by Brenda Joyce
“Oh, that!” She was dismissive. “I do feel wonderful.”
“Perhaps you should eat something. I can have a tray sent up.”
She smiled against his chest. Did she dare? Why not! “I am hungry,” she murmured, “very hungry—but not for food.”
He was still.
She glanced up.
“You are a minx,” he said softly, but he was smiling.
“Am I?” she said, pleased by his remark. She kissed the muscle beneath her cheek, then slid her hand down his rib cage and his abdomen. She felt the muscles there tense.
She kissed his skin again and brushed her fingers over his manhood, which lay half-stiff upon his belly. She watched it grow with real interest and teased her fingertips over it again.
“You play with fire, little one,” he murmured.
“Does this always happen so easily?” she had to ask as she began to explore both shape and texture.
There was no response.
Virginia closed her hand around him, and inside, she felt hugely hollow. She glanced slowly up.
He watched her, his face strained, his breathing harsh, uneven. He said, slowly, with effort, “If you do as you are doing, yes.”
She smiled, pleased, and stroked his length. “And if I do this?”
“Then I do this,” he growled, and she found herself lifted up above his body and held over his head, against the headboard. “What?” she began, and then his tongue swept over her.
Virginia held on to the headboard, gasping.
Clasping her buttocks in each hand, his tongue washed over her sex, swift and intent.
Virginia felt faint. “Oh, I can’t manage,” she gasped. “Do not stop now!”
He laughed as he tormented her, more deeply, more explicitly, than before.
Virginia felt her terrible climax begin and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it; he understood and before she knew it, he had pulled her down, and he was surging up into her; a moment later he had flipped her over and he was riding her hard.
She looked up into his beloved face and began to weep in pleasure. And he held her tightly, whispering, “Yes, my darling, yes.”
DEVLIN SAT IN THE CHAIR BY the fire that barely blazed in the hearth, fully dressed in his naval uniform, his black hat on his knee. He stared at his bride.
Virginia slept deeply, a soft smile on her lovely face, a few diamonds still clinging to the masses of her curling hair. She lay on her side, her back bare where the hair revealed it, the covers pulled only to her waist. He had made love to her for two nights and the day in between, and he still wanted her again.
It was 5:02 a.m., December 14. In another fifty-eight minutes he would set sail for America. He did not want to leave his bride; he did not want to go.
He did not want to go.
He stood, hat in hand. What nonsense was this? What was happening to him? He was a warrior, it was all that he knew, and of course he wanted to go to war yet again.
She sighed in her sleep.
His heart ached suddenly, hugely, then. Good God, he was going to miss her—he missed her already and he had yet to leave.
The ever-present fear, a monster lurking behind him, threatening his very life, came closer, reaching out. What nonsense was this? He had a war to attend. He might be married now, but his bride could not make him soft, she could not change his character or his choices. All the other emotions he had been feeling since their wedding, both soft and huge, were not for him. He was not in love. Love was not for him. Once he set sail, once he became a part of the wind and the sea, his legs braced firmly as he rode the deck of the Defiance, he would not be feeling like such a romantic fool and he would not miss her, not at all.
Which meant that it was time to go, now, before his foolish brooding unmanned him.
But the leave-taking was so hard.
And he thought of a hundred past bloody battles and a weariness claimed his soul—a weariness he could not deny.
Abruptly Devlin walked over to the bed. He made no move to wake her, but he stared at her angelic face, aware that he wished to memorize it. And for one moment, he thought about waking her.
But he did not. Her lure was too strong. Instead, he pulled the covers up to her shoulders. She sighed again in her sleep, and this time she smiled.
His heart lurched, aching within him.
The monster of fear came closer and seized him with a vengeance.
This woman was his wife. This marriage could change everything. He stared down at Virginia and realized that in spite of all logic in his heart he wished that he were not leaving.
Which meant that it was time to go. Abruptly Devlin turned and left his sleeping bride, his strides hard and determined.
Later, his regret would be vast.
VIRGINIA DREAMED THAT Devlin was gone.
She was in a sweet, happy place, warm and beloved, and suddenly she was chilled to the bone. Suddenly she was not in her bed, but she stood on some sandy shore, watching the Defiance as it sailed away. Horrified, afraid, Virginia cried out.
She blinked and found herself awake, quite naked and sitting up in bed. “Devlin?” She realized she had had a nightmare and relief washed over her.
But as she threw off the blanket, she saw that she was alone. “Devlin?” She began to feel hollow inside and sick with apprehension. She slid to the floor, beginning to shiver. The bronze clock on one bureau said it was half-past five that morning.
It was December 14.
Devlin was due to set sail that morning.
But he could not have left yet, without saying goodbye! Tearing a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around her, Virginia rushed to the sitting room, but it was vacant. Horrified, she raced into the bathing room and grabbed her wrapper. She saw a bowl of soapy water and his wet shaving brush sitting on the vanity; in the act of belting the robe, she froze.
The horror of her nightmare returned.
Virginia ran to the armoire and threw it open, dressing as quickly as she could without help. Clad in a pale green dress, shoes and stockings in hand, she ran downstairs, barefoot.
A housemaid was passing through the hall. “Rosemary! Where is the Captain? Has he left?”
The maid appeared surprised by her question. “He left a few minutes ago, madam.”
Virginia stood there, shoes and stockings dangling from her hands, stunned. He had left? He had left like that, without a word? But why hadn’t he said goodbye?
“I need the carriage,” she said sharply, her heart seeming quite wedged now in her chest, a painful, congealed lump. Acid burned. She sat down in a chair as the maid rushed out, pulling on her stockings and putting on her shoes.
So many memories assaulted her now—his smile, his soft laughter, the way he called her “little one” and “my darling,” the light of amusement as it sparked his eyes, the blaze of lust, and his lovemaking, at times hard and rushed, at other times soft and gentle. She thought of how he had held her as she fell asleep in his arms. She recalled his declaration that he would be a good husband to her.
She brushed away her tears. Why hadn’t he awoken her? Why hadn’t he said goodbye?
Another terrible time came to mind, a time when she had been loved by him with both urgency and tenderness, only to find him cold and indifferent the next day.
She was ill, about to retch. There was no possible way that Devlin could retreat now to that other, horrid place, a cold and heartless place where he had once before lived. The thought was unbearable—it could not possibly happen again.
She had to find him. She had to say goodbye. And she had to see him smile tenderly at her one more time, to know that they had passed safely through a terrible storm and that the light of a bright, gentle new day awaited them on the other side.
She could not survive the next six months otherwise.
A half an hour later her coach raced through the shipyard, passing stored containers, loaded wagons, cranes and crates. Longshoremen, civilians and sailors were busy eve
rywhere. Virginia strained to see out of her window, and when her coach paused a moment later, she almost catapulted out.
A huge ship she did not recognize faced her. Other ships lined the docks, but none were the Defiance. And one berth, in their midst, was terribly empty.
Her heart hurt her now. Virginia raised her hand to her eyes to shield them from the rising sun. She looked past the docks.
And she cried out.
She knew the Defiance by heart—she always would. Perhaps a hundred yards distant, it slowly eased out of the channel, heading into the open harbor.
And there was no mistaking the tall, gallant figure standing hatless on the quarterdeck.
Virginia ran.
Holding her skirts, she ran down one dock, waving frantically. “Devlin! Devlin!” she screamed.
But the ship continued to move away, toward the horizon, and he never turned once to look back.
Virginia’s steps slowed and faltered.
She paused, out of breath, panting hard. He still didn’t look back and he would never hear her; it was hopeless. She stopped at the very end of the dock, staring desperately after the departing ship.
It sailed into the harbor, and once there, the main sails were unfurled. They quickly billowed and the frigate picked up speed, now flying across the seas, now flying away.
Virginia watched it disappear.
DEVLIN STOOD ON THE quarterdeck, the oddest urge to look back at the retreating shipyard within him. It was his habit to stand at the helm and search the horizons ahead; still, he could not shake the need to look back, as if in doing so he might glance at his bride one last time.
“A fine day for sailing, Captain,” Red said, his hands on the helm. His grin was stained and yellow.
“Yes, indeed.” They had a fresh breeze of about eighteen or nineteen knots, causing the seas ahead to foam with dancing white horses. They would make good time today, and after being on land for so long, he should be thrilled with the departure. He was not. Finally, Devlin sighed and looked back.
But the shipyard was just a jumble of shapes and colors now. Then a flash of light from the deck below caught his eye. Devlin turned—as a seaman pointed a musket at him.
Time stood still. He knew an assassination attempt when he saw one and he knew he would die. And as he told himself to dive, sensing it was futile, he knew that the assassin had been sent by his mortal enemy, the Earl of Eastleigh.
And as the shot rang out, the ship lurched with a sudden gust of wind. Devlin was already diving across the bridge, a burning sensation along his upper arm.
He had just used up another life. And as he slid across the wood deck, savage anger filled him. The assassin had missed, but only because of the fresh breeze. Still on the deck, Devlin drew his pistol, shouting, “Seize that man!” He rolled to his side, quickly loading the gun, glancing in the direction of where he thought the assassin might be, and he was right. The man was frantically reloading.
From behind, Gus and another sailor were charging the assailant.
Devlin got to one knee as the assassin aimed again and almost simultaneously, they fired at each other.
The assailant was struck in the lower leg and he cried out, falling. Devlin threw his pistol aside, drawing his saber, racing across the quarterdeck and leaping down to the main deck. “I want him alive,” he shouted as Gus and the second sailor seized the wounded man.
He was struck over the head and his hands were shoved behind his back but he remained half-conscious, on his knees, bleeding all over the deck.
Devlin paused before him, filled with fury.
“Captain?” Gus cried, as more sailors encircled them. “How badly are you hurt?”
“It’s a graze,” he said grimly. With his boot, he kicked the assassin under his jaw, snapping his head back, hard enough to flip him onto his back but not hard enough to break his neck. Gasping in pain, the man stared up at him with wide wild eyes. “Mercy, Captain, sir! I only did what I was told to do! What I was paid to do! Have mercy, I beg you, I got a wife, three boys, all hungry, please—”
Devlin stepped on his chest with most of his weight.
Ribs cracked. The man screamed.
“Who sent you?”
Frantic eyes met his. “I don’t know. He never said his name! Wait—”
Devlin stepped on him again.
“I suggest you think very carefully,” Devlin said.
“He never told me his name,” the man panted. “Wait!”
Devlin decreased the pressure of his foot. “Continue.”
“But I know who he was! It was a lord, Captain, sir, a lord—I saw the coat of arms on the coach, and I asked, I asked who it was after he was gone!”
“Who was it?”
“Eastleigh, it was Lord Eastleigh, Captain. Please, please spare my life!”
Devlin coldly debated the request. “Put him in the brig. Have the ship’s surgeon attend him.”
“Aye, sir,” Gus said.
Devlin turned away. He was inwardly shaken—and furious with himself. He had been mooning over his bride like a school-age boy, thinking about her bed, thinking about love and almost feeling joy, when he had a blood enemy to destroy. His behavior had almost cost him his life.
The reminder was a timely one. He was married now, but it changed nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HANNAH KNOCKED ON VIRGINIA’S door. “Mrs. O’Neill? It is Lady de Warenne, she is downstairs.” The girl smiled uncertainly at her.
Virginia had returned from her failed attempt to say goodbye to Devlin and had instantly retreated to her rooms. Grief had overcome her and she had sought her bed, trying to tell herself that six months was not that long, and instead missing him more and more with every passing moment. Fear had warred with her confusion. What if he was injured, or worse, in the war he was soon to attend? And how could he go to war against her country? Fortunately, her exhaustion was so great that she had finally collapsed and fallen asleep.
She had awoken an hour ago, feeling more composed and somewhat refreshed. She had bathed and dressed, preparing to go downstairs and take a solitary dinner. She was pleased that her mother-in-law had called; she was so acutely aware of Devlin’s absence and the house felt spectacularly empty.
She hurried downstairs and found Mary seated in one salon, sipping a cup of tea. The moment she saw Virginia she stood, her gaze searching.
All of Virginia’s composure vanished. She stood there and felt the tears stream down her face.
“Oh, dear,” Mary whispered, hurrying forward. “Whatever has happened, child?”
Virginia turned away. “Forgive me, I’m so sorry!” But this woman was too kind and she could not stop the tears, no matter how she choked.
As if she were Virginia’s own mother, Mary embraced her. “Oh, I thought to find you happy today! Oh, please do not tell me he has behaved despicably to hurt you again!”
Virginia managed to shake her head. “No, no, he has done nothing wrong—I mean, he left this morning and did not say goodbye, but that is not why I am distraught. I miss him, Lady Adare, I miss him terribly and I do not know how I can survive the next six months until he returns!”
The two women stared. Virginia wiped her eyes, breathless and shaking. “I am so foolish, I know.”
Mary cupped her face. “You are not foolish, you are in love, and that thrills me, my dear.”
Virginia bit her lip, her heart daring to defy her and soar. “I am in love, my lady, more so than ever, I think.”
Mary smiled, pleased. “Do not think too much of his hasty departure. Men can be such fools. I am sure he was trying to be kind by not waking you at dawn, or there was some other such nonsense in his mind. We will probably never know what he was thinking. And Devlin is not romantic, not in the least—but I do think he loves you. In fact, I am almost sure of it.”
Virginia was seized with hope. “You think so?”
“He could barely keep his eyes off of you during the wedding
ceremony. I never saw a man so mesmerized.”
Virginia thrilled. “I think he may feel warmly toward me, too,” she confessed. “But how will I get through the next six months?”
“Very easily,” Mary said. “You shall move into Harmon House, as it is impossible for you to stay here alone. Rex will not leave for his next post until after the New Year, and Cliff is staying in town for the winter. And then there is Eleanor. She is your sister now and the two of you should become acquainted before she returns to the Hinckleys at Bath.” Mary smiled, her eyes sparkling. “There is simply no other alternative, my dear.”
Virginia felt warmed to the bone. She dared to take the other woman’s hand. “You are so kind, my lady. May I speak frankly?”
“Please do,” Mary said, the twinkle remaining in her eyes.
“I already feel as if I am truly your daughter.”
Mary hugged her, hard. “But you are, my dear, you are.”
“WE SEEM TO HAVE CALLERS,” Mary murmured wryly as they entered the grand foyer of Harmon House.
Giggles and laughter, all of it feminine and quite coy, sounded from one nearby salon. Virginia glanced at Mary in some surprise.
“There has been a parade of eager young women coming through this house ever since Rex and Cliff arrived.” She gave Virginia a look. “Neither one are spoken for and they both have fine inheritances. But they are both randy sorts, and instead of taking these young women seriously, I do believe it has become a simple source of entertainment for them both, especially for Cliff.”
Virginia glanced into the salon where they had held the wedding reception. Rex was darkly handsome in his army dress uniform, yet there was little correct about him—his posture was indolent and his dark eyes were distinctly bored as he listened to a plump blonde regale him with some chitchat. His gaze wandered repeatedly about the company and finally to the doorway where Virginia and Mary stood. His expression brightened as it settled on them and he slowly smiled.
Virginia felt certain that he had broken many hearts. She smiled in return and glanced at Cliff. He was not bored, oh no. A gorgeous brunette woman, quite older than the three young ladies present, had him in a corner, her heavily ringed hand on his arm. Cliff was leaning very close to her, quite intimately, as she whispered in his ear, obviously flirting. He might have been the youngest brother, but he seemed the most sardonic and the most jaded. Suddenly he realized that new company was present; he straightened without haste, and rather lazily took a single step back, putting a more appropriate distance between himself and the brunette.