The Prize (52 page)

"Maybe I should
sleep in the sitting room," he said.

She jerked, looking
up at him and meeting his gaze. It was grave—but it held a gleam she instantly
recognized. "Why?"

His mouth twisted in
self-deprecation. "I am afraid once was not enough, little one. I want you
again, but I refuse to abuse you."

She saw what he meant
and her heart tightened. She smiled at him, uncertain, and very daringly she
swept her hand across his taut belly and lower still.

His eyes widened.
"
Virginia
?"

She caressed the
velvet length.

He choked.

"You won't abuse
me, Devlin. I may be petite but I am not porcelain."

He didn't speak.

She was somewhat
fascinated by what she had dared to do, nevertheless, she did look up.

420                          

His eyes were
squeezed closed. He was beginning to breathe hard. She saw a bead of sweat on
his brow. She became very intrigued. "Devlin?" she asked, moving her
hand to lightly touch his chest.

He seized it and
replaced it. "Don't stop," he said, his voice thick.

And
Virginia
suddenly had an inkling of the
power that might be hers. "What?" She became still, stunned. Was it
possible that a mere touch could so immobilize him?

He seemed to fight to
speak. "
Virginia
, do not stop," he said, and
his tone was so thick she could not tell if it was an order he gave—or a plea.

Virginia
was in disbelief.

"Please,"
he said thickly.

He was begging
her?

He stared—she stared
back. Then she smiled a little, made absolutely breathless by the fierce blaze
in his eyes, and she stroked him again, now carefully, and he gasped and reared
up, his chest now heaving.

"Oh, my,"
Virginia
said, elation beginning. She
smiled slyly at him.

"Witch," he
said harshly.

Virginia
grinned and kissed him.

He cried out, grasped
her and hauled her up the bed, and she found herself on her back, her legs
spread, with Devlin fiercely intent and as fiercely poised to enter her.
"Wicked little woman," he said.

She laughed and
pulled him closer, until her laughter died.

It was midmorning.
Devlin sat at his desk in the library, an empty Scotch glass in front of him.
Virginia
had fallen asleep at dawn and he
had quietly left her then, knowing he would not be able to sleep.

He was grim, torn,
confused. It was hard to breathe. Tension filled his body as if he had not been
sexually sated a single time. He did not have to close his eyes to see
Virginia
lying in his arms, smiling
warmly at him, love shining in her eyes.

What was happening
to him?

When he had
discovered her being mauled by Tom Hughes, he had actually seen red, wanting to
kill the man for daring to trespass on what was his, for daring to hurt her.
His murderous rage had had nothing to do with his father's murder and
everything to do with his feelings for
Virginia
.

He trembled violently
now. He was no fool.
Virginia
was not his and she never would
be his. Yet he had never touched or kissed any woman the way that he had done
last night, and insist as he might to himself that it all meant nothing, in his
heart he knew differently. Somehow, his admiration for his captive had become
something far more—something far worse.

He reached for his
Scotch and found the glass empty. Grimly he stared at it. No amount of Scotch
would erase what he had done—from the very first, when he had taken Virginia as
his hostage, intending to use her so callously as a tool of revenge, to this
last devastating plan to flaunt her in society as his lover.

The moment he had
first seep
Virginia
in the hold of the
Americana
,
he had known that he should not abduct her—
with the finely honed instincts of a true warrior, he had known he should
jettison his plan and avoid her at all costs. Instead, he had held true to a
fatal course, she the mighty storm and he the tiny sloop. And now their course
was run, having come to this final, singular moment in time.

He lurched to his
feet with a curse. He could no longer subject her to his whims. He could no
longer use her in his terrible scheme. He wished, desperately, that he had not
made love to her, not ever. Family and love were
not
for him.

Eastleigh
would still have to pay—Devlin's
revenge was hardly complete—but
Virginia
had paid far more than she ever should have, and now he hated himself for all
that he had done.

He strode to the
hearth, where last night's embers glowed. He had received his new orders and he
was leaving shortly for
America
. Before then, he needed to free
her and he would take her home. At Sweet Briar, there would be no malicious
slander to haunt her. In fact, she would probably forget all about him in the
span of a few months.

Inside his chest, it
almost felt as if the devil were ripping his heart in two.

Are you in love
with this girl?
Tyrell
had asked.

He was
not.
He
had never experienced the emotion, and he never would. He knew that for a fact.

Devlin returned to
his desk, trying not to contemplate the fact that once
Virginia
had returned to her plantation, their paths
would never again cross. Almost ill, he began to pen instructions to his
solicitor to purchase Sweet Briar anonymously from
Eastleigh
on his behalf. He would give her the
plantation in a very futile attempt to make amends. He did not seek forgiveness—he
did not deserve it.

And then, when
Virginia was gone, he would finish Eastleigh, one way or the other.

Because the stakes
had forever changed and now there was nothing left to lose.

Virginia hesitated
outside of the closed library door where she had been told that Devlin was. It
was almost noon and she had recently awoken. She could think of nothing other
than her lover. Last night he had made
love
to her. She knew it the way
she knew that the air she breathed was filled with oxygen. Everything had changed
between them. She hardly knew why—she only knew she had to race back into his
welcoming arms, to make sure the night had not been a dream.

But she hesitated
because their long history had taught her how ruthless and unpredictable he
could be. A part of her recalled every slight and hurt, every single
rejection, and that part of her was almost faint with dread. But last night had
not
been a dream.

She smoothed down her
lovely gown and knocked on the door. "Devlin?"

There was no answer.

Virginia
opened the door and glanced
inside. The room was empty. She saw a stack of letters on his desk, one unsealed,
and a cup and saucer. She walked in, and at the desk, saw that the teacup was
half-full. She touched the cup and found it warm—he had only just stepped out.

And then her gaze
fell onto the letter that lay open in the center of the desk. Her gaze widened
and she glanced up, but Devlin had not appeared in the doorway. Somewhat
guiltily, she lifted the letter and read.

Lord Admiral St. John
to Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill Waverly Hall
Greenwich
November 20,1812
Sir Captain O'Neill,

Please be advised of
the following. Your orders are to proceed by December the 14 to the coasts of
Maryland and Virginia, where you shall commence the blockade of the Delaware and
Chesapeake Bays in conjunction with the HMS
Southampton,
the HMS
Java
and the HMS
Peacock.
All American vessels are subject to search and
seizure. A determination is to be made thereof, and any American vessels,
including non-naval ships, deemed to be engaged in military action, are to be
seized or destroyed. All efforts are to be made to avoid harmful intercourse
with American noncombatants; any suspicion of military involvement on the part
of such American civilians is to be investigated and treated accordingly with
His Majesty's rules of engagement

The Right Honorable
Lord Admiral St. John The Admiralty 13 Brook Street
West Square

Virginia
trembled violently and set the
letter containing Devlin's orders down. Devlin was leaving to go to war and he
was leaving soon—within two weeks. She trembled, sick with fear for his safety.

She inhaled raggedly,
reminding herself that Devlin had been going to war since he was a boy of
thirteen. It did not help—she feared for his welfare now. She feared for his
life.

And then she thought
about the rest of his orders. She grasped the back of his chair. Dear G6d, he
was going to war against her country. His orders were to seize and destroy any
American naval ships and any other vessels suspected of military involvement.
He would be fighting her country and her people within miles of her home. And
suddenly it was so terribly clear that there was a war raging on the
Atlantic Ocean
and on American soil, a war
between his country and hers.

"
Virginia
?"

She started and saw
him approaching. She swallowed and said, "I did not mean to pry. I was
looking for you. I saw your orders."

He paused, glancing
at the open letter. "My orders are classified." His gaze was steady
upon hers.

"Classified?"

"They are meant
only for my eyes and those of the Admiralty and the Department of War."

                             
425

"I am sorry."
She was breathless; she didn't know what to do now. "You're leaving?"

"Yes." He
was staring grimly at her. "As soon as possible."

He could have merely
acknowledged the fact; his choice of words was a dark blow. She gripped the
desk. "As soon as possible?" she echoed.

His gaze did not
waver. "Yes."

Surely this did
not mean anything, surely this had nothing to do with her or the night they
had shared.
She
wet her lips. Her pulse pounded. "Can you not delay awhile?"

"I don't think
so." He faced her soberly. "I will take you home—back to
Virginia
."

Her heart felt as if
it had dropped right out of her body and through the floor.
"What?"

He was far more grim
than before. "I will find another way to ruin
Eastleigh
. It's time for you to go."

Virginia
sank down in his chair. She was
in utter disbelief. He would send her away now? After their passion, their
love? "But..."

"But what?"
he asked too sharply.

"But last night,"
she implored. "Everything is different now...isn't it?" And she
prayed she would not cry.

He did not look at
her, pouring a drink. Were his hands shaking? "You need to be freed, that
fact has not changed."

She was quickly
becoming devastated. "But," she said, frozen on the inside, and on
the outside, too, "but we made love last night."

He tossed back a
shot. "Don't," he warned.

Virginia
managed to stand up, holding on
to his desk as she did so. "I know it," she insisted stubbornly.

He finally looked at
her, his face taut, his expression so similar to the one he'd worn last night
after the ball. "I do not want to hurt you again,
Virginia
."

"Then do not do
so," she cried.

"Why do you
still demand the impossible of me?" he cried in return. "Why not
leave this alone? I will return you to Sweet Briar. This is what you
want!"

She stared, her
heart, so badly pierced, beginning to break apart into small pieces. "It's
not what I want," she whispered.

He stiffened and he
was clearly angry. "Do not ask me to give you something I cannot, and will
not, give."

The tears fell. She
could not stop them. She stared, and with the hurt, there was almost hatred.
"So it meant nothing...^! night?"

He drew his shoulders
back. "I enjoyed myself very much,
Virginia
, as I know you did, too. But it meant
nothing."

She cried out, and
had she been closer, she would have struck his handsome face.

"Clearly, I
should not have given in to my passion last night. You are too young and too
innocent to understand men, Virginia—and I am only a man, and not a romantic
one. I am sorry. I am sorry you think last night meant more than it did. Now, I
have a ship to attend to." His shoulders squared, he turned and started
for the door.