The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

  Sean was pacing. Devlin wanted to calm his brother down. “Sean, you need not worry. I will not allow Virginia to bring the British down upon you and the others. If I have to, I will tell Virginia the truth. Our people are frustrated, angry and hungry, but we will not allow a futile armed struggle.”

  Sean did not appear reassured. “I do not think Virginia is in the mood to listen to anything that you might say.”

  “She’ll listen,” he said, instantly grim. What had been wrong with her that afternoon? Why had she been crying?

  Sean hesitated. “Devlin, I have a solution, I think, as far as Virginia is concerned.”

  “Pray tell.”

  “One of us should marry her.”

  Devlin spilled his drink.

  “I’m deadly serious.”

  He quickly placed the snifter on a small end table, wiping his hand on his britches. “And who is to have the honor of making Virginia a happy, loving, loyal wife? Oh, let me guess! That honor would be yours?”

  “I would marry her if she were willing. But it’s not me that she wants.”

  “I am not marrying that penniless American orphan, Sean,” he warned. His heart was racing with alarming speed, as if he were about to sail his ship into a hurricane.

  “Why not? After all, you are the one victimizing her, and only you can make this just.”

  “Are you serious?” Devlin could not get over his brother’s suggestion. It was beyond absurd. Virginia was going to Eastleigh directly upon his receiving his ransom, and if her plantation home was sold, she would undoubtedly reside in England with her family.

  “I said I am. I do not wish to lose Askeaton, and you certainly do not need to lose your head.” Sean gave him a grim look, then continued the pacing he had left off.

  “The one thing I am not about to lose is my head,” Devlin said wryly. “Cease worrying. There will be no accusations from Miss Hughes.”

  Sean stared.

  Devlin didn’t like the unwavering look. “What is it?”

  “If you will not marry her, then I want permission to court her.”

  Devlin started.

  Sean began to flush. “I know you’ve had her in bed. I could lie and say I don’t care, but I do. However, if it stops right here, I can live with that. Give me permission to court her, to win her over, to marry her.”

  “No.”

  Sean flinched.

  Devlin hadn’t even thought about it before refusing, and now, as angry as he was, his mind began to tell him that if the little American wanted to cause problems, Sean’s idea wasn’t a bad one. First he could ransom her and break Eastleigh, then Sean could marry her, undoubtedly winning her loyalty and love. The two of them could live happily ever after at Askeaton while he was gone.

  But Sean could do better, and Devlin intended for that to be so.

  “So even though I wish to marry her, your desire to have her as a plaything usurps my wishes?” Sean asked coolly.

  Devlin did not hesitate. “My desire is for you to marry a wealthy heiress so you may raise yourself up in this world.”

  Sean strode to him. “Is it? Is it really? Because I don’t think so. I think you are speaking with your prick. Think about it. Really think about it and then give me your answer.” He stalked out.

  Devlin stared thoughtfully after him, the rush of anger receding. Sean was wrong—he did not intend for Virginia to be his plaything—and damn it, Sean’s idea was actually clever. And the man who had made a fortune from the bloody ashes of nothing knew it was worth consideration. He lifted his snifter and stared at the contents, trying not to think about Virginia thrashing wildly in his bed, trying not to recall the feel of her slim little body, her soft, wet lips. Why not let Sean at her? At least his intentions were noble ones. And Virginia truly deserved a fine man like his brother. She certainly did not deserve what he was doing to her.

  He was so tense he felt like he might snap, so he stood, but there was no relief.

  A marriage between Virginia and Sean would solve so many problems. In fact, it would even cover up the crimes he had committed and his life could continue this way indefinitely.

  And his life seemed to stretch ahead infinitely, like the bleak gray line of one of the old Roman roads, a strip of nothingness, never used, impossibly dismal, impossibly insignificant, joyless, flat, with no possible end in sight.

  Devlin walked to the window overlooking the back lawns, suddenly shaken. He would rather die tomorrow, a murderer and a cutthroat, than live out the interminable travesty that was his life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AS PUNISHMENT FOR HER CRIMES, she hadn’t been allowed out of her room the entire day or even downstairs for supper. Virginia had been sent her repast on a silver tray. She had simmered in rage all afternoon at the absolute injustice of her sentence. She had only gone for a morning ride. How was she to know that she would be uncovering some kind of secret, political, anti-British society? Had she known what was going on in that farmhouse, she would have stayed away! It was all O’Neill’s fault, for bedding that fat Fiona, anyway. Had he not been such a cad, she would not have gone riding so far and for so long. Consumed by such thoughts, she was simply unable to enjoy the cook’s fine stuffed pheasant and roasted salmon, which she barely touched.

  Had he meant his terrible and disturbing threat, that he would not let her leave Askeaton if she had seen all that she had? Virginia shivered. He had gone to great lengths to abduct her so he could ransom her, and she seriously doubted he would give all of that up.

  He had said he had to protect Sean and the others. Protect them from what? Being convicted as traitors to their country?

  Virginia stood at an open window in her cotton nightgown, not having bothered to braid her hair, her supper tray removed a long time ago. The night was filled with a thousand shining stars. She knew she gazed toward the river, even though she could not see it, and beyond that lay the Atlantic Ocean and home.

  A terrible heaviness engulfed her. She wanted to go home. The feeling of being homesick took her by surprise; it was as vast and consuming as it had been when she had been locked away at the Marmott School in Richmond.

  Virginia tucked her chin on her hand. Now she was locked away at Askeaton. Of course she would be homesick, because until this past year, she had never been anything but free to go and do as she wished. Growing up the way that she had, she hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She realized it now. If only she had said thank you to her parents for all their love, for their confidence in her, for allowing her to wear britches, ride astride and help Father run the plantation.

  A knock sounded on her door.

  Virginia thought it was Connor, who remained ridiculously outside of her door, guarding her as if she were a dangerous felon. Perhaps he was leaving to go to his bed for the night. If so, she might be tempted to climb out the window, steal the bay mare and simply run as far away as she could.

  Virginia wasn’t given a chance to answer. Devlin walked into her bedroom.

  For one moment she was shocked. “Get out!” Virginia cried, her rage erupting.

  He stared at her, so inscrutable that it was impossible to guess what was on his mind. “We have matters to discuss,” he said carefully.

  She strode back to the bed and reached for the closest object on the bed stand, finding a water pitcher there. Hefting it, she turned to throw it at him. She hoped to hit him in the head and, if she were lucky, murder him on the spot.

  He leapt forward before she could hurl the object, gripping her wrist and causing her to cry out. “Put it down,” he warned.

  “I’ll put it down.” She bared her teeth at him. “I’ll put it down on your head.” She tried to jerk free. Suddenly nothing was as important as breaking his grasp and slamming the pitcher on his head. Images of him and Fiona, starkly naked, passionately entwined, fueled her as nothing else could.

  “Stop it, Virginia,” he said quietly, tightening his grip on her wrist.

  Virginia glared at h
im, afraid she was going to start to cry, and said, “Fine.” She dropped the pitcher, hoping it would land on his foot, and if not, that it would break.

  It didn’t land on his foot, but it was heavy Waterford crystal, and the handle chipped, the water sloshing over her bare feet and his boots.

  “I take it you are still angry?” he asked, easing his hold but not releasing her.

  She snorted derisively. “How clever you are, Captain. Now, let me go, you are hurting me.”

  “You also sound bitter,” he remarked, and she saw his glance go once, quickly and in such a manner that it was barely perceptible, past the ruffled edge of her bodice. She knew what he was about—he was looking at her breasts.

  Virginia yanked her arm hard to pull away, but failed. “Why should I be bitter? I was on my way to London to take care of the most urgent and personal affairs, when I was abducted off of my ship. I have since been locked in your cabin, at your mercy, and now I am locked in this bedroom. Bitter? Oh, no.”

  “I want to speak with you. If you think to attack me again, you will be locked in this bedroom for an entire week.”

  She met his cold gaze. “You are every bit the bastard that everyone says you are.”

  He shrugged, releasing her.

  She jumped away and felt her buttocks hit the edge of the bed. She did not like being trapped between him and the bed, not at all.

  “You are angrier with me now than you were when I first seized the Americana. You were crying this afternoon and now again. Why? And do not tell me there is dirt in your eyes.”

  “This time it’s the dust,” she said with false sweetness. “Now, get out of my bedroom, O’Neill!”

  “I think not.” He studied her, unsmiling and far too carefully.

  “But Fiona is waiting.” The moment the caustic words slipped out, she regretted them and winced.

  He went still. But she saw the spark of surprise in his eyes.

  She flushed and she slipped aside, away from the bed and away from him. She walked across the room to the fireplace, where she pretended to be fascinated with the flames. Oh, why had she just said that? Now he would think her upset, jealous even, when she was not. She was glad, fiercely so, that he had reunited with his love.

  “What did you just say?” he asked.

  She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts and stared at the flames. Tears hazed her vision. Why? Just tell me why? Don’t you owe me that?

  She never heard him come up behind her and she jumped when his hand enclosed her elbow from behind. “What did you say?” he asked again.

  “Nothing.” She firmly pressed her lips together, but her heart slammed wildly and she hated being so aware of him, standing behind her.

  “No, you said that Fiona is waiting. Waiting where? For whom?” His tone was without inflection.

  She whirled to face him. A tiny voice inside of her head warned her not to say what she wished to, but she ignored it. “I don’t care if she is in your bed, Devlin. In fact, I am relieved! ‘Oh, how big it is, I can hardly fit it in my hand!’” she mimicked.

  His eyes flew wide, and she saw him truly surprised, perhaps for the very first time.

  “‘Oh, he is so tireless, like a stud!’” she spat, aware that her cheeks were flaming. “‘Ohhh! I am sooo in love!’” She glared.

  He was silent.

  She had a terrible suspicion and she looked more closely at him and saw that he was amused, goddamn him, for she saw the light of mirth in his eyes. “So you are angry with me because I took some maid to my bed?” he asked quietly. “You are jealous of Fiona?”

  She cut him off. “I am not jealous! I am relieved. And I think you are in the wrong bedroom now.” She smiled widely—falsely—at him.

  He regarded her for a long moment.

  “Say something!” she shouted.

  “I abducted you off of the American ship. I have tried to treat you as I would any guest, but we both know you’re being held here against your will. You should be relieved that I eased myself with some inconsequential housemaid, Virginia.”

  He was choosing his words with so much care and it was obvious. Virginia knew she should be as careful, but she couldn’t. “I am relieved, I told you already, and I think you should go back to her this very moment!” she cried, and horrified, she felt tears welling.

  He didn’t speak.

  “Why are you staring at me as if I am a madwoman?” she asked, her mortification growing because her tone was a choke-filled sob.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said softly. “You’re my prisoner. How can you be jealous? That would imply that you have feelings for me, your captor.”

  “I’m not jealous.” She turned away, perilously close to allowing those forming tears to fall.

  He seized her arm, reeling her back around. “How could I have hurt you?”

  “You haven’t!” she lied, furiously batting back the tears.

  “You’re crying—again.”

  “I’m not. I don’t care about you and I don’t care that you prefer Fiona,” she said. “Please don’t touch me.”

  But as he released her, he also cupped her chin. “Only a foolish man would prefer the maid to you.”

  She was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

  “I don’t prefer her. In fact, I had forgotten all about her.” He hesitated. “I am sorry she spoke so freely to you, Virginia. I had also forgotten that I gave you your very first kiss.”

  They had never spoken so sincerely before. Virginia bit her lip, then had to say, “But I didn’t forget.”

  His jaw flexed. “I wanted to discuss some important matters with you, but this is clearly not the time.”

  She shook her head, touching his sleeve. “I thought you liked me,” she heard herself say, and it was as if she were a little girl begging to understand.

  He was so motionless it was as if he did not even breathe. Very quietly, after a long pause, he said, “Men use women all the time. It means nothing. It is a means to an end. Fiona was eager to service me. I didn’t go to her. I didn’t seek her out. I can’t even recall what she looks like, except that she is fat. But I needed the release physically. I am sorry if I made you jealous, that was not my intention. To be truthful, I had forgotten entirely about the incident.”

  She shook her head, incapable of understanding, and now tears wet her cheeks. “I thought you liked me.”

  And two pale spots of pink seemed to appear briefly on his cheekbones. “You’re a beautiful woman. I am hardly immune to that and we both know it.”

  She stared up at him, suddenly aware of her heart pounding, slow and deep, suddenly aware of how late it was, how dark, how quiet, and suddenly aware that the desire had never died. She was alone with Devlin in her room, which was lit only by a few candles and the fire in the hearth, and he had just admitted that he found her beautiful.

  “Do you want me still?” she whispered, but somehow she knew the answer.

  His gaze held hers, unflinching. “Yes.”

  She leaned forward. “Then I still do not understand, Devlin. Why leave me and go to her? I was in your arms—”

  “I didn’t go to her. She was waiting in my room, Virginia, and I had forgotten she was there.”

  “Why did you leave me?” she cried, her hands on his chest.

  He finally smiled, though it was slight and filled with self-deprecation. “I am the son of Mary and Gerald O’Neill,” he said, as if that explained everything. But he didn’t move away from her. She felt his chest rising and falling beneath her palms, more quickly than was natural, and she felt his heart there, too, pounding, becoming erratic.

  “That explains nothing.”

  “I had a sister once,” he said, his jaw flexing hard. “Had she survived, she might have been like you—a planter’s daughter, a defiant and outspoken woman, someone brave and beautiful.”

  And Virginia finally understood. “You were trying to respect me and your sister’s memory and your pare
nts’ teachings.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “So you left me in order to save my innocence. Fiona was in your room when you went up—she means nothing,” she breathed.

  “I see you are becoming a woman of the world,” he said. He took her hands and removed them from his person. “Nothing has changed. My resolve remains. I am not going to seduce you and I will not be your first lover. Good night.”

  He was actually walking away, across the room, toward the door. It flashed through Virginia’s mind that the hussy would be in his bed once more, if she wasn’t there already. She could not bear that thought—just as she could not bear the thought of his leaving her now.

  “I don’t want your respect,” she heard herself say.

  He faltered, but did not turn.

  “I want to know what it’s like, Devlin,” she added softly, her heart racing madly, heat etching its way down her thighs, up her belly, through her breasts.

  He made a harsh sound and reached for the door.

  She swallowed and said, “Show me. Show me everything that you can, now, tonight—show me, not her.”

  He whirled, eyes wide, face strained. “Have you no self-control?” he asked harshly.

  “Why should I struggle with it?” And she saw what she had been hoping to see. Virginia walked over to him, grasped his shoulders and leaned into his hard, aroused body. “Self-control is for ladies like Sarah Lewis,” she whispered.

  For one moment she saw the indecision in his eyes; for one moment she saw the battle he waged. She smiled a little and touched his cheek, her heart beating frantically, like the wings of a caged bird. “Devlin.”

  At once, his arms closed around her and his mouth covered hers. Virginia cried out, and when she felt the rigid line of his erection she began to whimper. His hands moved lower, large and bold. His powerful body was rigid with tension. “Hurry,” she managed, as the daze of lust heightened and grew. “Devlin, hurry!”