The Prize

by Brenda Joyce

  “I sense a secret,” Devlin murmured, his tone soft and seductive.

  And that was when the Earl of Eastleigh walked into the room.

  VIRGINIA REMAINED IN SHOCK. She was barely able to comprehend his presence as he bowed; nor could she hear the butler, pale and distressed, as he tried to apologize for the intrusion. What could he want? What was her uncle doing there? And then Devlin started forward.

  Virginia’s heart lurched with fear as it struck her that Devlin might think to kill Eastleigh for this incident. But both Tyrell and Cliff gripped his shoulders, restraining him. A frightening mask had slipped over his face.

  Edward quickly blocked his entrance. “Eastleigh, you are not welcome here.”

  “Adare,” Eastleigh said, his pale blue eyes ice cold. “But surely the lack of an invitation to my niece’s birthday was an unfortunate oversight—as was the lack of an invitation to her wedding. I have only come to wish Virginia a most fortuitous birthday. I have even brought her a gift.” He turned and gestured at his servant who held a large wrapped parcel.

  Devlin shook off his brothers and strode forward, his eyes cold. “Well, well,” he said, “the man I had hoped to see. And how is it that you do not seem surprised to see me, my lord?”

  The two men locked stares. Eastleigh’s teeth bared in a parody of a smile. “Why would I be surprised to see you present at your wife’s birthday? I had heard you returned, O’Neill. Oh, congratulations on your most advantageous marriage.” Suddenly he looked at Virginia and inclined his head. “Congratulations, my dear.”

  A chill went up her spine. Virginia watched the two men, both reeking of enmity and hatred, and she despaired. If she did not miss her guess something terrible was about to happen. Could she somehow diffuse the situation? She stepped swiftly forward. “Thank you, Uncle. How kind of you to call.”

  Devlin gripped her arm, silencing her before she could go on. “Save your false words for a foolish man,” he said coldly. “My stepfather is correct. You are not welcome here. But before I escort you out, I do have one question. Do you not want to know what fate befell your assassin?”

  Virginia gasped. Assassin? What was Devlin speaking of? In confusion and dismay, she stared at him. But he did not seem to be aware of her presence now.

  “Assassin?” Eastleigh laughed. “I know of no assassin. Did someone try to murder you, O’Neill?” He laughed again. “Why think it was me? You have more enemies than can be counted, and we both know it.”

  Devlin leaned closer, smiling, and it was chilling. “Your assassin failed. But I suggest you watch your back, Eastleigh, as two can play this new game.”

  Virginia cried out. No one seemed to hear.

  “Is that a threat? Have you decided to murder me now? Is my destitution not enough?” He smiled. “Perhaps your back needs watching, O’Neill, not mine.” He turned and bowed at Virginia. “I do hope you enjoy your birthday gift.” He left.

  Virginia simply stared after him as Devlin turned, his expression so hard and ruthless it was frightening. She was vaguely aware of Edward rushing to comfort Mary, as she was close to tears. When Eastleigh was out of sight, his footsteps no longer falling, she turned. The room was now filled with an icy tension.

  “I’ll get rid of that,” Tyrell said, lifting the wrapped parcel.

  “No!” Devlin strode over and tore the brown waxed paper apart. A painting was beneath.

  Virginia could hardly breathe. She was also beginning to feel faint. “What is it?”

  Devlin made a rough sound. “Get rid of it. Burn it,” he said.

  “Stop!” Virginia ran forward and shoved past him. Then she cried out.

  The painting was a beautiful portrait of her parents, painted eighteen years ago, her mother lovely and breathtaking, her father proud and handsome. An infant was in their arms—a babe that could only be Virginia. But they were standing in front of a house that Virginia recognized with stunning dismay. It was Eastleigh Hall. And the Earl of Eastleigh stood with them, younger, more vital, less overweight and as proud and overbearing as ever. The meaning of his gift was unmistakable.

  She was a Hughes and the earl’s niece and nothing could ever change that fact—not even her marriage to Devlin.

  “I’ll get rid of it,” Tyrell repeated grimly, glancing at Virginia. She nodded numbly and he took the canvas and left.

  “Mary is going to lie down,” Edward said, pausing with her at the door. “Eleanor, come.”

  Mary smiled apologetically, her eyes moist with tears. “I’m sorry. This evening has not been what I planned…”

  Virginia gripped her hands. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It was wonderful, really.”

  As they left Cliff went over to Devlin. “Don’t let him provoke you,” he said.

  Devlin didn’t respond, staring furiously out the window at the dusky night.

  Cliff turned to Virginia. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded her head in the affirmative, but it was a lie. “Perhaps you should leave us,” she managed.

  He hesitated, glancing back at his brother, but then he nodded and went out.

  She and Devlin were alone. He remained at the window now, and it was as if he was unaware that she remained in the room. She looked at his rigid shoulders and back. She could feel his hatred. Worse, she knew he was planning some terrible deed now.

  She was ill.

  Trembling, she walked up to him. “He tried to assassinate you?” she asked.

  He finally glanced at her. “I’m sorry you had to learn of it. It doesn’t matter. He failed.”

  “Of course it matters!” she cried.

  “Virginia, I survived the foolish attempt.”

  “This time!” She knew she was hysterical, but she was so afraid now for Devlin that she could not think straight. And she was even more afraid for their child. “But what about next time?”

  “He is not my first enemy to wish me dead—or attempt to do it, either,” Devlin said grimly, reaching for her hand.

  She jerked it free and backed away, hugging herself. “This has gone too far! You started this and look at what has happened—you are now in jeopardy!”

  Anger blazed. “I did not start this, my dear, he started this fifteen years ago!”

  “And that makes it right?”

  He was flushed. “I am not in any real jeopardy, Virginia,” he warned. “I have been living by my wits for a long time now. No hired thug shall bring me down.”

  Virginia wanted to weep. So this was how they would live? With Devlin hounding Eastleigh, and Eastleigh hiring assassins to kill him in return? And what would happen when the baby was born? Would she one day find an assassin in her room, too? What if Eastleigh took his hatred of Devlin out on their child?

  She inhaled but she could not breathe. She could not live this way.

  Devlin turned abruptly back to the window, clearly angry with her. Virginia turned as abruptly and hurried out of the salon, beginning to cry. She found herself next door in the library. It was filled with Devlin’s powerful and masculine presence, but she needed no reminder to know how much she loved him.

  If she told him about the child, would he change his ways?

  Surely he would be able to see that they could not bring their child into a world filled with hatred and revenge.

  She was so afraid.

  DEVLIN STARED OUT OF THE window but saw nothing but blackness. He was shaking with rage and could not stop, but there was a hollow feeling in his chest. He understood the feeling—it was dread. Although he hadn’t turned, he was well aware that Virginia was distressed and that she had run from the room and him.

  Did she finally see him as the man he really was? A man filled with ice-cold blood and a heart of hate?

  The past few days had seemed like a fairy tale or a dream. He had not recognized the man who laughed and smiled so frequently and who thought of little other than his wife. He had tasted happiness; he had even felt the glimmer of joy. The feelings had been unf
amiliar and strange, at once frightening yet oddly welcome, too. For the first time in his life, he felt cherished, and more important, for the first time in his life he knew he was not alone.

  And now Virginia was upset and afraid. The most courageous woman he had ever met wanted love and laughter, not war and hate. He had seen the truth in her eyes a moment ago. She had just run from him, and if he dared face his own truth, he was terrified that he would lose her now, when he had only just found her.

  He knew he did not deserve such a life. He knew it was a dream, and he would one day open his eyes to find it all gone—the joy, the peace, Virginia.

  He reminded himself that he was a soldier first and last, that he knew only a life of constant battle, constant war. He had married her intending to change nothing, and in the few days they had been together everything had changed—almost. She had shown him a different kind of life, and a part of him desperately wanted to seize it. But that other part of him felt stronger, more ruthless and more dedicated to revenge than ever. That part of him knew he must finish Eastleigh once and for all and finally allow his father peace.

  He had never been more torn. Inhaling harshly, he started after his bride. He could not allow her to weep over her damned uncle in the other room.

  Devlin paused on the threshold of the library. Virginia stood by his desk, gripping it as if for support. Tears streaked her face when she turned to meet his gaze.

  He wanted to take those tears away, but he made no move to do so, as if his body refused to obey his mind. “I am sorry your uncle had to ruin your birthday, Virginia,” Devlin said cautiously.

  She wet her lips, the knuckles on her hands turning white. It was a moment before she spoke, and then, she did so hoarsely. “Devlin? These past few days have been wonderful, have they not?”

  He started, wondering what this tack meant. “Yes, they have.” Wariness filled him now.

  She forced a smile. “Isn’t it time to forgive and forget? Isn’t it time to think about all that we have—all that we could have? A wonderful future awaits us—”

  “You go too far,” he warned abruptly. Did she think to deter him now? He was not a man to be led around by his bride as if a puppet on a string!

  She stiffened. “You haven’t heard me out.”

  “There is nothing to discuss. Not on the subject of Eastleigh. That battle must be waged—and it must be finished, Virginia, to my satisfaction.”

  She stared at him with her huge, moist eyes, impossibly pale.

  He wished he had spoken in a softer, less masterful tone. “He wanted to distress you,” he began, but she interrupted.

  “Devlin, there is something I haven’t told you.”

  His heart lurched. He did not like her tone or expression. What terrible news did she wish to impart? And he retreated instantly, closing his expression as if she were his worst adversary and not his beautiful bride. “Do tell,” he said formally.

  She clung to the desk. “I am having our baby.”

  For one moment, he felt that he must have hallucinated. His heart raced. “What?”

  “And I beg you,” she said hoarsely, “to promise me a life of peace and happiness. To promise us that life!”

  He jerked, barely able to comprehend what she had told him. She was with child. But how? When? His mind raced, calculated. Their child must have been conceived after their marriage in December. Dear God, he was going to be a father—it was too soon!

  And Eastleigh’s mocking expression as he had stood in Adare’s salon just a moment ago filled his mind.

  “I beg you to give up your need for murder and revenge!” She began to cry. “I can’t bring our child into such a life! Don’t you see? We are about to become a family, and I need you to choose.”

  Once again, it was a moment before he understood her. He was shaking and his knees felt weak and all he could think of was the baby and the fact that he had a ruthless enemy in the world. He stared at her as she wept. Choose? She wanted him to choose? And the ugliest comprehension came.

  He inhaled, becoming rigid with anger. “Don’t do this, Virginia,” he warned. There could be no choice to make! Not yet, not now!

  “You must choose!” she cried, trembling wildly.

  “Don’t ask this of me,” he commanded as if on the quarterdeck of his ship. And he felt everything begin to slip away, fading then and there, the joy, the love, the fear…

  “You must choose,” she whispered. “I will not bequeath a life of hatred to our child. I will not put our child in jeopardy. Choose, Devlin. Choose us—the baby and me!”

  But he could not choose. He simply could not. And he felt his heart disappear, vanishing into nothingness. And with its disappearance, all emotion congealed into ice and was gone.

  “Don’t!” she begged. And she ran forward. “Don’t turn away from me now! Not after all we have shared—not when I am carrying your child!” And she seized his hand and placed it on her abdomen.

  He stared at her small, still-flat belly, but there was only emptiness now. No joy, no love, just the dispassionate nature his enemy had left him with when he was ten years old.

  “You can have us—or you can have your revenge. But you can’t have both!”

  He dropped his hand and turned away. “I am sorry,” he said, “but you knew my nature when you married me.”

  She cried out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  VIRGINIA REMAINED IN BED for the entire day, afflicted with a huge migraine and a malaise of the soul. She did not weep. She was too frozen with fear to do so.

  She had the baby to consider now. Her unborn child had become her priority. It had been one thing for her to manage a relationship with Devlin, to somehow survive his ruthless obsession and his hard heart, but dear God, what kind of father would Devlin be?

  If only she did not love him still…but she did, and she always would.

  Virginia did not know what to do, and Devlin was leaving for his tour of duty—for his damnable war—in three more days.

  Now she faced the closed bedroom door, dressed for supper. She had not seen him even once since their argument yesterday. He had chosen not to share their room or their bed last night and she had avoided him as well. What should she do? She had no appetite, but that was not the issue. He remained her husband and the child within her womb would always be his. But she no longer wished to compromise herself for the sake of their marriage, for the sake of being with him. It felt as if their marriage was turning to ashes before her very eyes.

  Virginia opened the door and went downstairs, trembling nervously, her face stiff with tension and trying desperately to appear natural.

  To her surprise and dismay, once in the entry hall she heard male voices that she recognized. Tyrell and Cliff were with him, apparently having a drink before supper. She liked both brothers but now prayed they did not intend to stay and dine with them. Virginia slowly approached the salon. Its double doors were wide open and she saw all three men seated causally there, glasses of wine in hand.

  Tyrell and Cliff saw her almost at once and came instantly to their feet. Devlin also stood, but more slowly, and he did not quite look at her. His brothers bowed, but in turn, their smiles faded as she came forward and she knew her distress was clear.

  “Good evening,” she said, holding her head high.

  “Virginia, you are as lovely as always,” Cliff murmured, but he had lowered his lashes over his blue eyes, a clear indication that he was merely being gallant.

  She thanked him. “I hope you will be staying for supper,” she said, aware she was being as dishonest as him.

  Cliff looked up, and then he and Tyrell exchanged glances. “I think we have other arrangements,” he said.

  “I’m afraid that is the case,” Tyrell said. He then glanced somewhat darkly at Devlin, who stood as still as a statue. “Take care of your wife,” he said, and with a nod at Virginia, he and Cliff set their wineglasses down and walked out.

  Alone at last with her hu
sband, Virginia tensed.

  He faced her, his expression that mask she knew so well and so hated, and he held out his arm. “I believe supper is being served, Madam,” he said.

  She flinched. “You never call me ‘madam,’” she somehow managed.

  His shoulders, already ramrod stiff, tightened even more. “I am not trying to offend you,” he said as if she were a stranger, not his wife.

  “Don’t do this,” she breathed.

  His face closed impossibly. “I hardly know of what you speak.” He gestured toward the hall. “Shall we?” And without waiting for a reply, he took her arm in his.

  She recoiled. Was this how it would now be? A polite mockery of a marriage? A cold and formal relationship, at once tense and strained? “I only asked you to give up hatred, Devlin, for the sake of your child,” she whispered through stiff lips.

  He started forward as if he had not heard her—clearly pretending that he had not.

  But she refused to follow, tearing her arm from his.

  He stopped and faced her. “Are we going in to dine?” he asked.

  She hugged herself. “Not like this, never like this.”

  He inclined his head. “Then I am going out,” he said.

  She started in surprise.

  “Madam? I believe I will join my brothers at White’s.” He nodded at her and abruptly walked out.

  She stared after him in shock.

  And that night, he did not return.

  DAWN ARRIVED, DARK and grim.

  Devlin had spent the past two days out of the house. He did not sleep at home, either, and Virginia learned from a servant that he was sleeping on his ship. At least, she thought, he had not gone to another woman.

  But their marriage was over and she knew it. There did not seem to be any possibility of saving it.

  Her depression knew no bounds. Her world had become dark and black. She could not sleep at night, nor could she get out of bed in the morning. She had no appetite, never mind the child growing inside of her womb. She wept frequently and ignored Hannah’s worried glances.