The Prize (38 page)

Devlin now smiled and
it was chilling. "I insist upon a moment of your time."

Eastleigh
seemed to be a statue until he
spoke, so quickly that
Virginia
had to strain to hear. "I
grow tired of your games," he said softly. "I grow very tired,
indeed."

"Unless you wish
for the entire world to know of the countess's indiscretions, I suggest you
give me the moment I am asking for."

Virginia
had no idea what Devlin spoke
of, but William gasped, and she glanced at him and found him pale. Then she saw
that
Eastleigh
was turning red, dangerously so,
in an apoplexy of rage.

William came forward.
"I will call the constable," he cried. "This man cannot come
into our home, flaunting an impostor and making accusations against the
countess."

"I have hardly
made any accusations yet," Devlin said. "I merely threatened to do
so."

"There will be
no constable,"
Eastleigh
choked. "State your
business, O'Neill, and leave—before I have you thrown out."

And Devlin was
clearly amused. "And just how would you do that?" He started to
laugh.

Virginia
saw the absurdity. As if this
old man and his pampered son could defy a man like Devlin, a man who did not
think twice of attacking and destroying innocent ships. She hurried to him.
"We should go."

But he didn't hear
her—no one did. He said, "
Virginia
wishes to be reunited with her
family—with you. Your reputation for generosity precedes you, my lord, and I
wish to discuss the nature of the reward you will want to bestow upon me."
He seemed to be laughing now.

Eastleigh
just stood there, looking as if
he wished to strangle Devlin but did not dare. He was crimson now.

"Reward?"
William gasped. "Good God, the man thinks to ask a ransom! He wants a
ransom!" he cried. Then, "Oh, ho, your head will roll for this! Even
you cannot abduct a woman like my cousin and get away with ransoming her!' He
had become gleeful.

Eastleigh
and Devlin stared at each other,
neither of them smiling, and if their eyes were daggers, they would both be
dead.

"There will be
no constable,"
Eastleigh
said finally. "And you will
not, William, mention this to anyone! Not even your brother, do you hear
me?"

"But..."
William sputtered.

"I do not seek a
ransom," Devlin said far too softly. "I seek merely to have my
expenses reimbursed, and we shall call it a reward. Fifteen thousand pounds
should do." He turned. "Let us go,
Virginia
, our business here is done—for now."

He had taken her arm.
She glanced back and saw
Eastleigh
in his impotent rage, and
William, more stunned than anything else.
Fifteen thousand pounds.
It
was a vast sum of money, a sum
Eastleigh
clearly did not have.

They were at the door
when
Eastleigh
called out to them. "We are
not paying it," he said. "You have lost this time, O'Neill, for you
see, I do not want the girl and I am not paying any ransom at all. You may
keep her." And he laughed.

Virginia
huddled in the coach. This time
Devlin had the coachman tie his horse to the back of the carriage and he
climbed in beside her. Closing the door, he settled back against the leather
seat, knocking on the partition. The carriage took off, rumbling down the
paved drive.

Virginia
looked at him with wide eyes.
His face was hard. So were his eyes. He seemed deeply thoughtful, but if he was
dismayed about the interview—or
Eastleigh
's
refusal to pay her ransom—she could not tell. She shuddered. What would happen
now? She had little doubt that
Eastleigh
had meant his every word. He did
not care if she lived or died, was captive or freed. She had never seen such
cold eyes—except for Devlin's.

She shivered again.
Somehow,
Eastleigh
's eyes were worse. Two things
now were clear. Devlin's hatred knew no bounds—but
Eastleigh
hated him as ferociously. And both men were
at an impasse, were they not? As Devlin was demanding a ransom that
Eastleigh
refused to pay.

If only she could
make Devlin change his course. Would anything stop him from exacting his
revenge on his enemy? She did not think so and she despaired.
"Devlin...this has to stop."

He looked at her.
"This stops when I say so and not a moment before."

She stiffened, as his
gaze was chilling. "And are you

pleased with
yourself? Do you get pleasure from what you have done, and what you are doing?
My uncle is destitute! You have clearly ruined him. Why continue? Who would
choose to live this way—to live a life of hatred and revenge!" she cried.

Something in his gaze
flickered. His mouth tightened. "I heard you once say that if someone had
murdered your father, you would kill him yourself."

She stared, for she
had said that to Sean. "I'm not sure that I meant it."

"You meant it.
You see, in this one instance, we are not that different,
Virginia
,"

"We are very
different! I have every reason to hate you and to exact my own vengeance. But I
don't hate you—and I never will. And I will never tell the truth to anyone
about what you have done. You see, I refuse to walk the path of revenge,
Devlin, I simply
refuse."

His face grew hard as
he stared at her. "I owe this much to my father."

"Your father is
dead! He has been dead for years!" She could not yet give up.
"Devlin, they do not have the ransom, and even if they did, they would not
think to pay it. Surely you, a fine judge of character, saw that."

He did not glance at
her now, clearly having no intention of answering her.

Virginia
turned away in despair. She had
a bad feeling. She knew he was planning something, and whatever it was, she
dreaded it. But there was nothing more that she could say. She was clearly not
capable of persuading him to give up his course, to change his life—Sean was so
wrong! Perhaps he was a madman—for was not
obsession
a clinical term
for a psychiatric disorder? And what would happen to him in the end? If only
she did not care! Would
Eastleigh
's son call the constabulary?
Wasn't Devlin afraid of

being caged behind
prison bars? She knew how he loved the wind and the sea and she thought that imprisonment
might kill him.

But then, this man
did not fear death, so maybe he did not fear incarceration, either. He
certainly did not seem at all worried about his future. She was the one, dear
God, worrying about
his
future, when she had her own future to worry
about, a future that seemed very bleak.

They had left
Eastleigh
's tattered estate behind. Lush
green hills were crisscrossed with old stone walls and wild-flowers bloomed
along the roadside. They drove through a quaint village filled with small whitewashed
stone houses, the shops below and the apartments above, before passing the
local church, built in Norman times and never renewed. A few minutes later they
turned off the main road, between a pair of rusting iron gates.
Virginia
saw a pleasant sweep of lawn and
a modest stone cottage, two stories high and perhaps two rooms wide. A stone
carriage house was behind it, as rundown and ramshackle.
Virginia
blinked, surprised at how small
and shabby this country home was. This could not possibly be Devlin's home—it
had to be the wrong address.

But Devlin helped her
down, annoyance in his expression. He took a long, hard look at the house,
giving
Virginia
the impression that he had never
seen it before, and she knew they were in the right place after all. Then, his
hand on her arm, he guided her up the stone walk. At least the roses blooming
against the side of the house were pretty,
Virginia
thought.

The front door opened
before they even reached it and a man and woman came out. "Sir Captain
O'Neill?" the tall, dark-haired woman asked. She was middle-aged, quite
lean, and her features were hawkish. She wore the severe black dress of a
servant.

310                          

He nodded. "Mrs.
Hill, the housekeeper, I presume?"

She smiled tightly at
him. "Yes. We have been expecting you. I hope the house and grounds meet
with your satisfaction, Sir Captain."

"I will let you
know," he responded noncommittally.

"Sir? I am your
butler, Tompkins," the smaller, dapper man by the housekeeper's side said.
He wore a dark wool coat and trousers. "We are so pleased that you have
finally come home, Sir Captain."

Devlin grunted. 'Take
all the bags and install them in my suite," he said.

Virginia
was startled—what about her
bags?

"And may I
introduce Miss Hughes?"

Mrs. Hill smiled at
her, as did the butler. The housekeeper seemed tense, her smile rather thin,
but the butler seemed quite the opposite, rather jovial, in fact.

"Miss Hughes is
to lack nothing," Devlin announced. "She is my very special guest,
and anything that she wishes is to be met."

Virginia
stared at him, a very bad
feeling coming over her now. What was he up to?

"And where shall
we take her bags, sir?" Tompkins asked.

Devlin's dark brows
lifted in surprise. "Why, to my rooms, of course," he said.

A moment of surprised
silence fell.

Virginia
opened her mouth to protest, but
he suddenly had her by the hand and he was lifting it to his mouth.
Virginia
wondered if she was dreaming. He
smiled and kissed her hand, his lips firm and warm on her skin.

Her body responded
instantly, shockingly, and she could only think, what was he doing? And dear
God, why?

"Your suite, er,
sir?" Tompkins managed, flushing.

"Miss Hughes is
sharing my rooms," Devlin said, smiling warmly at her.

And
Virginia
, her heart racing with exertion,
suddenly sensed what was coming. "Devlin," she managed, a feeble
protest.

"Hush,
darling," he said. And he smiled at the servants. "Mrs. Hill, Mr.
Tompkins, meet Miss Virginia Hughes, my mistress."

Virginia
knew her surprise was evident.
She felt her jaw drop, and it certainly seemed as if her eyes popped. She was
only given an instant in which to react, however, an instant in which Mrs. Hill
turned grim and severe, a knowing glint in her eye, while Mr. Tompkins flushed.
"Come, darling," Devlin murmured, tugging on her hand.

What game was
this?

Anger rushed over her
in one hot wave. She refused to move, turning what she hoped was a murderous
glare upon her captor. Still, her disbelief knew no bounds.
What could he
possibly be doing?

Devlin swept her up
into his arms and carried her into the house. "Do not argue with me,"
he murmured. "And do not kick."

"I'll do better
than that! Put me down and I am not—

He covered her mouth
with his.

Virginia
could not have been more
surprised. She stiffened, but his mouth was far more than terribly familiar.
When she did not kick or beat at him with her fists, his lips softened. She felt
him push open the door as her heart lurched wildly and then picked up an
insistent, faster beat. His mouth covered hers, demanding that she open and
admit him. How she wanted to yield... Her anger vanished, as did all thought.
Her lips parted; her hands curled around his shoulders. His tongue swept deep
inside her.

And the answering
desire was a piercing bolt, directly to her heart.

He raised his head as
he trotted up the stairs and their gazes met. His gray eyes smoked, but
otherwise,
Virginia
could not fathom what he was
thinking—much less what he was doing. And what was she doing—kissing him back,
her entire body burning with a desperate need? On the landing he paused,
finally breaking their stare, glancing around.

"Put me down,
Devlin," she said more calmly than she felt. Her sex was full, a terrible
testimony to how easily this man aroused her, but she was not about to share
his bed, no matter how he might attempt to seduce her, no matter what he had
said.

His answer was to
push open the first door with his shoulder, glance within and back out.
"Be quiet," he said tersely. "And stop squirming." He
strode to the next door.

"I am not
squirming," she said rather breathlessly. "And I—"

He entered the next
room, sliding her to her feet.
Virginia
made contact with the singular
most fascinating piece of his anatomy, and she went still. He was also aroused.
He still wanted her. How was she going to manage this?

He turned and closed
the door, faced her, and said low, "This is only a pretense. I will sleep
on the..." He looked around, and resigned, said, "Floor."

"What?" she
gasped, realizing that the master bedroom, if it was that, had a fine
four-poster bed and one chaise, two end tables, a bureau, a hearth and that was
all.

He walked over to
her.

Virginia
tensed, still breathless and
still wishing desperately that she did not burn to be in his arms. "What
are you doing, Devlin?" she asked quietly.

"Unfortunately,
I will have to provoke your uncle into paying a ransom," he said flatly.
"You will live in my rooms as if you are my mistress, and in public, we
shall act like a very shameless pair of lovers. I expect your cooperation,
Virginia
," he warned, "and I
remind you that your interest remains in being freed quickly. The sooner
Eastleigh cannot stand my parading you so openly about, the sooner you will be
on your merry way home—or wherever it is that you choose to go."

She simply gaped.

"I once thought
to enjoy toying with him over this." He was so grim. "But actually, I
am sorry he will not pay me directly so that we might be done."

It took her a moment
to truly understand his plan and her comprehension of it made it impossible for
her to hear his last words. "We
will pretend
to be lovers? We will
share
this room? You will ruin me in the eyes of the
world
—but you are not
going to share my
bed?"
She heard disbelief and the tremor of hurt
in her own tone. What he suggested was more than incredible, more than
shocking. He would ruin her good name—flaunt her in society. She was stunned.

"That is the
gist of it, yes," he answered, his hands on his hips and his strong thighs
braced. In fact, he looked braced for a very real storm.

"A gentleman
does not live openly with a woman other than his wife—a gentleman does not
escort his mistress about his neighbor's halls."

"There is no
other way."

"How can you do
this to me?" She found it hard to breathe now. For here was the ultimate
proof that Sean was wrong

and Devlin did not
care—he would callously use her and ruin her name, all for the sake of the
ransom.

Maybe you are the
one who can help him find his soul.

Absolutely not,
Virginia
thought in response to Sean's
terrible words. Devlin could not care about her, not at all, if he thought to
destroy her reputation this way. To use her so deliberately, he could not have
any soul left to save. She was now horrified.

"You know what
motivates me," he said rather harshly. "Again, I have no wish to
abuse you, but there is no choice. I did not come this far to have
Eastleigh
simply laugh in my face and
refuse to pay your ransom." And he turned away, as if he could not face
her now.

But she was imagining
that. "They are impoverished! They cannot pay it and it is obvious!"
She had to sit down as her legs had become useless. "Even if they
could...how could you do this...to me?"

"They can sell
off the estate,
Virginia
, or borrow more funds; they
might even succeed in selling Sweet Briar. I hardly care what they do." He
stalked toward the door, his strides stiff. Then he turned. "We both know
you don't care what anyone thinks—you just spent five months unchaperoned at
Askeaton—and that does make this easier. I know that if I actually made you my
mistress, you would be pleased. So cease this sham of hurt and outrage!"
Inexplicably, he was trembling.

She did not know why
he was so distressed and she could not care. What if her uncle sold her home in
order to pay her ransom? "No one knew I was at Askeaton, and the villagers
thought I was your fiancée. I am hurt, Devlin," she said with what dignity
she could muster. "I am hurt that you care so little for my reputation
that you would flaunt me as your lover just to gain your ends. You justify
ruining me for the sake of your revenge."

And he was furious—so
much so, that for a moment, he could only stare. And what he saw was the most
hurt, vulnerable expression he had ever beheld. Tears filled the violet pools
of her eyes. In fact,
Virginia
was looking at him as if he had
betrayed
her.
In that moment, he hated himself for what he was doing—but
there was no choice. Was there?

And for one moment he
hesitated, aware of the oddest urge to back down—to let her go and be done with
it all.

Then
Eastleigh
's cold laughter came to mind,
followed by the terrible memory of his father's sightless eyes staring up at
him from the ground.
Eastleigh
could not win. Justice had to be
served.
"You
are making far too much of this. I am sparing you actual degradation. I am not
making you my mistress in fact. And when this is over I will tell the world, if
you wish me to, that it was all a lie to humiliate your uncle. But as you
intend to return to
Virginia
, what happens here is of no
consequence—there, no one will know what has happened here." And he knew
his attempt at rationalization was a pathetic one.

She raised her chin
but her tone was so soft, it was barely audible. "If we were
really
lovers,
you would
guard
my reputation fiercely and no one would ever know of
the affair."

She was right. He
felt as if he had been struck a severe and physical blow. "I fail to see
the difference," he lied. "There is no other choice."

"There is always
another choice, Devlin. Even if you use me so callously, what makes you think
they will pay, even if they can sell my home or borrow the funds?" she
cried.

He gripped the
doorknob but did not face her, as he could not. "It will be a matter of
honor," he said. "They will pay— I will make certain of it." And
he walked out as quickly as he could, as if in doing so he might forget the
atrocious plan he had set in motion, a plan that would, in fact, destroy Miss
Virginia Hughes once and for all.

320                          

***

Virginia
was afraid.

It was crystal clear
now that Devlin was so obsessed with his revenge that nothing and no one would
stand in his way. It was equally clear that Sean was so very wrong—she could
not show him the light of a different way, because if he were not completely
lost, he would have some guilt over what he was doing to her. But she hadn't
seen an inkling of guilt—she had only seen utter determination. Of course,
Devlin O'Neill was a master at controlling his emotions.

/
am asking you to
save my brother.

"Sean, do go
away!"
Virginia
cried, splashing the water in
her bath and just realizing how cool it had become. "He is beyond
saving!"

She became still, an
odd despair coiled around her. Was he beyond any and all help? Was anyone, as
long as he still lived and breathed?
Virginia
closed her eyes tightly. His every other action somehow hurt her, yet even now,
she could not hate him, as foolish as that was.

She was at a loss.
She had become a child again, bewildered and hurt. She did not know what to do.
Somehow she remained consumed with her captor, defending his actions to
herself, and still secretly hoping to save him from himself. But was there
anything that she could do? From the moment he had attacked and seized the
Americana
,
she had been but a pawn, tossed this way and
that, at his very whim. And now there was this new terrible twist in his game,
a twist that proved his indifference toward her.