Free The Stolen Bride by Brenda Joyce

as if had recently lost it. He was looking at her with such shattering intensity that she hesitated.
    “What?” she began, confused.
    But he was not looking into her eyes now. His gaze had slipped to her mouth and then it veered abruptly to her chest. She was, in fact, wearing one of his old, cast-off shirts. His gaze slammed to the knotted leather belt at her waist—or to her hips. Suddenly Eleanor was aware of how she must look in a man’s breeches. She had been wearing men’s attire for years—Sean had seen her dressed in such a bold fashion a thousand times—but in that instant, she felt immodest, indecent, naked.
    Her body hollowed.
    For the first time in her life, Eleanor understood desire. For the space inside her was so empty that she ached, and in that instant, she understood the necessity of taking him inside so he could fill it.
    She had thought she had felt desire before. She had enjoyed Peter’s kisses, certainly, and before Sean had left Askeaton, she had looked at him and wished to be the recipient of his flattery, to be taken into his arms, to be kissed by him. In that moment, she realized she had been playacting, pretending or even hoping to feel the way a woman was supposed to feel when she loved a man. But she had been too young and too innocent and she hadn’t felt this way at all. The pressure in her was combustible and consuming.
    It was so hard to speak. “You came home,” shesaid slowly, trembling. Now, she was cautious. She wanted to take his hand—as she used to do, lightly and innocently—but she was afraid to reach out. Somehow, in the previous moment, everything between them had changed. “What happened? Where have you been?” she asked.
    His eyes locked with hers, just for an instant before he looked aside. “I heard you’re getting married,” he said again, slowly, spacing out his low, rough words. And he lifted his silver gaze.
    She bit her lip, taken aback. Hadn’t she secretly fantasized about his return in the nick of time to save her from wedlock to another man? “Sean. I am affianced,” she began. But she did not want to discuss Peter or her marriage now.
    “The wedding—” he paused, as if it was hard to speak “—is in two days.”
    She didn’t even think about what she would say. She smiled tremulously at him. “It is a mistake. I’m not marrying Peter.”
    His eyes flickered.
    And she had to touch him one more time, even though she was afraid to perform such a simple gesture. She reached out to him, brushing his hand. She wanted to seize it and never let go. “It’s been so long! Everyone thinks you’re dead, Sean. I almostbelieved it, too. But you promised. You promised me you would come back and you did!”
    He didn’t look at her now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want…to hurt anyone.”
    He was acting so oddly and speaking so strangely. It had become awkward, as if they were strangers now, but that was impossible—they were best friends. “What’s happened to you? What happened to your voice? Why are you so thin? Why didn’t you send word? Sean…you’ve changed so much!”
    “I couldn’t send word.” He looked briefly, unemotionally, at her. His eyes had become even flatter and darker than before. “I’ve been…in prison.”
    “Prison?” She gasped in absolute disbelief. “Is that where you got those scars? Oh, God! Is that why you’re so thin? But why would you be in prison? You’re the most honest man I know!” But this began to explain his prolonged absence and his utter lack of communication with her and the family.
    He stared at the ground. “I shouldn’t be here.” He glanced up, at her, through her. “I escaped.”
    The implications of what he said hit her then, hard. “Are they looking for you?”
    “Yes.”
    Her mind scrambled, fear rising. He was not going back to prison. Nothing would stand in her way ofhelping him now! “You must hide! Were you followed here?”
    “No.”
    She was relieved. “The stables? You