The Prize (47 page)

"Frankly,
yes."

She stared, about to
berate him for his mockery, when she realized he wasn't mocking at all.
"Are you being serious?" she gasped.

"Yes." He
pursed his lips in indecision, and then said, "Yes, I am being very
serious."

Elation crept over
her. She smiled. "But—"

He touched her lips.
"Why don't you accept the flattery and enjoy it?"

She grinned.
Inwardly, a song was bursting from her heart, the last bar of which was a
dance.
He thought her beautiful.
All disappointment vanished.

"You know, I
think that I will."

Regent
Street had calmed by the time they left Madame Didier’s shop. It was late in
the afternoon and only a few vendors remained; some of the shops had closed,
signs in the window pronouncing this fact. A few pedestrians also remained;
however, all were gentlemen, when earlier the reverse had been true.

"Is it later
than I think?"
Virginia
asked quietly. Devlin had
absented himself for the remainder of the fitting, but only after explaining
exactly how he wished Madame to design and trim her gowns.

"It's four. But
the ladies of the ton are preparing for their evening affairs at this
hour," he said as quietly.

She was trying to
avoid eye contact. It was impossible, just as was avoiding her very distinct
recollection of his touch and how it had affected her.
Virginia
was shaken. What should she do now? How
could she proceed with their bargain when it meant so much more to her than a
mere game?

She should be
thrilled that he found her beautiful enough

to
almost
lose
all of his control, and while that had pleased her, despair now outweighed
that.

"You will have
some beautiful gowns,
Virginia
. I know you do not really care
about fashion, but you may keep them when you leave."

Instantly the anger
came and she could not keep it at bay. "I don't want the gowns."

He hesitated, facing
her squarely in the middle of the block, his coach, drawn by four handsome
grays, parked a short distance ahead. "But I am offering them to
you."

"And does it
make you feel less guilty, your grand gesture?" she said with open
bitterness.

He stared.

She flushed, wishing
desperately that she had not spoken, that she could stop revealing her every
thought, wish and desire.

"I should feel
guilty?" he finally said, slowly, as if choosing his words with care.
"For pleasuring you?"

"For
everything," she flung with heat.

"Offering you
the gowns has nothing to do with guilt," he said. "You seem downcast.
I was hoping to raise your spirits."

"You could
always pleasure me again," she said tightly, "that would certainly do
the trick."

He started.

She strode away,
wishing she had not said that, either; besides, the ecstasy he could bring was
only the forerunner of pain. If only she were a woman of the world, a woman
who could enjoy his favors indifferently without foolishly yearning for his
love. If only he felt guilty for using her at all.

"Lady? Pretty
puppies fer sale. Real fancy puppies, my lady, come, see!"

Virginia
was blinking back tears. She
looked up and into

the broad face of a
fat black puppy with huge floppy ears, big brown eyes and a pink tongue.

"Real fancy,
ain't he?" The toothless man smiled.

But
Virginia
didn't see. The puppy was
wriggling madly, an extension of his wagging tail. She smiled and took the pup
into her arms, cuddling it to her chest, her cheek against its fur. He was soft
and warm, and she hugged him harder, wishing suddenly that she were back at
Sweet Briar, where her life had once been so simple and so happy.

The tears ran then,
fast and furious, freely.

"And what kind
of breed is that?" Devlin's stern tone sounded.

Virginia
blinked back the remaining tears
and smiled at the puppy, which licked her cheek enthusiastically.

"A rare breed,
sir, a very rare breed. From the north, I believe, is where the dogs come
from. They make fine house dogs, sir, for they do not grow much at all. Just to
the knee, perfect for a lady."

Devlin snorted.

Virginia
hugged the pup harder and it
licked her face again. She looked up fiercely. "I am taking this dog,
Devlin." And she stared, daring him to refuse her now.

"That dog is a
Dane, if I do not miss my guess." His gaze held her eyes. Not looking from
Virginia
, he sighed and said, "How
much?"

"A shilling,
sir."

Devlin handed him
some coins. "Five pence and consider yourself lucky."

"Yes, sir, my
lord!" The man beamed and walked back to the other puppies that slept in a
crate.

Virginia
turned, softening. "Thank
you, I love him. I truly do."

Devlin hesitated, and
then he softened, too. "Good. I'm

glad," he said,
and he felt himself smiling, just a little, but he had lied. The guilt
remained, festering now, a wound.

The next few days
passed slowly. There were no callers, unlike at Wideacre, and the mansion was
so large that
Virginia
had no trouble avoiding Devlin,
which she now felt that she must at all costs do. As he did not seek her
out—they only shared a terse supper together—she was successful. She began to
teach her gangling puppy to sit and lie down. And then they did have a
caller—Tyrell de Warenne.

Virginia
liked Devlin's handsome
stepbrother, whom she had learned was exactly Devlin's age. Upon learning of
his visit, she instantly went to greet him. He and Devlin were in a quiet
conversation, Devlin clad in his naval uniform. Surprised and dismayed to see
Devlin so dressed, she halted in the doorway as both men turned. Tyrell had
said something about President Madison, she was certain. "I'm sorry,"
she said breathlessly, trying not to stare at Devlin in his uniform and
wondering if he was about to leave on another tour of duty, "I heard that
Lord de Warenne had called. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"That's all
right. We were merely discussing your presidential election." Devlin
smiled at her, but it did not reach his eyes. His gaze was unwavering and direct,
searching hers, as if for some sign of her real feelings.

It was difficult to
break the stare. "Hello, my lord," she finally said to Tyrell,
managing a smile.

"Miss
Hughes." He smiled warmly at her.

"Has President
Madison been reelected?" she asked, hoping so.

"Unfortunately,"
Devlin said wryly. "The news just arrived on one of our battleships."

"He is a very
good president," she said firmly. "Capable and clever," she
added.

"Your capable
and clever president declared war on
Great Britain
,
in spite of the fact that the Privy Council rescinded the Orders in Council,
which he and most of your countrymen demanded we do in order to avoid the
foolish war we now find ourselves in."

Virginia
glared at him. "This war is
about far more than trade and
Britain
's desire to prevent us from
becoming a wealthy and equal sister nation."

"Here,
here," Tyrell murmured.

She glared at him,
too. "This war is about your country wanting to reduce us in fact,
although not de jure, to colonial status again."

'This war is about
many things, including your Republican party using it as a means for their own
political agenda— to crush the federalists and maintain power," Devlin
smoothly returned.

"Do you deny
that
Britain
wishes for us to be impoverished
colonies?" she cried.

"No, I do not.
But
Britain
had no desire to go to war with
you. Virginia, the British government wishes
Ireland
to be less than a sister nation, and of
course she wishes the same for your country. But no one here is dreaming of
reacquiring the American colonies. That is your war hawks' propaganda."

"You are wrong.
Your nation is an imperialist one." She was fierce and would not back
down, for she knew she was right.

"May I
refute?" Tyrell asked smoothly. He was grinning and looking back and forth
between the two of them.

"Please
do," Devlin said with a sigh.

"The Americans
are as imperialistic as the British, Virginia. Everyone knows the agrarian
agenda is to conquer
Canada
and expand in that
direction."

"We are
suffering terrible defeats in
Canada
,"
Virginia
said, more quietly. She read Devlin's
newspapers every day,

390                          

and somehow the small
British forces in the Canadian territory had managed the impossible, defeating
American troops repeatedly. A half-dozen important forts and settlements had
been abandoned. "But no one wishes to claim British-held territory there.
We wish to trade freely, unimpeded by your navy, and it is our right."

Tyrell glanced at
Devlin. "Have you met your match at last, Dev?"

"Perhaps,"
he said nonchalantly, gazing at some items on his desk. Then he looked up.
"Did you wish to see me?"

She faltered. "I
merely wished to greet your brother."

"Is that
all?" And finally, his careless expression softened.

She blushed.
"Yes. Yes, that is really all." Then she looked closely at him.
"Why are you in uniform? Are you leaving?"

"No,
Virginia
, I am not off to sea. I have a
meeting in town. Are you disappointed?"

She held her breath.
"No," she finally admitted.

His brows lifted,
indicating mild surprise. Devlin held her stare.

Her heart raced as
she quickly turned away. It was too soon for him to leave again and she was
foolishly glad he would stay. She smiled at Tyrell de Warenne. "Would you
join us for supper? We should love for you to do so."

"It would be my
pleasure, Miss Hughes." He bowed.

She smiled warmly.
"Wonderful. Excuse me." She started for the door.

"
Virginia
?" Devlin called.

She hesitated and
turned. "Yes?" And there was no choice but to meet his unwavering
stare.

"There is a ball
tomorrow evening at Lord Carew's
London
home. I have accepted the invitation."