The Prize (45 page)

Tyrell followed his
stare. Suddenly he said, "Are you in love with this girl?" His tone
was incredulous.

Devlin recoiled.
"No!"

"I see."
Tyrell stared thoughtfully. Then he asked, "Will Eastleigh pay?"

"When I am
through, he will." He paced, shaken and disturbed.

"How can you do
this to her?" Tyrell demanded. "Look." He jerked his head at the
window. Outside, Virginia trembled, covering her face with her hands.
"She

weeps. She is
weeping, Devlin. I know it has to bother you, because I know you better than
anyone, better even than Sean, and I know you are not ruthless, not completely,
at least."

"Fine," he
said grimly. "Fine! It bothers me! Are you satisfied now, goddamn
it?"

Tyrell jerked with
surprise, eyes wide and stunned. Devlin stalked to the sideboard, pouring a
large Scotch, his hand shaking. He ignored Tyrell, trying to come to grips with
his anger and other, more confusing, insistent feelings he did not wish to own
or understand. Virginia wept over Sean. Was it possible that he was jealous?

It was an emotion he
was unfamiliar with. He had never been jealous of anyone or anything at any
time in his life. But this red-hot anger, coupled with the tremor of fear and
doubt, felt suspiciously like jealousy.

"Fuck." He
threw his drink as hard as he could at the wall. It shattered loudly, sounding
like buckshot.

"I have never
seen you lose your temper, not ever," Tyrell said quietly. "From the
day Father brought you home when you were ten, Gerald just murdered, you have
been the most stoic and dispassionate person I have ever met."

Devlin waved at him
in real disgust. He had no response to make, as none could be had.

Virginia ran into the
room. "God, what happened? Are you all right?" she cried, her cheeks
flushed but not tear streaked.

Devlin couldn't
respond to her, either. He could not believe his rage and he could not believe
his jealousy—for that was what it was, enraged jealousy—and he stared at her in
disbelief.

"I thought
someone fired a musket," she said nervously, glancing between him and
Tyrell.

Devlin turned away.
He still couldn't speak.

"No one fired a
gun," Tyrell said quietly. "Could you find

Benson and tell him
there has been an accident?" He smiled kindly at her.

Virginia nodded,
turning to look wide-eyed at Devlin's back, and she hurried out.

Devlin poured another
drink, and this time, he drank it.

Tyrell approached.
"I see all is not as it appears," he said quietly. He laid a hand on
Devlin's shoulder.

Devlin shrugged it
off. "All is exactly as it appears," he returned, his iron control
returning. "Would you like a drink?" he asked far more calmly than he
felt.

Tyrell de Warenne
made a derisive sound. "Actually, I would." He paused thoughtfully.
"I would also like an invitation to supper," he said.

"Hot loaves!
Muffins and crumpets! A penny for a scone!"

Virginia stumbled,
reaching for Devlin's hand. They were making their way up Regent Street, which
was, he had assured her, the best shopping in London.

"Chairs to
mend!" another street vendor cried, stepping in their path to bow before
Devlin, who did not wear his uniform but a fine dark blue velvet coat with his
britches and stockings. "My lord, sir, I mend any kind of chair," he
cried,

"No, thank
you," Devlin said politely, and trying not to release
Virginia
's hand, he pulled her past the
chairman.

"Fish! Fine
goldfish fer the lady!" an old woman cried, waving a bucket at them.
"Pretty goldfish! Fine fer the lady!"

Devlin smiled at
Virginia
, pulling her out of the fish
lady's way as well.

But she pulled back.
"Let's look at the fish!"

"
Virginia
," he began.

"It's my
turn," she reminded him, smiling and jerking free. "May I see your
fish, ma'am?" she asked.

The old lady grinned,
with most if not all of her teeth missing, and she lowered the pail so
Virginia
could see numerous

goldfish swimming about,
including several black-and-white striped ones. "How beautiful," she
cried.

"A penny fer a
dozen," the lady smiled at her.

"
Virginia
, please do not tell me we are
buying you fish," Devlin said, but amusement was in his tone.

"We are not, no,
thank you," she apologized to the vendor.

"Hot loaves!
Muffins and crumpets! A penny fer a scone!"

Devlin looked at her,
smiling.

Refusing to move she
said, "Please?"

"Thank God, you
are not fat," he said, walking over to the muffin man. "Which is it
this time?" She'd had a muffin and a scone already, all digested in the
span of an hour.

"I'll try a
crumpet," she said, having not a clue as to what that might be.

Devlin made the
purchase and
Virginia
was presented with a warm and
crusty golden bun, which she eagerly tried. "Yum," she said, then to
her horror, realized her mouth was full.

He shook his head,
then laughed. "Come on. It's taken us an entire hour to navigate a single
block."

But
Virginia
cried out, handing him her
crumpet, and ran instead to the huge window display. "Devlin, look,"
Virginia
cried. "Look at the
beautiful black lace!"

He came up beside
her, still holding the crumpet in its paper napkin. "Do you wish to buy
it?" he asked as they stared into the draper's shop.

She did. Oh, how she
wished to adorn herself in that black lace, in a red dress trimmed with tons of
it, and she looked at Devlin, simply breathless. They would attend a ball together,
dance die night away.... Then she thought about the countess. She sobered.

Who was she fooling?
She was not the kind of woman to wear red or black lace. "No, I don't
think so," she said.

"Change your
mind so quickly?" he asked, studying her intently.

"No, I...I don't
think it's suitable, really. But it's beautiful," she added wistfully.

"Come. We must
make our appointment with Madame Didier," he said, taking her arm and
looping it in his.

She glanced at him as
they strolled up the block, her heart racing. He kept taking her arm as if they
were really lovers— or even a couple. "You do know that one would almost
think us real friends," she said hesitantly.

"It is your
turn," he reminded her easily. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

She had to beam.
"How can I not? Those wonderful muffins—those pretty fish—they sell
everything on the street, do they not? I saw a man selling dust! He was selling
brick dust," she cried.

"It's used for
cleaning knives," Devlin said. Then rather casually, he asked, "So
what did Sean have to say?"

Virginia
faltered. And she hesitated,
uncertain as to how she should respond.

His letter had both
warmed and saddened her. He hadn't spoken of his feelings, but it was clear
that he still cared deeply for her, and after telling her all that had happened
at Askeaton in her absence, he had told her that it simply was not the same
without her there. She knew his unspoken thoughts—he missed her. And reading it
had made her miss him, too, but the way one would a dear old friend, not a
lover. It was wonderful hearing from him, but it was also terribly sad,
reminding her of a time and place when she had been so crushed and hurt, though
she'd refused to admit it. She had been so lonely those five months she had
been left behind at Askeaton.

His letter and her
reaction to it had only confirmed her real feelings for him. She had never
loved him more as a friend.

375

But she hoped that,
one day, he would fall passionately in love with a woman who would love him
back the very same way.

She sighed. "I'm
afraid that's none of your affair, Devlin," she said.

"Actually it is,
as I have been responsible for my brother's welfare and happiness since he was
the age of eight. But do not bother to reveal his secrets, as I can already
guess what they are."

"So you are now
a fortune teller? Or rather, a Gypsy mind reader?" She poked him with her
elbow, smiling and hoping to change the subject.

"Hardly,"
he said, but he smiled in return.

The seamstress's shop
was not what
Virginia
had been expecting. She had
anticipated a small shop filled with tables and ladies sewing industriously
there. Instead, a stunning young woman with red hair, superbly dressed,
unlatched the front door and allowed them into a front hall with polished wood
floors and fine Persian rugs. Display cases lined the two walls on either side
of the store, boasting hats, gloves, purses and the occasional swatch of fabric
or pair of earbobs. Stairs carpeted in red swept up directly ahead.

"Captain
O'Neill?" The redhead smiled at Devlin. Her accent was French.

"Madame
Didier?" he asked, clearly with some surprise. The woman was no more than
twenty-one or two.

"I am
Mademoiselle Didier, her niece," the redhead replied softly, her regard
not quite seductive. And she faced
Virginia
.
"Mademoiselle Hughes, I presume?"

Virginia
nodded, her gaze darting from
the elegant and seductive Frenchwoman to the stunning items on display in the
hall. It was impossible to decide whether to stare at Madame Didier's niece or
at what was for sale in the shop.

"Please,
Captain, Mademoiselle, do come upstairs, my aunt is waiting for you."

Devlin touched the
small of
Virginia
's back and she preceded him up
the wide staircase, following Mademoiselle Didier.

The salon above had a
marble floor and several gracious seating arrangements. An older woman,
dark-haired, fine-figured and handsome, came out of another room.
"Captain O'Neill, it is such a pleasure to meet you, at last," she
cried, rushing to them with a wide smile, her accent stronger than her niece's.

He bowed over her
hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Madame, and I am very grateful that you
could see us at such short notice."

"For you,
mon
capitaine,
I would need no notice at all." She turned to
Virginia
. "Mademoiselle, ah, what
beauty, what petite beauty, ah, this will be so easy and such a pleasure. Look,
Sofie,
regatdes la petite!"

A flurry of French
followed, the two women beaming.

Virginia
flushed, feeling foolish and
flustered and wishing she wasn't being called beautiful, as Madame ushered her
into the adjacent room. "Does the captain wish to stay and approve our
choices or shall you leave the selection of gowns and fabrics up to the
ladies?" Madame Didier asked, her eyes twinkling.

"He is
leaving,"
Virginia
said quickly as Devlin sat down
on a delicate green velvet love seat, dwarfing it. She gaped at him.

He smiled lazily
back. "I prefer to approve, Madame.
Virginia
needs a number of ensembles for day and
some ball gowns, perhaps two. I prefer her to be in shades that match her
eyes—violet and amethyst would do nicely, I think."

Virginia
knew her jaw hung open, but she
could not help herself. He was staying? She was to be fitted, and that meant
some state of undress.

"And ruby red,
mon
capitaine,
and of course, silver." She

snapped her fingers
and Sofie held up a swath of iridescent silver fabric that rippled and glowed
as the air simply brushed over it.

Devlin's eyes brightened.
"Oh, yes," he said instantly. "I like it very much."

Virginia
went still, closing her mouth
and staring at him as Madame made a happy sound, Sofie now draping the fabric
over
Virginia
's shoulder and chest. He looked
indolently over her at her and smiled, but there was nothing indolent about his
eyes—the gleam there was bright.

Her mouth went dry.

He wanted to clothe
her in the silver tissue and he clearly found the idea arousing. She swallowed
hard. "Devlin, why don't you make your suggestions and then leave us for a
bit?"

"I am
staying." He settled more negligently on the small settee.

Madame chortled
happily. "Sofie, where is
le rouge noir?"

Instantly Sofie found
it and, smiling, held up a sinfully rich dark red satin.

"Mon
capitaine,
look
at this!" Madame cried.