Chapter 10 #2
ELEANOR STOOD RIGIDLY behind Sean as he unlocked a warped pine door, in a dismal, dark and very cramped hallway at the top of impossibly narrow stairs.
The single room where Sean and she were about to hide was above a cobbler’s shop on a street overlooking one of the many canals that ran through Cork.
It was hard to believe that this was where they would stay, even if only temporarily.
A rat had scurried under the stairs when they had first gone inside and there was no lighting in the cubicle entryway downstairs or on the landing where Eleanor now stood.
The building smelled suspiciously like vinegar—or was it urine?
The door Sean was shoving open had a gaping hole between two of the four planks.
Once, it had probably been painted green.
Now, it was an ugly shade of gray in most places and a natural hue everywhere else.
Sean stepped aside and looked at her, trying to meet her eyes. “It’s not much…but it’s a good place to hide,” he said slowly.
Eleanor refused to look at him. She walked past him, careful not to let her petticoat brush him, and paused in the center of the sparsely furnished room. Sean followed her in and shut the door, bolting it twice.
They had been traveling since the very early morning.
Although Eleanor had not believed she would ever rest, she had fallen asleep almost from the very moment she had lain down and wrapped what was left of her wedding dress around her.
She had slept deeply and dreamlessly, in exhaustion.
The arrangement had been for Sean to stand guard for two hours and then to take his turn sleeping while she stayed awake, taking the next watch, but he had not awakened her until it was time to leave.
If he wanted gratitude, he was not going to get it.
He wasn’t a gentleman and he had proven it by not even considering marriage to her.
He had used her body; he had made that very clear.
She was never going to understand why he had come back to take her with him, and maybe it was better that she didn’t.
She finally understood. The man she had loved her entire life was gone.
Some dark and even dangerous stranger was in his place, someone with no respect for ladies and no respect for her.
Eleanor was numb. She glanced around at the interior of the room.
A tin sink was on one planked wall. There was a cast-iron stove and a basket of kindling beside it, a small cabinet above.
A small rickety table and two equally spindly chairs were in the room’s center, carved from cheap, pale pine.
On the opposite wall was a single bed, with a red blanket and some sheets that had once been white and were now beige.
Facing the door was a dirty window with faded muslin curtains, and there was one rack of pegs, from which hung a gentleman’s suit, complete with waistcoat and ruffled shirt.
Socks and shoes sat on the floor beneath it.
The well-tailored ensemble was incongruous with the rest of the room.
“I know…you’ve never been…in a hovel,” Sean said tersely, “but it won’t be for long.”
Eleanor limped over to the window and saw one of the channels of the River Lee.
There were a few small barges in the river and one sloop with passengers, about to disembark from a dock.
A few street vendors were on the quay, and one horse and cart was passing by.
She turned away from the rather charming scene, taking a chair at the table and sitting down.
As she removed her very dirty shoes, she debated ignoring him for the rest of their time together, especially as he seemed to want her attention now.
But such behavior was very childish, especially when she wanted to answer him, so she finally looked at him.
He was staring at her with such intensity that she was taken aback. But the moment she met his gaze, he glanced away, his long, dark lashes fluttering over his eyes. Why had he been staring at her in such a way?
And her foolish heart turned over, hard. She inhaled. This man was a stranger, someone she did not know—someone she did not wish to know. “Yes, I cannot forget. You are sending me home, at once. And when will that be?” How bitter she sounded!
He folded his arms across his chest, which, in spite of his lean frame, remained broad and hard.
Eleanor wished she hadn’t noticed. “As soon as possible…I can’t send you home…
with anyone, Elle.” He flushed. “Eleanor,” he corrected himself.
“I have to arrange for an escort I can trust…someone to guard you with his life.”
So it was Eleanor now, she thought grimly. “And before I go, are you going to give me precise instructions as to how to delude Peter into thinking I am a virgin?” How cool and unshaken she sounded.
He flinched, his color crimson now. “Yes.” He turned his back to her, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his cloth breeches.
“Maybe you had better instruct me now,” she snapped. “Are you an expert in the subject of taking innocence and then educating the object of your previous affections in the art of pretense and theater?”
He faced her. “I understand…you are angry with me. You have cause!”
“I’m not angry.” She smiled coldly and stood. “I have realized you are right. You have changed. Sean O’Neill is dead. As soon as possible, I should like to go home to my fiancé. I was in love before you came back, and I do not know what possessed me to look at a man like you even twice.”
He paled.
She had wanted to wound Sean, and she still knew him well enough to know that she had done just that. She saw the hurt in his eyes. She should not care. It was time to go home and marry Sinclair. But, dear God, she could not help feeling that Sean had suffered enough.
His face had become a mask with no expression. He strode to the stove and began placing kindling in it.
It was cool in the room; she did not object. She saw that he was tense and angry. Eleanor wished she hadn’t spoken so cruelly. She stood. “Can I help?”
“No.” He used flint to light the fire and once it was burning, firmly closed the door to the stove.
He did not look at her now, as he walked to a chair, pulled it away from the table, and sat down.
The instant he did so, he shoved out his long legs and his head fell back.
In that moment, Eleanor realized he was exhausted.
He had escaped prison just a few days ago and ever since, he had been running from his pursuers.
The night before last, he had slept in the woods and last night, he had stayed up all night, watching for troops.
She didn’t want to feel sorry for him but it was obvious that he had no physical resources left.
Eleanor hesitated, her gaze taking in every feature of his face; finally, his expression was relaxed.
Her glance slid down the hard line of his throat and then to the even harder planes of his chest, rib cage and torso. The soft white shirt he wore clung.
His eyes opened, meeting hers.
She knew she flushed. “You must be tired. Why don’t you take your boots off? I will keep watch.” She didn’t smile at him. But she was a compassionate woman and she couldn’t treat Sean any differently than she would someone else in his position.
He hadn’t moved from the slumped position he had assumed but his eyes remained on her now. And then he straightened, lifting one leg and reaching for his boot. He grunted.
Eleanor turned away, wanting to help him but reminding herself that he was a cad and a rogue with no conscience. I am afraid…for you! She didn’t know why he was afraid for her, when he was the one in trouble, and she did not want to remember him saying so.
Eleanor suddenly realized that Sean was struggling to pull off his boot. He had turned as white as a sheet, sweat was dripping from his brow and he looked as if he were in pain. She could not help herself. She strode to him. “I’ll do it,” she said.
Their gazes collided; he glanced instantly away. “Thank you.”
Facing him, she took hold of his boot and pulled as hard as she could. The boot came off but Sean gasped, blanching impossibly.
She instantly saw why. His socks were tattered rags and his feet were bloody and swollen.
What had she been thinking? He had been in a prison cell for two years.
He wasn’t used to walking and he wasn’t used to wearing boots.
And she had been complaining about her three paltry blisters.
“Sean,” she managed to whisper, instantly aching for him.
His color was returning. He peeled off the bloody sock, tossing it aside, and set his foot down. He reached for the other boot—she stopped his hand. “I’ll do it,” she said, her stomach churning.
He lifted his gaze; their eyes met and this time, they held. “Be quick.”
She nodded, pulling off the other boot. This time he didn’t make a sound. Eleanor knelt at his feet, removing the other bloody sock. “I need to get some water. Do we have soap?” She looked up.
He had his head thrown back and he was breathing hard. It was a moment before he spoke and he didn’t glance at her. “I am fine.” His shirt was wet with sweat now, too. Unfortunately she could see every clearly defined plane and line in his muscular chest and torso.
She looked away, fighting to control her fear. “You are hardly fine. And unless you want a serious infection, your feet need to be tended to, Sean.” She was silent for a moment. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He finally looked down at her. “I had other things on my mind.” He started to stand.
She shoved him back into the chair. “I’ll get the water and soap. Just sit still.”