I want to go hunting, too!

Sean tensed. A memory he did not want to entertain threatened him.

IN BRAIDS AND DRESSED for riding, she was glaring and stomped her foot. He sighed. He had known this would happen if she ever learned that they were going hunting for two days. He had begged Tyrell not to mention their hunting expedition to her. This particular week he hadn't been able to shake her from his trail for more than a few minutes. "You're nine years old and you are a girl, even if you seem to wish you were a boy. You're not coming with us," he said firmly.

"Yes, I am," she said, stamping her foot again. "And so what if I wish I were a boy? Being a girl is stupid! I hate dolls. I like hunting! I like fishing! I like worms! I'm not too young- Father took you hunting when you were nine!"

"How would you know? You were a baby then." Annoyed, he turned and started to leave his room. She followed.

"I asked him, and he told me."

He stopped in his tracks and she crashed into his back. "Has anyone ever told you that you are too clever for your own good? You're not coming, Elle. If you're not careful, you might turn into a boy-and then you will die an old maid!"

She began to cry. "I hate being a girl! I hope I turn into a boy so I can be just like you."

There was no reply to make to that. Worse, he was feeling sorry for her and guilty for being cruel, so he rolled his eyes and left. Amazingly, a few hours later, as the hunting party set out, there was no sign of Elle. He wondered if it was possible that she had given up, but he highly doubted it. Was she sulking in her room? Was she still crying? His heart stirred. Her tears were usually a matter of theatrics, but he hated it when she cried anyway.

A few hours later, they were many miles from Adare. They had stopped to rest, water the horses and take some refreshments. Sean had actually forgotten about Elle as Cliff was regaling them with the story of his latest conquest-the lady being half a dozen years his senior and the bride of one of Father's elderly friends. But then Elle's fat red pony wandered into the makeshift camp and he was without his rider.

Fear briefly paralyzed him.

They split up to search for her. He was afflicted with images of her lying on the trail, her neck broken-one of the most common causes of death. This was his fault, he kept thinking, and he prayed that she was all right. If anything dire had happened to her he would never forgive himself...

He found her walking up the trail, looking dirty and unhappy, but unhurt. When she saw him, her face lit like a harbor beacon and she cried out, running toward him, holding her arms out.

He leaped from his charger and ran to her, hugging her hard. "What were you thinking?" he cried, almost angry. Then, cupping her cheek, "Are you all right?"

She nodded, her eyes huge and serious. "Sean, I fell asleep!"

He could not believe she had fallen asleep on her pony. He pulled her back into his embrace, holding her tightly there. "In an hour it will be dark, and there are mountain lions and wolves out here," he said thickly. "Elle, promise me you will never be so foolish again."

She regarded him seriously. "I only wanted to come with you."

SEAN SAT DOWN at the base of a tree. He wasn't fifteen anymore and she wasn't nine. Once, she had manipulated him as easily as he could whistle and snap his fingers for his dog. Those days were over. No one could manipulate him now, much less Elle-especially because she wasn't that annoying child anymore.

You know how I feel about you. Come to the house tonight and I will take care of you.

He stood, instantly and painfully aroused, choking on the air. She had been indulged far too greatly as a child. He suddenly wished to box her ears, as if that act might set her straight. But she hadn't ever tried to be a lady while growing up and clearly, nothing had changed. Convention did not interest her and she chose to ignore propriety. No wonder Sinclair was smitten.

He covered his face with his hands. Someone had to rule her with an iron hand. Once, that someone would have been him. But she had a father and three brothers to take up the slack. One of them, or possibly even Devlin, had to speak seriously with her. No woman of her station and rank should ever proposition a man so boldly. Such speech was simply dangerous.

What had she been thinking?

You know how I feel....

Come to the house tonight....

Sean looked at his mount. He should be getting on his horse and riding as rapidly as possible from Adare.

He was not going up to the house tonight.

Even if that meant he was never seeing her again.

"REX," CLIFF SAID. He paused on the threshold of a small library. Rex had his back to him, staring at the empty fireplace. He was clearly disturbed and brooding.

But Rex turned instantly at the sound of his voice, smiling, and he limped toward Cliff. They embraced, exchanging solid slaps on the back. "How are you?" Cliff asked. He hadn't been home in over a year and when he had, Rex had not been at Adare, although he had seen him at Harmon House in London the previous winter.

"I am well. And you look well," Rex said, looking him up and down. "Even the fine clothes cannot disguise the fact that you have become a heathen, Cliff."

Cliff laughed. He knew his hair was too long but otherwise, he had not a clue as to why people thought he looked like a barbarian or a golden-skinned Moor. No one knew that he lived with a knife in his belt, a stiletto up his sleeve and a dagger in his boot-even with a suit, he never wore shoes. "I think you have become fanciful. What passes in Cornwall?"

Rex shook his head. "Absolutely nothing."

Cliff walked to a bar cart where he poured two bourbons. "Then why spend most of your life there? I should go mad from the boredom."

"I have been making improvements to the estate. It is my living," Rex said, accepting the drink.

Cliff knew that he and Rex were as different as night and day. Still, he could not understand why anyone would want to seclude themselves on a Cornish estate in the middle of nowhere. "I hope you have a beautiful mistress warming your bed."

"I have willing maids," Rex said. "I can't afford a beauty."

Cliff's smile faded. He couldn't imagine bothering with a housemaid. Last night, he had espied Lady Barton playing whist and had managed to include himself in the game when her card partner had decided to retire. A quick flirtation had produced exactly the result he desired. If a woman were not extremely beautiful, he was not at all interested. Maybe he should procure a beautiful courtesan for his brother. It would surely help him pass the time.

"Why are you staring? You are rich and good-looking. You do not need to pay for service. I do."

Cliff made up his mind. He would send Rex a gift, a very seductive and alluring gift. "I didn't mean to stare. If you are determined to be a gentleman farmer, I will not try to dissuade you. And some women have found you infinitely more attractive than me." That was the truth. Surely Rex did not think himself handicapped because of his amputated leg?

Rex shook his head. "I do believe that is ancient history, brother. And it was my uniform they admired."

Cliff was suspicious, although Rex was right on one point. The ladies had adored any soldier in uniform during the war, especially a cavalry officer.

"I sense a scheme," Rex said abruptly. "I hope I am not involved. You have always been too reckless for your own good. It amazes me that you remain alive, considering your current status."

He had no intention of mentioning the present he intended to bestow on his brother; it would be a surprise. "As a privateer?" It was how he preferred to label himself, should a label be necessary, and when in society, it was.

"As a pirate hunter, who is but a hair's breadth away from drowning or the gallows," Rex said.

Cliff flashed a white grin. "In Barbary, they behead their enemies. The Moors and Turks do so, as well. The Spaniards have a new trick-it is called walking the plank."

"How pleasant for you." Rex took a seat, stretching out his unscathed leg. Absently he rubbed the remainder of his right thigh, which ended above the knee. "You and Eleanor are so very alike." He seemed distracted now.

Cliff sat eagerly. "Good! The very subject I should wish to discuss."

"The similarities you share with our sister?"

"So you still have some wit? No, brother, I wish to discuss our little sister and her impending marriage."

Rex smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "You wish to compare notes?"

"I most certainly do," Cliff said grimly.

ELEANOR HAD BEGUN TO PACK, planning on taking only a small satchel with her. But as she did so, she started thinking about Peter and the fact that their wedding was scheduled for the very next day.

Her heart lurched. If only Peter were cruel, cold and ugly. But he was none of those things; he was handsome and kind. He was going to be jilted. She wished he could somehow be spared the heartbreak.

An image suddenly crossed her mind, of Peter standing at the altar, waiting for her arrival. But the bride never appeared.

There would be confusion at first. Everyone, both family and guests, would assume her to be late. But then there would be chaos when one and all realized that she had disappeared-worse, run off.

Eleanor stiffened with dread. No one knew Sean was present, so no one would guess that she had run off with him, but she was very much in the public eye because of her impending wedding. A search party would be manned. The authorities would be summoned. As she stood there, with a few belongings scattered across her bed, she realized that if she left Peter, she would lead the British right to Sean!

Stunned, Eleanor realized that the wedding must be canceled this very minute. She must instantly shed her status as a bride. But her father would never agree to break the signed contracts at the eleventh hour-not without a very good reason.

She could not lose Sean again. There had to be a solution-and in that moment, she knew what it must be.

She must somehow convince Peter to jilt her.

He must be the one to withdraw from the marriage contract.

Eleanor didn't think twice. She raced through the house. Peter was sitting outside on the terrace with his sister, Lady Barton, and her husband. Lady Barton was a beautiful and elegant blond woman. Her husband was a bit older and somewhat dour in countenance. Eleanor managed to greet everyone pleasantly enough even though she was trembling with determination now.

Lady Barton came to stand beside her. "You must be so terribly excited, Eleanor. I remember what my wedding day was like! I simply could not wait to walk down the aisle in my wedding gown."

"I am very pleased, my lady," Eleanor somehow said. Her lips remained stretched in a smile that felt impossibly stiff. How she hated doing this!

Lady Barton patted her arm. "Do call me Dianna, my dear. Would you care to take a stroll? I noticed your brothers entering the maze."

Eleanor realized she was perspiring. "Actually, I had hoped to take a stroll with my fiance." She sent Peter a smile and realized her look had undoubtedly been beseeching.

Peter raced to her side. "I should love to stroll with you, my dear," he said.

Lord Barton spoke up. "Dianna, I am scheduled to tour the estate with his lordship. I am afraid I must leave you to your own devices."

"Oh, darling, never mind. I am sure I can amuse myself." Dianna pecked his cheek as he nodded at everyone and left.

"Do you wish to join us?" Peter asked his sister.

"Oh, I would not think of intruding." She beamed. "Do enjoy yourselves. I shall wander the gardens."

Eleanor suddenly glimpsed Cliff standing at one exit to the maze. She turned to look at Lady Barton and realized she was staring after him. Society was notorious for its affairs and she realized that Lady Barton had been in her brother's bed that morning. She just couldn't care.

"My dear?" Peter prompted.

Eleanor allowed him to take her arm and they left the terrace slowly. Her heart raced with her nervousness and dread. He deserved love and loyalty, and certainly not the ill treatment he was receiving.

"You are so quiet!" he exclaimed. "Is everything all right?"

She met his blue eyes and saw that he was worried. "I wish to apologize for my behavior last night."

His eyes widened, and then he blushed. "I very much enjoyed watching the stars with you, Eleanor," he said, low.

She did not want to go anywhere near the subject of his kisses and her inebriated responses to them, but that was precisely what she must do. She swallowed and said, "My behavior was terribly improper. I beg your pardon!"

He took both of her hands, halting her. "Darling! There was nothing improper about last night. Tomorrow afternoon we will be man and wife."

She knew she was red. Her mouth was also terribly dry. "I was foxed," she said.

He was clearly taken aback by her bold statement. "I do realize that."

She bit her lip. Lying was utterly distasteful to her, but there was no other choice. So she would try to convince him that she enjoyed drink far too much. "I do enjoy a glass of wine-or two."

He started. "Darling, I have never seen you drink, other than a single sip of champagne, in the entire time we have known one another."

Her cheeks were on fire. "I didn't want you to know."

He stared, stunned. "What are you trying to say?"

"I am a bit like Rex," she managed, feeling terrible.

"You mean...I don't believe it! I understand his leg hurts him, but he drinks in the morning-he drinks at noon! Do not try to tell me that you drink all day, too!"

She couldn't. "No, I just meant, I am fond of wine-and its effects. A bit too fond...for a lady. I didn't want you to be surprised-after we are married."

He appeared suspicious of her. "Eleanor, if you insist you like a glass of wine, then I am pleased. We have a wine cellar in Chatton, and while I should not admit it, the wines are French, the finest in the country. We will be able to enjoy a fine bottle every night! It is my preference, in fact, not to drink alone."

She turned away. Well, that ploy had certainly failed.

"Every lady I know enjoys a good glass of wine or sherry. Or do you like brandy and a cheroot, too?"

She worried the ribbon on her gown. "No, I don't drink brandy and..." She stopped. "I have heard that in Paris, there are women who smoke."

His eyes bulged. "Yes, there are. They are not ladies. You are not going to tell me that you smoke?"

He was horrified, she realized, with no satisfaction.

She stared. She realized that she should be telling him the truth. She should tell him that he was wonderful, but she simply couldn't marry him because she was in love with someone else. "I ride."

Relief flickered in his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I ride a stallion, astride, in men's attire. It is more comfortable than a riding habit," she added.

A terrible moment ensued. She knew her cheeks were crimson. "Eleanor, why are you doing this?" he asked slowly.

"You must know these things, if we are to wed," she somehow said.

"I do know about your dawn rides."

She gasped. "You know?"