by Brenda Joyce
Rex was awake. He was seated on the sofa before the hearth, still dressed in his evening clothes, his jacket tossed aside, a glass of brandy in hand. He had been staring at the fire. When he heard her, he whirled, reaching for his crutch, which was on an ottoman by his hip.
Eleanor paused, panting.
He took one look at her and his face darkened. He set the brandy down and lunged to his foot, the crutch firmly beneath his arm. “Eleanor?”
She must never let him or anyone know what had actually happened that night. She realized her face was damp and that she must have been crying. “Rex, Sean just left the house. Please!” She stopped. She had actually rushed to him to beg him to bring Sean back. Now she froze.
He needed to flee the house, their guests, the authorities and the country, and she needed to go with him.
But nothing had changed—she was marrying Peter in the morning, so he could safely escape.
She was hot and cold, at once. She hadn’t had a chance to think about what had just happened, but she did so now. Had she done the wrong thing? How could she marry Peter now? How could she not?
I didn’t come…for that.
Then why did you come back?
I don’t know.
She had wanted him to touch her, hold her and kiss her as if he loved her, so she could cherish that pretense. But what had happened? She had seduced him until he could not resist her. There had been a stunning explosion of passion and an even more stunning release of that passion, but passion wasn’t necessarily love. And the truth was that she had wanted him to love her—the way she loved him.
Now, she thought about the look of shock and horror on his face after they had made love.
“You should marry…Sinclair!”
What did she want Rex to do? Find Sean and drag him back to her, so he could look at her with more horror and even revulsion? He didn’t love her the way she wanted to be loved, and that had never been clearer.
“Eleanor!” Rex was towering over her. “What the hell has happened? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
Eleanor jerked and realized that her brother was furious, suspecting the worst—that is, he was suspecting the very truth. She somehow smiled, in order to reassure him. “I am never going to see Sean again and my heart is broken. We had an argument and he left before I could bid him farewell. Can you find him? You and Cliff have to help him escape and I need to see him one last time.” That, at least, was the truth. There had to be a final goodbye.
Rex stared, his face a mask of suspicion. “Was he in your room?”
She lifted her chin. “Where else would it be safe enough for us to meet?”
A very ugly look filled his eyes. “You need to tell me the truth,” he said harshly.
She interrupted. “I am telling you the truth! Sean just pointed out the advantages to my marrying Peter. In fact, he wants me to marry him. And that is why I am so upset.”
Rex studied her for a brief moment and nodded. “I’ll try to find him. Get dressed. If I do find him, I am taking him to Limerick and that is where you will be able to say goodbye.” Not waiting for her reply, he turned and went to Cliff’s door. Eleanor waited another moment, to make certain Cliff would answer, which he did, and then she returned to her room on the second floor. If anyone could find Sean, it was her brothers.
She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, recalling in vivid detail the sexual episode she had just shared with Sean. She trembled, suddenly sick at heart.
Had she been used?
She choked on the surge of anguish. There had been so much passion—she was never going to forget the way he had kissed her. But everything had happened in minutes, mere minutes—or was it seconds? He had kissed her as if he had wanted to kiss her for a lifetime—or had he been kissing her the way a man who was forced into two years of celibacy does? Had his passion meant something? Had it meant anything at all?
Eleanor realized she was seated on the floor, her back to the door.
She had thrown herself at Sean, refusing to listen to his insistence that he did not want to become involved with her. Maybe she should have listened. Maybe, for once, she should have heeded what someone else wanted, and not what she wanted. There had not been one soft smile, one tender look. Eleanor felt sick inside. But hadn’t Sean insisted that he had changed irrevocably?
When Rex returned, it was dawn. Eleanor remained seated in almost the same position, hugging her knees to her chest. She had rehashed every word and every moment she had shared with Sean since his return—as well as every moment she had spent in his arms that night. There was only one conclusion to be drawn. She loved him and she always would, even as dark and different as he now was; but he did not love her in return. Once, he had loved her as a sister and a friend, but even that was lost to her now. Sean had changed, and nothing would ever be the same.
Eleanor stood, her joints stiff, her body now aching from the loss of her virginity. She opened the door and saw Rex. He was grim, and in that moment, she knew without having to be told that he had not found Sean.
“I’m sorry. He’s become as wily as a fox, Eleanor. He’s gone to ground.” His gaze was searching.
She nodded, mouth pursed.
Rex seemed very upset. “Are you certain he did not hurt you?”
She shook her head, incapable of speech.
“Have you slept at all? It will be dawn in another half hour.”
How could she sleep? “No.”
He sighed then. “Eleanor, you are to be married in a few hours.”
Eleanor turned away, choking on a cry. She was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically, and she had not one ounce of reserves left. A few days ago she had been pleased by the prospect of marriage to Sinclair; now, she was ill with dread. She needed to be rational and reasonable, but her mind was too tired to analyze anything. She could hardly jilt a high-ranking nobleman like Peter Sinclair now. So what was there to think about?
“Eleanor, you need to get a few hours of sleep,” Rex said kindly.
She turned and met his soft and concerned gaze. “I love Sean,” she heard herself say.
“I know.” He hesitated. “Sweetheart, it is over. Even if he loved you in return, Cliff is right. You have no future with him. But he doesn’t love you the way you wish. If he did, he would not have left you in tears this way. And he would not be promoting your marriage—he would be breaking it up.”
His words hurt. Eleanor choked and Rex pulled her against his solid, broad chest. “Get some rest,” he advised softly.
Eleanor nodded.
ELEANOR WENT DOWNSTALRS. Sleep had been impossible. If she was getting married, she was going to need help—otherwise three hundred guests, her family and her groom were going to know that something was very wrong with the bride.
She found her sister-in-law in the kitchens, where she was discussing the banquet that would follow the wedding. Lizzie was very fond of cooking and, since marrying Tyrell, she had gradually been assuming some of the countess’s duties and responsibilities. She had become Eleanor’s best friend in the three years since her small, intimate wedding to Tyrell, and she was one of the kindest women Eleanor knew. Now, she took one look at her and hurried over. Eleanor knew that she was a sight. It was obvious she had been crying; her eyes were red and swollen and she was dreadfully pale.
“Eleanor? Oh, my dear, come here, let us speak,” Lizzie cried, leading her from the kitchens. She put her arm around her.
Eleanor tried to smile brightly at her, but she knew she failed. “I know you are terribly preoccupied,” she began, “and I cannot thank you enough for supervising the reception—”
Lizzie cut her off, clearly worried. “Eleanor! What is wrong? Are you ill?”
Eleanor bit her lip. It was hard to speak clearly. “Would you help me dress? I don’t feel all that well, actually, and I know I am a sight.”
Lizzie’s gray eyes were wide. “You are hardly a sight,” she lied, “but you seem nervous and you
appear exhausted. Have you slept at all?”
Eleanor shook her head. “If you could help me with my rouge?”
Lizzie hesitated, her concerned gaze searching. “You are as dear to me as my birth sisters, Eleanor. This should be the happiest day of your life. But it’s not, is it?”
Eleanor closed her eyes. Sean’s image assailed her mind, not as she had first seen him in the woods, but as he strode across her bedroom, his eyes wild and hot before he took her.
“Dear, shall we sit and speak about this?”
Eleanor shook her head in negation. “Just… help me dress…please?”
“Of course!” But Lizzie took her hand and held it tightly. “Eleanor, if you are so unhappy, maybe you should not go through with it.”
Eleanor met her gaze. “You are so brave. You and Ty scandalized the ton with your indiscretions. How did you do it, Lizzie?”
Lizzie smiled a little. “I was so in love, I simply refused to think about the world outside. Until that world refused to stay away. Eventually reality intruded.” She stared. “Do you really wish to go through with it?”
“I don’t care,” Eleanor said. Her heart lurched with dread and dismay. “I don’t care. If the wedding were in a few weeks, I might break it off, but it is in hours. I don’t have the strength to care.”
“What has happened?” Lizzie asked softly.
Eleanor was about to tell her. But she would go directly to Tyrell, the future heir to the earldom. Ty must not know about Sean. He must never become involved. “I am sad,” she whispered, and she shrugged. “Once, I dreamed of marrying someone else. Those dreams are over now.” Eleanor pulled away before Lizzie could reply and left her standing there outside the kitchens.
Eleanor traversed the corridor. She had no wish to run into any of their guests, and to avoid the main hall, she slipped outside so she could enter the family’s wing of the house from a back entrance. She was just about to safely reenter the house undetected when she glimpsed a flash of red from the corner of her eye. She whirled to stare toward the driveway where it curved in front of the house. Even from a distance, Eleanor recognized Captain Brawley.
He had been invited to her wedding, as her father wished to stay on good terms with the British soldiers. Brawley was the ranking officer in the county and as such, the officer attending to local disturbances and affairs. Major Wilkes commanded the county and Cork and Kerry, as well. Now Eleanor saw that Brawley was with five other troops, immersed in a rather intense conversation as they sat their mounts in the front drive. She did not think twice; she lifted her skirts and hurried across the lawns toward them.
The men were about to disperse, Eleanor realized, her heart racing, all of her exhaustion gone. “Captain!” she called, increasing her pace. “Captain Brawley!”
He instantly turned his charger, his gaze going wide with surprise. “Lady Eleanor,” he said, instantly dismounting. He bowed. He was in his early twenties, with jet-black hair, fair skin and light blue eyes. They were acquainted, due to his regular calls at Adare, but their exchanges had been infrequent and mundane. Although Brawley was a young man and handsome enough, he was neither a charmer nor a rake; in fact he was very serious and very intent. He was always polite, and he usually paused to have a word with her when he was at the house. All in all, she had found him very unremarkable.
She managed a bright smile, her heart racing. She had to know what the captain and his men were doing there at Adare. He had been invited to her wedding, but his troops had not. Surely he was not hunting Sean! “Captain, good morning.”
“Lady Eleanor, I pray I am not disturbing you, today of all days.” A slight flush colored his high cheekbones. He was stiff in posture, although his carriage was correct.
She was in no humor for a stilted exchange now. “You are hardly disturbing me, as I am the one greeting you. You are early for the wedding—I am not even dressed.” She somehow laughed, as if in gay spirits.
His gaze was on her face, though, and she was afraid he was remarking her recent tears and her unnatural pallor. “Lady Eleanor, I fear I am presuming on your time. Should I escort you back to the house?”
She smiled brightly. “Are you here for my wedding, already? It is not even noon!” She refused to be deterred.
He hesitated. “Actually, no, I have other duties to attend, but I will not miss the wedding.” He smiled politely at her.
Eleanor scrambled to think. Was he there at Adare looking for Sean? What other reason could there be? She was so afraid and she realized she was shaking.
Instantly he caught her arm. “Lady Eleanor! Are you about to faint? You seem terribly pale.”
She held on to him tightly, so he could not go. “Captain, you must tell me the truth.”
“Let me find you a place to sit so I can summon help,” he said.
She shook her head. “I am getting married in a few short hours, as you know. And because of this, everyone thinks to keep me blissfully ignorant. But I know you were here a few days ago—and I know the reason for your call, Captain.”
He was grim. “Lady Eleanor, I think I must see you back to the house. It is your wedding day, as you have pointed out, and my men and I are a terrible intrusion.”
Eleanor seized his arm. “Yesterday I received terrible news, news that my stepbrother Sean had been in prison and that he has recently escaped. Then I find you here, with your men! If you are hunting the stepbrother I am so fond of, then you must tell me!”
“Lady Eleanor,” he said after a terse pause, “I am afraid I cannot discuss this subject.”
“He isn’t here!” she cried. “If Sean were here, he would come to wish me well, especially today!”
Brawley stared at her as if torn.
“Surely you do not think he is here?” She released his sleeve. “Sean and I were raised together under this very roof. I am so worried for him! And whatever they say he did, they are wrong. Sean is innocent of all the charges against him.”
“Lady Eleanor, if your family thinks it best not to inform you of all that has transpired, surely I should not be the one to do so,” he said firmly.
She felt tears well, tears engendered by her exhaustion, encouraged by her raw emotions. “How can I marry today not knowing if he is alive or dead? Not knowing if he is safe? Not knowing where he is?”
“Please, Lady Eleanor!” Brawley handed her his immaculate white handkerchief. “I am afraid I was instructed to search the grounds,” he said. “But my orders to do so were not based on any evidence that he has been here. In fact, our search of the entire area has proved the very opposite—your stepbrother has not returned to Adare.” He tried to smile stiffly at her. “So you may know that he is safe, wherever he is.”
Eleanor stared into his eyes, beyond relief. “So the search is over?”
He looked away. “I am afraid not. By law, he is a fugitive, and I am under orders to apprehend him.”
All relief vanished. She did not have to know Brawley well to know he was a man who carried out his duty, no matter the cost. “And that is what you will do?” she asked bitterly. “Even knowing, as you now do, that he is innocent?”
He was rigid, and he did not quite look at her now. “Your loyalty to your stepbrother is commendable. If you must know, I would be as loyal, if I were in your shoes. But I am a soldier, Lady Eleanor, and I must obey my orders.”
She had a dreadful suspicion. “And what are your orders, precisely?” she asked, trembling. Traitors were hanged. There was no quarter given, and Sean had already been convicted of high treason. “Captain Brawley? You said your orders are to apprehend Sean—yet you refuse to look me in the eye!”
“He is a dangerous man!” he cried, meeting her gaze and flushing. “Why do you torment yourself this way, so soon before your wedding?”
She gripped his arm. “There is more! What aren’t you telling me? And Sean is not dangerous!”
Brawley seemed to struggle with himself. He shrugged free of her. “He is wanted dea
d or alive, Lady Eleanor. I am sorry to be the one to tell you so.”
Eleanor cried out.
ELEANOR SAT in her wedding dress before the vanity in her dressing room, both of her sisters-in-law with her. Devlin’s wife, Virginia, was a petite woman with fair skin and black hair who had been born on a plantation in the state of Virginia. Virginia had just remarked how beautiful Eleanor was in her beaded and lace-trimmed wedding dress.
Eleanor could not care. She could not shake Brawley’s words. Now, she prayed Sean was on a ship and bound for the Atlantic Ocean.
She stared at her ashen reflection, the diamond tiara she wore with its attached veil doing nothing to help her complexion. She appeared ill, or as if she was in mourning. But she was in mourning, she thought. She was mourning the loss of her best friend and the man she loved. She wondered if she would mourn forever.
And to make matters worse, she was about to go downstairs and marry Peter Sinclair, an honorable man who loved her. Eleanor knew she had wronged Sinclair last night and that she was wronging him now by marrying him.
Lizzie moved closer to Eleanor, laying her palm on her bare shoulder. The wedding gown had short, puffed, dropped sleeves, a wide, square and low neckline and huge tulip-shaped skirts. The entire dress was made of lace, sewn with pearls and silver thread; the train was a pool of satin, trimmed in the same manner. “Dear, you haven’t said a word in an hour. Can we talk? Because you are frightening Ginny and me.”
Eleanor closed her eyes, overcome with despair. What was she doing? How could Sean have done what he had, never mind her invitation, and then just left? And, dear God, she didn’t want to marry Peter. It wasn’t honorable or right. But she had lost her will. She felt as if someone had beaten her into a bloody pulp, so badly she could barely move much less walk, think, talk, or even feel.
“Eleanor?” This from Virginia. “You are behaving as if someone has died. Not like a merry bride.”
Eleanor looked at her pretty sisters-in-law in the mirror. Their gazes met. “Someone has died. And I do not love Peter. I can’t do this.” She added, choking on bitter laughter, “Peter doesn’t deserve this.”
