The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

  He genuinely hoped that Virginia heeded her advice.

  He debated knocking, thought about catching her in her bath, and as relish replaced the guilt, he walked in unannounced. But Virginia lay in bed in her childish nightgown and wrapper, reading a book.

  She smiled a little at him. It was forlorn. “I’m sorry. I am not joining you for supper. I’m afraid I have no appetite.” Apparently she was no longer furious with him.

  He paused at the foot of the bed. The gown might be childish, but he knew every inch of the perfect body that lay beneath, a body that belonged to a woman. “Are you ill?”

  “No.” She carefully closed the book. “You never loved her, did you?”

  He hardly wished to discuss Elizabeth with her now. “No.”

  “Was she also a part of your revenge?”

  “Yes.” He felt himself grimace.

  She inhaled, paling. “That’s disgusting, Devlin, horrid and disgusting.”

  “Is it?” He grew angry then. “She enjoyed every moment in my bed. There was no pretense, no insincerity, no promise on my part! She dared to cross the line—a line I made clear—she dared to fall in love. I am sorry she did, I am sorry if I hurt her, but I do not apologize for what I did. Eastleigh deserves everything I can do and more!”

  “Then why don’t you simply murder him, as two wrongs make a right, and end this stupidity once and for all!” she cried, sitting up straighter. Her small bosom rose and fell and her cheeks flushed.

  “I thought about it,” he said, hoping to shock her, and he knew he did. “But a long time ago I decided death was too good for him.”

  “So you think to make him suffer.” She shook her head as if she could not fathom it, him. “Please tell me that you genuinely feel guilty for using Elizabeth the way that you did.”

  “But I don’t. I was not her first lover, Virginia, I was not her first adulterous affair. She wanted my attentions and made that abundantly clear. It was little different from our bargain, Virginia.” He knew he glowered at her. It was becoming harder and harder to play poker with her as he did with the rest of the world. Virginia somehow triggered reactions in him—and feelings—that no one else could.

  That was distinctly disturbing.

  “It was vastly different because you knew she had feelings, and dear God, it’s been six years. You made love to that woman for six years!” she cried, two pinks spots coloring her cheeks.

  “I never made love to her or anyone,” he said, and the moment he spoke, he was ashamed.

  She was pale and she lifted her chin and held her head high. “Of course you haven’t,” she whispered.

  He knew he had wounded her and he hated it. He hated that fact and the fact that he had been the one to take her innocence and teach her passion, and he hated that she had to be so vulnerable now. But what he hated most was that she wanted him to make love to her and he knew it beyond any doubt. But love was not for him. And what he also hated as passionately was that she had somehow made him even think this last, terrible thought. “Virginia, we have a bargain, my friendship for your charade.”

  She stared.

  “Do not think of asking for something more, something I cannot—will not—ever give,” he warned her now, deliberate and purposeful. He gripped the footboard with one hand. His knuckles turned white.

  “I only asked you for your friendship, Devlin. You are deluded if you think I want more than that. I mean, what more could I possibly—sanely—want from a man who has abducted and imprisoned me?”

  Her pride had always impressed him. Now it also relieved him. “Tomorrow we are going to London,” he began.

  “No. I beg to point out a fact. You have been so busy parading me about as your mistress that you have failed utterly to be any kind of friend. Sharing supper does not count as friendship, especially when you brood over your wine and glower at the food.”

  He started, then controlled the smile that wanted to come to his face. “You are right,” he said, relieved now and surprising them both.

  “You admit this has been quite a one-sided bargain?”

  “I do.”

  Her eyes widened and her face softened and a sparkle appeared in her eyes. “So what are you going to do about it, Captain?” she teased.

  His heart leapt strangely. “When we get to London, I will take you shopping, to a fair, to the theatre, perhaps even to the racetrack, and we will rectify this vast injustice,” he said, feeling himself smiling back. And it felt so good to be sharing a moment of humor with her.

  She grinned, and it was like the sunshine emerging from the gray Irish sky. “Well, it’s about time,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Are you certain you will not come down and dine with me?” he asked softly, and oddly, her answer mattered very much.

  She became still. Then, her mouth pursed, she nodded. “Give me a few minutes to dress.”

  He left, pleased.

  LONDON. VIRGINIA HAD SEEN drawings and sketches and there had been the stories told to her by her father. She had always dreamed of one day visiting that city. They had arrived within hours of leaving Southampton and they had departed at dawn. Now Virginia clutched the windowsill of the carriage, trembling with excitement as their coach took them through the city toward Greenwich, where Devlin kept a home on the river. She could not keep her gaze from every sight and scene. She had never seen so many fine vehicles and conveyances, so many well-dressed gentlemen, so many stunning ladies. The street they traveled on boasted fine shops and gracious hotels, the occasional theatre and park. Virginia craned her head to look twice at a lady in a shocking pink ensemble—pink boa, pink parasol. She turned to face Devlin and asked breathlessly, “Did I just see a harlot?”

  “Or someone’s very bold mistress,” he said with a smile.

  His smile was easy and genuine and it made her heart tighten as she automatically smiled back. She reminded herself that he had used the countess shamelessly and callously, while that poor woman was in love with him, but her internal meandering had no effect. She sighed and faced the street again. Now they passed a series of stately and gracious mansions, all with perfectly manicured lawns, rose gardens and stone statues and water fountains. Virginia smiled and shook her head. “One would think the wealth of the entire world resides here,” she said.

  “A significant portion of it does,” Devlin returned. “But there is also terrible squalor. I would never drive you through the human misery that exists side by side with the opulence you are now witnessing.”

  She faced him seriously. “Why not? We have horrible poverty at home, too. We simply do not have so many displays of such lavish wealth.”

  “Virginia, you are a lady, and one does shield the fair sex from such sights.”

  Exasperated, she rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, please.” Then she narrowed her gaze at him, aware that he was smiling at her, as if she were amusing. Her heart sang a little, just a little bit. “At home we gave everything that we could to the poor. Mama demanded it, and of course, Papa was happy to oblige. Do you give to charity, Devlin?” She realized the question was terribly important to her.

  “Yes, I do. But I give to the Irish poor, Virginia. The British can take care of their own.”

  “Hunger and sickness know no national boundaries,” she remarked. She half turned and saw that they were turning to race up a road that ran parallel to the Thames. Even larger, statelier homes lined its banks. “Are we there yet?”

  “Soon,” he said, a smile in his oddly soothing tone.

  She glanced at him. “Do not patronize me as if I am a child.”

  “You are as excited as a child today.”

  “I hated Wideacre!” The moment the words had erupted from her mouth, she regretted them immensely. “I mean…” She faced him again, flushing. She did not want him to ever guess how horrid it had been, being paraded about Hampshire like that. “I mean that I much prefer to be in London, as I have never been here before.”

  But he had turned away,
gazing out of his own window.

  Virginia had the chance to stare at his gorgeous profile and her body tightened, leaving her breathless and confused. She would never forget the countess—how abused she had been, how hurt and how utterly sensuous—so why did she still wish to be in his arms? And why couldn’t her heart move on, to far safer ground? For she would never forget the countess’s belated warning, either.

  “You need a new wardrobe,” Devlin said suddenly. “I will see if Madame Didier can accommodate us tomorrow.”

  She blinked. “I hardly need new clothes.” It was a terrible lie. Now that she no longer lived in her britches and boots, she desperately needed a well-made dress or two.

  “There will be teas and that kind of thing, and there will be the occasional ball,” he said. “You need some day dresses and a ball gown.”

  A ball? But she could not dance! “But you make it seem as if we shall be in town for some time.”

  “We will be in town for as long as it takes,” he said firmly.

  She was not attending any ball. Or could she somehow learn to dance—merely so she could go to a London ball and one day tell Tillie about it? She began to worry. She did not want to look like a country bumpkin! Now she regretted refusing to pay attention to the dance master at the Richmond school.

  “Is something wrong, Virginia?”

  She met his searching gray stare. “Of course not!” she exclaimed. “I would love to go to a ball—we had many balls at home and I adore dancing,” she cried.

  His brows lifted in an expression she had come to know so well, one of mild disbelief and of mild amusement. “We’re here,” he said.

  She whirled and leaned out of her window and gasped.

  Silhouetted against the river and the London skyline was a castle. Or at least, Waverly Hall looked like a castle to her, with two towers that graced either side of the giant limestone house. The gardens were magnificent—she had never seen such color in the fall. Then she saw a green court of some sort with a net dividing its center. She turned and pounded on Devlin’s arm. “Is that what I think it is?” she demanded. “Is that a tennis court?”

  He laughed at her. “Yes, it is.”

  “I want to play.” She had never played the game before but it sounded like so much fun.

  “You may play all the tennis that you want, Virginia, as this is presently your home.”

  Her excitement faded. She had briefly forgotten their bargain because Devlin had been behaving so amiably it was as if he were really her friend. But they did have a bargain and he was buying her a new wardrobe and taking her to balls—he intended to parade her about London now, humiliating her and her uncle until Eastleigh capitulated and paid her ransom.

  She moved away from him. “This isn’t my home. It’s my prison, but I had forgotten it, and that is not a good idea.” Suddenly the aching sadness she had been afflicted with yesterday, upon seeing the countess leaving, assailed her again.

  “Try to think of it as your home,” he said quietly.

  She barely managed to smile at him.

  AN IMPOSSIBLY STRAIGHT-FACED butler showed them in. Virginia gaped at the immense front hall with its high ceilings, crystal chandelier and works of art. One life-size nude statue was a masterpiece—a Roman soldier mounted on a warhorse.

  And the floors beneath her feet were marble. Good God, Devlin was even wealthier than she had thought.

  “Good day, sir, we are so pleased to have you back,” the butler intoned, taking Virginia’s hat and gloves and then Devlin’s gloves as well.

  “Benson, this is Miss Hughes. Have her bags brought to my rooms, which she will be sharing,” Devlin said.

  The butler did not bat an eye. “Yes, Sir Captain.”

  Virginia felt drawn to a huge painting depicting some kind of ancient battle. Mounted soldiers, perhaps Greek or Roman, were invading a citadel filled with frightened women and crying children. The scene was grim, but so powerful and so beautifully done. She stared in awe.

  “Ty,” Devlin said with surprise.

  Virginia turned to see a man standing in the opposite doorway, backlit by the sun.

  “Dev.” He came forward and she instantly recognized him as the Earl of Adare’s son. The resemblance, the sense of power, the dark good looks, were remarkable. She watched with real curiosity as the two men embraced, and decided that they were more than stepbrothers—clearly they were genuine friends. Then the man Devlin had referred to as Ty stepped back and looked curiously at Virginia.

  “Virginia,” Devlin said, holding out his hand and smiling at her.

  She faltered, because once again it was as if Devlin were truly her friend. And suddenly she wished that he was—that he could be a real friend, even if he might never come to love her as a woman. She could settle, she thought, for that crumb.

  “Virginia,” he said again. But there was no impatience in his tone.

  She came forward, the tall, dark man staring far too directly at her, as if he were inspecting her inside and out. She felt herself flush. Was she to play her part now, again? She paused before Devlin, but he did not put his arm around her as he had when they had performed their charade at Wideacre. “Miss Virginia Hughes,” he said quietly.

  Ty nodded, his jaw flexing, his eyes dark. Virginia realized he was angry as he turned to Devlin, not speaking, as if he dared not utter a word.

  “My stepbrother, Tyrell de Warenne,” Devlin said to Virginia.

  She realized that no charade would be necessary, not with his family.

  Tyrell faced her with a bow. “I apologize, Miss Hughes. Your beauty has left me speechless.”

  She blinked and smiled at him, relived that she did not have to play the trollop now. “I doubt that.”

  He straightened. “I beg your pardon?”

  She bit her lip. “I mean, thank you very much.”

  Devlin choked.

  “Sean speaks very highly of you. He sends his warmest regards,” Tyrell added, not glancing another time at Devlin.

  Her heart tightened a little. She smiled, instantly somewhat sad. “How is he?”

  “Well, if you mean his state of health,” Tyrell said, “he is fine.”

  She met his gaze. Did this man somehow know that Sean was in love with her? Or that he had once been in love with her? And why was he angry with Devlin? “When did you see him? Was it at Askeaton?”

  “Yes. A fortnight ago, we actually supped together there.” Tyrell reached into his fine, nearly black coat and withdrew a sealed letter. “For you, Miss Hughes.”

  She took it, seeing her name and recognizing Sean’s handwriting instantly. She didn’t know whether to be worried or pleased. Then she felt both men staring and she glanced from Tyrell to Devlin. His expression had turned aloof. “Thank you for delivering this,” she said to Tyrell. Then to Devlin, she said, “Your home is lovely. I have never seen anything like it. I am going to step outside and explore while you and your brother get reacquainted.”

  Devlin merely nodded at her.

  Clutching the letter tightly, Virginia hurried out.

  Tyrell faced Devlin then, finally allowing his anger to show. “She is sharing your rooms? I heard an insane rumor, Dev, about you living openly with some woman in Hampshire, but I did not believe it.”

  “Tread with care, Ty,” Devlin warned, walking into the adjoining salon. He stared across the room. Huge windows let out onto the terrace there and he could see Virginia, opening the letter with her fingernail. Was she in a rush?

  Anger enveloped him then.

  It was a love letter, he was certain, and she had been moved to receive it and could not wait to read it.

  “What the hell are you thinking, Dev?” Tyrell demanded, pausing by his side. He also glanced out of the windows at Virginia, who was now reading the single page she held. Clearly her hand trembled, as the page wavered like a flag.

  “I am afraid that whom I wish to bed is not your affair.”

  “Oh, ho! So you think to play m
e for a fool!” Tyrell was incredulous. “She is Eastleigh’s niece. I know now for certain that you continue on some torturous path of self-destruction.”

  “The only person on a path of destruction is Eastleigh himself,” Devlin said more calmly than he felt. He thought he saw Virginia’s shoulders shake. Was she crying?

  “Sean is in love with her. You would cuckold your brother?”

  Devlin finally tore his gaze from Virginia, an instant from striking Tyrell, his fist raised. Ty was as tall as he, but heavier and more thickly built, and in any actual fight, stronger, although not quicker. The two men had never exchanged blows. “Leave this alone, Ty,” he warned, but all he could think about was Virginia outside, crying over Sean’s love letter.

  “No.” Tyrell’s jaw was hard and a fierce glint was in his nearly black eyes. “I am your brother and I will not leave this alone. Sean told me your absurd plan to ransom her. You left Askeaton three weeks ago. Where is the ransom, Devlin? Why is she now your mistress when it is your brother she should be with?”

  Devlin’s fury knew no bounds because Tyrell was right. In a red haze, he saw Virginia and Sean in an unholy embrace. “She remains with me, doing as I choose, until I say so,” he ground out.

  Tyrell gripped his shoulders. “I have never seen you like this, so thoughtless, so furious. I cannot believe you would destroy her this way—for my brother would never do such a thing! And when this is over? Do you think to escape with your head?” he now cried.

  Devlin shrugged him off, Sean’s words suddenly echoing disturbingly in his mind. You will have to destroy her, will you not? First Sean and now Tyrell. God, what was he doing? He knew damn well that Virginia did not deserve to be a pawn in his schemes. “Virginia will survive,” he said grimly. “I will rectify everything after the ransom.”

  “And how will you do that? Will you marry her to salvage her reputation?”

  Devlin started, his heart skipping uncontrollably. “No,” he heard himself say. But Tyrell was right. He had not faced the whole truth before—only marriage would save Virginia from the critics and gossips he had set upon her.

  Family and love were not for him.