The Stolen Bride Read Free

am, and someone passably attractive,” she had said. She had no emotions left. But she added grimly, “Actually, he must be a superb horseman or we will never get on.”
    “Eleanor—” the earl had leaped to his feet “—you are making the right decision.”
    She had warded him off. “Yes, I know.” And she had left before he might inquire as to her suddenchange of heart. She had no wish to discuss her personal feelings with anyone.
    An introduction had been made a month later. Peter Sinclair was the heir to an earldom, the estate seated in Chatton, and his family was well-off. He was her own age, and he was handsome and charming. He was a superb horseman and bred Thoroughbred racehorses. She had been wary of his English background, having been chased improperly by some English rakes during her two Seasons, but upon meeting him, she had liked him instantly. His behavior had been sincere from the first. That very night, she had decided he would suit. The match had been arranged shortly thereafter, due to her enhanced age.
    Suddenly Eleanor felt as if she were on a bolting horse, one she could not bring to a halt. A horsewoman her entire life, she knew the best recourse would be to leap off.
    But she had never bailed from a runaway, not once in her twenty-two years. Instead, she had exerted her will and skill over the animal, bringing it under her control. She tried to remind herself that all brides were nervous and it was not uncommon. After all, her life was about to forever change. Not only would she marry Peter Sinclair, she would move to Chatton,live in England, run his home and soon, bear his children. God, could she really do this?
    If only she knew what had happened to Sean .
    But she did not know his fate, and she was probably never going to learn of it. Her father and Devlin had spent years searching for him, using Bow Street Runners. But his name was not an unusual one, and every lead had turned out to be false. Her Sean O’Neill had vanished into thin air.
    Once more, she blamed herself for ever allowing him to go. She had tried to stop him; she should have made an even greater attempt.
    Abruptly Eleanor halted her mount and she closed her eyes tightly. Peter would be a perfect husband, and she was very fond of him. Sean was gone. Not only that, he’d never once looked at her the way Peter regarded her. It was a great match. Her fiancé was kind, amusing, charming, blond and handsome. He was horse-mad, as was she. As the English debutantes she had once been forced to attend would say, he was a premier catch.
    Eleanor quickly moved the stallion forward. At this late hour, she was lying to herself. Peter was a dear man, but how could she marry him when there was even the slimmest chance that Sean was alive? On the other hand, she couldn’t break the contracts now!
    Suddenly real panic began. She had been a failure in London. She had hated every ball, where she had been snubbed because she was Irish and tall and because she preferred horses to parties. The English had been terribly condescending. She was going to be a failure in Chatton, too—she was certain of it. Even if Peter had never questioned her background, once he got to know her he would be condescending, too.
    Because she wasn’t proper enough to be his English wife. Proper ladies would not dream of riding astride in breeches, let alone doing so alone. And while a few were brave enough to foxhunt, ladies did not shoot carbines and fence with masters; ladies loved shopping and gossip, which she abhorred. Peter didn’t really know her—he didn’t know her at all.
    Ladies don’t lie .
    It was as if Sean stood there beside her, his silver eyes oddly accusing. If only he hadn’t left her. How could it still hurt, on the eve of her wedding, when she had invested the entire past year of her life in her relationship with Peter?
    And Eleanor knew she was on that runaway horse yet again. Her wedding was in three days and until recently, she had been