Chapter 13 #2
Eleanor followed and knelt behind him. “I understand how painful this is,” she soothed.
She caressed his back. He continued to tremble, fighting his emotions for some kind of self-control.
She had never loved him more and she had never wanted to protect him as she did now, from this kind of grief and loss.
“It’s not your fault,” she said, and without even knowing it, she had slid her arms around him.
He didn’t move. “It is my fault.”
She had been right; he was blaming himself for a terrible tragedy.
She wished now she had been wrong. “No. The officers who allowed those men to burn your home, they are the ones responsible for Michael’s death.
You are a fine and honorable man. Had you been there that day, you would have died in his place and we both know it.
You cannot blame yourself.” She reached for him to turn him to face her. “Sean, look at me.”
He allowed himself to shift and he obeyed, his gray eyes lifting to meet hers.
She clasped his face. “You have to stop blaming yourself. Blaming yourself won’t bring Michael back. But you know that.”
His eyes flickered with anguish. “How many times…did I save you?” he asked in a whisper.
She didn’t answer, trying not to succumb to the same grief he was feeling.
“But I failed Michael,” he said slowly. “Why?”
A tear had finally spilled. Eleanor caught it with her thumb.
His gaze locked with hers. She became still, her hands on his face, as the anguish shimmered, becoming desperation.
She wanted to tell him that he could not run from Michael’s murder forever.
Instead, she slid her thumbs over his skin. He flinched, his eyes turning hot.
Nothing mattered, Eleanor thought, except that he was so wounded, in so much pain, and he needed her now. Even if only temporarily, she could soothe him. She stood, taking his hand as she did so and bringing him to his feet, too. “I love you so much,” she murmured unsteadily.
He stared at her and his eyes filled with tears. And then he shook his head.
She did not know if it was a denial of her declaration or a protest of what she intended, but she knew exactly how to comfort him now. She closed her eyes and floated her lips over his.
He stood utterly still, allowing her to kiss him, and she tasted not just his firm lips, but the salt of his tears.
And then his arms were around her and he was kissing her in return, deep and desperate.
THIS TIME, WHEN HE MOVED onto his back, Eleanor moved against his side, laying her cheek on his chest. She felt his body tense in response and she prayed.
Then, slowly, his hand slid over her arm, closing around her.
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut against sudden tears.
He wasn’t pushing her away. This was a beginning, and she was acutely aware of it.
He didn’t speak.
She waited until she had recovered some of her own composure, now thinking about his son, Michael.
She had so many questions but she did not have to debate with herself to know that now was not the time to raise such a painful subject again.
Besides, if possible she wanted to remain just where she was, in his arms, in his bed, being gently held, for as long as possible.
This time she wasn’t deluded—their passion did not signify any change of intention of his part.
She intended to cherish the moment. Eleanor laid her hand on his chest, caressing him, but in a manner meant to comfort, not arouse.
She wanted to press her lips to his skin, with all the love she was feeling, but she restrained herself. Then her stomach growled loudly.
She looked up as he looked down. His eyes were soft and searching. And, very faintly, he smiled. “I will get us supper.”
Her heart leaped in wild elation at the sight she had just witnessed. She smiled back, her chin now on his chest. “It’s dark. Maybe this is not a good time to be roaming the city streets.”
His somber expression had returned, but his eyes didn’t change.
He kept staring at her face, as if he were seeing each and every one of her features for the first time and as if he wished to memorize them.
“I’m hungry, too,” he said. He added, “Dark is better. I can slip through town without anyone…seeing me. And it’s not far… to the inn.”
For one moment, she laid her hand on his taut belly, relishing the smoothness of his skin and the fact that he was allowing her such liberties.
Then she recalled the thick and coarse web of scars on his back and she sobered.
She sat up. She never wanted him to suffer that way again. “I’ll get supper. I’ll go to the inn.”
He was staring at her breasts. “No.”
Eleanor realized he was admiring her and she felt a heady sense of allure. Her instinct was to raise the sheets, but she did no such thing. “Sean, I am not a child anymore. I do not need to be protected at every twist and turn. The inn is around the corner.…”
“No.” He handed her an edge of the sheet, placing it over her breasts. “Ladies are modest,” he chastised.
She had to smile. “But we agreed long ago that I am not a lady.”
And he smiled in return as he slipped from the bed. “How could I forget?”
She ogled him while he was reaching for his clothes. He suddenly glanced at her while stepping into his breeches and he blushed. “Ladies are not so bold.”
She shrugged. “You are beautiful.… Why can’t I stare? Men stare at women all the time.”
He sighed and reached for his shirt, which was now dry. “You can’t…it’s improper…you know that.”
“I hate being proper,” she declared, meaning it.
He went still, a faraway look coming to his eyes.
Eleanor had a vague recollection of a different time and place, when he was young and she was younger still. “Sean?”
He slowly turned, his gaze drifting over her and from the look in his eyes, she knew he was seeing her as a child in braids, not as the woman he had just taken to bed. Then his gaze sharpened. “You are a lady…just an unconventional one. Do not ever forget it.”
“I pretend to be a lady when I have to—which is most of the time,” she rebutted. “You know I despise wearing dresses and having tea and going to balls. I haven’t even learned to dance properly.”
He glanced at her, amused. “Only you…would dare to be so honest.”
“Sean, I see that dimple,” she said, and it was the truth.
He straightened in surprise, his soft smile vanishing.
She wondered if he was determined to grieve. She slid from the bed. “Sean…seeing you smile is wonderful.”
His eyes widened. “You should get dressed.” As he spoke, his cheeks turned red.
She was so comfortable with him that she hadn’t even realized she was nude. She jerked the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her. “I think you must know every inch of my body intimately by now.”
His color increased.
“But I don’t mind,” she exclaimed.
He seemed displeased now. “Elle, I hope you only act so bold…with me. No one else could understand…or accept it.”
She folded her arms. “Oh—you mean, like Sinclair?” And her heart raced with anxiety.
He lifted his chin. “Him, too.”
Had someone tied a rope between them, the tension could not have suddenly been greater. But Sean turned away. Eleanor seized his arm. The words slipped out. “You don’t really expect me to return to him? Not after all we have shared this day?”
He pulled away, buttoning his shirt and clearly refusing to answer her.
He still thought to send her back to Sinclair. “You spent the afternoon making love to me!” she cried in genuine shock.
He was angry. “We already discussed this.”
“There was no discussion and that was yesterday. There was an order, a directive—it was your decision, not mine.”
“Why do we have to debate again?” he demanded.
“Because it was one thing to have made a foolish mistake once—a meaningless and foolish one—but it’s another to willfully deceive a good and honest man when we both deliberately chose to be lovers!” She was furious.
He glanced sidelong at her. “Nothing has changed.… Sinclair is protection for you.” He started for the door.
She was so stunned with disbelief she just stood there, staring. Then she said, “I don’t need protection from the British—but you will never believe that, will you?”
He faced her. “I was an animal…in a cage. It was madness…it was hell. This time, I will hang. And you? Do you want to spend your life in the Tower? Or do you prefer a privileged existence as Lady Sinclair?”
She wasn’t furious now; she was determined to understand him. “You are not being rational. No one is going to lock me in the Tower. Is this irrational fear somehow connected to what happened to Michael?”
He refused to answer her.
“I can’t leave your bed and then take vows with Peter,” she said honestly. “You must see that it would be despicable.”
He cursed. “I knew it was a mistake. I have already arranged for you to return home tomorrow. And we agreed you would pretend innocence with Sinclair—you promised.”
“I promised no such thing,” she gasped. “And our one-sided debate was before you spent an entire afternoon enjoying my favors,” she added.
He held up his hand. “Don’t,” he warned.
“Don’t what? Don’t insist that you do the honorable thing?
I already made that mistake, didn’t I? And you already refused to marry me,” she said with some bitterness.
And no matter what she knew and understood, his failure to want to take her as a wife genuinely hurt.
“I’m not a fool. I would hardly play that card again. ”
“Then what game are you playing?” His eyes flashed angrily.
She swallowed hard. “I can’t leave you like this, Sean. I meant what I said before. If you go to America alone, there will be no one to take care of you. You said no one can help, but that’s not true. I can help. I will help. I am your other half.” And somehow, she smiled through her tears.
He was ashen. “I would die,” he said, so low his words were almost inaudible, “before placing you in that kind of danger.”
They were at a terrible impasse; he refused to listen to her and she could not understand his fears. “And I would die before leaving you now—this way.”
“No!” He was incredulous. “When will you understand? It’s not safe. I should not have returned for you…you would be married now. Safe and married to Sinclair! Damn it, Elle!”
She was ill that he could be so adamant after what they had shared. “You might want to send me home—but into the arms of another man? I don’t believe it! You want to be with me! You need me, Sean!” she cried.
“I need no one!” he shouted. “I need air, water, food…you need me, not the other way, and you always have!”
She recoiled.
“So cease insisting otherwise, damn it! I never asked for this…love! Never, not once, ever!” He was on a furious tirade.
“If things were different, maybe we could be together.… If things were different, I could be honorable and make you my wife. But you are engaged…as it should be! Forget me! Forget this!” He gestured wildly at the bed.
“You need to marry Sinclair, not me—not a traitor who is bound for the gallows.… And damn it…if you are having my child…he will raise my son as a bloody Englishman! He will never suffer indignation…outrage…injustice…anything!” he cried out, smashing the wine bottle, now empty, from the counter.
Eleanor flinched. How the truth hurt. “You’re right. I have always needed you and loved you. And you…what? You hated my affection, my trust, my loyalty? Just like you hated my lovemaking a moment ago?”
He was panting hard. “Not fair.”
“No, this isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that you left me four years ago, missing you terribly, without a word—perhaps while you were enjoying a liaison with someone else.
It is not fair that you came home now, and swept me back off my feet on my wedding day!
It is not fair that you took me to bed, but refuse to be a gentleman and do what is right. No, it’s not fair, Sean.”
He stared.
She wet her lips. She could not stop now. “You have hurt me so much since you left and now again, since you came home. Sean, do you realize that you never hurt me, not genuinely, in all those years when we were growing up together? You were my hero.”
“Stop,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “Maybe you didn’t need an annoying brat spying on you all the time—or a young woman who gladly rubbed her hands raw to help you rebuild your home.
In fact, I am sure you would have had a pleasant boyhood growing up without me, just as I am sure you could have rebuilt Askeaton without me. ”
“I’m sorry,” he offered.
“No! You had your say and now I have mine. You need me. You are suffering from the pain of Michael’s death, and the two years spent in prison, and maybe even more than that—I don’t know. You need me as you have never needed anyone or anything before. You need me more than air, food and water!”
He reached out to grasp the back of a chair.
“Do you know what else I realized this afternoon?”
He didn’t move, his gaze unwavering.
“I love you with all of my heart—not just the way you were, but the way you are now.”
He closed his eyes tightly. “Then you are mad,” he said.
“Yes, you are probably right. But today I have seen the truth. You are running from Michael’s murder. So be it. But you can’t run from me. I want to be your wife. And if I have to, I will wait—for as long as it takes.”
He inhaled, turning white. “No.”
And she began to tremble. “I am not going home to marry Sinclair, Sean.”
“I said no!” he roared. “When will you understand? I married Peg. I am not marrying you!”