The Prize (50 page)

But Hughes, his face
bloody, withdrew his sword.

Virginia
was in disbelief.

Devlin smiled.
"A very unwise move," he said. His sword rang as he unsheathed it.
And the two men began to dance softly about each other, each with fatal intent.

"Devlin,
no,"
Virginia
cried.

He gave no sign that
he had heard, feinting once. Hughes misread the feint and thrust to receive a
blow; instantly, Devlin thrust and slashed open his uniform. Blood welled.
Hughes cried out.

Tyrell.
Virginia
ran around the corner and into
the brightly lit gallery, glancing wildly everywhere, and it wasn't until she
was halfway through the hall that she became aware of the people she passed
turning to gape and stare. She realized then that her hair was coming down, her
gown was torn and that what had happened was terribly clear. But her obvious downfall
could not matter now. She paused on one threshold to the ballroom, saw the huge
crowd there, and despaired.
Devlin was going to kill Tom Hughes, she simply
knew it, and he would hang for the offense.

Then she saw him, on
the dance floor, partnering a stunning blonde.

And eyes were turning
her way.

                             
405

Summoning up all of
her courage, she lifted her skirts and ran. "My lord de Warenne!"

Tyrell was stepping
back into line, facing his partner, and be stiffened.

She shouted again.
"Tyrell! My lord! Help!"

He turned, saw her,
and his eyes widened. Then he ran to her, the dancers ceasing at once.
"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Devlin is
killing Tom Hughes in the hall behind the gallery," she cried.

He took off like a
shot.
Virginia
ran after him, aware now of a
terrible silence overcoming the ballroom, of the furor of gasps and murmurs. It
was too late to care. And as she chased Tyrell through the gallery and into the
hall, she did not stop to discover how many guests were on her heels.

In the hall she found
the two men parrying, with Hughes a tattered, bloody mess. Devlin was pristine
in his uniform, pristine and untouched; his adversary could barely keep to his
feet. The two men exchanged blows, and Hughes's sword clattered across the
floor and out of reach. Devlin's sword thrust against his chest, where it lay,
unmoving. And Devlin smiled with ruthless, lethal intent.

"Enough,"
Tyrell said, moving to stand behind Devlin.

Hughes stood, his
back to the wall, swaying as if about to become unconscious. The crowd behind
Virginia
gasped and began murmuring in
disbelief and amazement.

Devlin's entire face
was a taut, tight, controlled mask, one
Virginia
had never before seen. She knew he wished
to kill. His smile was more than chilling; it was terrifying. "I think
not. I think it is time for Tom Hughes to die."

"And all for
your whore?" Hughes managed.

As Devlin moved to
deliver a fatal blow, a thrust meant to pierce Hughes's heart, the crowd cried
out and Tyrell gripped his wrist, forestalling him.
"Do not."

Devlin's smile was
savage.
"Get out of my way."

"You will not
kill him," Tyrell returned, and as he held Devlin's wrist, his knuckles
were white.

Virginia
closed her eyes and prayed.

"He is not worth
it. He did not kill Gerald, Devlin. He is not the one you seek," Tyrell
said softly.

Virginia
opened her eyes and saw Devlin
standing there, poised to kill, wanting to kill, a truly savage man.

"
Virginia
is not hurt," Tyrell added
even more softly.

Devlin's entire face
tensed. He glanced at her briefly then back at Hughes, and suddenly his posture
relaxed and he stepped back.

A number of sighs
escaped from the watching guests.
Virginia
felt her knees buckle in the same terrible relief that one and all were
feeling.

And then a dozen officers
were rushing to Hughes to administer to him. Devlin suddenly sheathed his
sword, turning, and his gaze found hers again. Instantly he strode to her.
"Are you all right?" he demanded, staring, not touching her, his eyes
moving over her face and hair, finally to linger on her lips, which she thought
were bloodied but could not be sure. His glance then took in the torn bodice of
her gown. His eyes turned chilling again.

The ability to speak
escaped her. She could only nod, incapable of tearing her gaze from his. In
that instant, he was the safest harbor she had ever known.

His jaw tightened,
his eyes darkened, and he put his arm around her. "We are going
home," he said.

Virginia
could not stop trembling. She
knew it was foolish—she was bruised, but other than that, she was hardly the
worse for wear—and she did not want Devlin to see how cowardly she was. Still,
the tremors did not cease. She could not forget Thomas Hughes's brutal assault.
She could not forget his hand cruelly twisting her breast, or worse, his
tongue invading her mouth. Her stomach heaved as Devlin's coach swerved wildly
and then bounced over a rut.
Virginia
closed her eyes and hung on.

"
Virginia
?" he asked softly.

She did not want to
speak to him now. She doubted she could—she remained far too close to hysteria.
She hugged herself, huddling in the coach's far corner, other images afflicting
her how.
Devlin had wanted to kill Thomas Hughes.
She had seen it in his
eyes.

"We will be home
shortly," Devlin said, his tone odd, as if uncertain. "Within
minutes," he added.

She nodded, refusing
to open her eyes because his tone sounded suspiciously concerned and she was
afraid she might

cry. Of course he had
wanted to kill Tom Hughes. He had spent most of his life burning with the need
for revenge against
Eastleigh
and all that was his.

"
Virginia
, are you in pain?"

She simply could not
speak, so she shook her head, and it was not really a lie. Her wrist and breast
throbbed, but it was so much more than that. Devlin seemed to want to know what
was wrong. But she could not tell him.

Tom Hughes had
treated her like the whore the world thought she was. She could never play this
game again, and if it meant losing any chance to win his love, so be it. It had
become crystal clear, anyway, that he did not have any soul left with which to
love any woman, much less herself.

How easily he had
been triggered to murderous intent.

"We're
here," Devlin said, sounding grim.

The coach had slowed
and was now stopping;
Virginia
opened her eyes and saw the
terribly welcome sight of Waverly Hall. A footman leapt off the back of the
coach to open her door. Devlin adjusted her satin wrapper, concealing her torn
dress.

Virginia
's heart tightened. Why did he
bother? She knew she had a split lip, a telltale sign of her disaster. She
wanted to thank him, but she still didn't trust herself to speak.

She stood and allowed
the footman to help her down to the sidewalk before the mansion's front steps.

Devlin jumped down
behind her, as agile as a jungle cat, and she was swept back in time to another
place—to the deck of the
Americana
,
as she had gripped the railing and gazed at
the fierce ocean, wondering what her fate might be at the hands of the pirate
captain.
If you think to leap to a watery death, think again. I will not let
you die.

Oddly, his refrain
pierced the night as if she were back on the
Americana
,
newly seized, as if Devlin stood there
behind her, as if he had just uttered those words again.

Devlin carefully took
her arm, and
Virginia
leaned heavily against him. Once
in the hall, he circumvented Benson from assisting her with her wrap.
"Send Hannah to the master suite instantly with hot water, towels and brandy.
Miss Hughes has had a fall."

Benson nodded and
hurried away.

He would guard her
reputation now?
Virginia
choked, wanting to weep.

Devlin suddenly
lifted her into his arms and began striding through the hall.

"What are you
doing?" she managed. "I can walk."

"I am doing what
I have wanted to do ever since I allowed Tom Hughes to live," he said
grimly.

She finally looked up
at him as he bounded up the stairs. His face was taut with anger and regret
and, she thought, with anguish. He hit the second level and their eyes met and
held. He did not speak and neither did she. Stunned, she realized how
distraught he was.

Devlin opened their
door with the toe of his shoe, followed by his broad shoulder. He carried her
through their sitting room, where a fire blazed in the hearth, and into the
master bedroom. There, another fire crackled happily and their bed was turned
down. He set her down on it, removing her wrap and breaking eye contact to do
so. "I'll help you out of that gown before Hannah arrives," he said. It
was not a suggestion.

Virginia
realized she was hugging
herself, that she still trembled, though she was not cold. Why did he go to
such lengths? All of society would know the truth by the next morning.

"Turn around,
please," he said softly.

Virginia
started. Then she said hoarsely,
"I have never heard you
say please
before."

His jaw flexed.
"It's a word I rarely feel the need to use.
Virginia
—" He stopped.

410                          

She stared, realizing
that he was distressed, perhaps even uncomfortable, and that he wished to say
something. Her heart leapt with hope. "What is it, Devlin?"

A silence ensued.
Then, "I am so sorry," he said roughly.

Her heart turned over
so hard that there could be no doubt that her feelings remained in full force,
that nothing had changed, that she still loved this man. She opened her mouth
to tell him that this was not his fault—but it was. Everything was his fault.

"Please turn
around," he said, his tone as rough as before.

Virginia
shifted, and his hands nimbly
moved down her back, unbuttoning the gown. When he had removed it she began
taking down her hair, acutely aware of him in the room, placing the dress on
the back of a chair. A huge silence ensued.
Virginia
became impossibly aware of her state of undress.
She wore her new undergarments—the black lace chemise, black linen corset and
black silk drawers, all trimmed in ivory and pink ribbons, all sinfully
sensuous. She needed a wrapper, she thought, stabbed with a sudden, new
urgency. "Would..." She paused, wet her lips and tried again.
"Would you hand me a robe?"

He glanced briefly at
her, and if he noticed her undergarments he gave no sign. He opened the
armoire as a knock sounded. "Come in," he said very sharply, and
perplexed,
Virginia
thought she heard relief in his
tone.

Hannah entered, her
eyes wide, carrying a tray with a bowl of water and towels. Devlin slipped a
lavender silk robe over
Virginia
's shoulders, also courtesy of
Madame Didier, and she belted it firmly, relieved. "Oh, mum," Hannah
whispered. "You had a fall! I'm so sorry," she cried. She set the
tray on the bed. "Captain, one minute, sir."

He nodded, standing
by Virginia's side, and Hannah went to the door and received another tray from
a servant standing outside, this one with a bottle of brandy and two snifters.

He took a small
towel, dipped it in the water, and then looked at her directly. "You have
blood on your lip," he said.

Virginia
could only stare, amazed at what
was happening, her heart fluttering madly.

He sat down beside
her and gently wiped the blood from her mouth.

She could not
breathe. What was he doing? And more important, why?

He tilted up her
chin, studied her mouth for a moment, and then lifted his eyes to hers.
"I'm afraid you will be bruised for a few days."

She didn't know what
to say; she said nothing. His touch was beyond gentle. She had never seen this
side of him before. Had she not been so upset, she would have been elated.

Hannah had returned,
holding two snifters. Devin nodded at the side table, where she set them down.
He lifted
Virginia
's wrist, which still throbbed.
And she saw his face tighten, his eyes turn black. He cursed.

"It's not that
bad," she lied, her heart pounding now with terrible force.

His gaze lifted.
"Like hell. I think he meant to snap your wrist in two. It is lucky for
him that he did not."

Virginia
could only stare.
He cared.
There
was simply no other possible way to read this man's reaction to her condition
now.

He handed her a
snifter. "This will help. I advise you to drink the entire glass. You will
sleep like a baby," he added, trying to smile. But he failed utterly and
gave it up.

Virginia
sipped, her mind racing, filled
with more amazement, more disbelief and, finally, the seed of elation. But how
could this be happening? What if she was wrong? He had hurt her so any
times—did she dare hope now, that at long last he had come to really care for
her? But what else could it be? This man knew no guilt.

Devlin stood. "I
will sleep in a guest room so as not to bother you tonight, Virginia."

She blinked hard, in
dismay. The last thing she wished was to be alone, even if he slept on the sofa
in the next room, as he was want to do.

"Hannah, please
apply an ice compress to her wrist."

"Yes, sir,"
Hannah whispered.

Virginia
wet her lips. "Devlin,
no," she said hoarsely.

He stiffened.

"I don't want to
be alone—not tonight—please, stay here with me," she cried softly. And
tears filled her eyes.

His own widened, his
visage far sterner than before. He could not seem to speak.

"I'll get the
ice," Hannah whispered and discreetly she fled, closing the door behind
her.

Virginia
could not move. She could only
stare up at him, the tears trickling down her cheeks, wishing she could stop
crying, wishing he would not leave, wishing he would take her in his arms and
gently hold her.

He remained stiff
with a conflict she could not fathom. "
Virginia
," he said hoarsely, "this is my
entire fault. I have used you shamelessly. I am sorry."