The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

She halted and Sean collided with her back.

  Virginia hardly noticed. For her heart had stopped and she failed to breathe. He was back.

  Devlin stood there nonchalantly, staring calmly at her, clearly having expected her. His hard thighs were braced as if he rode his ship. His gaze never wavered from her face.

  Virginia gulped down air and it burned her lungs and chest. He had come back after all. Her heart now slammed, causing more burning, more pain. She began to shake. She turned, realizing Sean had dropped the corn, and managed to glimpse his shocked expression. She bent, inhaling hard, saw how terribly her hands were shaking. As she reached for an ear of the scattered corn, she tried to think, but her thoughts were wild and incoherent.

  Oh God, what did she do now?

  Images afflicted her, images of Devlin O’Neill getting up from the bed they had shared, not looking at her.

  “Devlin,” Sean said quietly, but as he spoke he bent and seized Virginia’s arm, hauling her to her feet. “We didn’t know you had come back.” He did not release her, clearly knowing that she might not be able to stand if he did.

  There was no response to his remark.

  Virginia half turned, fully panicked now, and saw him smiling at them both. Instantly their gazes locked. “The corn,” she said, her voice low and husky, incapable of looking away from him.

  He hadn’t changed. He was seductive and powerful and magnetic; he remained mesmerizing. If only he had changed…

  “Leave it,” Sean snapped, also staring at Devlin as if hypnotized. “You didn’t send word of your arrival.”

  “I didn’t realize you needed to be warned of my return,” Devlin said calmly.

  Virginia could not look away from him. Almost every moment she had spent alone with him crashed over her then, from their first debate in the confines of his cabin upon the Defiance to the last time she had seen him, walking out of her bedroom.

  I’m sorry I hurt you, he had said.

  “Hello, Virginia,” he said now.

  She couldn’t speak so she tried to nod.

  “Sean,” he added with an inclination of his head.

  Sean finally moved, coming forward slowly. “Father was here the other day. I heard about your tour—and the hearing. I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Are you?” Devlin asked rather coolly.

  Sean stiffened. “Yes, I am.” He now glanced back and forth between his brother and Virginia. Virginia realized that she was paralyzed and that she continued to openly stare. Although she remained stunned, her mind began to work. She hadn’t really ever expected to see him again. And she had been fine with that. He had hurt her beyond words, but she was certain she had recovered, that time did heal all wounds. But now he was back, standing just a few feet from her, and nothing had changed. It was as if the months had never passed. Her wounds, once tightly sewn up, split asunder. How could he have left her the way that he had? How?

  Suddenly Sean made a sound and walked out of the hall, leaving the two of them standing there, staring.

  “You look well,” he commented, his tone neither indifferent nor interested. “Other than the dirt.”

  She inhaled. Did he remember anything, anything at all? But how could he possibly forget!

  He strolled forward. “I take it you and Sean are getting on?”

  She stiffened. He had once suggested, absurdly, that she would marry his brother. “He has become a good friend.”

  He didn’t seem to care and he shrugged.

  She wet her lips. “Did you really tell him…that we should marry?”

  “Actually, yes, I did.”

  “Have you no heart at all?” she whispered.

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Then can you not show me any sign of compassion?”

  “I hardly know what it is that you wish of me, Virginia. I’m sorry you have been so long in my brother’s care, but the war delayed my return,” he said levelly.

  She reeled. He didn’t remember, did he? Was it possible that she was so insignificant, so unmemorable?

  “What were you and Sean doing?” he asked casually.

  “I…what?” She blinked hard. “We were making corn pudding. I mean, we…I was going to show the cook how to make a recipe.”

  A tawny brow lifted and he said nothing.

  Virginia didn’t move. Was it possible, she wondered in dismay, to still have some feelings for this man? She hadn’t seen him in five months. He had callously left her after the most significant moment of her life. He had given her no sign of warmth, no personal greeting, since he had arrived. But she could feel a desperate tension in herself and she knew, miserably, what it meant.

  It meant she wanted him to tell her that he cared, that he remembered every moment of their lovemaking—as she did—and that he wished to beg her for forgiveness.

  “Corn pudding,” he murmured. “How interesting.”

  She stiffened defensively and held her head high. But he wasn’t going to say anything about their past. She now knew it. “It happens to be delicious. If you’re planning on staying for supper, you will certainly enjoy it.” How hard it was to keep her voice even, to keep her pride gathered about her.

  Now both brows lifted. He seemed amused and mildly incredulous. “This is my home. I had intended to dine before leaving tomorrow.”

  Her heart slammed to a wild halt. “You…you’re leaving…tomorrow?”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said, and finally his gray gaze moved over her, from her eyes to her mouth, lingering briefly, across the white cotton shirt covering her chest, past the thick brown belt, knotted and not buckled, and down the britches encasing her slim thighs. “I’m truly surprised Sean lets you run about like that.”

  If he felt any attraction, there was simply no sign, not in his tone of voice, not in his expression, and most important, not in his eyes. They were flat and opaque, lifeless.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow?” she gasped.

  “Yes.” He finally turned and walked over to the wide, tall windows where he stood, his back to her, gazing out, apparently at the sweep of lawns and the distant hills. “Eastleigh doubts your existence.”

  She was reeling. “What?”

  He didn’t turn. He continued to stare out of the window, and no inflection was in his tone as he spoke. “I sent the ransom note from Cadiz. Eastleigh claims you drowned with everyone else aboard the Americana. We are going to Southampton to prove once and for all that you are very much alive.”

  So the time for her ransom had finally come. Virginia was so overwhelmed with hurt and confusion that she could not deal with that matter, even though it meant she would be that much closer to going home. And oddly, in some ways, Askeaton had become her home. She had enjoyed the slow days spent farming and tending to the estate. She had enjoyed the cool days, the mist, the rain. She had enjoyed Sean’s company.

  But it wasn’t her home. Sweet Briar was her home and there was still a chance that it hadn’t been sold, which meant that maybe she could find a way to save it. She no longer hoped for her uncle to save the day.

  And clearly, Devlin’s plans, although delayed by the war, hadn’t changed. She did not know what to say—because the ransom was not what she wished to discuss. “Will Sean come with us?” she finally asked miserably.

  “Do you want him to?”

  Was there something odd in his tone? “Of course I do,” she said, searching his gaze, but he turned away.

  “I need him here,” Devlin said. “Be ready right after breakfast.” He walked out.

  In shock, she stared after him. And then the enormity of what had happened hit her. He had come back and had not said a single word about them. And with that comprehension came anger.

  Virginia strode after him.

  She found him pouring a Scotch in the salon. Not looking up, he held up an empty glass. “Would you care for a drink?” he said lightly.

  Virginia didn’t stop until she was in front of him, forci
ng him to look at her. “No, I don’t want a drink! And I insist that Sean come with us.”

  He slowly set his glass down and looked up. “You are not in a position to insist upon anything.”

  “He will be my chaperone,” she said tightly. “I refuse to spend one minute alone with you.”

  He slowly stood, and of course he dwarfed her, making her feel small and vulnerable. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I have everything to worry about,” she cried, and she realized she was panting. But the truth was, she doubted she had anything to worry about, as this man didn’t seem to recall ever touching her, much less making love to her.

  He held her gaze. “Sean stays here.”

  “Then I’m not going,” she cried, as foolishly as a child.

  “Don’t worry,” he muttered, lifting his glass and drinking. “You will be reunited—when I am done.”

  “You don’t remember, do you?” she asked, her teeth starting to chatter. The salon had become frigidly cold. She was cold. Frozen over, in fact.

  He sipped his Scotch as if he hadn’t even heard her.

  She seized his arm, shocking herself and spilling whiskey over them both. “The night we spent in bed together? The night you made love to me?” she demanded wildly.

  His jaw tightened and he removed her hand from his arm. “Is there a point?”

  “Do you remember or don’t you?”

  “Barely,” he murmured.

  She struck him as hard as she could, across the face.

  The slap resounded in the hollow silence of the room.

  Virginia backed up, shocked at what she had done. But finally a light had appeared in his eyes, even though it was not the light she had wished for. His gaze blazed furiously. At least, Virginia thought, his eyes were no longer opaque and lifeless.

  She flinched, panting heavily, expecting to be struck in return.

  But he only said, very hard, “Sex is not love.”

  She gasped, his words far more brutal than any real blow.

  “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said tersely.

  It was too late. Virginia shook her head, the tears spilling, and she turned to run. But he seized her wrist and somehow she was facing him again. “Let me go,” she warned on a sob.

  His jaw flexing repeatedly now, he said, “I am sorry. I believe I said so before. I am saying so again.”

  “How foolish I was, to think ‘sex’ meant something to you!”

  His gaze flickered. “I deserve your reprobation. I had no right trespassing where no man had gone. Now,” he added firmly, “may we allow the past to rest where it belongs—in the past?”

  “Yes, please, let’s do just that!” she cried, trembling, both hands fisted at her sides, her anger so huge it felt suspiciously like hatred. But the hurt continued to tear her apart inside. She only knew now that she had to get away from him.

  Tension rippled across his features and he began to walk out of the room, saying, “Tomorrow after breakfast, Virginia.” And it was a warning that she be ready.

  She stared, but only for a moment. “And what if I’m pregnant?” She knew full well that she was not, but how she wanted to hurt him, just a little, in return for how he had hurt her.

  He froze, and slowly, he turned. “Are you?” he asked, his jaw muscles revealing a slight spasm, his eyes now a stormy and threatening shade of gray—an indication, then, that he had some emotion to share after all.

  “No,” she gritted. And then, her pride lost, she cried, “You left without even saying goodbye!”

  Now his entire body seemed to flex and coil with a very real anger—one he seemed determined to contain. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Have you no pride? I am a bastard, it is quite simple, really. There is a saying, Virginia, one you should heed: let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I am not a dog and what we did had nothing to do with sleep!”

  “I am taking you to my home outside of Southampton, where Eastleigh is but five miles north. I shall prove your existence, collect your ransom and send you on your way. Is that not enough for you? You shall have your freedom,” he ground out.

  “It’s not enough,” she heard herself say. And her pride mocked her now.

  He started. “Then I am truly sorry, for that is all I have to offer you.” This time, his strides were long and determined, and this time, Virginia sank down on a chaise. She covered her face with her hands and struggled not to cry. He had not wanted to discuss the past and the answers he had given were answers she had not wanted to hear. But it was simply too late. The truth—his truth—was brutal.

  DEVLIN ENTERED THE MASTER bedroom and halted hard. He was shaken, enough so that he could not ignore it, but goddamn it, he intended to ignore it. Now was not the time to give in and allow a pair of huge, hurt violet eyes to haunt him…again.

  He trembled somewhere deep inside his body and refused to think. Instead, he gripped the post of the bed. If he had known his control would begin to shatter, he would have never come back. He would have ordered Sean to bring her to Southampton.

  “You should have sent word that you were coming.”

  Devlin turned, relieved at the interruption, and found his brother on the threshold of the room, looking angry and displeased. “You have nothing to hide. I gave you permission to do as you please. Are you fucking her?” he heard himself say.

  And a sordid image assailed him, of Sean straining over her, pumping into her.

  Sean attacked.

  In a way, Devlin had known he would—and this was exactly what he needed. His brother’s tackle sent him back onto the bed, where they grappled as if they were still boys. Devlin had always loved a good fistfight. So did Sean. Using all of his strength, he managed to turn his brother onto his back, but the effort cost them both, sending them to the floor. Sean grunted, as he took most of the fall.

  For one moment, Devlin straddled his brother, and he smiled coldly. He said, “A yes or no would do.”

  “You heartless bastard,” Sean cried, and Devlin found himself launched onto his own back, a hard blow landing on his jaw.

  Sparks emanated behind his eyes and he welcomed them. But he raised his knee and caught Sean in the gut. Sean gasped, bowled over, and Devlin quickly stood, hauling Sean up and pushing him backward until he hit the wall. There, the two men strained at each other, panting like enraged bulls.

  Sean managed to slither free and land another blow to the very same jaw.

  Devlin stepped back, pleased as pain exploded in his face. He simply stood there and his brother hit him with all of his strength in his midsection, causing him to gasp and buckle over.

  “Fight back, you son of a bitch,” Sean shouted.

  He no longer wanted to fight. He preferred the beating of a lifetime. He straightened, smiling lopsidedly, realizing his lip was split. “Do you enjoy her cries?” he purred. “And whose name does she keen in ecstasy—yours or mine?”

  Sean hit him again. His head snapped back, into the wall, pain exploding in both his eyes. I’m sorry, Virginia, he thought suddenly, and anguish pierced his heart. But I am not the man you want me to be.

  Sean had grabbed him by his shirt. “Do you really think my beating you will make what you did to her right? Damn you, Devlin, damn you!”

  He smiled at his brother. “One more blow?”

  “Like hell,” Sean gritted, releasing him and walking away.

  He tested his lip and found it bleeding. Sean was in love with Virginia, how clear it was, far more so than before.

  Were they sleeping together?

  He walked over to the mirror above the bureau, ignoring for a moment the rag dipped in ice water that Sean was offering. His eye was swelling but might not close. He finally took the rag and held it to his eye.

  He reminded himself that he wanted her to fall in love with Sean; he approved of the match. It solved a dozen problems and left him utterly free to do as he pleased for the rest of his life.

  Well, not
utterly free. There would be one thing he would never be able to do, not again, and that was take Virginia to bed. But that was the entire point, was it not?

  “I don’t like being manipulated,” Sean said.

  “Are you sleeping with her? I approve,” he added quickly.

  Sean grimaced. “No.”

  A surge of satisfaction filled him—much to his dismay. “Well, you should,” he said. Devlin touched his throbbing jaw. “I expected the blow of a boy.”

  “I am not a boy anymore. Why did you have to surprise us?” Clearly Sean did not want to discuss bedding Virginia Hughes.

  “So it is an ‘us’?” he asked quickly.

  Sean grimaced. “I care deeply for her, Devlin, but no, there is no us. You hurt her terribly when you left. She needed warning, not I.”

  “Somehow I am not sure I believe that,” Devlin said, staring closely at him.

  “You can believe whatever it is that you wish to,” Sean said roughly. “I am only her friend.”

  “You don’t look at her like a man looks at his friend,” Devlin remarked.

  “And you may pretend indifference toward her but I can smell the lust,” Sean retorted with anger.

  “You are so wrong,” Devlin said softly, but they both knew it was a huge lie. “And I do not want to argue with you. You’re my brother. We are on the same side.”

  “We are not on the same side anymore, not when you have done this. Free her, Devlin, let this ransom go. Free her and leave Askeaton.”

  “I can’t. I’m taking her to Wideacre tomorrow.”

  Sean’s face tightened. “If you hurt her again, I will kill you.”

  Devlin stared, trying to decide if Sean meant it, if he could love Virginia so much that he would put her ahead of his family.

  Sean flushed.

  A terrible silence descended.

  “I do hope you did not mean that,” Devlin finally said. “After the ransom, she can return here—to you.”

  “I meant it. I suggest you stick your cock elsewhere.”

  Devlin smiled, but it felt like a grimace. He wandered the room now, very disturbed. This was what he wanted, he tried to remind himself, a match between Sean and Virginia, but now, his reminder was hollow and so obviously a pretense. He hated the idea of them together, no matter how he fought that hate. But then, hatred was what he knew—and did—best.