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him.
    During the morning, there had been lessons in the sciences and the humanities with the tutor, Mr. Godfrey. The afternoons had been spent fencing with an Italian master, rehearsing steps and figures with the dance master and learning advanced equestrian skills. There had been five of them, all young, handsome, strong, clever, privileged and more than a bit arrogant. And then there had been Elle .
    “Collins.”
    He came back to the present, to the street in Cork where he continued to hold McBane against the brick wall of a house. The damage was done. He had dared to allow himself the luxury of recalling a piece of the past to which he no longer had any rights. He loosened his hold on McBane, wetting his lips. He had to turn around and go back to his flat over the cobbler’s shop. He did not. “There…is a wedding?”
    “Yes, there is. A very consequential wedding, in fact.”
    Sean closed his eyes. He did not want to remember a warm and verdant time of belonging, of family, of security and peace, but it was simply too late.
    He had a brother and sister-in-law and a niece; he had a mother, a stepfather and stepbrothers, and there was also Elle. He could not breathe, fighting thefloodgate, struggling to keep it closed. If he let one memory out, a thousand would follow, and he would never elude the British, he would never flee the country, he would never survive.
    He was overcome with longing.
    Faces formed in his mind, hazy and blurred. His proud, dangerous brother, a fighting captain of the seas, his charismatic and rakish stepbrothers, the powerful earl, his elegant mother. And a child, in her two braids, all coltish legs …
    He stepped away from McBane, sweat running down his body in streams. McBane appeared vastly annoyed as he straightened his jacket and stock, then concern overtook his features. “Are you all right?”
    McBane had mentioned a bride . He looked at the man. “Who is getting…married?”
    McBane started in surprise. Then, slowly, he said, “Eleanor de Warenne. Do you know the family?”
    He was so stunned he simply stood there, his shock removing every barrier he had put up to prevent himself from ever traveling back into the past. And Elle stood there in the doorway of his room at Askeaton, her hair pulled back in one long braid, dressed for riding in one of his shirts and a pair of Cliff’s breeches. This was impossible.
    “What is taking you so long?” she demanded . “We are taking the day off! No more scraping burns off wood! You said we could ride to Dolan ’ s Rock. Cook has packed a picnic and the dogs are outside, having a fit .”
    He tried to recall how old she had been. It had been well before her first Season. Perhaps she had been thirteen or fourteen, because she had been tall and skinny. He was helpless to stop the replay in his mind.
    He was smiling. “ Ladies do not barge into a gentleman’ s rooms, Elle.” He was bare-chested. He turned away from the mirror and reached for a soft white shirt .
    “But you are not a gentleman, are you?” She grinned .
    He calmly buttoned the shirt. “No, you are no lady.”
    “Thank the Lord!”
    He tried not to laugh. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain!” he exclaimed.
    “Why not? You do far worse— I hear you curse when you are angry. Boys are allowed to curse but ladies must wriggle their hips when they walk—while wearing foul corsets!”
    He eyed her skinny frame. “You will never have to wear a corset.”
    “And that is fortunate!” Her face finally fell. She walked past him and sat down on his unmade bed. “I know I am so improper!” She sighed. “I am on a regime to fatten up. I have been eating two desserts every day. Nothing has happened. I am doomed.”
    Now he had to laugh.
    She was furious. She threw a pillow at him.
    “Elle, there are worse things than being thin. You will probably fill out one day.” He could not imagine her being anything but bony and too tall.
    She slid off the bed. “You’re