The Stolen Bride

The moment he heard the terrace door open, he also heard her laughter, and while the sound was familiar, it was also strange and new. Her laughter had changed. It had become sultry; it was seductive.

He pressed his back to the wall, waiting for them to come into view, and as he waited, he realized that his loins were stiff and full. But he barely had time to absorb that terrible fact when they appeared, strolling to the balustrade. They were so engrossed in one another that he did not think they would notice him in the shadows against the house. She moved differently now, too. Her stride was long but there was a sensuous quality to the sway of her hips—a quality he instantly hated. She moved like a woman who knew she was being appreciated and admired, pursued and watched.

“Have I told you how lovely you are tonight?” Sinclair asked, taking both of her hands in his.

Sean felt like choking him into silence.

“I don’t think so,” Eleanor said, a smile in her voice. “But if you did, you can always tell me again.”

She was flirting! Since when had Elle learned to flirt?

“You are so beautiful,” Sinclair said thickly, and Sean hated the rough tone of his voice. They should not be out on the terrace alone, at night. Where the hell was everyone, anyway? She had four brothers to chaperone her. Why wasn’t someone doing precisely that?

“And you, sir, are far too gallant and far too charming,” Elle returned softly. “I am so fortunate to be marrying such a man!”

“A man cannot possibly be too charming or too gallant, not where you are concerned,” Sinclair whispered.

Did he know that his lady love was a hellion? Or had Elle given up her wild gallops, her fist fighting, her swear words? Did she still hunt and fish? Or was she now a debutante and a flirt?

“I am pleased that you are so charming,” Elle whispered back. “I find you very charming indeed, even if your eyes are blue.”

Sean had not a clue as to what that meant, and apparently, neither did Sinclair.

There was a strained silence then.

Sean felt like smashing the wall, because he knew that Sinclair was preparing to kiss her.

“May I? May I kiss you, Eleanor?” he asked.

“I thought you would wait forever to ask.” She laughed.

In disbelief, Sean watched Sinclair take her into his arms, slowly lowering his face to Elle’s. The moon chose that moment to come out from behind a single cloud, vividly illuminating the lovers. Sinclair had fused his mouth to hers—and she was kissing him back wildly, clinging to his shoulders.

He leaned against the stone wall, furious and paralyzed, panting hard, but he refused to look away. He could not comprehend the sensual woman in the other man’s arms— Elle, who was kissing him and making small, breathy sounds of pleasure and delight. He pulled at his breeches. She might be a woman now, a very desirable woman, but they had grown up together and he had no right to the lust in his loins.

“I’ve been kissed, Sean!”

He jerked, words she had spoken many years ago suddenly coming to mind. And it was as if she was eleven years old again to his seventeen, and they were standing there in the stables at Adare, amidst the straw and the horses, and she was grinning mischievously at him.

HE HAD SPENT WEEKS pursuing a tenant’s daughter—a buxom blonde with a pretty smile and two dimples. Suddenly he was in the straw with her, his handsbeneath her skirts, and she was weeping in pleasure and he was so close to unbuttoning his breeches and moving inside her. He began to do so, taking her hand and guiding it to where he was stiff and hard. And he heard a giggle.

Instantly, he knew Elle was spying—again. All lust vanished. Furious, he leaped to his feet, pulling his pants together as he did so—only to find her perched on the top edge of the stall, grinning at him. Realizing that she had seen everything, he felt his cheeks burst into flames, and his anger erupted. She knew, because she leaped down from the top of the stall, alarmed.

He threw open the bolt and ran through the stables after her. But instead of fleeing, she stood in the stable yard, warily waiting for him. He halted abruptly, as wary. “You are in jeopardy now,” he warned, meaning it.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I am going to box your ears—hard—and tell Father what you have done.”

She pranced, just a little. “But you can’t catch me.”

She was right—she was as fleet and as lithe as a deer. “I don’t enjoy being spied on.”

“Do you love her?” she suddenly asked.

“No!” The moment he spoke, he regretted it, as it was none of her affair. “Come here, Elle.” He took a step toward her.

She shook her head, backing away. Then she grinned. “I’ve been kissed.”

He felt his world become oddly still. “I hope you are lying, Elle.”

She grinned hugely at him. “No. Jack O’Connor kissed me last week behind the chapel.”

Sean was shocked. And then he whirled into action, striding back to the stables, calling for a groom and a horse.

Eleanor ran after him. “Where are you going?”

“I am going to kill young Jack O’Connor.” He meant it. He had never been more furious—Elle was just a child!

Eleanor grabbed his arm. “Wait! Don’t! It was my fault!”

Sean faced her grimly. “Did he kiss you, or not?”

She bit her lip. “I kissed him. Like this.” And she threw her arms around Sean, actually leaping up to kiss his lips.

He hauled her off. “You threw yourself at that boy?”

“Why not? You kiss all the girls! And all the ladies! You are a rake! Father says so.”

Recently, he and his brothers had been tearing up the countryside, testosterone raging. He flushed. “You can’t spy on me anymore! I’m not a boy now, Elle! You’ll see things you shouldn’t!” He was truly aghast.

“Like you putting your hands down her bodice—and touching her between her legs?” She smiled mischievously at him, then mimed, “Oh, oh, OOHH!”

He’d had enough—a boxing of the ears would not do. Sean reaced for her, but she darted quickly away. He set chase, determined to somehow corner her so he could thrash her at least once. She started to laugh, putting a tree between them and dancing just out of his reach every time he tried to seize her. She might be as quick as a hare, but he had fortitude, and sure enough, in a few more moments, she started to scowl, clearly becoming bored.

“All right, I give up,” he said quietly, turning away.

She sighed and left the safety of the tree, and he whirled and grabbed her by her ear.

“Ow! Ow!”

He shook her well, not once, but twice. “The next time I catch you spying on me, I am turning you over my knee, as if you were five or six.”

“All right! I’m sorry! I swear!” she begged, wild-eyed.

“Ladies don’t swear—but then, you’re a hellion not a lady. Let’s go.” Not releasing her ear, he started to walk away from the stable, Elle in tow.

“I am sorry—and I won’t swear!”