The Stolen Bride. Brenda Joyce
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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?
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