De Warenne Dynasty: The Prize Part 45

That was good. "And William?"

"In the library, my lady."

Her heart raced. She despised William and sometimes she was even afraid of him, but there was no choice. She hurried through the house, purposefully not looking at the patches of peeling paint, the scarred tabletops or the cracked floors. The library door was closed; she hesitated and then walked in.

William sat at the desk with a quill in hand. He looked up, vastly displeased with the impolitic interruption.

"I must speak with you," she said, closing the door behind her.

His brows lifted. "Really? How odd," he said, standing. And his gaze moved over her in a s.e.xually suggestive manner.

He made her want to vomit. She had not a doubt that if she were willing, he would bend her over that desk and do as he pleased. "Miss Hughes was just here."

His eyes widened. "What did she want?"

Elizabeth shrugged-she would never tell him anything without very carefully deciding whom it might aid and whom it might hurt. "What does O'Neill want with us?"

"In general, or specifically?" he asked coldly.

She did not understand him. "I think something odd is afoot. First myself, now my niece. And then there is Waverly Hall. I also heard he wished to kill Thomas at the Carew ball. Can you explain this?"

William left his desk.

She stiffened as he approached.

"There is little to understand, now, is there...Mother? He tired of you and he chose a far prettier, far younger figure and face."

She felt her cheeks heat.

He stood an inch away. "He has asked for a ransom for Miss Hughes."

She was stunned. "What?"

"That's right. You see, my dear stepmother, it is all quite simple-and quite clever. He has kept her a prisoner, and when we refused to pay his ransom, he decided to destroy this family in reputation as he could not do so in finance."

Elizabeth was stunned. "She was never a real mistress...."

"Oh, he made her his mistress, all right. I do think that is obvious. But it had nothing to do with love, or even l.u.s.t, so you can rest more easily. You lost only to revenge. You see, your dear husband murdered O'Neill's father years ago, and we have been paying the price ever since."

VIRGINIA CROUCHED IN THE TREES, shivering, as the drizzle turned to rain. She wished the fine weather in Hampshire had extended to London, but it had not-by the time she had reached town, rain threatened, and she was regretting not accepting the countess's offer of tea and cakes, as she had not eaten a thing all day. Even more so, she regretted the countess's state of finances. It had seemed clear that she was a compa.s.sionate woman and that she would have helped Virginia if she could have done so.

Virginia trembled with cold and felt faint from hunger. She had had the coach drop her at the gated entrance to the de Warenne Mayfair home. Then, when the coach had turned back to return to Eastleigh Hall, she had climbed the iron-topped brick wall. Keeping to the shrubs and trees, she had crossed the lawns, but perhaps because of the inclement weather, she had seen no sign of anyone. It was late afternoon and she was exhausted. Tyrell de Warenne was her very last hope.

Please let him help me, she prayed.

She hoped to meet with him in secret and planned to wait for him to emerge from the house. And if he did not intend to go out that evening, due to the rain? She imagined that she would sleep in the stables and try to accost him the following morning. But G.o.d, what kind of plan was this? Her teeth were chattering from the cold and her hiding place-a stand of trees not far from one of the stables-was rapidly becoming useless. She felt like dashing to the stables now and finding a dry place to hide.

But she didn't dare move-she needed a good view of the house, she needed to speak with Tyrell tonight, if at all possible. Virginia did not know how long she waited in the wind and the rain before there was any activity. A groom appeared, leading a fancy bay from the stables. The rain had stopped although the skies remained dull, and even though it looked as if it might rain again before the night was through, the bay horse was tacked. Virginia did not know who was in residence, but she doubted that the earl would go out at this hour, alone and on horseback. She almost cried out in relief when she saw Tyrell striding down the front steps of the house, a dashing figure in his coat, britches and high boots, a dark cloak draped about his shoulders.

He strode toward the courtyard in front of the stables, taking the reins from the groom. As they spoke, Virginia stood, watching for a moment, wishing desperately that the interview was over and he had agreed to help her leave England. Her gaze moved back to the house, but no one else appeared. Her heart racing, she stepped out of the shadow of the trees and hurried toward him.

The groom was about to leave and Tyrell looked ready to mount. They both saw her at the same time; Tyrell's eyes widened. "Virginia?" He was incredulous.

She tried to smile, no easy task when she was trembling almost convulsively from the damp cold. "My lord, please, do wait! I desperately need to speak with you."

He shoved the reins at the groom, hurrying toward her. "What in G.o.d's name is this? You're frozen and soaking wet-how did you get here? Did you walk from Waverly Hall?" he cried.

He was clearly concerned. Virginia managed a smile. "I am only a little bit cold and slightly damp," she lied. "Please, my lord, I desperately need to discuss an urgent matter with you!"

"We can discuss anything that you wish, but first, you must come inside, get into some dry clothes and sit in front of a fire!" he exclaimed.

"No!" she cried, backing away as he took her arm.

"I beg your pardon?" He started, surprised, his dark gaze searching hers.

She swallowed. "I cannot go inside."

He stared carefully; his expression became grim. "Why ever not?"

She inhaled, and then she dared to trust him. "I have run away," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "I have run away from Devlin and I beg you now to keep my secret and help me get to America."

VIRGINIA SAT IN THE LIBRARY before a blazing fire, wearing one of the countess's gowns, which was quite large on her, a blanket wrapped around her, while she sipped hot tea laced with whiskey. As it turned out, the earl and countess had left for a dinner party. As warmth finally seeped through her, chasing away the cold, she became aware of an exhaustion that was far more than physical-it seemed to emanate from her very heart, and maybe from her soul. Tyrell had already proved himself as gallant as a gentleman could be; she knew he would help her. Tomorrow she might be on her way across the ocean.

Devlin's gray eyes a.s.sailed her, not cold and remote, but blazing with anger. She had no doubt that, just then, he was furious with her.

She would never see him again.

Her heart lurched. Grief choked her. But this was what she wanted; to escape him forever, to never see him again-unless it was years from now, when she was married and truly in love with a fine, heroic man, and she would be so beautiful and so happy and Devlin would know just what he had lost.

Grief made it impossible to drink and she set her teacup aside.

She closed her eyes. I am not going to go back to Waverly Hall; I can never hate him, but I do not love him, not anymore; I am going home.

Her silent words, partly a declaration, partly a reminder, felt terribly hollow.

She sighed heavily and looked up.

Tyrell was pacing the room. He seemed grim. She was so tired she could not quite recall exactly what she had said to him when he had carried her into the house after finding her outside in the rain.

He paused before her. "Virginia?"

She clutched the arms of the chair, incapable of smiling. "Thank you for being so kind."

He did not smile or soften. "Send word to Devlin. If you have run away, he must be frantic by now."

"No!" She was wide awake now, adrenaline surging. "Trust me, he does not care-I am quite sure he is relieved!"

"You are bitter," he remarked, staring closely.

"I am not bitter." But her words felt so much like a lie.

"I don't understand. Father announced the news last night-wonderful news, I think."

"I am not marrying him," she gritted. And that image returned, of her in her wedding clothes, Devlin in his dress uniform beside her in an ancient church.

Never, she told herself with some panic.

"Why not?" Tyrell demanded.

"Why not?" she exclaimed. "The man abducted me, held me prisoner, demanded we live openly together-all for the sake of his obsession. And two nights ago he almost killed my cousin. Why not? I have given you four reasons why not, five if you count the fact that I am merely a p.a.w.n in his game of revenge."

"You are bitter and angry and I cannot blame you. He has treated you abominably, but he has agreed to marry you, and that is the just outcome, I think."

"Just for whom?" she cried. "For him? I think not-he has no wish to be shackled to me in marriage. Just for me? He doesn't love me! Not at all!" she cried. Then, trembling, she said, "I only wish to go home to my plantation."

He looked distraught. "I am afraid your anger gets the best of you. It is the only way to save your reputation, Virginia."

"I don't care about my reputation."

He was grim. "Then it is a good thing that I do, and that my father and stepmother also care." His tone softened. "We have all become quite fond of you, Virginia. And Devlin is a very eligible bachelor. He must wed-and why not you?" He smiled. "You may be small, but your spirit is huge, and I happen to think there is more here than meets the eye. I think it is a good match."

She leapt to her feet. "It is not a good match! I do not want to spend my life with that man! In fact, I cannot bear to ever set eyes upon him again!" And if she left tomorrow as she planned, she would surely never see him again.

Oh, G.o.d, could she really do this? Somehow, a part of her could not imagine a life without Devlin O'Neill in it.

"And you expect me to do what? Hide you here? Send you to America? What is it that you think I can-or will-do?"

"I beg you, my lord, to loan me the sum of a transatlantic fare. I promise to repay you, though it may take some time." Their stares held for a pregnant moment.

He looked away. "And where do you go when you reach the United States? If you reach it-as we are at war with your country. And what do you do when you get there?"

"I am going to Sweet Briar-"

"It belongs to your uncle. And he has put it up for sale. For all we know, it has already been sold and you have no home to return to," he said, his eyes flashing. "This is madness, Virginia, sheer madness, and I cannot be a part of it."

"You deny me?" she cried, stunned.

He stared, his face set. "I am looking after you, Virginia. It is your best interest that I have in mind."

"No, it's not," she cried, furious and appalled. "You are my very last hope! Why can't you see? I will not marry that man, it is simply intolerable after all he has done!"

Devlin strode in. He swept his damp cloak behind his back and bowed briefly. "I am sorry you feel that way, madam," he said, his eyes flashing.

Her heart seemed to stop. In shock, she stared, and sensing danger, she backed up.

His face was so hard. The only emotion evident was anger. He now nodded at Tyrell. "I have had my men searching the streets of London for her. I should have guessed she would come to you. Thank you, Ty, for sending me word."

"You have many broken fences to mend," he said. "She is very angry with you, as she should be."

"I can see that," Devlin said, looking at Virginia again.

Virginia realized that while she had been bathing and changing clothes, Tyrell had sent word to Devlin. "You have betrayed me," she cried, shaking with anger now. "I thought you were my friend. I trusted you!"

"I am your friend," he said, his expression one of regret. "I sincerely think only of your best interest, and I think-I hope-in time that you will be thankful for what I did."

"You are not my friend," she whispered, still stunned by his treachery.

He bowed and left.

Devlin walked after him, but only to close the door and then face Virginia again. "What madness is this? Do you think to commit suicide?"

"No," she gritted, "I only think to avoid marriage to you!"

"By catching pneumonia and dying?" he demanded.

"You do not want this, either! Send me home, Devlin, and we will both be free!"

"I am afraid I have agreed to this union."

She swatted at her tears. "I can hardly comprehend why."

His face was taut, indicating some tension, but he did not hesitate. "They are right."

"They are right? The earl and countess are right? You now accept blame-and guilt-for your actions?"

"I do."

"You lie!" She advanced. "You have no guilt, no regrets!"

He was motionless. It was a long moment before he spoke and when he did, it was slowly, with the utmost care. "Actually, you are very wrong, Virginia. I do have guilt, and I have had so for some time. The other night at Lord Carew's made it impossible for me to deny it. I regret using you as I have."

She could no longer breathe. Was this the truth?

"I am sorry I brought you into this," he added grimly. "And now I will pay the price of having used you so callously. It is what an honorable man would do."

She was afraid to believe him-and she reminded herself that this change of heart had nothing to do with love. But it was a change of heart. It was evidence of a conscience, of a soul.

"I see I have dumbfounded you," he said with some self-derision. He walked past her toward the liquor bottles placed on a nearby table. "I am rather dumbfounded myself. A brandy should warm you far better than a cup of tea."

"The tea is laced with whiskey." She stared at him as he poured. She was stunned and she did not know what to think or what to feel. He was sorry. He was genuinely sorry. But what did it change? He had hurt her too many times. She knew if she married him, he would hurt her again and again. A conscience was not love. Behaving honorably was only that.

He faced her, a snifter in hand. "My mother is planning a wedding for the twelfth of December-two days before I set sail."

Her pulse began a heavy, rapid beat. "I saw your orders," she said stiffly.

He stared, his expression a mask devoid of emotion.

"You go to war against my country, my countrymen. What kind of marriage is that?"