The Stolen Bride

by Brenda Joyce

  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.

  He grasped her hands and removed them, his gaze instantly locking with hers. “You told them.”

  She understood. “They somehow guessed. I had to tell them you were here. They only want to help.”

  He shook his head. “I asked you…I begged you to keep silent. I explained….”

  “They were forceful and adamant! Cliff thinks to sail you far from here, tonight.”

  He stared at her, his silver eyes hot and bright.

  And when he did not reply, when he simply looked at her the way a man looks at a woman he wants to take to bed, she recalled her proposition—and the fact that this was their last night together. Desire slammed its huge fist into her.

  He had returned to take her to bed.

  She carefully lifted her gaze to look at him. He continued to stare, unmoving, but his breathing seemed labored, too. She wet her lips. “Sean.”

  His jaw flexed. “I didn’t come here…for that.”

  Her eyes widened. She wasn’t certain that she believed him. “Then why? Why are you here—in my bedroom?”

  He half shrugged, turning aside so she couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Why did you return at all?” she asked, for she desperately needed an answer she could understand—and live with forever. “If you didn’t come to take me with you and you didn’t come to see the family, why did you come?”

  “I don’t know!” he cried. And he seemed distressed, too. “I heard about…the wedding.” He gestured oddly now.

  A huge and awkward silence fell. There was so much tension in the room, it was hard to breathe. “But you didn’t come back to stop the wedding,” she finally said.

  Briefly their gazes locked. “No.”

  That was not the answer she wanted. “I have missed you so much. I am going to miss you when you leave. Sean, didn’t you miss me?”

  His face was tight. “In the beginning it was hard.”

  It was impossible to understand him now, when once she could almost read his mind. “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter! Not now!” He confronted her angrily.

  She shuddered, afraid of what that might mean.

  Before she could speak, he said, “Your dress is green.”

  Her heart leaped but her body became heavy and still. “Yes.”

  “Unwed ladies wear…white.”

  She had chosen her gown with care for the farewell Rex had promised and when she had learned that Sean was gone, she hadn’t thought about changing it. Her dress was darker and deeper than a pastel green and it was a part of her trousseau. She had been supposed to wear it after her wedding, as it was more appropriate for a married woman than one unwed, both because of the color and the design. It was the most alluring gown she owned. Both the countess and Tyrell’s wife, Lizzie, who had supervised her trousseau, had been very surprised to see her wearing it.

  She had worn it to impress Sean. She had worn it to make him look at her the way he had in the woods—the way he was doing now—with bold, burning eyes. He had said he would not accept her offer, but then why was he looking at her this way? “A young unmarried lady is allowed to wear pastels.”

  “That is not a pastel,” he said firmly.

  He was leaving her behind. Why couldn’t he understand that one night together was better than nothing? Why couldn’t he understand that even if he didn’t love her, she had enough love for them both? She was desperate to be in his arms, to make time cease, just for a while. She was desperate to feel his love, even if it was a pretense on his part.

  “I don’t like it,” he suddenly said.

  His words were hurtful. “It’s a beautiful dress.”

  He shrugged, folding his arms over his hard chest. “I don’t know anything…about fashion.”

  She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t sink so low as to play him, but she did. “Peter likes this dress. He was staring and it was obvious. He asked me to stroll in the gardens after we finished dining, but I refused.” That last statement was a bold lie.

  His color deepened. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Don’t point out that another man finds me very desirable, when you say you do not?” She was breathing rapidly now. “And when your claims are so clearly lies?”

  He jerked in surprise. “I said…I didn’t come here tonight…for you.”

  “Then why did you come?” she cried.

  “You belong…to someone else!” He was red.

  She froze. “No.” She shook her head. “No.” She had given her heart and her soul to Sean years ago. She belonged to one man and that was him.

  He seemed to be fighting to speak. “Did you… break off…with him?”

  She tensed.

  “I didn’t…think so. Good!” He stalked away, stiffly pacing the confines of her bedroom.

  She knew he was angry and upset, but she did not back off. “Sean, my offer stands.”

  He stumbled, then whirled. “No!”

  She dared to approach him. “Sean, we have always been honest and open with one another.”

  His eyes were wide, wary. “That was Elle.”

  She sensed him stiffening in resistance and struggled to find the right words. “I know you don’t love me, not the way I want you to. But Elle
has grown up—I think we are agreed on that.” She smiled but tension consumed her.

  “Last night…you were with Sinclair…moaning.”

  She gasped. “Let me finish, please!”

  “Why?” His furious gaze moved over her face and then dropped to her décolletage. “Tomorrow…you’ll be in bed…with Sinclair!” He stared unwaveringly at her.

  “I don’t love Peter. I don’t want to marry him. But why do you care? Why are you angry? And don’t tell me you’re not! Sean, this might be the last time we ever see each other—ever.”

  He faced her grimly, hands fisted on his hips. “I am not…angry. I want to talk about Sinclair!”

  “No!” she cried, trembling. “I want to talk about tonight—I want to talk about making love with you—right now!”

  He cried out. He was angry but he was also horrified and she knew it.

  She whispered desperately, “I’m not asking for your love.”

  “You should…marry Sinclair!” His eyes flashed. “The union is good. Damn it. Titles, land, wealth… But you can’t speak…this way! Do you understand?”

  She hugged herself. “Why? Because you are so tempted that you might lose control? I meant it when I said I am not afraid of you! Make love to me, Sean. Just this one time, so I can remember it forever.”

  He stared at her as if paralyzed.

  She stared back, and the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room could be heard ticking. A hundred seconds passed. She finally raised her hand in a plea. He flinched but was still. She inhaled and cupped his rough cheek.

  His body trembled but he did not move away and as their eyes locked, she saw the battle he was waging. Then she saw his long thick lashes drift closed. She gasped and he moaned.

  A knock sounded on her door.

  His eyes flew open and she saw fear in them.

  “Lady Eleanor?” her maid said.

  Sean had paled. “The maid?”

  “I’ll send her away!” Eleanor cried, seizing his hand. He had been a moment away from surrender, and she knew it. The timing could not have been worse. Now his thoughts were on discovery or escape.

  He shook his head fiercely. “Routine. Answer it.” The desire and need that had been so brightly reflected in his eyes was gone. His gaze was hard, controlled. Eleanor could not be more dismayed. Then he pulled away, crossing the room and disappearing behind the curtains.

  The window did not slam closed.

  Her maid knocked again. “Lady Eleanor?”

  She stood in the center of the room, barely hearing the maid, thinking about how Sean almost let her lead him to the bed. She was shaking with so much desire. Finally, she turned to let Lettie in.

  “My lady, what took you so long to answer?”

  Only her personal maid, whom she’d known her entire life, could be so bold. “I fell asleep,” she lied, glancing at the draperies again. She knew Sean hadn’t left; she could feel his intense presence.

  “Let me get your nightclothes, my lady,” Lettie said, going directly to the armoire and retrieving Eleanor’s white cotton nightgown.

  Eleanor was about to tell her that she would change later. It was late, though, and she had no excuse to make for not having Lettie help her get ready for bed, as that was what she did every single night. But Sean was standing a short distance away, hiding behind the curtains, and they had yet to finish the conversation that would have to last her the rest of her lifetime. How could she undress now?

  She began to tremble. Her breasts felt fuller, the tips tingling. She had become thick and swollen in unmentionable places.

  The maid had laid her nightclothes on the bed as she always did and she swiftly undid the buttons on the back of her gown. Eleanor tensed as Lettie pulled the gown over her head. She could no longer breathe; Lettie was untying the strings of her corset and loosening it.

  The corset vanished. Eleanor bent to reach for her garters, feeling naked now, her cheeks on fire. Her heart beat hard and fast, and her skin tingled wildly. She could barely believe what she was doing and she was certain Sean was watching.

  His lust, his need, his desperation had combined into a single tangible element and it filled the room.

  When her stockings and shoes were gone, she hesitated, trembling uncontrollably and afraid her maid would notice. Sean’s lovemaking was not going to be anything like Peter’s gentle kisses. She somehow was certain of it. She could not wait. She needed him now.

  And then her chemise was gone.

  And she suddenly could not stand it. Lettie was untying her drawers but all Eleanor could think about was Sean touching her bare skin, his hands on her hips, his mouth on the side of her neck.

  Suddenly her nightgown dropped over her head and spilled down her body. It was the finest spun cotton, the gown V-necked, the insets sheer, the body sleeveless and trimmed in lace. Eleanor could not move. Lettie unpinned her hair and then spread the masses out over her shoulders. Then she began to divide her hair into sections.

  Eleanor swallowed so she could speak. “No. I don’t want a braid tonight.” Before her maid could evince surprise, she smiled firmly. “Good night, Lettie. I am exhausted,” she added.

  She thanked her maid, walking her to the door without even realizing it. Nor was she aware of closing the door and locking it. All she could think was, Sean. The air in her room had become so thick she was almost choking on the tension, the heat. No, she was choking on his tension, his heat.

  She heard him coming.

  She turned, pressing her spine into the wood.

  Sean’s strides ate up the distance between them. His gaze was wide, hard, fierce.

  Eleanor felt a moment of extreme excitement, even fear. She had provoked him, and she saw he was beyond any control. He was aroused, so much so she could see the wide hard line in his breeches. And she felt the first spasm of uncontrollable pleasure, licking between her thighs.

  He didn’t stop.

  She arched back against the door, gasping.

  His hands seized her shoulders and their eyes collided.

  It was Sean, but she had never seen him like this before. He was crazed with desperation and lust.

  And then she knew she wanted to see affection and love there.

  But she had enough love for them both. “Sean,” she began, reaching for his beautiful face.

  His eyes seared hers, his mouth inches from her lips. “Too late!” he cried. And he pulled her against his stiff, inflamed body, and his mouth opened, covering hers.

  His mouth was filled with insatiable greed. She became still, grasping his shoulders, as he kissed her deeply, wetly, thrusting his tongue deep, licking her inside. Her heart burst. She swelled, and knowing it, he pressed his massive loins over her.

  She’d had no idea, she somehow realized, that passion was like this. She cried out, kissing him back now, using her tongue to explore him, filled with an answering greed. He gasped in pleasure, his hands finding her breasts, and ripped her nightgown away from her.

  She felt the first spasms begin as he teased her nipples into an impossible state of pleasure and pain, their mouths now fused completely. And then his chest flattened her breasts, and her spine was crushed against the door while his huge manhood slid between her wet thighs.

  Eleanor became dizzy and faint with cresting desire, the throbbing excitement.

  Shaking uncontrollably, as well, he pushed against her, his mouth now against the side of her neck. He was hot, wet and hard between her thighs.

  Eleanor began to fly and break apart and she wept in pleasure against his mouth.

  He gripped her buttocks, now bare, in his hands. “Please,” he gasped. “Elle, please, let me fill you.”

  She understood that he needed her and wanted her as he had never needed or wanted anyone before. “Sean!” Ancient instinct made her lift her leg and wrap it around his waist.

  He groaned, the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, helped her lift her other leg and then he was burying himself insi
de her.

  There was a brief pain, and then there was only dark mindless pleasure, hot friction, wet heat and a deep, rich wild spasm began. He was huge, filling her completely, perfectly. And he pushed hard and fast and faster still, gasping and determined, mindless, intent. Eleanor held on to him, sobbing with pleasure, crying in release.

  He cried out thickly, collapsing against her, his body convulsing, filling her with his wet heat.

  The tension rippled away, vanishing. She held him, gasping for breath, loving him more than ever, so much so that it hurt. She slowly released her legs, and he let her, so her feet found the floor. She held him more tightly, beginning to understand what had just happened. “Oh, Sean,” she whispered.

  He stiffened in her arms.

  In that moment, she knew he had regained his mind, too.

  And he straightened, looking at her with wide eyes—and it was a look she had seen once and hoped to never see again.

  He looked at her with shock.

  “No,” Eleanor began, reaching for him.

  He leaped away.

  “Sean! No! It’s all right!” she cried desperately, attempting to smile. “I love you!”

  He backed away, his eyes wide with disbelief. And then she saw his self-loathing begin.

  “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I love you—come back.”

  He shook his head, backing away another step. And then he turned and strode to the window.

  Eleanor wept his name.

  But he was already gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ELEANOR STARED OUT of the window and saw him racing across the lawns, a pale blur in the dark shadows of the night. She managed to recall that he was wanted by the authorities and that many of their guests would still be up, playing cards or billiards downstairs. Only that comprehension prevented her from screaming his name.

  She turned from the window, horrified. Sean could not go like this—not now!

  Eleanor ran to the bed and shrugged on her peignoir, crossing the room as she did so. The hall was lit at intervals by sconces and she stumbled down it. The earl and the countess had their suite at the end of the hall, and her bedroom was the only occupied room on this floor. She raced upstairs. The first room she came to was Rex’s and she did not pause. She simply barged inside.