The Stolen Bride by Brenda Joyce

handed him the sack.
    He was staring at her, so she smiled back. “There’s a nice change of clothes in the oilskin,” she added.
    “Thank you,” he finally said, grim and grudging at once. He sat down in the dirt, opening the bag. He glanced up at her, then bit into the cheese. In that moment, she felt how hungry he was. Eleanor went still, realizing she had been right to bring him food now. In minutes, he had devoured it all.
    Had they starved him in prison? she wondered. She looked away so he would not realize how upset she was.
    Suddenly he said, “Elle, I didn’t leave anything for you.”
    She inhaled and turned, smiling. “I’m not hungry.”
    His gaze met hers. “You’re always hungry,” he said softly.
    The present slid away, and she knew he felt it, too. She had always had a huge appetite for a woman and no one knew it better than Sean. She thought of thoselong days at Askeaton when she had labored at his side to rebuild the manor house from charred ruins; they had taken their meals on the floor, seated crosslegged before the hearth. “I had a huge breakfast,” she lied.
    “Do you want some wine?” he asked, standing up. This time there was no mistaking that he was moving stiffly and awkwardly, as if hurt.
    “No, thank you,” she answered.
    He uncorked the bottle with a very frightening dagger. Then he hesitated, their eyes meeting.
    She understood. “I don’t mind—you will not offend me by drinking from the bottle.”
    He nodded and tipped the bottle. A look of sheer pleasure crossed over his face and she suspected he had not had a sip of wine in years. Her heart broke for him. The gentleman remained, there inside the felon, and he was trying to reappear, whether Sean knew it or not.
    She took the opportunity to really enjoy the sight of him. He might be thinner than he had once been, but he had always been the most stunning man she had ever set eyes on, and that had not changed. The planes of his face might be harder and sharper, but every angle was beautiful and perfect. When they were children, he had been so beautiful, while she had been so plain, that they had both been teased about it.
    And in a way, his body was perfect, too. Because he bore no fat, every movement caused an interesting reaction in the muscles and tendons there beneath his dark skin. There was no mistaking how hard and strong his body was. Her glance strayed to his narrow hips and she recalled the times she had so brazenly spied on him making love to the local wenches. Sean had been a rake as a young man, and she had glimpsed far more of his perfect body than she should have. She lifted her eyes, aware of blushing, thinking about the fact that he was excessively virile, vaguely aware that he had become so still. What would it be like to taste him? What would it be like to have him kiss her—really kiss her?
    “Don’t,” he suddenly warned.
    She tensed, their gazes locking. “I’m…not… doing anything.” She cleared her throat. “Sean, are you hurt? You are almost limping.”
    “I’m tired,” he said slowly. “I’m sore,” he admitted.
    She tried to imagine spending two years in a cell with no opportunity to hike or ride. In one way, she and Sean were alike—neither one of them liked the indoors at all. “You need to rest.”
    “You need to go…back to the house. Your behavior this morning…has been too suspicious.”
    “I’d like to talk to you first,” she said earnestly.
    He faced her warily.
    She stiffened. Why did he think to guard himself against her? “Sean, I am on your side—only on your side. You do know that?”
    He was rigid and at first, unresponsive. “Elle… it’s not a clever idea…for you to help me in any way.”
    She knew better than to argue. “Cliff returned last night.”
    Sean’s expression relaxed. “How is he? Is he still cruising the West Indies and West Africa, fighting corsairs…taking prizes…shipping wine and silk… seducing Hapsburg princesses?”
    “ Has