Chapter
“You’ve changed!” Sean exclaimed, and for the first time that day, his voice rose above a whisper.
“You hated those two seasons in England… Elle would never leave Ireland!” He paused, but whether it was because of the exertion of speaking so rapidly and angrily, or because he had said all he intended to, Eleanor did not know.
“I don’t want to leave Adare,” she cried.
“Then don’t!” he returned, his voice rougher than before. He coughed and seemed frustrated that his voice had begun to fail him. “Does he…know…that you can shoot…antlers off…a buck…moving…in the woods?”
She shook her head, dismayed. “Sean, do not say any more. I see that it hurts you to speak so much.” His voice was getting lower and more inaudible with every word he spoke. She was on her feet, reaching for him.
But he shook his head furiously. “Has he…seen you…dressed…like a man?” he demanded, tripping over his words now. His voice was dripping sarcasm as well as fury. “Breeches! Boots! Knotted belt!”
“Sean, stop!”
He fisted his hands on his hips, and his expression was no different from a triumphant attorney resting his case before the King’s Bench.
“Why are you doing this?” she begged.
“Where the hell…is Elle?” he rasped coldly.
She shook her head in denial. “I am right here. Yes, I have changed—I am a woman now. You had no right watching me kiss Peter! You disappear for four years and then come back and spy on me? And now you think to leave again—without me?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
She went to strike him with her open hand.
He caught her wrist before she could make contact.
She was already breathless. She hadn’t meant to strike him; he was hurt, he was losing his voice by the second, and she loved him.
But he had been badgering her so cruelly about Peter—and Peter was irrelevant to them now!
She wanted to tell him all of that, but as she started to speak, her own voice failed.
She saw as she looked into his eyes that they were blazing.
And the moment she saw the light there, she realized it was not anger but jealousy he felt.
He hadn’t let her wrist go. In fact, in seizing her, he had pulled her forward and her thighs were now pressed against his legs.
Her heart had been speeding uncontrollably but now it skipped, wildly, as she realized how hard his muscular thighs were.
Hard…and male. Not intentionally, but as if she were a skilled and practiced courtesan, she shifted her weight and her breasts brushed his chest. And she became so hollow she thought she might explode into a thousand pieces if he pulled her forward another inch.
He went utterly still, except for his harsh breathing.
And in that moment she realized that she would give anything to be in Sean’s arms—and his bed—making love to him, wildly, passionately, with no inhibition, touching his hard, scarred body everywhere, and letting him touch and caress her in return.
And he knew; his eyes widened, and then his gaze veered to her mouth.
She was a woman now. He had seen her kissing Peter—he had to know she had grown up. He was looking at her as if he knew. “You’re right,” she breathed. “Elle is gone. I am Eleanor.”
His grip constricted and briefly, perhaps reflexively, he pulled her even closer. Her nipples tightened. He must have realized, because his eyes widened even more before he let her go.
“Yes…Elle is gone.”
Eleanor stared at him, trying to recover her sanity and composure, wondering if he had felt the same terrible urgency that she had. He paced away, appearing tense and shaken. He had felt it—surely he wanted her now, too.
“Sean, Elle has grown up, that’s all.”
He made a harsh sound, and it might have been an attempt at mirthless laughter.
She walked slowly toward him. His expression twisted and he stared at her, unmoving, his eyes glittering. “You could try to know Eleanor,” she said.
He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then she realized he was summoning up his words. “Eleanor…belongs…to Sinclair.”
She cried out. “Then I am Elle, Sean. Don’t do this!”
He looked at her, up and down, disparagingly. “There is no Elle.”
His words hurt terribly. She hugged herself.
And he suddenly seemed ashamed. She knew him well enough to know that. “I am sorry. Forgive me. This is difficult now.”
She inhaled. “It’s all right. We need to focus on the crisis at hand.” She took another steadying breath. “You need to hide.”
“Yes. Here…in the woods. I’ll stay tonight.”
“I don’t think the woods are safe.” And a plan occurred to her, a spectacular plan.
“I can’t think…of a safer place.”
Her excitement threatened to show, so she fought it. “I can.”
He looked at her.
“You can hide in my rooms,” she said.