by Brenda Joyce
She didn’t—just as she wasn’t certain she wished to go anywhere, not just yet—but she nodded, anyway.
“As far as the eye can see, the land belongs to me or my stepfather, the Earl of Adare. Do you comprehend me, Virginia?” he asked softly, with real warning.
She thought about how easily he had thwarted her escape in Limerick. She had no doubt that escaping him in the heart of his holdings would be as futile. She smiled at him. “I won’t try to escape again,” she said as softly. She was far too curious to think of attempting another escape now.
He started. “What I wish to say was that here you will be treated with the utmost respect, your every need will be met, and I will try to see to it that your stay is brief.”
She heard him but added, “You have my word.”
He stared at her for a very long moment. “Whatever you intend, I suggest you rethink it,” he said tersely.
“How do you know that I intend anything?” she asked sweetly. But she did intend something. Before she left Askeaton and Ireland, she wished to experience all that she had thus far discovered in her captor’s powerful arms—and even more. The urgency he had awakened was simply too great to ignore or even resist.
“Because you are too clever and too stubborn to simply roll over upon my command,” he said slowly.
She hesitated. “Perhaps that was then—and this is now. Perhaps I await your command, Sir Devlin,” she murmured.
He leaned close. “Do not even think to tempt me again!”
“Why not?” she whispered back.
He seemed utterly taken aback. “Because I am far stronger than you, Virginia, and I suggest you never forget that.” He gave her a hard look and started toward his brother, who was listening raptly to them.
But Virginia was beginning to understand her captor. She smiled as sweetly as she had before at him. “I never said you weren’t,” she murmured.
He flinched but did not halt. Sean appeared very distressed now, and he finally followed his brother inside. Virginia began to grin. Oddly, she felt as if the tide were turning in her favor—somehow, it felt as if she had won that last encounter. And then she looked up into Fiona’s hostile black eyes.
CLEARLY THE “YELLOW ROOM” hadn’t been used in years. As Virginia stood in the doorway of a large bedroom where the walls were painted a soft, muted shade of gold, she watched Fiona angrily plump the pillows, dust billowing from them.
Virginia glanced around. This room was far more luxuriously appointed than her own bedroom at Sweet Briar or the two guest rooms there. The canopied bed in its center had gold velvet coverings and matching drapes were held back with gold tasseled cords, while a brown-and-gold Aubusson rug covered much of the scarred but polished oak floors. The ebony wood mantel over the fireplace was intricately carved, a lush chaise and ottoman adjacent to that, and several old portraits and landscapes adorned the walls. Virginia walked over to one window and actually cried out with delight. The view was stunning. Her eyes swept across the rolling fields of corn to an endless series of green pastures and hills and finally to the bare edge of the river itself. The ruins of an old and crumbling stone keep were just to her left.
Virginia gripped the sill. Ireland somehow called out to her the way that her home had, although the country was so very different. She wondered how she would feel if she were at Askeaton under other circumstances. She might never want to leave.
Fiona had stopped fussing with the bed. Virginia turned away from the window and found the other woman staring at her with open hostility. She was, Virginia thought, about twenty-five. “I should like some sandwiches and tea,” Virginia said as if she were Sarah Lewis and back at the Marmott School for Genteel Young Ladies.
Fiona stiffened. “Be right up.” But she didn’t move.
“And I’d like some roses from the gardens,” Virginia added, increasing her intonation, so she sounded more like a queen than a genteel young lady. “Oh! This gown. Do help me remove it. It needs pressing immediately. I’d like it back for supper, please.”
Fiona looked ready to scratch her eyes out. “Are you to be his wife?” she asked with scalding anger.
Virginia started, then, indifferently, she shrugged. His wife. One day, Devlin O’Neill would settle down, take a wife, have children. Why did this notion mesmerize her? When that day dawned, she would be home at Sweet Briar, in fact, she might even be old and gray.
The confusion that had so recently begun and that seemed to crop up now whenever she thought about her captor swept over her with full force. She finally looked up. “Perhaps,” she managed to say lightly.
Fiona started, scowling.
“And you? Were you his mistress? I thought so at first—but he didn’t recognize you, so I am no longer sure.”
Fiona stalked forward.
Virginia held her ground, even though the other woman had a stone or more on her.
“He hasn’t been home in six years,” she hissed. “I was a child back then, I was only fifteen but I loved him and I gave him my maidenhead. I’m a woman now, and I know a trick or two I am certain he will enjoy! In fact, I cannot wait until tonight, my lady, I cannot wait to pleasure him in every way I can think of! By tomorrow he will not even know your name.”
Virginia stiffened, afraid the other woman might be right. But now she had to wonder what kind of man stayed away from his home for six long years?
And Virginia began to worry on another score. Devlin had been eighteen, she thought, when he and Fiona had carried on, and she hated the fact that he had been her first lover. Nostalgia might be attached to their affair.
“How old are you?” Fiona asked with scorn.
“I’m twenty,” Virginia lied.
Fiona rolled her eyes. “I’d wager you’re sixteen. Let me tell you something, my lady. He won’t ever look at you the way he looks at me. You’re too skinny! A man likes meat on the bones, a man likes this.” She cupped her heavy breasts and then she smiled, sighing and clearly thinking of Devlin fondling them instead.
Virginia turned her back on the housemaid. Her confidence, never high, vanished completely. Who was she fooling? If Devlin had a choice, he would seek out the older woman. She had no doubt.
She should be thrilled. She wasn’t. She was upset, distressed, bewildered and even hurt by the prospect.
Fiona laughed at her distress. “So set them eyes somewhere else, my fancy lady,” she hissed. “Here at Askeaton we got no use for the English and them royal airs. Here at Askeaton we got no use for you and your kind. Go back to where you came from!” Fiona left the room triumphantly.
Virginia ran after her. “I’m American, you fool. I’m American, not English!”
But if Fiona cared, she gave no sign. She never faltered as she hurried down the hall.
Virginia stepped back into her room, closing the door. Too late, she realized Fiona hadn’t helped her undress, she hadn’t taken her awfully soiled gown and she hadn’t intended to bring water, refreshments, flowers or anything else.
Virginia took a small chair and pulled it up to the window. There she sat in dismal silence, staring out at the countryside, thinking about her captor.
DEVLIN POURED TWO WHISKEYS. Sean faced him with dark, angry eyes. Devlin handed him a glass, ignoring his brother now, his gaze moving around the library, then to the French doors and the terrace beyond. He relished the view, the moment. God, it was good to be home.
Gerald smiled conspiratorially at him. “Don’t breathe a word of this to your mother, you hear?”
Devlin walked toward the French doors, no longer smiling, drinking instead.
His father’s eyes, wide and angry, staring up at him from the bloody stump that was his head.
“Are you going to explain? Is she Eastleigh’s daughter? It isn’t enough that you bed his wife?” Sean demanded furiously.
He saluted Sean, forcing the brutal memories aside. “She’s his niece. His orphaned American niece.” He had expected Sean to be outraged, but that did
not mean he liked it.
“So that explains everything. What the hell are you doing!” Sean cried. “And how old is she? Have you seduced a child?” He was disbelieving.
He studied the contents of his glass as if indifferent. “She’s eighteen, and no, I haven’t seduced her,” he said, wondering how his righteous and oh, so moral brother would react if he told him that she might well decide to seduce him. “I’m ransoming her, Sean.” He smiled, real mirth returning. “Eastleigh is on the verge of debtor’s prison. He can ill afford a ransom, much less the one I will demand.” He actually chuckled. “I shall, of course, toy with him a bit first. However, to free his niece he may very well have to sell off Eastleigh itself. This may be the moment we have been waiting for.”
“And vengeance is mine, said the lord,” Sean said harshly. “Vengeance belongs to God, not you, and this moment you have been waiting for—not I!” He slammed his drink down, untouched.
“You may not share my enthusiasm, but I am doing this for you as much as for myself,” Devlin said. He pushed open the door and inhaled the clean, floral and grass-scented Irish spring. He did not want to debate Sean on the merits of his revenge against the Earl of Eastleigh. The subject was an old and tired one. It came up every time he saw his brother, once or twice a year, depending on how often they met in London or Dublin.
“You do this only for yourself. God, when will you let our father rest in peace?” Sean cried. Then he added, “Thank God Mother and Adare are in London!”
Devlin turned, his temper igniting. “Gerald will never rest in peace and you know it. As for our mother, she doesn’t need to know about this.”
Sean stared. “If his spirit wanders, it is because you will not allow him peace! Dear God, you have destroyed the man financially, when will you stop? When will you let go of this obsession and find some peace of your own?”
“Perhaps, if your memory served you as well as mine did me, you would be as bent upon revenge as I am,” he said coldly.
Sean’s own silver gaze chilled. “Do you think I don’t wish that I could remember that day? You speak as if you think I willed my memory loss! I do not know why my mind has failed me so, but do not accuse me of complaisance when it comes to the fact that I cannot remember anything of that terrible day our father was murdered!”
“I’m sorry,” Devlin said, but sometimes he resented the fact that he alone was the one haunted by Gerald, for neither his brother nor his mother seemed to suffer as he did.
“And what of the navy? Is the Admiralty going to let you get away with this, the abduction of an American woman, an attack upon the English aristocracy?” Sean demanded.
“Eastleigh will never allow word of this abduction to come out. He already plays the fool and his pride will ultimately make him pay for Virginia’s freedom. I feel certain no one will ever know about this little game, other than ourselves.”
“Little game? You abuse an innocent young woman and it is a little game? Father must be turning over in his grave right now. You have gone too far!” Sean cried. “And what about Miss Hughes herself? If she goes to the authorities, you could lose your head! And I do not speak figuratively now.”
Devlin laid his hand on Sean’s rigid shoulder. “I have no intention of losing my head, Sean,” he said softly.
“You think you are invincible. You are not.”
“Trust my instincts. Eastleigh will conclude this affair swiftly. His pride is all he has left.”
Sean stared, his expression harsh and agonized. “I don’t approve, Devlin. I simply cannot. God, I don’t even know who you are,” Sean suddenly despaired, “and frankly, I never have.”
“I’m your brother.”
“Yes, my brother. A stranger whom I never see, as you clearly abhor the soil and the earth—as you cannot spend a fortnight on land, it seems. You are a stranger with a passion for vengeance and little else. I pity you, Devlin.”
Devlin made a mocking sound, although his brother’s words made him very uncomfortable. “You should save your pity for one who needs it—perhaps the beautiful Miss Hughes?”
Sean did not flinch. “I won’t deny I find her attractive beyond comparison. I only hope she does not need my pity, ever, Dev.”
“When you become more acquainted with Miss Hughes, you will discover that she is not the kind of woman to be pitied.” He almost smiled, thinking of her courage and her absurdly independent nature.
A silence fell.
Devlin turned and found Sean staring, his gaze wide and searching. He said, “You almost sound fond of her.”
He actually hesitated. “I am hardly fond of her, Sean. But frankly, her courage is amazing—reckless though it may be.”
“So you admire her, then,” Sean said quietly.
Devlin became impatient. “Enough of Miss Hughes! The subject grows tiresome. When Eastleigh pays her ransom, she goes back. Until then, she is our guest.” He stressed the plural pronoun deliberately and stared. He softly added, “Your loyalty to me does precede your noble sense of honor and your disapproval, does it not?”
Sean folded his arms across his chest, staring grimly in displeasure.
“Sean?”
He spoke roughly. “You know I would never betray you, in spite of my outrage over what you think to do.”
Satisfied, Devlin stalked back to the silver tray of decanters and glasses on the sideboard, pouring himself another, far stiffer drink. The silence lengthened. He finally sighed and glanced up. “All right. What is it? What is it that you wish to say?”
“If Eastleigh is so impoverished, what makes you think he will even wish to pay a ransom for his distant American niece, someone he has probably never seen and does not care for?”
Devlin stared. “He’ll pay.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Sean prodded.
Devlin felt his entire being tense. “Then I will have to provoke him publicly until he has no choice but to rescue our little guest, until it becomes a matter of honor.”
“To destroy Eastleigh, you will have to destroy her, will you not? How can you live with yourself?” Sean cried.
“Rather easily,” Devlin said, but even he knew there was nothing simple about his life and that his answer was a lie.
“You bastard,” Sean said.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MANOR SEEMED terribly quiet and felt almost empty, Virginia thought, pausing in the grandiose hall. She had spent the afternoon exploring the grounds and visiting the stables, where Devlin had some very fine horses, especially a sweet bay mare. Now dusk was quickly approaching. Virginia had bathed in scented water—Connor had filled her tub—and changed into one of her mother’s fine evening gowns, one altered hastily by Tillie before she had left Sweet Briar. The gown was a bright rose silk, with small puffed sleeves and a low-cut bodice. Virginia had gone to great lengths to pin up the heavy masses of her hair. If she were fortunate, the pins would stay in place until she retired for the night.
She wondered where her captor was.
Virginia walked through the hall, admiring several very old tapestries hanging on the walls and the huge crystal chandelier. She paused before two open doors that led to another salon, this one smaller and more intimate, with moss-green walls and green, pink and lavender molding on the ceiling. A man rose from the dark brocade sofa—it was Sean.
“Oh, I didn’t realize anyone was in the room,” Virginia said quickly. “I hope I am not intruding.”
He came forward in a formal blue evening coat, pale britches and stockings. His gaze was openly appreciative as he smiled at her. “You are not intruding, Miss Hughes, not at all. After all, supper is almost upon us. Would you like a sherry or some champagne?”
She had to admire him as well. With his midnight hair and pale gray eyes, he was every bit as handsome as his older brother. Like Devlin, he was tall, broad of shoulder, long of leg and lean of hip. His body looked every bit as muscled and toned. “I would love a glass of champagne,” she said.
He q
uickly poured two flutes from the chilled bottle on the sideboard, handing her one. “You are fetching, Miss Hughes, in that lovely dress,” he said.
She wondered if he was blushing, as she remarked two slight spots of color high upon his cheekbones. “You must call me Virginia, Mr. O’Neill, and thank you very much.” She hesitated. “This dress belonged to my mother.”
“I am sorry about your parents,” he said instantly. “And please, it’s Sean.”
She started, meeting kind and concerned gray eyes. “You know about my parents?” she asked.
“Dev mentioned that you are an orphan.”
She nodded. “It was a carriage accident last fall.”
“Sometimes there is no comprehending God’s will.”
“I’m not sure I believe in God,” she said.
His eyes widened. “Then that is a shame. But there have been moments, I confess, when I have had my doubts, too.”
She smiled at him. “Then we must both be intelligent and human.”
He laughed.
She stopped smiling, enjoying his laughter, which was warm and rich and so different from the odd, croaking sound Devlin had made on the few occasions when he seemed to try to laugh. “You and he are nothing alike, are you?”
“No.” Sean studied her.
“How is that possible? Aren’t you both close in age?”
“I’m two years younger,” Sean said. “Devlin assumed responsibility for me when our father died. That is one reason for the difference between us.”
“And the other?” she asked, determined now to learn everything she could about her captor.
He smiled wryly and shrugged.
“I do not understand him,” she said. “He is very brave, that much is clear, almost fearless, I think—” she recalled how he had defied gale winds to rescue his ship “—and that’s not very human, is it?”
“He is fearless,” Sean agreed. “I think he doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”
Virginia stared, Sean’s theory stunning. “But no one wishes to die!”