A knock sounded on her door.

His eyes flew open and she saw fear in them.

"Lady Eleanor?" her maid said.

Sean had paled. "The maid?"

"I'll send her away!" Eleanor cried, seizing his hand. He had been a moment away from surrender, and she knew it. The timing could not have been worse. Now his thoughts were on discovery or escape.

He shook his head fiercely. "Routine. Answer it." The desire and need that had been so brightly reflected in his eyes was gone. His gaze was hard, controlled. Eleanor could not be more dismayed. Then he pulled away, crossing the room and disappearing behind the curtains.

The window did not slam closed.

Her maid knocked again. "Lady Eleanor?"

She stood in the center of the room, barely hearing the maid, thinking about how Sean almost let her lead him to the bed. She was shaking with so much desire. Finally, she turned to let Lettie in.

"My lady, what took you so long to answer?"

Only her personal maid, whom she'd known her entire life, could be so bold. "I fell asleep," she lied, glancing at the draperies again. She knew Sean hadn't left; she could feel his intense presence.

"Let me get your nightclothes, my lady," Lettie said, going directly to the armoire and retrieving Eleanor's white cotton nightgown.

Eleanor was about to tell her that she would change later. It was late, though, and she had no excuse to make for not having Lettie help her get ready for bed, as that was what she did every single night. But Sean was standing a short distance away, hiding behind the curtains, and they had yet to finish the conversation that would have to last her the rest of her lifetime. How could she undress now?

She began to tremble. Her breasts felt fuller, the tips tingling. She had become thick and swollen in unmentionable places.

The maid had laid her nightclothes on the bed as she always did and she swiftly undid the buttons on the back of her gown. Eleanor tensed as Lettie pulled the gown over her head. She could no longer breathe; Lettie was untying the strings of her corset and loosening it.

The corset vanished. Eleanor bent to reach for her garters, feeling naked now, her cheeks on fire. Her heart beat hard and fast, and her skin tingled wildly. She could barely believe what she was doing and she was certain Sean was watching.

His lust, his need, his desperation had combined into a single tangible element and it filled the room.

When her stockings and shoes were gone, she hesitated, trembling uncontrollably and afraid her maid would notice. Sean's lovemaking was not going to be anything like Peter's gentle kisses. She somehow was certain of it. She could not wait. She needed him now.

And then her chemise was gone.

And she suddenly could not stand it. Lettie was untying her drawers but all Eleanor could think about was Sean touching her bare skin, his hands on her hips, his mouth on the side of her neck.

Suddenly her nightgown dropped over her head and spilled down her body. It was the finest spun cotton, the gown V-necked, the insets sheer, the body sleeveless and trimmed in lace. Eleanor could not move. Lettie unpinned her hair and then spread the masses out over her shoulders. Then she began to divide her hair into sections.

Eleanor swallowed so she could speak. "No. I don't want a braid tonight." Before her maid could evince surprise, she smiled firmly. "Good night, Lettie. I am exhausted," she added.

She thanked her maid, walking her to the door without even realizing it. Nor was she aware of closing the door and locking it. All she could think was, Sean. The air in her room had become so thick she was almost choking on the tension, the heat. No, she was choking on his tension, his heat.

She heard him coming.

She turned, pressing her spine into the wood.

Sean's strides ate up the distance between them. His gaze was wide, hard, fierce.

Eleanor felt a moment of extreme excitement, even fear. She had provoked him, and she saw he was beyond any control. He was aroused, so much so she could see the wide hard line in his breeches. And she felt the first spasm of uncontrollable pleasure, licking between her thighs.

He didn't stop.

She arched back against the door, gasping.

His hands seized her shoulders and their eyes collided.

It was Sean, but she had never seen him like this before. He was crazed with desperation and lust.

And then she knew she wanted to see affection and love there.

But she had enough love for them both. "Sean," she began, reaching for his beautiful face.

His eyes seared hers, his mouth inches from her lips. "Too late!" he cried. And he pulled her against his stiff, inflamed body, and his mouth opened, covering hers.

His mouth was filled with insatiable greed. She became still, grasping his shoulders, as he kissed her deeply, wetly, thrusting his tongue deep, licking her inside. Her heart burst. She swelled, and knowing it, he pressed his massive loins over her.

She'd had no idea, she somehow realized, that passion was like this. She cried out, kissing him back now, using her tongue to explore him, filled with an answering greed. He gasped in pleasure, his hands finding her breasts, and ripped her nightgown away from her.

She felt the first spasms begin as he teased her nipples into an impossible state of pleasure and pain, their mouths now fused completely. And then his chest flattened her breasts, and her spine was crushed against the door while his huge manhood slid between her wet thighs.

Eleanor became dizzy and faint with cresting desire, the throbbing excitement.

Shaking uncontrollably, as well, he pushed against her, his mouth now against the side of her neck. He was hot, wet and hard between her thighs.

Eleanor began to fly and break apart and she wept in pleasure against his mouth.

He gripped her buttocks, now bare, in his hands. "Please," he gasped. "Elle, please, let me fill you."

She understood that he needed her and wanted her as he had never needed or wanted anyone before. "Sean!" Ancient instinct made her lift her leg and wrap it around his waist.

He groaned, the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, helped her lift her other leg and then he was burying himself inside her.

There was a brief pain, and then there was only dark mindless pleasure, hot friction, wet heat and a deep, rich wild spasm began. He was huge, filling her completely, perfectly. And he pushed hard and fast and faster still, gasping and determined, mindless, intent. Eleanor held on to him, sobbing with pleasure, crying in release.

He cried out thickly, collapsing against her, his body convulsing, filling her with his wet heat.

The tension rippled away, vanishing. She held him, gasping for breath, loving him more than ever, so much so that it hurt. She slowly released her legs, and he let her, so her feet found the floor. She held him more tightly, beginning to understand what had just happened. "Oh, Sean," she whispered.

He stiffened in her arms.

In that moment, she knew he had regained his mind, too.

And he straightened, looking at her with wide eyes-and it was a look she had seen once and hoped to never see again.

He looked at her with shock.

"No," Eleanor began, reaching for him.

He leaped away.

"Sean! No! It's all right!" she cried desperately, attempting to smile. "I love you!"

He backed away, his eyes wide with disbelief. And then she saw his self-loathing begin.

"Don't go," she whispered. "I love you-come back."

He shook his head, backing away another step. And then he turned and strode to the window.

Eleanor wept his name.

But he was already gone.

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."