by Brenda Joyce
“I do not know whether I should be so forward now,” he whispered.
“If you wish to be forward, it is your right. We are affianced,” Eleanor said firmly. She closed her eyes and waited for another kiss. This time, she returned it with more fervor.
Peter finally stepped back, appearing dazed and smitten. He touched her cheek. “You are beautiful, even when you are up to your elbows in dirt. Until tonight, then.”
Eleanor nodded, still smiling. Then he whirled and strode from the hothouse.
Eleanor began to tremble. She sat down quickly on a stone bench, her temples throbbing with a migraine, her knees uselessly weak. Once, long ago, Peter’s amorous kisses had moved her. Now, she could barely will herself to suffer through them. Somehow, she thought grimly, she was going to have to change that.
And then she heard a soft jangle, not from the vicinity of the front door, but from a distance behind her. She turned, her eyes widening.
Cliff stood behind a huge palm, staring at her. She could not imagine how he had walked in without either her or Peter hearing him; he must have used the hothouse’s back door.
He strode toward her. He was wearing a beautiful navy blue coat over a silver waistcoat with tan pants; he made a conscious effort to dress fashionably when at the house. It didn’t matter. In spite of the attempt, he looked dangerous, more like a buccaneer pretending to be a gentleman than the genuine article. The sheathed dagger he wore beneath the jacket was visible and did not help the impression he made. Neither did his huge gold spurs.
Eleanor leaped to her feet. Every day someone from the family went to Kilraven Hill to visit Sean, the only exception being herself, as she could not go and would not be welcome if she did so. All of her brothers were kind enough to honestly tell her how Sean fared when she asked. Of course, she only did so in a privy moment. She wrung her hands. “How is he?”
“Are you all right?” he asked instead, his tawny brows lifting.
“Didn’t you just visit Sean?”
“No. The countess went with Lizzie today and they have yet to return.”
Disappointment claimed her. However, there was never anything new to report. Sean continued to have some anxiety and with it, occasional bouts of claustrophobia, but apparently he was becoming more skilled at controlling these moments. Her brothers insisted that he was in good spirits. Eleanor felt certain that they all lied and that he was resigned to his fate at the gallows.
Cliff laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you cannot kiss your fiancé, how will you bear his children?” His tone was kind.
She felt herself blush. “I believe it is done all the time.”
“So you are a woman of the world now?”
“I think everyone already suspects that.”
He actually blushed, as the extent of her relationship with Sean had been carefully ignored by one and all, but his eyes turned black. “He admitted the truth to me, Eleanor. I almost choked him for it.”
She tensed in genuine alarm. “I do not need defending—Sean needs defending.”
“Your honor needs defense and you know it as well as I do. This was not the subject I came to discuss but upon brief reflection, there may never be a better moment.”
She was more alarmed now than before. She glanced toward the hothouse door, but it was closed. Peter was surely long gone; in any case, she lowered her voice. “I have no regrets. I gave Sean my heart a long time ago and I will never take it back. I know that you disapprove of everything that transpired in Cork, but I don’t care. If I had the chance to go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything.”
Cliff folded his arms across his broad chest. “Are you with child?”
Her heart skipped. “I don’t think so.”
His brows lifted.
“This conversation is too intimate!” she snapped. Because the truth was that she hadn’t had her monthlies yet. Eleanor hadn’t dared to face the possibility that she might be carrying Sean’s child. Worrying about Sean’s fate was enough of a cross to bear.
Cliff stared at her.
Eleanor knew she flushed. She turned away, but he seized her arm. “Is there a chance that you could be with his child?” he asked very firmly.
Her color increased as she met his unwavering regard.
He realized her answer and his eyes widened. “Have you thought about this at all?” he demanded incredulously.
She pulled away. “I can’t think about it now,” she said unevenly. But she didn’t have to consciously think about it. For she knew she would be thrilled if she could bear a child of Sean’s into the world. And she also knew that if she did turn out to be carrying his child, she would have to tell Peter the truth. Eleanor had no idea what would happen next. She doubted Peter would be able to forgive her such a trespass. Surely he wouldn’t want to raise another man’s child as his own. On the other hand, he loved her and had the most generous spirit she had ever witnessed in anyone. As for Sean, he had made himself clear. If freed, he was leaving; if there was a child, he wanted that child raised by Peter.
“You had better start thinking about it,” Cliff said sharply.
And suddenly Eleanor knew there was news. She seized his sleeve. “What is it? Why are you here? What have you come to say to me?” She was terrified.
He put his arm around her to support her. “I have news, Eleanor,” Cliff said, and he smiled. Her eyes flared with hope. “Devlin’s ship has been spotted off the coast and his signal flags have been raised. The earl is with him—and they have Sean’s pardon.”
SEAN NO LONGER feared sleep. Since being apprehended this final time, sleep had become an ally, for suddenly it was deep and, for the most part, dreamless. And when he drifted into dreams, he was swept far back in time to places that were warm and inviting—places he longed to go. There were lazy summer days chasing a young barefoot Elle across the lawns of Adare, days filled with laughter and hope; there were evenings spent at Askeaton, during those early days when the manor was charred and ruined, evenings in which he and Elle were too exhausted to do more than eat a quick supper and tumble into their separate beds. There were wild madcap rides and equally wild races, there were days spent swimming at the lake. There were supper parties when she was home from her first Season. In his dreams, he marveled at her beauty and could not understand how he had been so blind and oblivious for so long. There were also moments of lovemaking, during the days they had spent in Cork, moments that were wild, hot, intense….
“O’Neill!”
Sean heard his name but refused to heed it, because he was with Elle at Askeaton when she was on the verge of womanhood, before they’d ever made love. There was whitewash on her nose and love in her eyes and he could not understand why he’d been such a fool. Even at fifteen, she’d been so lovely and so wonderful. He could not heed the officer calling him, because her hands were blistered from all the labor she’d done to help him that day and he was going to bandage them before he left her again. For even in his sleep, even dreaming, he somehow knew that his life would soon be over. His family had been filled with hope this past month but he’d refused to allow himself such a luxury. He was afraid that if he woke up, he would not be allowed another moment to sleep and dream and relive what should have been.
“O’Neill.”
Sean gave up. He sat up, leaving Elle and his home far behind, and he faced Captain Brawley, who had entered his cell, Devlin with him. He hadn’t seen his brother in a month, as Devlin had gone to London to plead for his life. Grim, Sean stood, realizing that the sands of time had finally run out. He stared at his brother and Devlin smiled widely at him.
Oh, God, was it possible he was to be spared?
“You’ve been pardoned,” Brawley said.
Sean was in sheer disbelief.
“It’s official—you’re a free man,” the young officer added, and he shook his hand.
Dumbfounded, Sean looked at Devlin.
“It’s true,” Devlin said, and he embraced him hard. “Congra
tulations.”
He was free. Devlin’s wide smile and Brawley’s pleased expression began to sink in. He was free. He wasn’t going to hang. My God, he was going to live.
He had to tell Elle!
“Everyone is outside,” Devlin added, clapping his shoulder. “We will celebrate tonight!”
Sean remained incredulous and amazed. Suddenly he was leaving his cell with his brother, who kept a hand on him, as if knowing he was too shocked to navigate his way outside on his own. The moment he stepped into the anteroom outside the prison block, he saw his mother and the earl, beaming and crying at once. Then he saw Tyrell and Lizzie, wreathed in smiles, and Virginia, Rex and Cliff. They were smiling, laughing, grinning. And in that next moment, he realized that Elle wasn’t there.
Elle hadn’t come.
Mary cried out, embracing him, tears of relief falling. He held her, stunned by the fact that Elle wasn’t there, but his shock was passing now. In its place was a frigid reality. Of course she hadn’t come. It was over. She was with Sinclair. Had she married him yet? He had been so careful this past month not to ask about her.
“Sean, I have prayed for this day,” the countess said, clasping his face. “You are so thin! Will you come home to Adare? Please?”
His heart lurched and hurt. He reached for the earl’s hand but his stepfather pulled him forward and embraced him instead. “Welcome home, son,” he said, his gaze moist.
“Thank you, Father. Thank you for what you have done.”
The earl now shook his hand, and did not release it. “You are my son. I would give my life for you, Sean. But I could not have succeeded without Henredon. My pleas initially fell on deaf ears.” His gaze held Sean’s.
Sean understood. Peter’s father had been instrumental in achieving the pardon. But of course he had; now Eleanor would fulfill her end of the bargain. The earl seemed to comprehend the situation in all its intricate diplomacy, but was uncertain of what Sean intended toward his daughter. “Then I owe him—and Sinclair—my life.”
“Yes, you do,” the earl said, his gaze direct. “But you owe yourself a future of joy, as well.”
Sean tensed. There would be no joy, not without Elle. But that was as it should be, wasn’t it? He turned away, to face his oldest stepbrother.
Tyrell stepped forward. “We have had enough drama in this family to last a lifetime. And I agree that a vast celebration is in order.” He smiled. “We can plan to celebrate well into the holidays.”
Rex limped forward. “Welcome back.” He hugged him with one arm.
Cliff slapped his shoulder. “You are forgiven,” he murmured.
Startled, Sean met his gaze.
“But you need to meet with Eleanor,” he added softly and firmly, his words clearly meant for Sean alone.
Sean was shaken, not sure what Cliff’s last directive meant. Then Virginia came forward to greet him and he finally met Tyrell’s wife.
Sean smiled at them all and glanced at Devlin. His brother smoothly said, “I think Sean might need a quiet night at Askeaton. And I will certainly hold a fête to celebrate his return in a few days. Mother? Why don’t you come home with us? Edward? Perhaps you can spend a day or two there with us at my home?”
“I would love nothing more,” Mary said, smiling. She slipped her hand in Edward’s, who nodded in agreement.
Sean was oddly relieved. He should want to celebrate but he did not. Sean glanced past the family and through one of the chamber’s open windows. Outside it was a pale, gray November day and a few soldiers were passing in the yard. But Elle did not stand in the courtyard waiting for him. Of course, he really hadn’t been expecting her to be there. She remained with Sinclair—and that was what he wanted.
He wondered how long he could lie so baldly to himself.
THERE HAD BEEN a celebration, after all. Numerous bottles of fine burgundy wine had been consumed, followed by brandy, but it was well past midnight now and the earl and countess, Devlin and Virginia had all retired to bed. Sean sat alone in the salon before a roaring fire, staring into the flames.
He was finally beginning to believe that he was truly a free man and the horror of the past two years was over. But he could not find joy—and he could not find relief. There was only this deep, dark sorrow and an equally terrible regret. He needed to see Elle one final time—but if he did, he was afraid of what might happen.
She owed Sinclair marriage; he owed the man that marriage, too.
He rubbed his face. Sinclair and Henredon were responsible for his life. He could not go to Elle now and tell her how much he missed her and how greatly he loved her. He had heard that they would be married within days, on the weekend, and he knew he had to leave the county before that. So now there would not even be a goodbye.
No, they had already said goodbye, a month ago, in his cell.
I will never forget you!
You will always be my best friend…. You are my heart, my soul!
Elle’s stricken image filled his mind. Sean desperately wanted to comfort her, and there was so much he wished to say now. He wanted one more chance to see her. This time, he would tell her far more than goodbye—he would tell her that she was his other half, his best half, that he loved her and he always had, and that his life was going to remain empty and bleak without her.
He stood, taking the bottle of brandy and slamming it against the wall. He couldn’t go to her because he didn’t trust himself not to steal the bride another time, and damn it, he was an honorable man and he was going to do the honorable thing.
He was going to leave Askeaton, and this time, leave Ireland, so she could be free. In time, Sinclair would make her happy; in time, she was going to forget him, no matter what she claimed.
“Sean?”
Sean turned stiffly at the sound of his brother’s voice. Devlin’s gray gaze was searching. “I can’t sleep.”
Devlin entered the room, as usual, not missing a thing, his regard going to the broken bottle and then back to Sean. “You’re a free man now. It’s obvious you’re in love with Eleanor. Why are you doing this?”
Sean made a harsh sound. “She made a pact with Sinclair. Their marriage for my life.” And as he stared at Devlin, he thought, he is right. Why am I doing this? He could not stand the idea of Eleanor marrying the other man. He was Elle’s hero—no one else could ever have that right.
“Break it,” Devlin said softly.
Sean did not hear; he had started for the door. It was time he and Sinclair had a conversation. He owed the man, but he could not give up the love of his life. He had a future now, and he wanted Elle to be it.
“Take a carriage,” Devlin called. “The roads are wet.”
Sean did not answer—he was already gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SEAN HAD ALWAYS been able to come and go as he pleased at Adare. Having ridden like a madman through the night, he entered the house as if he still lived there. A quick exchange with the doorman told him where Sinclair was housed. Adrenaline flooded him as he strode through the halls of the sleeping house. The dialogue he wished to have with Sinclair could not wait until the morning. Sean hurried into the east wing and pounded on Sinclair’s suite.
A brief moment passed and the bedroom door was flung open, Peter Sinclair standing there in his nightgown and cap, looking utterly dazed. They had never met and Sinclair instantly became fully awake. “I beg your pardon? Is there a fire?”
Sean knew he should not despise the other man and in truth, he did not. But he was jealous and he felt it in the marrow of his bones. “Sinclair, this cannot wait. We need to speak.”
Sinclair’s blue eyes hardened. He stared and it was another moment before he spoke. “O’Neill?”
Sean inclined his head. “Yes.”
“Five minutes then,” he said, stepping back into his rooms to dress.
Sean waited in the hall, pacing restlessly, fists clenched, acutely aware that his life with Elle was at stake. Sinclair’s door opened and he a
ppeared in a dressing gown and trousers. Their gazes clashed.
Sean reminded himself that this man and his father had saved his life. “I am vastly indebted to you and your father,” he said without preliminaries. “And there is no way I can ever repay you both.”
Eyeing him, Sinclair shoved his hands in the pockets of his wrapper. “I would do anything for my fiancée,” he said firmly. “There is no need for any kind of payment.” And his resolute gaze locked with Sean’s.
“Really?” Sean remarked. “Why not?”
“We are soon to be brothers,” Sinclair said. “That is how I have been thinking of it. And of course I would attempt to save my brother from hanging.”
His words were utterly distasteful to Sean. “And being brothers through marriage, we will also be friends?”
Sinclair’s gaze did not waver but he appeared distressed. “Of course. You need not have come tonight, O’Neill. If you wished to thank me for my efforts on your behalf, it could have waited until the morrow.”
And Sean knew that this man was no fool. Aware that they were true adversaries now, he chose his words with care. “I have come to thank you, but there is more.” He saw Sinclair flinch. “Everyone thinks highly of you, Sinclair. I have been advised that you are a gentleman and a good match for Elle. I am aware that you love her. I am aware that you can give her all of the comforts she should have, not to mention a title. I have been supportive of the match. I think highly of you, too.”
Sinclair was rigid. “You spoke in the past tense,” he said slowly.
Sean knew he flushed. “I met Elle when she was tottering about, falling down more often than not, a precocious and spoiled two-year-old child.” He smiled, recalling her demanding nature and the way she would ride piggyback on his shoulders. “Since that day, I have spent my entire life looking after her. It is my nature to protect her—it is my inclination to want what is best for her. That is why I approved of your match.”