The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

  She clawed his shoulders and moaned; he kissed his way down her throat, pulled her bodice down, exposing both perfect breasts. And as he stared at one erect nipple, two images came to mind—Eastleigh, fat and gray, and Sean, dark and angry.

  What was he doing?

  He was so angry he couldn’t even think clearly, and this was so fast and furious it wasn’t even seduction—it wasn’t rape, but because of her and Sean, he was poised to take her, violently and brutally. He had sworn to return her to Eastleigh unharmed—but instead, he had lost all control.

  She reached for his face, thrashing beneath him. “Hurry,” she begged.

  He looked again at her erect nipple, at her small, plump breast, and desperately fought the increasing pressure in his loins, the red haze growing in his head, the frantic urgency. He was out of control. Stunned, he pulled her dress up, covering her breasts, and somehow stood.

  What in hell had just happened?

  This woman had brought him to a point he had never before reached.

  He was a master of self-control—but she had shattered it.

  Not looking at her, not daring to, he started swiftly from the room.

  He heard her sitting up on the floor. “Devlin,” she gasped. “Come back. Please.”

  He ground his jaw down and did not falter.

  “You can’t leave me like this!” she cried.

  He bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Then he strode down the hall. By the time he reached his bedroom door, he felt as if he had regained some semblance of control—but not all of it.

  He was very disturbed.

  Because Virginia had just had power over him—and he could not, would not, ever let anyone have any power over him, not in any way, and not his very own prisoner.

  He entered his room, quickly shutting the door, shrugging off his navy coat. His erection still raged and he tugged uselessly at his britches but found no relief.

  “Oh, do let me help with that.” Fiona stepped forward, resplendently naked.

  He stopped short, staring in surprise, for he had completely forgotten about her.

  She was smiling as she came forward, her pendulous breasts swaying, and before he could even assimilate that she was present because he had told her to be so, she dropped onto her knees, unfastening his britches deftly.

  He inhaled hard as he sprang free, then inhaled again as she took his entire length into her mouth and down her throat.

  Huge violet eyes, unfocused and glazed with desire, filled his mind as his own eyes closed. He gripped Fiona’s head tightly, and as she sucked his engorged shaft as if she wished to swallow him whole, his treacherous mind envisioned a different woman on her knees performing the very same act, a woman small and dainty, impossibly beautiful, outspoken and defiant. The thick straight hair in his hands became soft, silken curls. The large tongue became small and pointed. Full, tender rosebud lips now stretched taut around him. With his hands, he encouraged Virginia to hurry and finish him off.

  The dam broke. He cried out and when he was done, he moved to the bed, where he sat, breathing hard and stunned by the intensity of his release. She moved against him from behind. Suddenly aware of the huge breasts against his back, he stiffened, realizing that Fiona was in his bed, that Fiona had just performed fellatio upon him, not Virginia Hughes.

  Very seductively, she began rubbing herself against him. “The night has only begun, my lord,” she purred.

  He sat there almost laughing at himself. How could he have thought, even for an instant, that Virginia could perform such an act? It wasn’t even a matter of her innocence, it was a matter of her—and his—size.

  But the incipient amusement vanished. He had never experienced such pleasure before. And recalling it, images of Virginia returned to him full force and instantly his manhood rose to the occasion.

  “I knew you would return to me, my lord,” Fiona said.

  He had a choice—dismiss her or take her. Devlin turned, pushing her onto her back on the bed. And closing his eyes, he mounted her.

  HE PACED THE MANOR, disturbed.

  The events of the past few hours were haunting him.

  And a ghost seemed to follow him, the presence as disquieting as that entire evening had been.

  It was as if Gerald had followed him from the docks of Limerick, refusing to release him.

  A bottle of fine French brandy in hand, Devlin stared at the gun rack that was mounted on the wall. Once, ages ago, he had found his father’s gun rack empty in a terrible time of need. That rack had been destroyed in the fire set by Eastleigh’s troops so long ago. Although there was no need, modern muskets filled the brackets—it would never be left empty again.

  When will you let our father rest in peace?

  Devlin drank. Half the bottle was gone, and he was going to pay for it on the morrow. He hated thinking about Gerald, he hated each and every memory, the good being far worse than the bad—which was why he never came home.

  Sightless eyes filled with fury turned mocking.

  “Go away,” Devlin murmured. “Your time will come.” He paused drunkenly before a huge fire roaring in the massive hearth.

  The halls seemed to shimmer in the shadows, but no one answered him. Not that he had expected an answer, and besides, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

  Still, the room felt heavy and full. He did not feel alone.

  Vengeance belongs to God, not you…you do this only for yourself!

  “Christ,” Devlin gritted. He drank some more, and now his stomach burned from the excessive consumption of liquor. Images of Virginia taunted him, standing on the deck of the Americana, the wind whipping her hair, aiming that silly pistol at him. Her face changed, smiling brightly, her eyes sparkling as they had at supper, enchanting his brother with her humor, her wit, her conversation, and then there was Sean, dark and angry, claiming to be falling in love.

  You will have to destroy her…how can you live with yourself? How?

  Devlin stalked about the great room, wondering if, on this cold and windless night, his conscience had decided, finally, to make an appearance in his life. The hall had been furnished with blood money. Elegantly appointed, it was a testament to the hundreds of ships he had attacked, seized and destroyed at sea, the thousands of crew taken prisoner, the hundreds left behind, dead and buried by the sea. His home was as elegant as any lord admiral’s, as fine as Adare’s. His next intention was to begin reconstruction of the old keep in ruins behind the manor house. Once, family myth had it, a great pirate ancestor of his had lived there and loved a most extraordinary woman, the daughter of the infamous traitor, Gerald FitzGerald, the one-time Earl of Desmond.

  Now he had the funds—his last prize, loaded with bullion, had made him a very rich man.

  Enough! Give up.

  Devlin stiffened as if shot. He could have sworn he’d just heard his father’s stern, angry voice echoing in the room. He slowly looked around the huge hall, almost expecting to see someone materializing in the shadows, but the room was still and silent. Through one tall glass window, he saw stars and the night. He was alone. His imagination was playing tricks upon him—either that, or he did have a damned conscience after all.

  But the odd feeling of not being alone at all remained.

  Give up.

  Devlin flinched. Was he actually hearing a voice, or was it his drunken imagination and nothing more? Still, the advice was good. Prowling his home in the wee hours of the coming dawn was as useless as sailing into the wind. He started for the stairs. The sensation remained however, dark and disturbing—the sensation of being watched.

  He refused to look back.

  And his last waking thought before drifting to sleep as dawn broke over the Irish countryside was that he would never give up, not ever, not until Eastleigh was dead.

  CHAPTER TEN

  VIRGINIA REALIZED THAT she was starving. She gave the little, very fancy, bay mare another pat, then stepped out of the stall and left the stables. It was
a beautiful morning, the sky a brilliant deep shade of blue, cloudless, the sun bright and burning, threatening to make the day extremely hot. In the end last night, she had been exhausted, and the moment she had crawled into bed, she had fallen deeply asleep. But old habits died hard and she had been up at dawn, walking the grounds and exploring the ruins of the old castle behind the house. Devlin’s home was lovely, and the ruins had intrigued her. There was something poignant and romantic about them.

  Now she started across the lawns toward the manor, aware of a new tremor within her. She had seen Devlin once, briefly, galloping his gray across a distant hill, apparently out for an early morning ride. Astride a horse, he made the same irresistible figure that he did on the quarterdeck of his ship. He remained an enigma, simply impossible to understand. Had he accused her of somehow being too friendly with Sean? Everything had happened so very quickly in the study when she had dared to ask him to stroll with her in the moonlight. He had been very angry with her, but why? Sean was a nice man and Virginia genuinely liked him. She had enjoyed dining with him. She hoped he would one day visit her at Sweet Briar. But not only hadn’t Devlin joined in their conversation, he had seemed to think that she had a romantic interest in Sean. That was absurd! How could he think that, given the intimacy they had shared?

  But he had ordered her to stay away from her brother. There was one other possibility. Perhaps he was afraid that she would entice Sean into helping her escape the way she had Jack Harvey.

  Virginia’s steps dragged so she might have a bit more time to think. It was impossible not to recall everything that had happened last night. Her cheeks began a slow burn. When he had held her in his arms, when he had begun to kiss her, when she had felt his huge arousal, all of her sanity had vanished, exactly as it had the other night on the ship. She hadn’t imagined her passionate reaction to being in his arms, oh no. The fever and the frenzy he evoked in her was very real and simply stunning. And in a way, it was frightening, too.

  Because when he held her, she was not herself. When he held her, she turned into a creature of desire and little else. In fact, when she was in his arms being kissed and aroused, nothing else mattered.

  Fortunately it was midmorning now and Virginia was no longer insane with that terrible lust. Her body was definitely changing in response to thinking about the encounter, but at least she was capable of rational thought. Why did he have such an effect upon her?

  He was impossibly mesmerizing, impossibly handsome in a terrible, powerful way, but she was his prisoner, not his guest. Devlin stood between her and Sweet Briar and she was starting to forget that, as if she had all the time in the world to play out this interlude in captivity before rescuing the plantation. She needed to be stronger, firmer, more resolved—time was not on her side.

  Still, he wasn’t a pirate or a madman. He hadn’t hurt her, not a single time, and he was clearly trying to respect her. The world worshipped him for being a heroic naval captain. He was heroic—he was the very stuff that heroes were made from. But he had broken the law by abducting her—not to mention that he had so arrogantly stepped all over the Americana, which had every right to ply its trade. He had committed at least those two crimes, and her spinning thoughts always returned to this final point. The Americana lay wrecked upon the bottom of the sea, she was his prisoner and she had no right to yearn for his embrace.

  And she still had no idea why he really wished to ransom her.

  It was probably fortunate that he had decided to end their interlude last night as if he had just discovered she was a leper. His hasty exit was almost comical in the light of this morning, and she did smile, recalling it. But it hadn’t been amusing last night. Last night she had been desperate and crushed and more confused than ever.

  Virginia entered the house, becoming grim. She needed to know why. She needed to know why he risked his career for a ransom he did not need. And in spite of the fact that she was actually enjoying being at Askeaton, that she wasn’t in a rush to leave, she had to get to the Earl of Eastleigh. If she wanted a home to return to, she must stay focused and resolved and disregard the passionate attraction they seemed to share.

  Virginia walked through the hall, wondering if Devlin had returned from his ride. She had seen Sean riding out some time ago, after Devlin but separately and at a more sedate pace. She felt certain he was beginning his day’s work. Virginia glanced into the dining room and found only one place set. She sighed, caught up between disappointment and relief.

  Virginia raided the breadbasket, giving in to hunger. With one blueberry scone in hand, she began eating a slice of raisin bread, fresh and warm from the oven, as she started upstairs. She decided to give up thinking about Devlin O’Neill. What she would do instead was change into the riding britches she had brought with her from home and take a long ride across the O’Neill lands.

  Virginia finished the bread and was beginning on the scone as she entered her bedroom. Fiona was humming away as she made the bed, having opened all of the windows to let in the warm spring day. Virginia ignored her, going to the closet for her valise. “Good morning,” Fiona said with abundant cheer.

  Every fiber of her being tensed. Alarm began—what was this? Slowly, britches in hand, her riding boots on the floor, Virginia turned.

  Fiona beamed at her. “I brought you roses from the garden,” she said, pointing to the pink roses in a vase beside her bed.

  The alarm began to change, turning into dread. Virginia inhaled, wondering if Sean or Devlin had set her down for her delinquent manner yesterday. “Thank you,” she said carefully. “Would you help me out of my dress?”

  “Of course!” Fiona practically ran across the room, and Virginia glimpsed her beatific expression just before she turned. As the other woman undid the buttons and helped her out of the gown, she said, “You are inordinately happy today.”

  Fiona laughed. “It’s a fine day, is it not?”

  Virginia had a sick feeling. She stepped into the boys’ britches, then pulled on the high, worn riding boots. A simple cotton shirt followed, which she vaguely tucked in. “Have you received some good news?” she asked, lacing up her boots.

  Fiona laughed again. “I think I am in love,” she confided happily.

  Virginia jerked up, staring, appalled. “In…love?”

  Fiona nodded eagerly, clasping her hands together. “It was everything I dreamed it would be. He was everything I dreamed he would be, I mean! Oh, God, it was glorious, what a man, so strong, so tireless…” She finally faltered, her cheeks splotched feverishly, a similar glaze in her eyes.

  “You…you and Devlin?” Virginia managed, the contents of her stomach seriously roiling now.

  “Yes,” Fiona cried. “He made love to me all night, that man can hold it like a stud! I have never, ever been with a man like that, and I do not know how I will ever wait until tonight!”

  Devlin had taken Fiona to bed.

  Virginia sat on the edge of the chair, beyond ill, in stupefaction.

  “He’s so big,” Fiona whispered now. “I can hardly fit him in my hand.”

  Last night Devlin had kissed her and held her and then he had gone to Fiona.

  Virginia was about to vomit. And the shattering began in her heart. Somehow she smiled as she stood. Somehow she held her breakfast down. “I am happy for you, Fiona. The two of you make a fine pair.”

  “We do, don’t we! He’s so golden, I’m so dark, he’s handsome, I’m beautiful,” she cried, clapping her hands together.

  Virginia left the room, as fast as her legs could carry her without running. She broke into a run as she reached the stairs, not able to breathe, her heart ripping hideously apart. Instantly her slick booted soles slid on the polished wood and she fell hard, tumbling down half of the steps.

  On the bottom she paused on her hands and knees, panting harshly, beyond shock. Then she somehow got up, ran out the front door, and there she threw up on the closest rose bush.

  When she was done, she crawled aroun
d the side of the house and sat there, shaking. Images of Devlin straining over Fiona taunted her, mocked her, throwing pound after pound of salt in her wounds. It was some time before she could take control of her raw emotions, and it was only then that the horrific images began to infuriate her.

  Oh, how they deserved each other!

  She was a whore—he was a whoremonger!

  She didn’t care—she had her maidenhead intact, thank God—no, thank Fiona!

  Virginia hated them both.

  How could he go to Fiona after being with her? How?

  Virginia somehow stood, her knees oddly weak, brushing dirt off of her beige britches. This was for the best. Soon she would leave Askeaton and Ireland, soon she would return to Sweet Briar and never, ever have to see Devlin O’Neill again.

  How, how, how?

  “She’s beautiful and I’m ugly, that’s how!” Virginia raged. She stormed past the house and down to the stables, where the bay mare recognized her and whinnied. Virginia found a saddle that looked a bit smaller than the others, grabbed a bridle and blanket and quickly saddled the little mare up. It began to rain. She held the mare’s reins and stroked her neck as her hands became wet. “You’re so sweet,” she choked. Then she led the mare outside, where the sky was blue, confusing her.

  Of course it wasn’t raining. It was only her tears—they simply wouldn’t stop.

  Vaguely she wondered if she had somehow fallen in love with the monster that was Devlin O’Neill.

  Virginia mounted the mare and gave her a loose rein. A moment later they were galloping away from Askeaton and across the Irish countryside.

  THE BAY MARE PICKED HER way along a meandering deer path through a stand of sun-dappled woods. Virginia was herself again and furiously relieved because of it. She was Virginia Hughes, a planter’s daughter and the mistress of Sweet Briar. She was an outspoken, independent woman with no interest in any man, with no interest outside of her home and plantation. With the utmost determination, she had spent the past half hour plotting a new means of escape, this time by horseback. Now she was determined to thwart her damned captor. He no longer expected her to try to flee, and once he found her gone, he would expect her to go back to England by ship. To hell with him! She would first cross Ireland on a horse, and she’d sail out from one of the coastal towns in the east. In fact, as soon as she had the opportunity, she would sneak into the library and find some useful maps. Maybe she would steal one.