seized his arm from behind. “I’m sorry!”

Tension rippled through him as he faced her, withdrawing his arm. “I’m sorry…I hurt you.”

She stilled.

His gaze moved from her eyes to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. “I wouldn’t…do it again.”

“I am so glad you have come home!” She was an instant from reaching for him, from taking his handsome face in her hands. He must have sensed what she wanted, because he stepped farther away, watching her carefully now.

She wet her lips. “He has ships.”

Sean’s eyes flared.

“He has fast, fighting ships. He has a ship in Limerick. Sean, Cliff can help us leave the country!”

He seized her before she had any idea he was crossing the glade to come to her. “What did you tell him?” he demanded, releasing her as swiftly.

“I haven’t told him anything yet!” she cried. “But he has guessed that I am about to run away. He thinks I do not want to marry—and he is right.”

Sean stared. “I think not.”

“I beg your pardon?” She was confused.

“If you did not want Sinclair, then why were you…in his arms last night?”

She felt her cheeks burn. Sean hadn’t put any distance between them, safe or otherwise. His gaze
was riveted on hers. Desire filled her now. “I wanted,” she whispered, wetting her dry lips, “to know what it was like to be kissed.”

His silver eyes flickered, brightening.

She prayed that he would kiss her.

“Don’t,” he said tersely. “Don’t ever play me… the way you play Sinclair!” His chest rose and fell, hard.

For one moment, she had believed Sean would kiss her. She dismissed his remark, as she did not even want to attempt to decipher it. “I’m a woman now,” she tried. “Sean, surely you can see that!”

He held up his hand as if warding her off. His hand trembled. “Why won’t you listen? Why are you looking at me that way? I won’t be played…

Eleanor!”

“I have no idea what you mean. I am not playing you or anyone. Sean, I have missed you terribly.”

“But you won’t listen! I’m not that man…I’m not him.”

She shook her head. “I will never believe that.”

“Whatever it is that you want…I cannot give it to you now. Stop looking at me!” he cried desperately.

“I can’t. You must know how much I missed you and how much I love you.” The moment she had mistakenly confessed her feelings, she flushed.

His eyes went wide, half fury, half surprise. His
voice became a croak. “Go back to Sinclair… Eleanor…. Your future is in
England
. Your future is with
him
.”

“Now it’s not. It’s with you, in America, or wherever it is that you decide to go!”

He was shaking, but so was she. “You’re so stubborn…headstrong…a brat! I’d forgotten how impossible…you can be.”

“And you are wasting your time trying to convince me that you are some kind of criminal, some kind of terrible man!” But his words had hurt her immensely. Did he really see her as a spoiled brat? Had she deluded herself into believing that he saw her as a woman—a woman he wanted?

A hard cold mask settled over his face. “But I am a criminal…I am a murderer…an outlaw.”

She shook her head. “Why are you doing this? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

“You should be afraid of me,” he said, his gaze slamming to her mouth, his entire body shaking.

And then there was simply no more room for doubt. His look was male, potent and hot. It was crude and base, but clear. And now she understood his tremors—they were the tremors of desire. She didn’t think, but reacted, reaching for him slowly, taking his hand, raising it to his face, his mouth. “I don’t care
that soldiers died because of you. I don’t care that you were in prison and that you escaped and are a fugitive now. I will never be afraid of you, Sean.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he said harshly. He pulled her hand away from his mouth but held it tightly between them and her knuckles brushed his chest. “When will you understand? Sean is gone. But I’m here. You can call yourself Elle…or Eleanor, I don’t care. I’ve been locked up for two years. Tempting me now…is not a good idea. You
need
to be afraid of me. You need to be afraid of me
now
.”

It was a moment before she actually understood his meaning. And because his eyes were blazing, and she saw the wild lust there, she shrank. “Oh my God! Are you trying to tell me that you have no feelings for me—that you simply need to use a woman, any woman, right now?”

He stared and then, his mouth firming, his eyes hardening, he nodded. “Yes.”

His cruelty cut her like a knife. “I don’t believe you,” she gasped. He could not have changed so much. “You would never use
me
. You would
die
before using me.”

His grasp on her hand tightened painfully and for one moment, she was in shock. Had he turned into a complete and frightening stranger after all? But all
he did was slide his gaze over her dark brown riding habit as if stripping it away from her body. “
Sean
would die first,” he said softly, his meaning clear.

“No.” She didn’t try to pull free from him because every instinct she had told her that she would not succeed. “You may be a traitor but you are not a monster. I don’t know why you want me to think otherwise, but I refuse.”

He released her and gave her a hard, angry look.

She turned and walked away from him, more shaken than he could know. She couldn’t breathe—but she would never believe that Sean would hurt her. He had been her protector, her savior, her friend. But he had changed, after all. The question was, how much, and how irrevocable was it? She leaned against a tree, panting. For a moment, if she dared to be honest with herself, she hadn’t been certain what he would do. She wanted Sean O’Neill to desire her, to make love to her; she always would. And she was determined to get rid of that felon who had taken Sean over.

He was suddenly standing behind her.

Eleanor tensed but did not move.

An interminable moment passed before he spoke to her back. His breath feathered her nape, her ear. “I meant it. You need to be afraid…and you need to go.”

She fought for air. She fought for him, for them.
“I am not afraid of you, Sean. And if you want me that way, it is because I am both Elle and Eleanor, not because you are a felon in dire need of a woman.”

He made a harsh sound. “You need…to give up.”

She turned and found them face-to-face, his chest inches from hers. “I am not giving up on you.”

His eyes flickered.

But it still took courage to lift her hand. She caressed the scar on his cheek to prove to him that he had not succeeded in chasing her away. “You don’t bite, after all. I know you better than you know yourself.”

He jerked his face away from her hand. “You’re crying…again.”

She hadn’t realized. She let her hand fall to her side. “You’re hurting—and I hurt, too, when I look at you.”

“I don’t want your pity!” he exclaimed.

“I don’t pity you. I ache for you and all you have been through. And when you will let me, I will comfort you.”

“I won’t be here,” he said darkly.

Very carefully, she met his gaze. How could she reach him? Not the man he was insisting that he had become, but the man he really was? “Do you remember the first time I fell off that Welsh pony, the old sorrel?”

Watching his face, she saw his eyes light up.

He remembered, she thought, thrilled. “I was so
insulted that he wouldn’t take that log. I wanted to show off my horsemanship but I was only four or five years old.”

Sean looked away, his gaze blank now. “I don’t remember.”

He
had
remembered—she knew it. “I tried to make him jump the log and instead, he was nasty and he stopped. I flew right over his head.”

Sean walked away from her, his body rippling with his every step. Then he muttered, “I recall that pony. He was too old to jump a blade of grass, much less a log.”

She had to laugh. “Yes, he was. I adored him.”

He turned, his mouth suddenly soft. “Yes, you did.” He stopped.

She just looked at him.

He said, very deliberately, “There’s no point in discussing the past.”

She disagreed. He had been smiling, maybe not visibly but in his heart, and she had felt it.

“You used to call me Weed, which I hated, and you used to box my ears when I was truly annoying and chase me through the entire house.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” he said, the muscles in his jaw flexing

“Once, I hid in the attics. You couldn’t find me!
Suppertime came and there was an uproar downstairs. Father was furious because I was missing.” She almost laughed. “He was furious with you, Sean, when I was the culprit. You were punished— I think he took your hunter away for a week. I was patted and stroked and hugged and kissed when I finally came out of my hiding place.”

“You were six years old and you had everyone eating out of your hand.”

“So you
can
remember the past, when you want to.”

“But I don’t want to remember…any part…of it!” He was angry now. And his words were becoming thick.

She went still. His anguish was obvious. “Let me help you.”

“You have helped. You brought food…clothes.”

“You have never needed me more,” she said with utter determination. “I will not abandon you now, when you are in so much trouble.”

He suddenly looked sharply at her and she realized her choice of words had been too literal. Because she could feel all of his needs now. Having grown up with three very virile brothers, a virile stepbrother and Sean, she understood that a man’s needs were very different from her own—they were far more consuming. And a terrible plan came to mind.

“Maybe I do remember calling you Weed. I also used to call you Brat.” He paced the clearing.