by Brenda Joyce
“And she will be, when O’Neill is apprehended.” Reed went to Brawley and clapped his shoulder. “I have spies in Cork, Captain, watching the de Warenne ship. Sean O’Neill will walk right into the trap I have set for him, you may count on that.”
Brawley met his blazing gaze and shivered.
A knock sounded. Both men turned. A young man stood there, red-faced from exertion, sweating heavily. He was not in uniform, but Brawley thought him vaguely familiar. Reed gestured. “Sergeant Lewes, come in. What have you learned?”
Lewes rushed forward. “O’Neill boarded The Fair Lady at dawn, Colonel. He met with de Warenne for about a half an hour.”
Reed’s brows arched, and he smiled. “Well done! Where is O’Neill now?”
Lewes hesitated. “I don’t know, sir.”
Reed’s smile vanished. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Colonel, sir! I left my post to report to you the moment he left the ship. Those were my orders, sir.”
“You fucking fool,” Reed cried.
Lewes paled.
“Your orders were to discover his whereabouts,” Reed added, flushed with anger now, “and to relay those whereabouts to me. Who is on the watch?” Reed demanded. “Or did The Fair Lady sail away, as well?”
“John Barret, sir, is spying on the ship.”
“You are dismissed,” Reed said harshly.
Brawley was stunned by the developments he had just witnessed. He hadn’t known that Reed had men stationed in Cork, spying on Cliff de Warenne. Obviously Reed wished for him to be in the dark, and while it wasn’t his place to question what his superior did or how he did it, he was uneasy yet again. “Sir, I am very familiar with Cork, its outlying neighborhoods, the mayor, the aldermen and some of its citizens. I also know Cobh.”
“I am aware of that, Captain. I have read your file, not once but several times.”
Brawley was silent, uncertain as to what that comment signified. He could have easily supervised the mission, and they would now know where O’Neill was. But his captain was intent on capturing O’Neill without his help, or so it seemed. But why? Was this a matter of glory, or something else?
Reed was cold. “I have more men in town,” he said. “I have heard it whispered about that a Blueboy helped O’Neill in the first place. Yesterday I broke one of them, Captain. Now there is a traitor in their midst. When O’Neill contacts his treacherous friends again, we shall hear of it.”
“Sir.” Brawley was sweating.
Reed lifted a brow and waited.
“And if he thinks it too dangerous to contact a Blueboy this time?”
“Then he will need help from his brother. That is why, in light of this new information, you are to proceed to Cork with a detachment. You may camp outside of the city. Take one or two men and supervise the watch on The Fair Lady. I will send word to our new spy. Either way, we will locate O’Neill.”
“Yes, sir,” Brawley said, relieved to be seeing action. Now, he could only continue to hope that Eleanor de Warenne was well, and that her stepbrother did not think to use her in order to flee the authorities.
“Your orders remain. Apprehend O’Neill, dead or alive—it doesn’t matter, as this time, he will hang.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And should the opportunity present itself, you are to apprehend the woman.”
Brawley started. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you discover Lady de Warenne’s whereabouts independently of O’ Neill’s, she may have useful information. You will apprehend her and bring her directly to me.”
His distress escalated. “Yes, sir.”
And Reed knew, for he seemed amused. “Calm yourself, Captain. If you are right, the lady has far more to fear from her outlaw stepbrother than she does from me. Besides, I doubt you will discover her alone.” His eyes glittered.
Brawley knew there was an innuendo in the colonel’s words, but he simply failed to understand it.
AT LEAST HE WAS ARMED, Sean thought as he entered the doorway at the base of the stairs that led to his flat. He remained sick with worry and knew he would stay that way until Eleanor had been found. She was hurt and angry, and she was also stubborn. She had no intention of coming back to him. If she did, she would have returned hours ago.
And now, his stepbrothers and Devlin would begin a massive search for her. Surely they would find her, and soon. He started up the stairs in the dark. He would continue looking for Elle, as well, but he needed an hour of rest.
Suddenly he faltered, his gaze penetrating the shadows on the landing, only to discover a pile of rags which had not been present earlier. Then Sean realized that the rags were far more than clothing; he cried out.
“Elle!”
Elle lay curled up there against the wall, shivering, her eyes meeting his. He knelt, reaching for her, quickly realizing that she was soaking wet. She flinched, pressing him away.
“It’s me,” he said quickly, ignoring the protest and pulling her into his arms. Her skin was wet, icy and cold, frighteningly so.
She pushed him away. “The door is locked,” she said hoarsely.
Still kneeling, his gaze found hers. His heart twisted at the raw grief he saw in her eyes. She remained devastated by what he had done, but she had come back to him, anyway.
“I know. I didn’t want to leave it open in case the British found the flat. You need to get warm,” he said quickly, standing. His hands were shaking now as he tried to fit the key in the lock. Had she spent the night in the rain? Why hadn’t she found shelter!
“I only came back for Saphyr. I am going home,” she said, her tone so low it was barely audible.
He turned. She remained seated on the floor, holding her knees to her chest. Her feet were filthy and he realized that one foot was bleeding. She stared, her eyes accusing.
He realized he needed to somehow explain his marriage to her—but how could he, when it hurt too much to even think about it, much less speak of it? And even if he did explain, then what? He saw from her eyes that she hadn’t forgiven him for his betrayal and that she never would. “You need to dry off. I have an escort for you—you can’t think to ride about the country alone.”
She shrugged.
He hesitated and then held out his hand.
She looked away, the tip of her nose already pink, turning red.
“Elle…Eleanor. Let me help you up.”
She didn’t answer, standing by herself, wincing as she did so.
His heart raced with more alarm as he pushed open the door, going directly to the stove. He quickly started a fire, straining to hear what she was about. She entered the room but then paused and he did not hear her close the door. He didn’t hear her move, either.
The fire crackling, he closed the door to the stove and stood. Slowly he glanced at her, his stomach clenching.
She looked as if she had almost drowned. He ignored the sight of her wet blouse and chemise, mostly transparent, clinging to her breasts. He glanced down to look at her bleeding foot, and instead, his gaze lingered on her long legs, encased in wet doeskin. Shaken, he tore his gaze lower. “What happened?”
She shrugged and started limping across the room.
He realized she meant to drop directly into the bed. He reached her side and grabbed her arm. “You need to change from those wet clothes.”
Her golden eyes lifted. “I don’t think so. Not if you remain in the room.”
He deserved her suspicion, her lack of trust. But he just stared, stricken, because this was the first time in his life that she mistrusted him.
She stared back, her gaze filled with hostility, hurt and suspicion. “Maybe you should visit Kate. That way you can leave me be.”
Her words stabbed through him like a knife. He wanted to tell her it hadn’t been like that. “I’ll wait in the hall,” he said instead, slowly leaving the room. At the door he glanced back, but she hadn’t moved. He realized she was crying.
He had finally broken her heart
. Too late, he had the terrible feeling he would never have it back.
Sean stepped outside, closing the door, trying to fight sudden panic. This was as it should be, he told himself fiercely, because she would recover from this and then she could give her heart to Sinclair. He turned and kicked the wall so hard that pain shot right up his leg to his knee, but he could not find calm or relief. It was finally over.
When a sufficient amount of time had passed, he knocked but there was no response. Sean carefully peered into the room. The spare suit remained hanging on the wall and Eleanor was in bed, wrapped up in the blanket. He saw her shirt on the floor, stained with watered-down blood and knew that at least she had cleaned her cuts.
He went inside, bolting the door behind him. “You need to be in front of the fire,” he tried, but as she had to be nude beneath the blankets, it wasn’t the best of ideas.
She didn’t respond.
And because he was concerned, he went over to her. She was either asleep or pretending to be asleep, but shivering periodically, the shudders violent. He hesitated, uncertain of what to do. She needed far more warmth than that single blanket could provide and he wanted to inspect her wounded foot. But she hated him now. He had no doubt of that. “Elle?”
There was no answer and he realized she was deeply asleep after all.
He sat down at her hip, wondering if she had been up all night, wandering the streets of the city, heartbroken and alone. He could no longer live with himself. He had hurt the one person he cared most about in the world.
Do you love my sister?
The question felt like a trap. He wasn’t going to take the bait. What he really felt didn’t matter. He saw that he had taken her hand and was gripping it. It was icy cold.
Sean gave up. He tore off his boots and he climbed under the covers with her, taking her into his arms. She remained as soft as a rag doll and as cold as ice.
He had done this. “Elle, I’m sorry.” He kissed her cheek and he started to cry. “I should have told you about Peg the moment I came home…. I was afraid. I knew you would hate me for marrying her… I never loved her.”
He was holding her so close that she was wrapped in his arms and legs, her face against his shoulder. He lifted his head so he could stare down at her face. Her lashes had fluttered. And gazing at her, his heart surged powerfully. She was so beautiful and so strong, so brave. He lowered his head, tucking hers beneath his chin. “How could I have ever loved Peg? I love you.” And too late, he realized the words he had just spoken were the truth.
He closed his eyes, holding her even more tightly, allowing himself to finally realize and identify his feelings. He was stunned by their enormity, their intensity, their power.
He knew what would happen if he dared to love her. She would suffer, as Peg had suffered. And he was a doomed man. Nothing had changed, except that his heart wanted something he could never have—and had no right to have.
“S-S-Sean? I’m c-c-cold.”
He stiffened as their gazes met. Hers was not coherent or focused.
He tried to smile at her. “I know. You’ll be warm soon. Warm…and safe. I promise.”
Her mouth curved and the trust he thought he’d never see again filled her eyes. “I am safe,” she murmured, kissing his jaw.
This time an entirely different part of his body went rigid. He reminded himself that she was more asleep than awake, and possibly ill, if not delusional. She hated him, and the trust he’d seen in her eyes was a cruel reminder of what he would never again genuinely have and had never really deserved. The present was proof of that.
Suddenly her cold hands were inside his shirt and against his chest. She sighed and began to rub the skin there and then his nipples.
Sean seized her wrist, restraining her. His mind told him to get out of her bed, now, before he succumbed to temptation. Because he was now acutely aware of just how naked she was, how soft in some places, how lean in others, and the way they were intimately entwined. And then he felt her body soften.
Stunned, he realized she had fallen asleep, this time deeply, the shivering having ceased. He sighed, shaken but relieved, and then he pulled her closer. He kissed the top of her head, thinking about the feelings he had just discovered, allowing the wonder of his discovery to wash over him. He did not know when he had first fallen in love with her, but she had been his life from the moment they had met. The swollen feeling in his heart might have been joy and hope combined, had he been a different man in a different life. He decided not to analyze it further. He felt awed, as if in the midst of a miracle, and he knew he must cherish this brief moment and cling to it for as long as he could.
Reality must wait.
And when dawn broke another time, he crept from her bed and made the necessary arrangements for the future they would not share.
WHEN ELEANOR AWOKE, it took her a moment to recall where she was.
Sunlight was pouring into a small, sparsely furnished flat. A fire was crackling in a cast-iron stove near a tin sink. She lay in a simple bed, with a single pillow, a sheet, a thin and coarse blanket.
And then Eleanor saw Sean.
He was entering the room, carrying an armful of wood for the stove.
In that moment, she recalled that he had come back and she had jilted Peter Sinclair at the altar. They were in Cork, hiding from the authorities—and Sean had married another woman named Peg.
Overcome with the same sense that this could not be happening, she sat up slowly, holding the covers up to her neck. She had never ached with so much sorrow. Sean no longer belonged to her and he never had.
“What happened to me? Where are my clothes?” she asked, her tone sounding high and hoarse to her own ears.
He put the wood in the wicker basket by the stove, avoiding her. “You ran away from me.” He glanced at her, his expression tight and hard. “You returned freezing cold and soaked.”
And suddenly she recalled spending the night in a doorway, shivering and wet, crying her heart out, the sense of loss beyond anything she’d ever before experienced.
He stood and glanced briefly at her. “I bought you some proper clothing.” He gestured at the wall pegs, where a muslin dress, underclothes, pelisse and bonnet were hanging. There were also shoes and stockings.
She wondered if he had any money left, then refused to worry for him. He was a traitor, not to the authorities, but to her—to them. She never intended to forget it.
“I suppose you expect me to be grateful for the clothes?” She was aware of sounding as bitter as she felt.
“You don’t owe me…anything,” he said sharply, and their gazes collided. He turned away again, finally flushing.
“I certainly do not,” Eleanor retorted, now hugging the blankets to her breasts. He owed her everything, and she was never going to collect, because he had chosen a different woman over her. She wondered if her heart was ever going to heal and feel whole again. She didn’t think so.
“Where are my trousers?” she asked grimly. She actually coveted the clean dress and underclothes, but would never say so.
He went to the clothes pegs and removed the feminine items. “I burned them,” he said quietly, attempting to hand her the ensemble.
“How dare you!” she cried, and in that instant, she was enraged. “I want my trousers back!”
He started, and as if realizing she was slightly out of her mind, a wary look entered his eyes. “They’re gone. You can’t parade around…dressed as a man. When you are home, I am certain…you will talk Tyrell out of his clothes.”
When she was home, tossed aside like leftovers. That was what she was, used goods fit for the garbage. But he hadn’t used Peg that way.
“I’ll wait outside,” he said suddenly.
“Oh, yes, with Kate! Is that where you got the clothes, from Kate?” She was furious.
“Actually, I bought them in a shop,” he said carefully.
“But Kate’s clothes would have been so perfect for me! Because I’m
no different from her, now am I? I’m no different from a housemaid or a dairymaid or a farmer’s daughter. I am no different from a whore.”
He turned white. “For God’s sake, don’t do this,” he said rigidly.
“Don’t do what? Point out the fact that you have treated me the way you have treated all those trollops you took to the stables when we were growing up?” Tears of bitter rage filled her eyes. “How dare you burn my pants!”
He inhaled harshly. “I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. You are not a farmer’s daughter and you are not a whore. I know you love me…I am a cad. I used you and there is no excuse.” He turned to leave.
She slid from the bed, the blanket and sheet wrapped around her. “I don’t love you!”
He stumbled, stiffened, turned.
“You were a rake when I was a child and I know it firsthand. You remain a rake—and a cad! You are a cheat, Sean, a liar and a cheat and a miserable cad!”
He did not move. He did not speak. He was so still he could have been carved from stone, a beautiful male statue.
“Defend yourself!” she shouted, shaking in her rage.
He shook his head.
Eleanor didn’t hesitate. She slapped him with all of her might across his starkly pale but handsome face.
He flinched, but otherwise, stood ramrod straight.
“Just so there is no misunderstanding, I hate you now.”
He nodded and walked out.
ELEANOR PULLED her wide-brimmed bonnet low as she followed Sean to the dock, keeping her head and face hidden. He had disguised himself with a powdered wig, the kind some of the older, unfashionable men wore, as if their previous king still lived. Her heart had never felt heavier, but this was what she wanted now—to go home. Sean had said that Cliff would sail her to Limerick. The trip overland was much shorter, but she had wanted to avoid any and all conversation with Sean. He seemed to want that, too, and they had not exchanged more than a few sentences about their plans since their previous argument. Sean appeared to be in a hurry. She couldn’t help wondering what that might mean. Were the authorities on his trail?
The piers were in sight, with many bobbing ships of all sizes and shapes. Instantly she saw The Fair Lady, at anchor some distance away. She also saw the British naval ship and at the sight of its flag, she shuddered. A few red-coated marines were on its decks, but otherwise the ship was silent and appeared deserted.