by Brenda Joyce
“But when I return,” he said seriously, “we will take long walks and horseback rides, if that is what you wish. And if you say something amusing,” he said, his gaze intent, “I will make every effort to laugh.”
Relief overcame her. Her knees buckled. “Thank you, Devlin.”
He smiled just a little and then he shook his head. “You remain unpredictable, Virginia.”
“Then you shall not be bored,” she replied. He was going to try to be a real husband to her! Her elation began, swiftly increasing. He wasn’t willing, oh no, stubborn man that he was, but he had given in, he had conceded, he was going to try.
He smiled a little at her. “I do want you to know this. In this marriage, your every need will be met. I have already made it clear to my steward that you will lack for nothing, and if there is ever any problem, there is Adare to turn to, or Tyrell or Sean. And you have yet to meet Rex or Cliff, but they are as noble.”
Some of her elation vanished. Her every need would not be met, not unless Sean was right and she was the woman who could save Devlin’s soul. But she had won enough that day and she refused to dwell on that.
“Thank you, Devlin,” she said. She smiled at him and turned to go. Her bare feet were numb from the cold stone floors.
“Virginia?” His tone had softened remarkably and she whirled.
“Now that I have had time to consider it, I am not displeased about our union. I think we will do well together, in the end.” He smiled a little at her, his gaze searching.
Stunned, she met his gaze. His smile was small but genuine and it reached his gray eyes, and somehow, it stole her breath away.
He seemed to flush as if embarrassed with his small confession—or perhaps he was merely a bit warm from the fire.
Virginia turned away. She remained in terrible danger. One small smile, one soft look, and she was as hopeful as ever. To enter a union so one-sided, to love a man who refused to ever return her feelings, a man obstinately dedicated to hatred and revenge, was surely madness on her part. But then, the human heart knew no reason.
Virginia knew she would not give up on him, not ever.
THE WEDDING MARCH BEGAN.
Devlin felt his heart lurch and then it picked up a maddening beat. He stood before the altar in the chapel at Harmon House, his brother Sean acting as his best man. The only guests present were his family—Tyrell, Rex and Cliff stood in the front row with Mary and his stepsister, Eleanor, who had just returned from Bath. He turned, strangely breathless, and it was as if time had somehow become suspended.
Virginia was coming down the aisle, escorted by his stepfather.
He could only stare. And suddenly he was terrified of his bride, the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, her violet eyes huge and bright and riveted upon him as she slowly approached. He could not breathe. He was about to be married and his life would never be the same.
The tumult in his heart increased. Terror ran rampant. He need not fall victim to her allure, he told himself in panic, nothing need really change. He had promised her long walks and country hacks and conversation, but in two days he was going to war, and it would be six months before he returned.
He was relieved; insanely, he was even more disappointed.
She was a vision in the glittering white gown, a sheer veil covering her face, her long hair braided with diamonds and curling riotously about her shoulders. He simply could not look away. There were so many memories. Virginia, standing at the rail of the Americana, aiming a pistol at his head. Virginia in his cabin, proud and defiant, demanding to know his intentions. Virginia at Askeaton, too lovely for words, offering him her body, beseeching his love with her eyes. Virginia that morning in her nightclothes, as slender as a child, offering him a truce and a real marriage if he dared accept it.
He did not deserve such a woman. He never had and he never would.
But it was too late to back out now! He closed his eyes, sweating. He would play her game, follow her rules. He would honor her, be her companion, her lover, father their children, but he needed neither joy nor love.
Virginia paused at his side, while Edward moved away. She gazed up at him expectantly. He was too stunned to even offer her the smallest smile. Instead, he nodded at her. Appearing uncertain, she faced the priest.
Father McCarthy gestured and they both went down on their knees as the mass began.
Devlin heard not a word the priest said. Instead he was acutely aware of his bride, and as acutely aware of the opportunity being presented to him. He was at a crossroads. It was glaring at him. There were two directions his life could take.
Joy and love…or revenge and hate.
THE SMALL WEDDING PARTY had been removed to one of the salons at Harmon House. A long table had been set up with a buffet offering enough food for fifty, including a resplendent, multitiered wedding cake. Servants passed silver trays containing flutes of champagne and a small orchestra played from one corner of the room. Virginia remained stunned and she could not speak; in fact, other than to say, “I do,” she had not said a word in hours. She and Devlin were married. It had really come to pass.
She blinked at her left hand where a simple gold band declared the fact. She was weak of knee, it was hard to breathe, and indeed, she almost felt faint.
She was married to the man who had abducted her from the high seas, who had held her hostage, who had flaunted her in society as his mistress, and who now, finally, had forced her to the altar. She could summon up no regret. But she wondered what the future held for them and foolishly prayed that all of her dreams might one day come true. She looked across the room.
In his full dress uniform, Devlin sipped a flute of champagne, surrounded by his stepbrothers. She had met Rex, the middle one, and Cliff, the youngest, a few hours before the wedding. Like Tyrell, both brothers were tall and dark of complexion. Rex was in the army and he wore his scarlet uniform, decorated with gold epaulets and numerous medals. Like Devlin, he was a captain, but his regiment was cavalry, and like Devlin, his aspect was a bit forbidding. She vaguely recalled that he had been wounded at Salamanca last year. As vaguely, she heard he had been in the Russian theater, having only returned home recently.
Cliff she knew little about. His hair was almost golden-brown, and he had a somewhat arrogant air. She had overheard something about his ships and the Caribbean, leading her to believe that he was a merchant of sorts. He did not appear to be a trader, but his rakish look also reminded her of Devlin. All three de Warenne brothers were dangerously attractive, each in their own way.
Devlin suddenly looked across the room at her and her heart stopped. They stared, neither one smiling.
Tonight was their wedding night. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had been in his arms and she was hollow inside at the prospect of lying with him.
A huge wave of desire threatened to make her faint. She looked at him as he stood there across the room, politely conversing with his stepbrothers, resplendent in his navy blue tailcoat and white britches, at once powerful and charismatic, at once seductive and dangerous. And he was now her husband.
“He is so handsome! I can’t imagine having such a husband.”
Virginia blinked and looked at a young girl perhaps two years her junior. The girl was terribly beautiful, with high cheekbones, amber eyes and dark blond hair that was almost the color of honey. She was smiling hopefully at Virginia.
“I am Eleanor de Warenne,” she said with a graceful curtsy, her cheeks flushed. “Devlin’s stepsister.”
Virginia curtsied. “Forgive me,” she managed, her eyes moving back to Devlin again. He was speaking with Cliff but his gaze veered instantly to her. The hollow feeling of immense desire increased. She needed to be in his arms now. She tried to smile at his stepsister. “How nice to finally meet you. Haven’t you been in Bath this season?” She had vaguely heard that the de Warennes’ daughter had spent the last season there as another young lady’s companion.
Eleanor murmured a
n affirmative.
Virginia took a closer look at her. She was gazing at Sean, her cheeks far more pink than before.
Then Eleanor turned. “Are you nervous about your wedding night?” she asked quite directly.
Virginia was taken aback. But she was nervous, very nervous, if she dared be honest with herself. “Frankly, I am,” she said softly. And she glanced at him again.
Sean suddenly stepped between them. “I see you have both, finally, met. Eleanor, if you think to lure Virginia into the topic of wedding nights, you are wrong.” His tone was mild but his stare was not. Then he smiled at Virginia. “She is sixteen and certain subjects are not suitable for her ears.”
Eleanor’s smile vanished and she turned crimson. “I will be seventeen in three months,” she cried. “I am not a barefoot child in pigtails anymore! I am a lady now—a lady with suitors—ask anyone in Bath.” Lifting her skirts, she hurried away.
Sean sighed, staring after her for one moment, appearing oddly thoughtful. Then he handed Virginia a flute of champagne. “You look exhausted. Should I summon Devlin?”
Virginia smiled back, hesitating. If he summoned Devlin, they might find an excuse to leave. “Yes, that would be wonderful,” she managed. It was hard to breathe.
Sean bowed and walked off, leaving Virginia alone. She took a sip of champagne, hoping to cool herself as she did so. Instead, the crowd in the room turned into a sea of faces.
And finally Virginia could not get any air at all. I must sit down, she thought. But before she could move to do so, the flute slipped from her fingers and crashed upon the floor.
Virginia looked down at the puddle of pale liquid, terribly surprised, and the puddle darkened and wavered in her vision. How odd, she began to think, as the entire room seemed to tilt and sway and finally darken, too.
I am going to faint, she thought.
“Virginia!” Devlin cried.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HIS HEART FELT AS IF IT had stopped. He knelt over his bride, quickly seeking out her pulse. It was strong and steady. Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave; she had merely fainted.
Devlin gathered her in his arms, glancing up at his family, who surrounded him. “She has fainted. I think this day has been long enough.” He swiftly stood. Virginia felt as light as a feather, and her weight always amazed him.
“She has been under too much duress,” Mary whispered, her face ashen, her eyes filled with guilt. “Oh, dear, I should have never insisted on such a hasty wedding!”
“You are not to blame, dear,” Edward said, putting his arm around her.
Devlin strode from the salon, Virginia limp in his arms. Sean reached his side and Devlin met his brother’s eyes. They were grave and concerned.
“Shall I send up a maid with some salts?”
“She’ll be fine,” he said a bit curtly. He was very aware that his brother’s feelings had not changed, just as he remained aware that Virginia truly should have married someone like Sean.
“Devlin!” His mother slipped salts into the pocket of his jacket. “She hasn’t been eating well. She needs rest and nourishment.”
He nodded and left the room.
And once he was alone with Virginia, bounding up the steps, he gazed at her face and his heart warmed inexplicably. She deserved Sean, or someone like Sean, but she was stuck with him. Suddenly he wanted to make it up to her.
Their suite had been filled with flowers and roses. Devlin laid her on the bed, which was turned down, just as she began to stir. He sat down at her hip and held the salts to her nostrils; she gasped, her eyes flying open.
For one moment, she stared. Then she started to sit up.
He clasped her shoulder and held her down. “Stay still for a moment,” he said gently, an odd affection filling him, soft and tender. He was aware of the fact that the fear remained, but he had somehow managed to shove it aside. “You fainted.”
She smiled a little. “I am so sorry. I don’t faint.”
He found his mouth curving. “All women faint.”
“Not this one…until now.”
He realized he still held her small shoulder, and that her diamond-encrusted hair brushed his fingers. He meant to remove his hand; somehow, he touched her face. “It has been a difficult day, I know. Virginia…” He stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say, but the warmth was filling his chest and he wanted to say something to her.
“What?” she whispered.
He hesitated. His mind raced but no coherent thoughts came, there was only the warmth, oddly tender and so surprisingly unfamiliar. “I will try to be a good husband.”
Her eyes widened; she smiled. “I cannot ask for more than that,” she said.
She was so beautiful, so original, so unique—and she was his. Devlin found himself leaning over her as the room around them blurred and disappeared, as the small noises coming from the guests downstairs and the wind outside faded and vanished. Time seemed to slow. Virginia did not move. She held his gaze until their lips brushed.
A harsh sound escaped from him. He caught her face in his hands and opened her lips gently. Slowly, gently, their mouths fused and their tongues tangled. He stroked his hand down her shoulder, her arm. Urgency slammed over him. The need to explode, then and there, caused him to begin to shake.
He exercised an impossible amount of restraint and he drew away from her. “I will let you rest,” he said roughly, about to get up.
She seized his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “No.”
“Virginia,” he began, sitting back down as she sat up. “You just fainted.” He wanted to do the right thing now.
Her cheeks were pink, her pupils dilated. “I am fine,” she insisted.
“We have a lifetime ahead—” he began.
She caught his shoulders, pressing her mouth to his, and there was nothing soft or gentle or controlled about her kiss. Her mouth moved insistently, her small tongue prodding, and when he did not respond, she nipped his lip.
He lost all self-restraint. He seized her, pushing her down, taking back the kiss, opening her and thrusting inside. He knew what was coming, and something vast, huge and hollow filled him—the sensation almost like standing in the path of a gale, knowing that when it came, he would be blown away. He held her hard, tightly, kissing her even more deeply, and the gale winds came.
Thought collapsed, and with its destruction, all logic was also gone. There was only feeling—a huge madness, part desire, part triumph and something else, something different, something never before felt, swelling impossibly, expanding inside, cresting upward, outward, consuming his body and his being.
Virginia was pawing his back frantically, making small, eager cries. He somehow found the tiny buttons on the back of her dress. “Hurry,” she cried.
He simply could not speak. Emotion made it impossible. He could only pant and stare as he tore the dress away, chemise, corset and frilly drawers following. Devlin leapt to his feet.
She sat up, naked except for her garters and stockings and the diamonds in her hair. As he tore off his own clothes, she watched, her small breasts heaving, the tips pink and elongated. When he was naked, she held out her arms.
For one moment, he did not move, triumph washing over him, savage and barbaric and male. This woman belonged to him. But hadn’t he always known that—from the first moment he had ever seen her—when she had thought to assassinate him with a sniper shot? And then he went to her.
He pushed her slowly down, smiling a little, and she smiled a little back. He spread her thighs and moved against her, and she gasped.
“Watch me,” he whispered, a command, and he slowly began to fill her.
She moaned as he entered, and he found that it was him watching her now, as her eyes glazed, as her flush increased, and finally, when he was seated to the hilt, as her eyes widened with real surprise and profound pleasure. More triumph seared him, and with it, more love. Slowly he began to move.
Her eyes closed, she found his rhyt
hm, and as one, they strained. Devlin held her in his arms, tighter and tighter still, fighting the need to explode, knowing now that this was what he would always need, forever and ever, and he kissed her cheek, her neck, her temple, as she whimpered and begged, clawing him. Then she gasped, eyes flying wide, and she cried, “I still love you!”
He stiffened, holding her as she began her climax, incredulous and disbelieving, and her words echoed. I still love you. And Devlin could no longer restrain himself, and holding her hard, convulsed into her body, time and again, the frantic chant I still love you a litany in his mind.
VIRGINIA BECAME AWARE of strong fingers easing along the side of her arm.
For one moment, as sleep slowly lifted, she was disoriented, and then she was awake.
She lay curled against Devlin—her husband—and he was stroking her arm. She tensed, recalling the wedding, the small family gathering afterward and his lovemaking. He had been so gentle.
Her eyes opened and she craned her neck to look up at him. Instantly she saw that he was staring at her, his expression soft and relaxed as she had never before seen it. In fact, the light in his eyes was just as soft, unguarded and warm. Her brows lifted.
He met her gaze and his face tightened and his lashes lowered, as if shielding himself from her scrutiny.
“I fell asleep,” she whispered, shaken. Had she really seen that incredible light of warmth just then? Had he been looking at her that way while she slept? As if he loved her in return?
“Yes, you did,” he said quietly, his hand now still on her arm. He smiled a little at her.
She sighed and lay her cheek on his chest. Oh, but she did like that—she could hear his powerful heart beating, slow and steady. She smiled and the love she felt for him washed over her. Trying not to love this man was simply impossible.
“How are you feeling?” he asked soberly.
“Wonderful.” She looked up and grinned.
He smiled and amusement appeared in his eyes. “That is not what I meant. I was referring to the fact that you fainted.”