Eleanor managed to inhale, although she continued to shake. She laid her hand on a vein of scars. "I don't understand. You could be through with Kate by now."

"Don't," he breathed.

She stroked her hand down the vein of scars. "Sean," she murmured. A tremor passed through him. She laid her other hand on a different set of scars; leaning closer, she pressed her mouth to the apex of puckered-up tissue.

"Not...good," he gasped.

She sensed that his surrender was imminent. Barely able to breathe, she shifted forward until her soft breasts, the tips aching and erect, pressed into his back. She moved her mouth against his skin, against the ribbed scars, kissing him slowly, repeatedly. He shuddered and whispered hoarsely, "Do you want me...to hurt you?"

She clasped his shoulders and when she spoke, her mouth moved against his hot, rough skin. "No. I've been hurt enough. Sean, you won't hurt me." And she kissed the side of his neck, which in contrast to the scars, was soft and smooth.

He moved, breaking free of her, facing her, eyes wild and hot. "Why? Why do this...seduce me... again?" There was desire in his tone but there was so much panic, too.

Her body was so feverish she felt insane. "Because I need to be with you, too! Because you are a passionate man-and I am a passionate woman." And because I love you, she thought.

"Don't," he said harshly, "make this any harder... than it is."

Her mind raced, but blankly, and her blood hummed. "Sean, you've changed," she whispered, "but I still want you, even more than before."

He was still, his gaze wide-a battle there. And very slowly, he said, "I can't hurt you...again. Please!"

"You won't." Even as she spoke, she knew she was lying-she knew she was going to become hurt, hugely so. Her heart told her that. But everything had vanished, all logic, all of her plans, her resolve, were gone. There was only a dully lit, sparsely furnished and cheap room; there was only her and Sean.

"You need to go back to Adare." His eyes were intense, brilliant, on hers. "You need to marry Sinclair."

"And you need to go to America. I know that. But what does that have to do with today, tonight?" she asked softly.

He just stood there, breathing hard.

She was breathless, too. "Sean?"

He was begging her now with his eyes. "I can't give you...love."

"I'm not asking for you to give me anything more than pleasure," she whispered, and in that moment, she meant her words. He blanched. "I am asking you for pleasure, Sean. I need you to give me pleasure, now."

And his face turned crimson, his gaze silver and bright. He moved, groaning.

Eleanor cried out and then she was in his arms and their mouths were open and fusing. His body was pressing against hers. "Elle," he gasped against her mouth, already unbuttoning her shirt. "Elle."

Eleanor gasped as his hands covered her breasts, beneath shirt and chemise. Briefly he tore his mouth from hers to look into her eyes. He smiled.

She was stunned, but there was no time to think. He arched her backward over his arm, kissing her hard and furiously. And then he half lifted and half dragged her to the bed, climbing over her and finding her nipple with his mouth.

Exquisite sensation, part pleasure, part pain, shot though her. Eleanor felt faint and she began to seek the wild pleasure that was cresting over her. She wanted Sean to hurry.

And he was fumbling with her trousers. She felt him pulling them off, her drawers vanished. His mouth moved back to her face, her lips, her throat, her breasts. His hands were shaking, covering her skin in the wake of his mouth. Eleanor could not stand the sheer pleasure his mouth and hands were inflicting; her body had become so turgid, she thought it might break.

Suddenly his hands settled on her hips, anchoring her to the bed. He started exploring the flat expanse of flesh around her belly button with his mouth and tongue. Eleanor tensed; his mouth was causing the flesh of her sex to expand impossibly, to throb with a terrible urgency. She wriggled helplessly beneath his laving tongue as it delved lower and lower still. She gasped when he began to stroke the cleft of her sex. She went still, while her heart threatened to explode in her breast, her body surging.

Eleanor began to break apart and as she shattered, his tongue became bold and insistent, reckless and adept. She shattered again and again and he fed her cries relentlessly, until she had nothing left to give.

He lifted himself up and moved over her. She looked at him and he met her gaze, his eyes impossibly hot. "I need you," he said roughly.

She knew and she smiled, cupping his cheek.

He slid one strong arm beneath her, bent and kissed her again, the kiss filled with urgency but controlled, restrained. Then he reached down to free himself. And his heavy loins pressed swiftly against hers. Eleanor gasped, new stirrings building rapidly again.

And Sean hesitated. Eleanor met his searching gaze. "Are you certain?" he asked.

She touched his face, the curved scar there. "Yes." She had never been more certain of anything, sh realized.

Sean nodded, eyes drifting closed. Sheer need written all over his face, he moved against her, pressing into her warmth. "Elle."

Eleanor took his face in her hands-his beloved face. "You won't hurt me," she whispered. "Hurry, Sean, I love you!"

He cried out. Sweat-or tears-trickled. He kissed her, and then began to move, eyes tightly closed. The love swelling in her chest was replaced with something urgent and intense. Eleanor held on to his shoulders, the tension spiraling quickly, impossibly, and then it broke apart.

Sean gasped, moving harder and faster, as she spun wildly through the room, the ceiling, the universe. His cries became harsh, mingling with hers, and he reached completion, too.

Eleanor slowly floated back to the bed and the earth. She held his damp body as he moved to his side and she began to think. She was afraid that she loved Sean as he was, as much as she loved the man he had once been. In fact, no matter how he had changed, she had never loved him more. She kissed his moist cheek, afraid of what might come next.

His body had been utterly limp and relaxed. Now he stiffened. His head lifted and their gazes met. His stare turned blank. "Are...you all right?"

Eleanor was alarmed. How could she love the man he had turned into? How could she not? And where did that leave her? Even though he had so much passion, that wasn't necessarily love and she had promised herself that she didn't need his love-she only needed him whole and healed again.

"Elle...Eleanor?"

And she hated it when he corrected himself. "I'm still Elle, just grown-up."

His stare was odd and unhappy.

Eleanor reached for her shirt, drawing it closed over her breasts. She slid her bare legs under the sheet, pulling it up to her waist. "Yes." She swallowed, smiled. "I am fine. That was...lovely."

His eyes held hers.

She somehow kept smiling.

He didn't smile back. But he hesitated, as if he was uncertain, too.

She forced lightness into her tone. "I am fine. Making love-I mean, sharing your bed-was wonderful. And that is all it was, of course. That is all I want, I mean."

He stared at her as if she were the Loch Ness monster.

Her smile vanished. She fought the rising hurt. "Because that is all you want. Passion, a bedmate, a lover."

He sat up, turning aside so she couldn't see him straighten his breeches. Then he glanced at her. She was now hugging the sheets to her neck. "I want you safe...that is what I want." He stepped from the bed. "I'll go for water so you can bathe."

She didn't want to bathe. She knew she must not push. "You want me safe-at Adare."

He started for the door. "Yes."

She knew she must not add, with Sinclair. But one conclusion was inescapable. He was very attracted to her, but if he had any deeper feelings for her, he would not be able to send her home to her fiance. If he had any deeper feelings for her, he would want to take her to America with him.

At the door he suddenly turned. "You are impossibly beautiful...Eleanor."

She tensed. She did not like his expression or his tone, and she knew a "but" was coming.

"You deserve more than a night...in my bed."

She didn't hesitate. "Yes, I do." And she almost wished she hadn't verbalized what remained in her heart.

He was so clearly unhappy and resigned. "I'm sorry," he said.

Eleanor pulled the covers higher and watched him walk out once again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE FLAT WAS SUDDENLY achingly empty. Eleanor inhaled, trembling. A few moments ago, when they had been making love, she had felt closer to him than she ever had. Yet now, clearly, he was regretting what they had just done and what they had just shared. She knew he had been through more suffering than any one man should ever bear, but she just couldn't understand why he couldn't accept their need for one another-why he couldn't allow love to grow between them.

She began to dress, refusing to feel hurt, trying to understand, yet failing. Maybe, when she knew more about the past four years, his behavior would be comprehensible. But how much time did she have before he left for America and she was forced to return home?

Eleanor suddenly winced. She realized she had stepped on a sharp object with her bare foot. She glanced down, surprised to see a very tiny carved figurine on the floor. Instantly she knew it had fallen out of the pocket of Sean's breeches earlier and she retrieved it. It was a ship with a single mast, the details exquisite. Because of its size, she felt certain it had been carved for a child.

Unease filled her. Why had Sean kept this tiny boat in his pocket? How many secrets was he keeping? First there was Peg, and now there was some child in his past, as well?

He entered the room. Their gazes collided and he looked away, going to the wood bathing tub in the room's corner. "I'll fill it so you can bathe," he said, not looking at her. He tossed the pail of water in, but before he could leave Eleanor went to him.

"Sean. Wait."

He stiffened, glancing at her. "Don't."

"I don't understand you!" she cried. She knew she should leave this subject alone now, but she couldn't.

"I know. You can't...not anymore." His gaze held hers now, searching and agonized. "I've changed. We have agreed on that.... I was honest. I said I couldn't give you anything but an hour in bed...you said you understood me. But you weren't being honest, were you?" He was accusing.

She hesitated. "I thought I could settle for passion, but I was wrong."

He paled. "I need to get more water."

She seized his arm. "That was far more than passion, Sean!"

He turned, incredulous. "You don't...know anything. You were innocent...until the other night. I don't want to discuss this." He jerked away and left the room.

Eleanor sat down hard on a chair at the table, and then realized she still held the carved ship. She put it down. He had come very close to saying that she was wrong-that their lovemaking had meant nothing to him. Had he been so blunt, it would have been too hurtful to bear.

She hugged herself. One thing was clear. She needed time to be with Sean, to help him through his misery and to change his mind about what he intended. But the British were on their trail and in a matter of days, he could be bound for America and she could be on her way home. Her heart lurched with panic at the thought.

He returned, not looking at her, his cheeks flushed. He added another bucket of water to the tub. "I'll wait in the courtyard," he said tersely.

She leaped to her feet. "Did you book a passage to America?"

It was a moment before he spoke. "Not yet."

She was so relieved that she exhaled loudly.

He faced her grimly. "Elle. I mean, Eleanor." He wet his lips. "It was a bad idea. This is my fault, again. I take full blame.... Please don't cry," he added, a sharp plea.

"I'm not crying."

"But you're hurt.... I can see it in your eyes and on your face," he exclaimed. "I have hurt you."

"I don't understand how you could touch me and kiss me the way that you did, and then try to claim that it was bedsport! You loved me when I was a child-don't you dare deny it!" she cried, when he seemed about to protest. "And when I became older, we were best friends-we did almost everything together! Now I'm a woman and we also share passion-we have done everything together, haven't we?"

"Don't do this," he warned.

But she could not stop. "I know you were locked away by yourself for two years. I know they flogged you brutally. I know that soldiers died that night in the village- I know you blame yourself! But Sean, that is over now. It's the past. Why don't you want to take me with you?" she cried, genuinely bewildered. "Why? Are you trying to punish yourself for something? Do you think to deny yourself any happiness, ever again? I made you happy a few minutes ago-I could make you happy again! We could share a bed every night, and a life! We're already best friends! I could have your children, Sean!"

He was rigid now and stark white. "You need pride. You can't beg a man...for love."

She felt like slapping him silly. "I'm not begging you for love. I am pointing out the obvious. I think you do love me-or at least care, deeply. Can you deny it?" she challenged. And then she was afraid to breathe.

He was silent, clearly refusing to speak. His temples throbbed.

"I didn't think you could," she said firmly, but she was trembling.

"I do not...want...to hurt you...again," he ground out.

"You will hurt me very much if you disappear from my life forever," she said fiercely. "And who will take care of you in America? Who will heal those scars?"

He jerked. "I already said...they're healed."

"And we both know that is a lie," she retorted.

Their eyes clashed. "And if...we're captured?"

Her heart leaped with hope. She dared to go to him and touch his arm. "What if we're not captured?"

He stepped back, shaking his head. "You don't understand...the British soldiers...what they can do."

"But not to me!" she cried. "I'm a woman, a lady, the daughter of an earl. Sean, if we let Cliff help us, we won't be caught. He's as dangerous as any Barbary pirate."

"I don't want him hanging beside me!" Sean shouted at her. "And I don't want you hurt because of me!"