Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELEANOR STARED OUT of the window and saw him racing across the lawns, a pale blur in the dark shadows of the night.
She managed to recall that he was wanted by the authorities and that many of their guests would still be up, playing cards or billiards downstairs.
Only that comprehension prevented her from screaming his name.
She turned from the window, horrified. Sean could not go like this—not now!
Eleanor ran to the bed and shrugged on her peignoir, crossing the room as she did so.
The hall was lit at intervals by sconces and she stumbled down it.
The earl and the countess had their suite at the end of the hall, and her bedroom was the only occupied room on this floor.
She raced upstairs. The first room she came to was Rex’s and she did not pause. She simply barged inside.
Rex was awake. He was seated on the sofa before the hearth, still dressed in his evening clothes, his jacket tossed aside, a glass of brandy in hand. He had been staring at the fire. When he heard her, he whirled, reaching for his crutch, which was on an ottoman by his hip.
Eleanor paused, panting.
He took one look at her and his face darkened. He set the brandy down and lunged to his foot, the crutch firmly beneath his arm. “Eleanor?”
She must never let him or anyone know what had actually happened that night. She realized her face was damp and that she must have been crying. “Rex, Sean just left the house. Please!” She stopped. She had actually rushed to him to beg him to bring Sean back. Now she froze.
He needed to flee the house, their guests, the authorities and the country, and she needed to go with him.
But nothing had changed—she was marrying Peter in the morning, so he could safely escape.
She was hot and cold, at once. She hadn’t had a chance to think about what had just happened, but she did so now. Had she done the wrong thing? How could she marry Peter now? How could she not?
I didn’t come…for that.
Then why did you come back?
I don’t know.
She had wanted him to touch her, hold her and kiss her as if he loved her, so she could cherish that pretense.
But what had happened? She had seduced him until he could not resist her.
There had been a stunning explosion of passion and an even more stunning release of that passion, but passion wasn’t necessarily love.
And the truth was that she had wanted him to love her—the way she loved him.
Now, she thought about the look of shock and horror on his face after they had made love.
“You should marry…Sinclair!”
What did she want Rex to do? Find Sean and drag him back to her, so he could look at her with more horror and even revulsion? He didn’t love her the way she wanted to be loved, and that had never been clearer.
“Eleanor!” Rex was towering over her. “What the hell has happened? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
Eleanor jerked and realized that her brother was furious, suspecting the worst—that is, he was suspecting the very truth.
She somehow smiled, in order to reassure him.
“I am never going to see Sean again and my heart is broken. We had an argument and he left before I could bid him farewell. Can you find him? You and Cliff have to help him escape and I need to see him one last time.” That, at least, was the truth. There had to be a final goodbye.
Rex stared, his face a mask of suspicion. “Was he in your room?”
She lifted her chin. “Where else would it be safe enough for us to meet?”
A very ugly look filled his eyes. “You need to tell me the truth,” he said harshly.
She interrupted. “I am telling you the truth! Sean just pointed out the advantages to my marrying Peter. In fact, he wants me to marry him. And that is why I am so upset.”
Rex studied her for a brief moment and nodded.
“I’ll try to find him. Get dressed. If I do find him, I am taking him to Limerick and that is where you will be able to say goodbye.
” Not waiting for her reply, he turned and went to Cliff’s door.
Eleanor waited another moment, to make certain Cliff would answer, which he did, and then she returned to her room on the second floor.
If anyone could find Sean, it was her brothers.
She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, recalling in vivid detail the sexual episode she had just shared with Sean. She trembled, suddenly sick at heart.
Had she been used?
She choked on the surge of anguish. There had been so much passion—she was never going to forget the way he had kissed her.
But everything had happened in minutes, mere minutes—or was it seconds?
He had kissed her as if he had wanted to kiss her for a lifetime—or had he been kissing her the way a man who was forced into two years of celibacy does?
Had his passion meant something? Had it meant anything at all?
Eleanor realized she was seated on the floor, her back to the door.
She had thrown herself at Sean, refusing to listen to his insistence that he did not want to become involved with her.
Maybe she should have listened. Maybe, for once, she should have heeded what someone else wanted, and not what she wanted.
There had not been one soft smile, one tender look.
Eleanor felt sick inside. But hadn’t Sean insisted that he had changed irrevocably?
When Rex returned, it was dawn. Eleanor remained seated in almost the same position, hugging her knees to her chest. She had rehashed every word and every moment she had shared with Sean since his return—as well as every moment she had spent in his arms that night.
There was only one conclusion to be drawn.
She loved him and she always would, even as dark and different as he now was; but he did not love her in return.
Once, he had loved her as a sister and a friend, but even that was lost to her now.
Sean had changed, and nothing would ever be the same.
Eleanor stood, her joints stiff, her body now aching from the loss of her virginity. She opened the door and saw Rex. He was grim, and in that moment, she knew without having to be told that he had not found Sean.
“I’m sorry. He’s become as wily as a fox, Eleanor. He’s gone to ground.” His gaze was searching.
She nodded, mouth pursed.
Rex seemed very upset. “Are you certain he did not hurt you?”
She shook her head, incapable of speech.
“Have you slept at all? It will be dawn in another half hour.”
How could she sleep? “No.”
He sighed then. “Eleanor, you are to be married in a few hours.”
Eleanor turned away, choking on a cry. She was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically, and she had not one ounce of reserves left.
A few days ago she had been pleased by the prospect of marriage to Sinclair; now, she was ill with dread.
She needed to be rational and reasonable, but her mind was too tired to analyze anything.
She could hardly jilt a high-ranking nobleman like Peter Sinclair now. So what was there to think about?
“Eleanor, you need to get a few hours of sleep,” Rex said kindly.
She turned and met his soft and concerned gaze. “I love Sean,” she heard herself say.
“I know.” He hesitated. “Sweetheart, it is over. Even if he loved you in return, Cliff is right. You have no future with him. But he doesn’t love you the way you wish. If he did, he would not have left you in tears this way. And he would not be promoting your marriage—he would be breaking it up.”
His words hurt. Eleanor choked and Rex pulled her against his solid, broad chest. “Get some rest,” he advised softly.
Eleanor nodded.
ELEANOR WENT DOWNSTAIRS. Sleep had been impossible. If she was getting married, she was going to need help—otherwise three hundred guests, her family and her groom were going to know that something was very wrong with the bride.
She found her sister-in-law in the kitchens, where she was discussing the banquet that would follow the wedding.
Lizzie was very fond of cooking and, since marrying Tyrell, she had gradually been assuming some of the countess’s duties and responsibilities.
She had become Eleanor’s best friend in the three years since her small, intimate wedding to Tyrell, and she was one of the kindest women Eleanor knew.
Now, she took one look at her and hurried over.
Eleanor knew that she was a sight. It was obvious she had been crying; her eyes were red and swollen and she was dreadfully pale.
“Eleanor? Oh, my dear, come here, let us speak,” Lizzie cried, leading her from the kitchens. She put her arm around her.
Eleanor tried to smile brightly at her, but she knew she failed. “I know you are terribly preoccupied,” she began, “and I cannot thank you enough for supervising the reception—”
Lizzie cut her off, clearly worried. “Eleanor! What is wrong? Are you ill?”
Eleanor bit her lip. It was hard to speak clearly. “Would you help me dress? I don’t feel all that well, actually, and I know I am a sight.”
Lizzie’s gray eyes were wide. “You are hardly a sight,” she lied, “but you seem nervous and you appear exhausted. Have you slept at all?”
Eleanor shook her head. “If you could help me with my rouge?”
Lizzie hesitated, her concerned gaze searching. “You are as dear to me as my birth sisters, Eleanor. This should be the happiest day of your life. But it’s not, is it?”
Eleanor closed her eyes. Sean’s image assailed her mind, not as she had first seen him in the woods, but as he strode across her bedroom, his eyes wild and hot before he took her.
“Dear, shall we sit and speak about this?”
Eleanor shook her head in negation. “Just…help me dress…please?”
“Of course!” But Lizzie took her hand and held it tightly. “Eleanor, if you are so unhappy, maybe you should not go through with it.”
Eleanor met her gaze. “You are so brave. You and Ty scandalized the ton with your indiscretions. How did you do it, Lizzie?”