The Stolen Bride

Eleanor wondered, aghast, if she had just slurred.

Rex’s dark brows lifted in skepticism. “Really?”

Eleanor met his dark, penetrating gaze and thought he might know exactly how she was feeling. But then, he was very fond of wine—and brandy—especially since he had lost his leg. Maybe he would get her another glass of wine—discreetly, just in case she had committed the terrible faux pas of becoming foxed in polite company.

Ladies don’t get foxed, Elle.

Eleanor jumped in her seat, whirling to find Sean. But no one was standing behind her.

“Eleanor? What is it?” Peter asked quickly, concerned.

“Is he here?” she managed, clinging to the back of her chair.

The earl stood decisively. “I think we should adjourn to our brandies. Eleanor?”

Eleanor realized she had been about to sit backward in her chair. Sean wasn’t there. She was so disappointed it was hard to face the right way as the men all stood. She felt far too many curious regards coming her way.

Peter remained seated beside her. As the men left, Rex limped over to them, using his single crutch. He was very dark and muscular, and almost the spitting image of Tyrell, except that his eyes were brown, not blue. “I am sorry, Eleanor. I should not burden you with my foul mood on this, your joyous occasion.”

She had stopped understanding him years ago, when he had first returned from the war, embittered as well as wounded, but she did not have a clue as to what he meant now. She smiled. “Oh, Rex.” She waved at him. “You are my favorite brother and you can do no wrong. You do know that, don’t you?”

He glanced at Peter. “I beg your pardon.” He took her arm, tugging her away from the table, which he somehow did in spite of the fact that he had to rely so heavily upon his crutch. “You are in your cups!” he exclaimed, keeping his tone low.

“I am, aren’t I?” She beamed. “Now I begin to understand why you so enjoy drink. Would you sneak me another glass of wine? Red, if you please?”

“I will not,” he said, appearing torn between amusement and horror. “Do you think to purposefully sabotage your wedding?”

Eleanor decided to analyze the word sabotage. “Hmm. Sabotage, that means ruin, does it not? But in a political manner? Is sabotage a political act? Why are we discussing sabotage?”

“You should go to your rooms,” Rex said firmly, but his mouth was quirking as if he were trying very hard not to smile.

“Not until I have been kissed—and soundly, too, I might add.” She walked away from him, smiling at her betrothed.

The ladies had adjourned to a separate salon. Peter was waiting by himself at the table. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

She was surprised by the question. “Of course it is.” She took his arm, looping hers with his. “I am with you,” she added.

He blushed. “Eleanor, you never imbibe. Maybe I should summon one of your sisters-in-law and bid you good-night for the evening.”

“That is a stunningly bad idea!” She pressed closer. “We haven’t had a moment to ourselves all day,” she said softly. “Won’t you join me for a look at the stars?” She wondered if she should tell him that she would love a kiss.

He blushed. “I was going to suggest just that. You have beaten me to it,” he said.

“I am good at beating boys—and men,” she told him frankly. “I ride and shoot better than everyone.”

He started, his eyes widening with surprise.

“Oops,” she murmured. Ladies don’t ride and shoot, she thought. Ladies don’t swear and they don’t lie. “Ladies don’t lie,” she added.

“I beg your pardon?”

Maybe conversing wasn’t the best idea. She smiled and pulled him toward the terrace doors. He relaxed, allowing her to lead.

SEAN LEAPED UP the terrace steps. The terrace was deserted and unlit, and even before he crossed it, he could see into the house, where a gathering of some sort was in progress. He rushed to one of the huge windows and stared into the dining room.

Standing at the head of the table was the man who had taken him in after the murder of his own father, who had raised him as his son, who had fed him and clothed him, who had taught him nobility and honor, who had loved him as if he were his natural-born son. Sean clung to the stone wall of the house, his knees useless.

And then he saw his brother.

Devlin stood, a tall, powerfully built leonine man, his wife at his side. Sean had rebuilt Askeaton for Devlin, and he would do it all over again in an instant, if he had to—just as he would give his life for his older brother, too.

He swallowed hard. Devlin’s beautiful wife, Virginia, seemed very happy, and he was fiercely glad for her and for them. She had saved his brother’s soul years ago and for that, he would always love her.

His stepbrothers were also rising to their feet and he could vaguely hear them speaking. The mood was festive, warm, light.

And it was almost impossible not to recall every moment spent in that room with his father, his brothers, his mother and Elle. Like the surging tides of the Irish Sea, moments and feelings swept through him, over him, demanding attention, inspection, remembrance. He fought his recollection of an early Christmas morning, of a dark, wintry afternoon, of pleasant evenings in front of the fire, of family, male camaraderie and brandy. He had to shake himself hard to free himself from the past.

Why was he doing this? Reminding himself of the life he had left behind was not going to help him elude the British and flee the country. In a few minutes, he would steal a fresh mount from the stables and return to Cork. He would be there before dawn, and when his ship set sail from Cobh he would be on it.

But he wouldn’t leave just yet.

He was doing this because Elle was getting married, he reminded himself.

Sean pressed his face to the cold glass, watching Tyrell clasp Devlin’s shoulder. The two men were laughing about something as they followed the other men from the room, and it became impossible to deny the yearning to go inside and become a part of that family one more time. He desired it so badly he could taste it, but he made no move to do so. He was wanted for treason and he had no intention of bringing the earl and his brother and stepbrothers down with him.

The women were rising now and preparing to leave. He recognized Virginia, and Tyrell had his arm around a lady with titian hair. The rest of the departing crowd was meaningless to him, except for his mother. She was smiling as she led the ladies from the room. The countess remained as graceful and elegant as ever, but he saw that she seemed older. He didn’t fool himself—his disappearance must have distressed her to no end.

Then Sean realized that one woman had walked away with Rex. His gaze slammed back to her—and his heart stopped.

For one instant, he was paralyzed. She had changed—but he would know her anywhere. And there was so much relief, huge and consuming, that he almost collapsed against the window. Elle.

Nothing was left of the gawky, intrepid child—but then, if he dared to recall his last night at home, the young blossoming woman he had left four years ago had been anything but childlike. He hadn’t forgotten how tall she was, but the planes and angles of her face, like the planes and angles of her body, had finally vanished. She had become lush and voluptuous. The gawky child was now a beautiful woman, capable of stunning a man senseless.

Watching her charm his brother, he felt his world turn upside down.

Sean panicked. What was he doing, anyway? He had expected to return to a slender young woman who had never been kissed, a young woman whom he saw only as a friend and sister. Now she laughed at Rex, her smile dazzling, and he could almost hear her then.

Have I ever told you that you are my favorite brother?

Words Elle had said to every one of his stepbrothers and to Devlin, to everyone but him.

Realization struck him with the force of lightning, causing him to stagger. He was staring at Elle with need and hunger.

It was impossible, he thought, incredulous and aghast. He could not desire the woman he had considered a sister for most of his life. His body was responding as it would to any beautiful female, due to two years of celibacy, his only relief inflicted by his own hand.

She was walking away from Rex and smiling at a blond gentleman, looping her arm in his. He briefly looked at her escort, realizing that he was her intended, Sinclair. The man was handsome and privileged, with the bearing of a born aristocrat. Sean despised him on sight.

Sean realized he was shaking and desperate. He was furious with her, with Sinclair, with himself. Of course Elle had grown up. He had every right to be surprised by the beauty she had become, but he had no right to any other feelings. And where the hell was she going with Sinclair, anyway? He returned to the window and realized that the dining room was empty.