De Warenne Dynasty: The Prize Part 33

Her nipples were taut and so was her s.e.x. She wanted to cover herself. "I was not crying. Please hand me my towel," she said calmly.

His lashes lowered, shielding the gleam in his eyes. He walked over to the chair where she had left her towel, that action bringing him dangerously close to the tub. He lifted it and held it wide open for her.

She inhaled harshly, having no intention of getting out of the tub and letting him wrap her in the cloth. "Just hand it to me," she said.

"Of course," he murmured, stepping over to the edge of the tub.

Virginia stood, reaching for the towel, ripping it from his hands. She quickly wrapped it around her naked body, still knee-deep in the bathwater.

He reached for her.

"Don't," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

He froze, his arm extended but not touching her. Then he gripped her arm. "I am only helping you out so you do not fall and break your neck."

"How kind," she said tightly.

"I have never pretended to be kind."

"We are friends now."

"A mere bargain does not make a friendship."

"So now you are a philosopher?" she cried furiously. She tried to fling him off.

"Step out of the tub, Virginia," he said, his expression strained.

She stepped out, and the moment she had both feet on the wood floor, he released her. "I didn't know it would be this hard!" she cried.

He stared, silent.

"Those men made me feel like a wh.o.r.e."

He hesitated. "I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she cried wildly.

"Actually, yes, I am."

"How relieved I am, you have some capacity for compa.s.sion in you," she said, marching past him and into the bedroom.

He followed. "I have changed my mind. We won't stay here long. London will be easier."

"Why?" She faced him. "Because there are many mistresses there-and many wh.o.r.es?"

"You are not a wh.o.r.e, Virginia."

"Tell Lord Aston and his friend." Then, because he continued to stare, she flung, "And tell yourself, as you have certainly looked at me as if I am!"

His expression hardened. "I have never looked at you as if you are a wh.o.r.e. No one knows better than I that you are practically a virgin. No one!"

She could only stare, as he was almost shouting. What did this loss of control signify?

He calmed. "And I was not looking at you as if you were a wh.o.r.e."

"Oh, you did not stare at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and..." She could not continue and she felt her face flame.

"I was merely admiring a beautiful woman." He stalked out.

His words sank in. She ran to the door and stared after him in real surprise.

WHEN HIS BROTHER WALKED into the library, having just arrived from London, William threw his quill aside and did not stand up. He stared at him, a slender, handsome man with the pale blue eyes the Hughes men were renowned for, and he scowled. Thomas Hughes, Lord Captain R.N., was in his naval uniform, and he slapped a pair of gloves down on the desk. "I hope that there is a d.a.m.ned good reason you have called me down to Eastleigh, Will," Tom said bluntly.

"I sent you a letter a week ago!" William exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

"I had matters at the Admiralty I could not leave unattended," Tom said darkly. "We are in a war, Will, or have you forgotten? Actually, we are in two wars, as the d.a.m.ned colonials have gotten their feathers all trussed up after all that squawking no one gave any credence to. Did you hear the latest? We lost the Macedonian and the Frolic."

Will calmed. "No, I haven't heard-not two of His Majesty's battleships?"

"They were both frigates. Amazingly, those b.l.o.o.d.y colonials seem to know how to sail and, worse, how to fight." He turned away from his brother and began to pace.

"It was pure luck, I am sure. There is simply no way the American navy, which I read has maybe a dozen old ships, can engage our fleet and survive."

"I agree-and that is the thinking at the Admiralty." Tom turned, legs planted apart. "But they also captured the Detroit, the Guerriere and the Caledonia last month. We are routing them in Canada, however."

"That is also rather amazing," William murmured, as everyone he knew believed the war on land in Canada a certain lost cause, since the British and their Indian allies were terribly outnumbered and the question of supplies was insoluble.

"Liverpool came down yesterday. I was asked to be at the meeting by Admiral St. John. He is forever sticking his nose in our business! He does not want any more lost battles at sea. He is furious over our losses there," Tom said harshly.

William straightened, struck with a notion. "This might be good news, actually."

"How so?" Tom sat in a large and fading red damask bergere chair.

William walked to stand before the empty and cold fireplace. "I asked you to come home because O'Neill has taken up residence in Wideacre, although my sources tell me he plans to leave for London in another day."

Tom made a disparaging sound. Hatred filled his eyes. "Ignore the rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"That's a little hard to do when he is holding our cousin hostage, demanding a ransom and parading her about Hampshire as his mistress," William said with a grim smile.

"What?" Tom shot to his feet.

"I do believe you heard my every word," William said coolly. "The son of a b.i.t.c.h is living openly with her! It is beyond shocking. And he has demanded fifteen thousand pounds. Fifteen thousand!"

Tom had turned starkly white.

"The scoundrel flaunts her in good society, dragging our name through the mud, ruining us all by a.s.sociation! So far I have kept this whole scandalous affair from Father, but he will learn of it sooner or later. I am receiving three or four callers a day, and eventually everyone wants to know about my cousin! It has become awkward and humiliating and we need to stop this lunatic from furthering his d.a.m.nable game. But of course, we are not paying one pound for her release!"

"Good G.o.d, what the h.e.l.l does O'Neill want? Other than the ransom? Why does he hound us this way? I knew he was the sc.u.m of the earth, but to destroy a young woman this way? And he knows we have no funds!"

"I wish to G.o.d I knew why he has chosen us to hound," William muttered. "But there is simply no possible explanation."

Tom folded his arms across his chest. "You know the Admiralty almost got him, back in June. He disobeyed orders yet again, failed to complete his tour. He somehow talked his way out of a court-martial. Is the countess still sleeping with him?"

"She returned from town yesterday. I feel certain she is home because he is just down the road," William returned.

"I have had it with O'Neill. First my mistress, next our stepmother, and now our cousin. Who is next? Our stepsister? The man has a reason for what he is doing, and it is, I think, time we found out what that reason is."

"I think I may have a solution, Tom."

"Do tell."

"Send O'Neill over to America. The navy is losing battles at sea over there. Why, who better to engage the Americans? Is not O'Neill the scourge of the seas? Undefeatable?" William smiled. "You do still have Farnham's ear."

"That's a b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant idea," Tom said. Suddenly a movement caused him to start. He turned and saw his father standing in the doorway. "Father!"

Eastleigh smiled at his younger son, his expression impossible to read, just as deciding how long he had been standing there was also impossible. "Thomas. I did not know you had come down from town. How wonderful this is. When did you arrive?" He sauntered into the room, his gaze hooded, and as always, his tone held a sardonic note.

Tom politely kissed his father's cheek. "Just a moment ago. You look well, Father," he lied, for Eastleigh had to have put on another stone since the summer.

"I am very well." Eastleigh glanced sidelong at William. "And hardly in my grave yet. What are you two discussing? Did I hear you mention our new neighbor, the so very heroic Devlin O'Neill?" Mockery crept into his tone.

William and Tom exchanged glances. The earl's heir apparent spoke. "You do nothing, Father, nothing, while O'Neill p.r.i.c.ks us with this dalliance of his. The situation has become a crisis and we are all being played for fools. I can hardly hold my head high while out in public!"

Eastleigh chuckled. "The only fool is O'Neill, as he can strut the tart about the royal court for all I care and it will do him no good."

Tom and William looked at each other again. Tom stepped forward. "He hates us, that much is clear. And now it becomes clear that you hate him as well. Why? Why, Father? d.a.m.n it, you owe us an explanation-if one is to be had!"

"He stole my fastest stallion, my best dogs, my favorite house. And now he has my brother's daughter in his bed and you ask me why?" His bushy brows lifted. "I have every reason to despise the man, who claims to be a gentleman but is actually a pirate."

"No." Tom confronted his father, his legs braced wide apart. He was half his size and far shorter. "Why does he seek to punish you? And us? Why?"

"Because he is a b.l.o.o.d.y savage, that's why, exactly like his father," Eastleigh said.

William and Tom exchanged startled glances. "You knew his father?" William asked in real surprise.

"Knew him?" Now Eastleigh smiled widely. "I killed him, my boy, in the coldest blood."

SHE SIMPLY REFUSED TO believe it.

The Countess of Eastleigh sat rigidly in her personal coach, her husband's coat of arms engraved on a gold banner on each side, resplendently dressed in a low-cut ruby-red silk dress and a black pelisse. Her gloved hands were clasped in her lap and she found it hard to breathe. This was impossible, was it not?

She had heard the rumor in London from a lady friend whom Elizabeth suspected guessed of her affair. That friend, Lady Farthingham, had mentioned over tea that Captain Devlin O'Neill was at his country estate in Hampshire, apparently with a new mistress whom he was openly abiding with. Elizabeth had not believed it, although at the time her smile had been plastered in place and her heart had raced. Devlin was many things, but he was a gentleman and gentlemen did not live with any woman out of wedlock. She had finally shrugged at Celia, saying she doubted he would spend any time on his new property, as she knew the place well and it was entirely rundown.

And she did know it well, as it was so close to Eastleigh. In fact, she had been to Wideacre on many occasions before its previous owner had pa.s.sed away without any heirs. Devlin had also mentioned the manor once or twice in the time she had seen him over the summer in London, difficult times in which he had been immersed in a hearing, fighting for his survival. He had mentioned the old manor with very little interest. She had told him what she knew about it, but he had only shrugged. He had murmured once, "I doubt I will ever actually see it." Elizabeth had known he had meant his words.

Two days ago she had heard the same rumor that he was at his country estate in Hampshire. Elizabeth had been surprised and dismayed. She was in London-and he was within miles of her home at Eastleigh. She'd left the ball early, ordered her maid to pack her things, and they had returned to Eastleigh the following day.

It was all she could do not to rush over to Wideacre the moment she arrived home, but not only did she need to visit her husband and concern herself over his welfare and health, she had two daughters she dearly loved and missed. Instead, she had seen to Eastleigh's health and had spent the day with the girls. It was her stepson, William, who had casually let the cannonball drop.

"I suppose you have heard about our new neighbor, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth sat outside, watching her younger daughter riding sidesaddle over a series of small jumps. She applauded enthusiastically. Not looking at William, she had said, "I beg your pardon?" She very much disliked her eldest stepson.

"Oh, come!" He sat down next to her in a lawn chair, his long legs sprawling out. "My, Lila is such a fine horsewoman." He faced her, his face too close for comfort. "We both know why you have hurried so quickly home in the midst of the new season!"

"William, I have no idea what you are speaking of," she had returned, standing and fanning herself. "Lila!" she called as her daughter rode her chestnut horse up to the edge of the terrace. "That was wonderful, simply wonderful!"

"Thank you, Mother." Lila beamed, her blue eyes sparkling. She whirled the horse and cantered off, clearly wishing to impress yet again.

William also stood, just behind her, uncomfortably close. When he spoke, it was in a whisper, and his mouth practically touched her ear. "Devlin O'Neill is in residence at Wideacre, and he has openly installed his mistress there."

And Elizabeth's heart had stopped.

Now she saw the brick pillars and the drive just ahead. Her heart felt as if it were lodged rudely in her throat. And there it burned. This was a mistake, she thought, a terrible mistake. Devlin could not possibly have a mistress at Wideacre-she was his mistress!

Of course, she had always known there were other women. But she did not care about Spanish barmaids and Sicilian wh.o.r.es. She did not care what he did when he was gone for months on end on a tour.

She did care, very much, what he was doing now.

VIRGINIA HAD ESCAPED THE house hours ago, taking a very long walk into the village and back. Now, as she entered the drive, she saw the carriage parked in front of the manor and froze. Dread began. She firmly-grimly-shoved it aside. Three days had pa.s.sed since their first caller and there had been a dozen callers since. Apparently half of Hampshire knew that the infamous Captain O'Neill was living openly with his mistress and everyone had to come see for him or herself. She thought she was playing the game well. She kept her head high, her tone soft, she called him darling, touched and kissed his cheek, and the scandalmongers were satisfied. Devlin was satisfied. Only she knew how hard it had all become.

She hated every moment. It was like being a fish in a fishbowl. Or worse, it was like being a naked woman in a fishbowl, gawked at by lechers with terrible intent. And Devlin did not seem to care. But then, she would never let him know that the game had become such a terrible indignity.

She paused, staring at the front of the stone house, hugging herself. She was simply not up to another performance; she was not up to a severe and judgmental inspection. She debated going back to the road and continuing her walk when she noticed the banner on the carriage.

She knew it well. Her father had had a book of coat of arms and she had been shown the Eastleigh emblems at an early age. Her heart lurched. She did not know whether to be thrilled or dismayed. But Eastleigh must have come to pay her ransom. And maybe it was time to give up, maybe it was time to simply go home.

A part of her shrieked inwardly, refusing to be such a coward. Virginia ignored the silent tantrum, but as she hurried toward the house she wondered how easy-or how hard-it would be to walk away from Devlin O'Neill now.

"They are in the library, Miss Hughes," Tompkins said, his eyes wide. And he was not smiling.

Virginia halted, confused. Devlin always entertained their callers in the parlor. And Tompkins always smiled. "Is something amiss?" she dared to ask.

His smile appeared, terribly strained. "Of course not. They are behind closed doors," he added with significance.

Virginia had been about to walk away. She halted and looked right at the butler. "It is my uncle, the Earl of Eastleigh?" she asked.

"It is the countess," he said.

Virginia blinked. How odd, she thought, instantly envisioning an old woman as fat and gray as her husband. But maybe the countess had come to ransom her, as the earl seemed so feeble. She started forward, began to open the door, and the moment she did so, she heard the soft, cultured and sensual tone of a woman who was neither old nor feeble. The tone was of a young woman in distress.

Virginia froze.

"I don't understand this, Devlin."

The countess was calling him Devlin? Virginia peeked past the door, which was ajar by mere inches. She gasped.

A very beautiful blond woman, old enough to be William Hughes's wife, not Eastleigh's, stood facing Devlin, clearly aggrieved. She was more than lovely; she had a lush, seductive figure and a face of terrible, haunting beauty. Beyond dismayed, Virginia's gaze shot to Devlin, but his face was a mask, impossible to read.