De Warenne Dynasty: The Prize Part 42

He was grim, torn, confused. It was hard to breathe. Tension filled his body as if he had not been s.e.xually sated a single time. He did not have to close his eyes to see Virginia lying in his arms, smiling warmly at him, love shining in her eyes.

What was happening to him?

When he had discovered her being mauled by Tom Hughes, he had actually seen red, wanting to kill the man for daring to trespa.s.s on what was his, for daring to hurt her. His murderous rage had had nothing to do with his father's murder and everything to do with his feelings for Virginia.

He trembled violently now. He was no fool. Virginia was not his and she never would be his. Yet he had never touched or kissed any woman the way that he had done last night, and insist as he might to himself that it all meant nothing, in his heart he knew differently. Somehow, his admiration for his captive had become something far more-something far worse.

He reached for his Scotch and found the gla.s.s empty. Grimly he stared at it. No amount of Scotch would erase what he had done-from the very first, when he had taken Virginia as his hostage, intending to use her so callously as a tool of revenge, to this last devastating plan to flaunt her in society as his lover.

The moment he had first seen Virginia in the hold of the Americana, he had known that he should not abduct her-with the finely honed instincts of a true warrior, he had known he should jettison his plan and avoid her at all costs. Instead, he had held true to a fatal course, she the mighty storm and he the tiny sloop. And now their course was run, having come to this final, singular moment in time.

He lurched to his feet with a curse. He could no longer subject her to his whims. He could no longer use her in his terrible scheme. He wished, desperately, that he had not made love to her, not ever. Family and love were not for him.

Eastleigh would still have to pay-Devlin's revenge was hardly complete-but Virginia had paid far more than she ever should have, and now he hated himself for all that he had done.

He strode to the hearth, where last night's embers glowed. He had received his new orders and he was leaving shortly for America. Before then, he needed to free her and he would take her home. At Sweet Briar, there would be no malicious slander to haunt her. In fact, she would probably forget all about him in the span of a few months.

Inside his chest, it almost felt as if the devil were ripping his heart in two.

Are you in love with this girl? Tyrell had asked.

He was not. He had never experienced the emotion, and he never would. He knew that for a fact.

Devlin returned to his desk, trying not to contemplate the fact that once Virginia had returned to her plantation, their paths would never again cross. Almost ill, he began to pen instructions to his solicitor to purchase Sweet Briar anonymously from Eastleigh on his behalf. He would give her the plantation in a very futile attempt to make amends. He did not seek forgiveness-he did not deserve it.

And then, when Virginia was gone, he would finish Eastleigh, one way or the other.

Because the stakes had forever changed and now there was nothing left to lose.

VIRGINIA HESITATED OUTSIDE of the closed library door where she had been told that Devlin was. It was almost noon and she had recently awoken. She could think of nothing other than her lover. Last night he had made love to her. She knew it the way she knew that the air she breathed was filled with oxygen. Everything had changed between them. She hardly knew why-she only knew she had to race back into his welcoming arms, to make sure the night had not been a dream.

But she hesitated because their long history had taught her how ruthless and unpredictable he could be. A part of her recalled every slight and hurt, every single rejection, and that part of her was almost faint with dread. But last night had not been a dream.

She smoothed down her lovely gown and knocked on the door. "Devlin?"

There was no answer.

Virginia opened the door and glanced inside. The room was empty. She saw a stack of letters on his desk, one unsealed, and a cup and saucer. She walked in, and at the desk, saw that the teacup was half-full. She touched the cup and found it warm-he had only just stepped out.

And then her gaze fell onto the letter that lay open in the center of the desk. Her gaze widened and she glanced up, but Devlin had not appeared in the doorway. Somewhat guiltily, she lifted the letter and read.

Lord Admiral St. John to Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill Waverly Hall Greenwich November 20, 1812 Sir Captain O'Neill, Please be advised of the following. Your orders are to proceed by December the 14 to the coasts of Maryland and Virginia, where you shall commence the blockade of the Delaware and Chesapeake Bays in conjunction with the HMS Southampton, the HMS Java and the HMS Peac.o.c.k. All American vessels are subject to search and seizure. A determination is to be made thereof, and any American vessels, including non-naval ships, deemed to be engaged in military action, are to be seized or destroyed. All efforts are to be made to avoid harmful intercourse with American noncombatants; any suspicion of military involvement on the part of such American civilians is to be investigated and treated accordingly with His Majesty's rules of engagement.

The Right Honorable Lord Admiral St. John The Admiralty 13 Brook Street West Square Virginia trembled violently and set the letter containing Devlin's orders down. Devlin was leaving to go to war and he was leaving soon-within two weeks. She trembled, sick with fear for his safety.

She inhaled raggedly, reminding herself that Devlin had been going to war since he was a boy of thirteen. It did not help-she feared for his welfare now. She feared for his life.

And then she thought about the rest of his orders. She grasped the back of his chair. Dear G.o.d, he was going to war against her country. His orders were to seize and destroy any American naval ships and any other vessels suspected of military involvement. He would be fighting her country and her people within miles of her home. And suddenly it was so terribly clear that there was a war raging on the Atlantic Ocean and on American soil, a war between his country and hers.

"Virginia?"

She started and saw him approaching. She swallowed and said, "I did not mean to pry. I was looking for you. I saw your orders."

He paused, glancing at the open letter. "My orders are cla.s.sified." His gaze was steady upon hers.

"Cla.s.sified?"

"They are meant only for my eyes and those of the Admiralty and the Department of War."

"I am sorry." She was breathless; she didn't know what to do now. "You're leaving?"

"Yes." He was staring grimly at her. "As soon as possible."

He could have merely acknowledged the fact; his choice of words was a dark blow. She gripped the desk. "As soon as possible?" she echoed.

His gaze did not waver. "Yes."

Surely this did not mean anything, surely this had nothing to do with her or the night they had shared. She wet her lips. Her pulse pounded. "Can you not delay awhile?"

"I don't think so." He faced her soberly. "I will take you home-back to Virginia."

Her heart felt as if it had dropped right out of her body and through the floor. "What?"

He was far more grim than before. "I will find another way to ruin Eastleigh. It's time for you to go."

Virginia sank down in his chair. She was in utter disbelief. He would send her away now? After their pa.s.sion, their love? "But..."

"But what?" he asked too sharply.

"But last night," she implored. "Everything is different now...isn't it?" And she prayed she would not cry.

He did not look at her, pouring a drink. Were his hands shaking? "You need to be freed, that fact has not changed."

She was quickly becoming devastated. "But," she said, frozen on the inside, and on the outside, too, "but we made love last night."

He tossed back a shot. "Don't," he warned.

Virginia managed to stand up, holding on to his desk as she did so. "I know it," she insisted stubbornly.

He finally looked at her, his face taut, his expression so similar to the one he'd worn last night after the ball. "I do not want to hurt you again, Virginia."

"Then do not do so," she cried.

"Why do you still demand the impossible of me?" he cried in return. "Why not leave this alone? I will return you to Sweet Briar. This is what you want!"

She stared, her heart, so badly pierced, beginning to break apart into small pieces. "It's not what I want," she whispered.

He stiffened and he was clearly angry. "Do not ask me to give you something I cannot, and will not, give."

The tears fell. She could not stop them. She stared, and with the hurt, there was almost hatred. "So it meant nothing...last night?"

He drew his shoulders back. "I enjoyed myself very much, Virginia, as I know you did, too. But it meant nothing."

She cried out, and had she been closer, she would have struck his handsome face.

"Clearly, I should not have given in to my pa.s.sion last night. You are too young and too innocent to understand men, Virginia-and I am only a man, and not a romantic one. I am sorry. I am sorry you think last night meant more than it did. Now, I have a ship to attend to." His shoulders squared, he turned and started for the door.

She somehow stood. Her tone sounded frigid to her own ears. "How odd it is," she said harshly.

He froze but did not turn.

"They say love and hate are the opposite sides of the same coin. I never understood that before."

He stiffened even more-and he looked back at her.

She smiled without any mirth. "Last night I gave myself to you with joy and love."

He stared, no expression on his face or in his eyes, none at all.

"Today there is only hate." And even as she heard herself utter the terrible words, she wished she had not-she hated herself, too, for her cruelty.

His face twisted and he bowed. "It is your right. Good day, Virginia." He walked out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

DEVLIN TOOK THE WIDE front steps to the Admiralty two at a time, his mouth set in a grim line. He had received notice of this meeting but an hour ago. He had been expecting such notice; after all, all of London would be talking about the affair last night and the befuddled old men in blue were no exception. His conduct had not been that befitting an officer and a gentleman.

Other officers and their aides were coming and going; Devlin did not nod at anyone, as he saw no one. A beautiful pale face with furious violet eyes haunted him instead. Last night I gave myself to you with joy and love. Today there is only hate.

His mouth twisted. There was a terrible piercing in his chest as her hurtful declaration echoed, but he was glad, fiercely so, that she had come to her senses. He deserved only hatred, not love, and he was relieved, as fiercely, that finally she would cease imploring him with her every manner to love her in return.

"Captain O'Neill, sir?" A young lieutenant was waiting for him inside at the top of the marble staircase.

Devlin shoved his thoughts of Virginia aside. His feelings were not so easily shunted; both guilt and regret tormented him. He calmly accepted the lieutenant's salute. Inwardly he remained in turmoil.

"Admiral St. John is waiting, sir," the young officer added.

Devlin knew the way-how many times had he been called to Brook Street to be set down? A dozen, perhaps more. He preceded the junior officer down the hall, knocked on St. John's office door and was instructed to enter.

He did so, saluting smartly and giving no indication of any surprise or any other feeling when he noticed Admiral Farnham present. He removed his bicorn, tucking it under his arm, remaining at attention.

"Do sit down, Captain," St. John said, his florid expression grim.

Devlin nodded and took a chair.

St. John took his seat behind his desk, while Farnham sat in an adjacent chair. "I am very sorry to have called you in today," St. John said grimly, "especially after the most unpleasing hearing of last summer."

Devlin said nothing.

"The events of last night have come to my attention, rightly so. Do you care to explain yourself, Devlin?"

"Not really."

St. John sighed. "Tom Hughes has taken a dozen st.i.tches. His head is concussed. He states you attacked him unjustly and unfairly. How do you rebut?"

"He is well enough to make an accusatory statement?" Finally, Devlin smiled. "I should have inflicted far graver wounds, then."

St. John shot to his feet. "This is hardly amusing. This is conduct unbecoming an officer, sir."

Devlin also stood. "And the unprovoked a.s.sault on a lady of character is conduct becoming an officer?"

St. John was flushed now. "I beg your pardon, but a woman of no virtue has no character."

Devlin stiffened, real anger rushing through him; he controlled it. "Miss Hughes is the Earl of Eastleigh's niece. She is a gentlewoman of both character and virtue."

"Do you deny that she is your mistress?" Farnham accused, still seated, his black eyes gleaming.

Devlin did not hesitate. "I do. I am afraid there have been malicious gossips at work-Miss Hughes has been my guest and nothing more."

Farnham snorted. "The world knows she is your mistress, Captain. A woman of no virtue, she undoubtedly provoked Tom's attentions."

"She did not," Devlin said flatly, fighting the urge to smash his fist in Farnham's large red nose. "Eastleigh's conduct should be at question here."

"Were you there?" St. John asked.

Devlin turned. "No."

"Hughes said she invited his interest, clearly and openly. She suggested he meet with her at a later date, perhaps on the morrow. She was so seductive he lost his patience, which is when you happened upon the scene."

Devlin's fury knew no bounds. "And it is the word of Thomas Hughes against the word of a wh.o.r.e?"

"Those are your words, not mine," St. John said. "Your attack on Tom was beyond the bounds of gentlemanly conduct. This is my last warning, Devlin. One more incident and you will be court-martialed on the aforementioned grounds. There is no room in His Majesty's navy for a ruffian and a scoundrel."

Devlin knew that once again this was a battle he must lose. Nothing ever changed. The admirals ranted and raved over his insubordination and independence, but in the end, he was always given his liberty again. They dared not lose his competence of command and his superiority in naval battle. This time, though, his heart knew no mocking triumph. This time, he felt ill.

Defend Virginia as he might, it was more than time for her to go. She had no future in Britain, thanks to him.

An honorable man would simply marry her.

He was astonished with his thoughts. He dismissed them instantly. An honorable man would have never used her so abominably in the first place.