Chapter 7 #2
Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes. She knew that the countess had wept for Sean privately and that she had believed her son was dead. And even though her mother had given up hope almost two years ago, Eleanor did not want to raise a painful subject for her. She did not have to.
“Darling, is this about Sean?”
Eleanor nodded. “I miss him so terribly it is a pain in my chest.”
“We all miss him.” Mary seemed anguished then. “I thought that you had gone on with your life. I thought you genuinely cared for Peter and perhaps were even falling in love with him. Your father and I have been so pleased and so relieved that you and he seem to get on so brilliantly.”
“I thought so, too,” Eleanor said. “I was wrong. There is only one man I can love, and that is Sean.”
The countess blanched and put her arm around her daughter. “We should sit. There is something I must tell you.”
Eleanor shook her head, pulling away. “I need to go to my rooms. I am very tired. Tomorrow will be a long day.” She no longer had the strength to fight her fated marriage. She could not care less what happened tomorrow.
“Eleanor! I know what it is to be fond of a man, to marry well—and to love someone else, my dear.”
Eleanor had heard the love story of Edward and Mary many times, but not from either her mother or her father.
She had heard it from the local lords and ladies; she had heard it from her old nurse and from the now-deceased family physician.
“It’s true? You didn’t love your first husband? ” she whispered.
Mary smiled. “I loved Gerald because it was my duty to do so. He was a good man, the father of my two sons. And in spite of his philandering, I knew that he loved me in his way and would do so until he died.”
“But?” Eleanor cried.
“I loved Gerald because it was my duty, dear. When Edward rescued me and my sons from the British, after Gerald’s murder, I found the kind of love and passion I had never even dared to dream of.
” She hesitated. “I met your father about five years after Gerald and I married, when we had just become his tenants. Although I refused to ever admit to myself that something was there between us, I knew the very moment that Edward walked into our hall that he was different, and not just a king among men. I think we exchanged a dozen entire sentences in those five years. He was polite and correct. But Eleanor, when he finally took me in his arms for the very first time, I knew that I had never understood love—or passion—until then.”
Their stories were so similar, and yet not similar at all. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Mary touched her face. “I want you to have what I have, darling.”
She trembled. “I will never have what you have. I have always loved Sean. He doesn’t love me. Excuse me. I am exhausted, I have to go upstairs.”
“Eleanor! Please! I am so worried about you!”
But Eleanor was running up the stairs. At her door she paused, the pain in her temples acute. Now, finally, she would have the time and the privacy to grieve for losing Sean all over again. How many times would her heart break over the same man?
Eleanor stepped into her bedroom, closing the door. Then she saw the table where she’d had his beautiful meal laid out. She had forgotten to tell her maid to cancel it. She stared at the covered platters, and her heart stopped, then leaped wildly.
The dinner plate was used. Some leftovers were on it. Incredulous, she turned to the wine bottle—it was almost empty.
He stepped out from behind the heavy gold velvet draperies by the windows. Instantly his gaze met hers.
He had stayed.
He didn’t love her the way she loved him, but she didn’t care.
She had missed him for four years and she missed him now.
She had never been happier to see anyone.
She ran to him, throwing her arms around him.
She hugged him tightly, acutely aware of his hard chest beneath her soft breasts, his broad shoulders beneath her hands.
That terrible feeling of being lost and alone, of being abandoned, of being cold, vanished.
He grasped her hands and removed them, his gaze instantly locking with hers. “You told them.”
She understood. “They somehow guessed. I had to tell them you were here. They only want to help.”
He shook his head. “I asked you…I begged you to keep silent. I explained.…”
“They were forceful and adamant! Cliff thinks to sail you far from here, tonight.”
He stared at her, his silver eyes hot and bright.
And when he did not reply, when he simply looked at her the way a man looks at a woman he wants to take to bed, she recalled her proposition—and the fact that this was their last night together. Desire slammed its huge fist into her.
He had returned to take her to bed.
She carefully lifted her gaze to look at him. He continued to stare, unmoving, but his breathing seemed labored, too. She wet her lips. “Sean.”
His jaw flexed. “I didn’t come here…for that.”
Her eyes widened. She wasn’t certain that she believed him. “Then why? Why are you here—in my bedroom?”
He half shrugged, turning aside so she couldn’t see his eyes.
“Why did you return at all?” she asked, for she desperately needed an answer she could understand—and live with forever. “If you didn’t come to take me with you and you didn’t come to see the family, why did you come?”
“I don’t know!” he cried. And he seemed distressed, too. “I heard about…the wedding.” He gestured oddly now.
A huge and awkward silence fell. There was so much tension in the room, it was hard to breathe. “But you didn’t come back to stop the wedding,” she finally said.
Briefly their gazes locked. “No.”
That was not the answer she wanted. “I have missed you so much. I am going to miss you when you leave. Sean, didn’t you miss me?”
His face was tight. “In the beginning it was hard.”
It was impossible to understand him now, when once she could almost read his mind. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter! Not now!” He confronted her angrily.
She shuddered, afraid of what that might mean.
Before she could speak, he said, “Your dress is green.”
Her heart leaped but her body became heavy and still. “Yes.”
“Unwed ladies wear…white.”
She had chosen her gown with care for the farewell Rex had promised and when she had learned that Sean was gone, she hadn’t thought about changing it.
Her dress was darker and deeper than a pastel green and it was a part of her trousseau.
She had been supposed to wear it after her wedding, as it was more appropriate for a married woman than one unwed, both because of the color and the design.
It was the most alluring gown she owned.
Both the countess and Tyrell’s wife, Lizzie, who had supervised her trousseau, had been very surprised to see her wearing it.
She had worn it to impress Sean. She had worn it to make him look at her the way he had in the woods—the way he was doing now—with bold, burning eyes. He had said he would not accept her offer, but then why was he looking at her this way? “A young unmarried lady is allowed to wear pastels.”
“That is not a pastel,” he said firmly.
He was leaving her behind. Why couldn’t he understand that one night together was better than nothing?
Why couldn’t he understand that even if he didn’t love her, she had enough love for them both?
She was desperate to be in his arms, to make time cease, just for a while.
She was desperate to feel his love, even if it was a pretense on his part.
“I don’t like it,” he suddenly said.
His words were hurtful. “It’s a beautiful dress.”
He shrugged, folding his arms over his hard chest. “I don’t know anything…about fashion.”
She bit her lip. She knew she shouldn’t sink so low as to play him, but she did. “Peter likes this dress. He was staring and it was obvious. He asked me to stroll in the gardens after we finished dining, but I refused.” That last statement was a bold lie.
His color deepened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t point out that another man finds me very desirable, when you say you do not?” She was breathing rapidly now. “And when your claims are so clearly lies?”
He jerked in surprise. “I said…I didn’t come here tonight…for you.”
“Then why did you come?” she cried.
“You belong…to someone else!” He was red.
She froze. “No.” She shook her head. “No.” She had given her heart and her soul to Sean years ago. She belonged to one man and that was him.
He seemed to be fighting to speak. “Did you…break off…with him?”
She tensed.
“I didn’t…think so. Good!” He stalked away, stiffly pacing the confines of her bedroom.
She knew he was angry and upset, but she did not back off. “Sean, my offer stands.”
He stumbled, then whirled. “No!”
She dared to approach him. “Sean, we have always been honest and open with one another.”
His eyes were wide, wary. “That was Elle.”
She sensed him stiffening in resistance and struggled to find the right words. “I know you don’t love me, not the way I want you to. But Elle has grown up—I think we are agreed on that.” She smiled but tension consumed her.
“Last night…you were with Sinclair…moaning.”
She gasped. “Let me finish, please!”
“Why?” His furious gaze moved over her face and then dropped to her décolletage. “Tomorrow…you’ll be in bed…with Sinclair!” He stared unwaveringly at her.
“I don’t love Peter. I don’t want to marry him. But why do you care? Why are you angry? And don’t tell me you’re not! Sean, this might be the last time we ever see each other—ever.”
He faced her grimly, hands fisted on his hips. “I am not…angry. I want to talk about Sinclair!”
“No!” she cried, trembling. “I want to talk about tonight—I want to talk about making love with you—right now!”
He cried out. He was angry but he was also horrified and she knew it.
She whispered desperately, “I’m not asking for your love.”
“You should…marry Sinclair!” His eyes flashed. “The union is good. Damn it. Titles, land, wealth…But you can’t speak…this way! Do you understand?”