The Stolen Bride

by Brenda Joyce

  The tension inside her spiraled wildly. In spite of the dire circumstances, in spite of the changes in Sean, she was happy. He had come home and she would never let him go without her again.

  Eleanor had reached the flagstone terrace and she slowed, glancing cautiously around. Her morning rides were usually over well before seven, before the sun had a chance to shake the chill of the prior evening. Well, it was past seven now, and the sun was high and warm. If it were close to eight, her father and her brothers and any number of their male guests were having breakfast in the morning room. Ladies rarely came down before ten or half past that hour.

  Rex appeared before her, having been seated alone on the terrace. Eleanor jumped nervously. He smiled, limping toward her. “Did I give you a fright?” he asked curiously.

  “Yes, you did,” she said even more nervously. His expression was oddly calm and flat.

  His gaze traveled over her. “You seem to be riding a bit later than usual.”

  He was suspicious, she thought in alarm. Rex was as solid and dependable as a rock, never mind his recently acquired sardonic humor. He had always been close to Sean—they were the exact same age. If she were not determined to be with Sean, she would go to him for help and advice. But she contained the impulse. Sean had been very clear that he did not want anyone in the family involved in his escape, and Rex would no more wish to see her running off with him than the earl or his brothers would.

  He smiled very slightly. “You are very flushed. It’s not that warm out,” he said.

  She swallowed hard, thinking of Sean, who so needed help.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

  She was almost certain that he was suspicious of her. She managed a smile. “I am running late, and I rushed here from the stables. The last thing I wish is for one of the Sinclairs to see me dressed like this.”

  “Do you want me to see if the path is clear?” he asked.

  She nodded and seized his left hand, as he always kept his crutch under his right shoulder. “That would be wonderful.”

  His eyes softened with kindness. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go first.”

  A few moments later, Rex signaled that the salon was clear, and she darted through it, into the hall and safely upstairs. A maid was passing. Instantly Eleanor changed the plans she had made with Sean. “Beth!”

  The plump girl paused, curtsying. “My lady.” She never blinked at the sight of Eleanor in men’s clothes standing in the hall at such an hour. Beth, while very pleasant and helpful, was rather dull and somewhat dim-witted, a fact that worked in Eleanor’s favor. So many of the staff indulged in the gossip that ran rampant below stairs.

  “I should like for you to go to the kitchens and fill a sack with a loaf of bread, a very large hunk of cheese—any kind will do—some meat if it is available and a bottle of wine. It need not be chilled,” Eleanor said. Sean had told her he could wait until the evening to eat, but she was not going to heed him now.

  Beth nodded. “Wine, bread and cheese,” she repeated.

  “In a sack. If Cook asks, you may tell him it is for me. You are to leave it outside the back kitchen door,” she instructed, hoping all of this would not be too much for Beth to manage. “And do not forget some meat, if we have it.”

  Beth left to obey her orders.

  Eleanor took a deep, calming breath. She was so overwhelmed with the stunning development of Sean’s return that it was hard to think clearly. He also needed clothes. She hurried up the hall, knocking on the door to the room that was Cliff’s. As a privateer who spent most of his time at sea, pursuing one fortune after another, he was rarely home. She had learned from a blushing maid that he had appeared late last night, well past the midnight hour but in time to join some of their guests for a few games of whist.

  There was no answer and she shoved open the door.

  The room was a large, lavishly furnished one with blue walls, a marble fireplace and a large canopied bed in its center. As there were so many bed coverings, it was hard to tell, but her brother most definitely seemed to be in its midst. “Cliff!” she demanded, striding over.

  He jerked upright, his chest bare, looking positively stunned to see her, and Eleanor realized he was not alone. She felt herself turn red as the woman next him hid under the covers.

  “Do you ever knock?” he exclaimed. Like all the de Warenne men, he was tall, well built and handsome to a fault. Like Eleanor, he had dark blond hair, but his was riotously streaked from the sun and years at sea. He was as bronzed as the pirates he hunted.

  “You just returned home. Can you not keep your hands to yourself for even a single evening?” she cried. Of all of her brothers, he was the one infamous for being a rake.

  “Can you not see that I am preoccupied?” he growled. “Might you leave?” He was now blushing.

  She began to enjoy the moment. Cliff was never discomfited and she wondered who the woman was. Her gaze strayed in the nameless lady’s direction. He had stopped enjoying housemaids at the age of fourteen—which was when he had run away from home on his first adventure—therefore the lady in his bed was one of her wedding guests. And that would undoubtedly make her a member of Peter’s family or the wife of one of his close friends.

  “That’s enough,” he said. Pulling a sheet around his waist so effectively he must have performed the feat a hundred times, he leaped from the bed.

  Eleanor quickly backed out of his reach. “I need some clothes.” She turned her back to him and ran into the hall.

  “I can see that!” He barked at her.

  She kept the bedroom door slightly ajar. She heard him pulling on his trousers. “No, Cliff, I need a pair of your breeches and a shirt—and a jacket,” she added. The moment she spoke, she realized the mistake she had made, in her eagerness to see Sean properly clothed, and she turned around.

  He walked into the hall and stared at her. Carefully, he closed the door behind them.

  She bit her lip, turned to flee. “Another time.”

  He caught her arm. “You are half-naked,” she said pointedly. She herself didn’t care, but a passing maid would surely faint.

  “What are you up to now?” he asked, ignoring her remark. “You’re getting married tomorrow afternoon. If that isn’t enough to make you into a proper lady, I don’t know what is. Has your fiancé seen you dressed like this?” He was judgmental.

  She stared sweetly into his vivid blue eyes. “The maid who let you in last night said she first thought you were a highwayman—and then a pirate.”

  He understood and folded his very solid and muscular arms over his equally solid and muscular chest. “I may choose to dress as a barbarian, but you do not get to choose how you dress. Besides, I came directly from my ship.”

  She sighed. “Cliff, just give me the clothes. I’ll explain—but not now.”

  His gaze was searching. “Are you in trouble?”

  She became still. Cliff had come directly from his ship. “Are you berthed in Limerick?” she asked slowly, her heart beginning to thunder in her chest.

  “And if I am?”

  She bit her lip. Cliff had been the master of his own ships, sailing the globe for four or five years now, and he had a record which spoke for itself. Last year alone, he had captured eleven prizes, an astounding feat. At the age of twenty-six, he was already recognized as being one of the great privateers of his time. Sean did not want Devlin involved, and he was right—Devlin had a wife and two children and their ancestral home to pass on to his son. But Cliff was an adventurer at heart. He had no wife—he would probably remain a bachelor until he died. And he had enough courage for ten men.

  He could sail them away to freedom, she thought. But how could he be convinced to allow her to come along, when she had yet to even convince Sean?

  “Eleanor, what trouble are you in?” he asked very sharply.

  She decided to put Cliff off for a bit. “Can you give me the clothes now and meet me later? I will tell you everything th
en.”

  “When?” he demanded, at once suspicious.

  “Meet me before supper in the gallery,” she said. She tried to smile at him. “I will explain. But I do need the clothes now.”

  “You’re running away, aren’t you? You’re running away from Sinclair, disguised as a man.”

  “Cliff!” She tried to protest.

  “Eleanor, you don’t have to run away. Good God, where would you go? How would you live? If you don’t want to marry Sinclair, we will go to the earl together and tell him. I will back you.”

  Tears came to her eyes. “You would have been my favorite brother if you had been here just a little,” she whispered.

  “Let me get dressed. Then we’ll speak with Edward,” he said. Oddly, he never called his father anything but the earl or Edward.

  She touched his arm. “I am not running away,” she said, and she wasn’t—at least, not the way he thought. “I want to tell you everything, I do, but I can’t—not until later.”

  He studied her. “I am confused and I freely admit it. Do you intend to marry Sinclair?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. Not anymore.”

  His gaze hardened. “So you will jilt him at the altar?”

  “I wish it could be different, but it can’t!” she cried.

  “I am not waiting until suppertime to find out what is going on,” he said with heat. “But don’t tell me you are not running away. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve never lied to me, Eleanor.”

  “You were never here,” she exclaimed. “I was ten when you ran away. Cliff, I need some time. Please. I am twenty-two, not two or three or ten! I know what I am doing. Let me borrow the clothes, and meet me at six tonight. And don’t mention what we have discussed to anyone!”

  His refusal was there, in his piercing blue eyes.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He finally nodded. “All right,” he said. “But I am not pleased.”

  She turned away before he could see her smile. He had not been easy to manipulate, but in the end, as she always did, she had gotten her way.

  WHEN SHE RODE into the glade where she had left Sean, there was no sign of him anywhere. For one moment her heart stilled, and she was afraid he had left her again.

  He stepped out of the woods. “What are you doing here?” he cried hoarsely. “I told you…I would come to the house tonight!”

  She slipped down from her horse, dressed now in a dark, ladies’ riding habit with a jaunty brimmed hat, having ridden sidesaddle. “I was not going to let you starve all day.”

  He was angry. He grabbed the horse’s reins as she removed the sack of food and wine from the saddle. “Damn it! Elle…were you followed?”

  “No, I was very careful.” She focused on the bundle in her arms. Being with Sean again was simply overwhelming in every possible way.

  “It’s almost noon!” he exclaimed. “Someone must have…seen you.”

  She gave him a bright look. “I am not a fool. I pleaded a headache to avoid all female company and then went down to the stables by myself. Here. There’s bread, wine, cheese and some ham.” She handed him the sack.

  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.”