The Stolen Bride

“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 then.”

“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.”