The Prize (36 page)

"No!" She
stared at his hard profile. "Never," she added fiercely. She
hesitated and said, "I would return home, anyway."

"To what possible
life?"

She tensed. "I
really don't know." She looked up and found him watching her now, closely.
"It's been five months, Devlin, since I first came to
Ireland
. A child set sail on the
Americana
,
a cosseted, stubborn child, filled with
naive hope, and a woman will return, a grown woman who has experienced
something of the world. If Sweet Briar has been sold, I will go home anyway and
find some kind of livelihood."

It was a moment
before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was calm. "You are still a child,
Virginia, and hardly experienced. You are not suitable to take employment as a
schoolteacher or a governess," he said, "and I cannot see you as a
seamstress, either. Your best recourse would be marriage."

She inhaled harshly.
'To Sean?"

He seemed rigid. But
his gaze locked with hers. 'To Sean—or to some fellow American."

"If I ever
marry, it will be for love."

He made a harsh
sound. "As I said, you are still a child, and a naive one at that."

She tensed, anger
flaring. "Of course I appear a child in your worldly, jaded eyes. But
then, you did not think me much of a child when you had me in your bed."

His hands tightened
on the helm, his knuckles turning white.

She hesitated, torn,
the anger instantly vanishing. The evening had turned into a pleasant one. Her
only complaint was that she still felt a raw and terrible attraction for this
man. She

did not want to
argue, to fight. She wanted to continue a light but sincere and pleasant
conversation. She wanted to be friends.

His face seemed
flushed. For one moment—until he spoke—she did not know if it was with anger or
embarrassment. "Will we forever dredge up the past?"

She knew she had made
a terrible mistake. But she could no more stop herself from speaking what was
in her heart than she could from seizing his arm. "Please tell me one
thing, Devlin," she heard herself say quietly, with dignity and pride.
"It is very important to me.
How could you leave me like that afterward?"

There was no
mistaking the flash of silver in his eyes. "I had business in
London
," he said smoothly, and they both knew
it was an utter lie.

"Coward,"
she cried.

He straightened as if
shot. Slowly he turned wide, incredulous eyes on her. "What did you just
call me?"

Her heart raced with
some real alarm. "You heard me," she managed.

"A man would die
for such an utterance," he said very softly, as if he hadn't heard her
plea.

"I suppose I am
lucky I am not a man," she said as lightly as possible.

He did not smile at
her lame jest. "I have faced entire fleets alone,
Virginia
, choosing to engage, not run. I may be a
ruthless bastard, but I am not a coward."

She wet her lips. Her
heart pounded with destructive force. Her ears rang. "You are a coward
when it comes to personal matters," she said firmly. "And you sail
this sea merely to run."

His eyes widened with
more disbelief.

She decided she had
gone too far. She backed up. "But you are only heartless because of the
terrible circumstance of

your father's murder,
which you unfortunately witnessed. That would scar anyone, Devlin," she cried
in a rush. "But I understand you now, I do!"

His gray eyes huge
and disbelieving, he leaned over her. "If you are such an expert on my
character,
Virginia
, then you will know that you
expect more from me than I can ever give. I sincerely hope that you will return
to Askeaton after your ransom, that you will marry Sean—who loves you— and that
the past will be forever buried, where it belongs." He straightened.
"Red!" he barked. "Escort Miss Hughes below."

The first mate
materialized from the deck below.

"No!" She
stood her ground, refusing to move, although a terrible dismay and hurt claimed
her and she doubted herself, in spite of the conviction with which she spoke.
Because she wished to save this man, but feared it was impossible. "I
understand now! I understand your anger toward my uncle, your obsession with
revenge! No matter what you say and do, I am not the enemy, I am your
friend!"

Very grimly, Devlin
said, "Take her below."

"Aye aye, sir.
Miss Hughes? Captain says—"

"I am not afraid
of you, Devlin O'Neill," she flung, cutting the sailor off. "But
apparently, you are very afraid of me."

He had placed his
broad back squarely to her; now he whirled. "Why do you think to provoke
me?" He leaned close, actually leaving the helm, which Red seized with a
gasp of horror. "I suggest you rethink your position,
Virginia
, because you had damned well
better be afraid of me."

"I'm not,"
she lied, because now her heart was slamming in fear. "I'm just sorry, I
am so sorry about your father, and that's all I wanted to say!"

Devlin took her arm
and handed her over to Red. "Get her off of my quarterdeck," he said.

                             
295

* * *

October 29, 1812

Eastleigh Hall,
the south of Hampshire

William Hughes, Lord
Stuckey, heir to the earldom of
Eastleigh
,
strode into his father's suite of rooms without knocking. He was a man in his
mid-thirties, already a bit thick in the middle, dressed in a fine scarlet
coat, britches and stockings. He wore a number of rings, his hair was thick and
black and his attractive face was flushed. "Father!" he demanded,
his pale blue eyes flashing. He had a wife whom he did not care much for and
two children whom he adored.

The Earl of
Eastleigh, Harold Hughes, had once looked exactly like his son. Now he was a
very heavy man, hugely overweight, and because of it—and his penchant for tobacco—his
complexion was distinctly pasty. He wore his gray hair pulled tightly back, his
sideburns thick and long. At first glance, he seemed a well-dressed and wealthy
man. Only a second glance revealed that his once-fine gold velvet frock coat
was tired and worn. Only a second glance showed that his britches boasted
several stains that the laundress could not remove, that his stockings were
carefully turned so as to not reveal the beginning of a fine run or two. His
patent shoes gleamed but were heavily scratched, the soles so thin a hole might
soon be in the making.

Eastleigh
sat at the desk in the sitting
room that adjoined the master bedroom and William could not imagine what he was
penning that was so important. William ran the estate— or what was left of
it—along with the steward, Harris. Any regrets to be proffered due to the
social engagements his father refused to attend fell to his wife. His father
looked up, setting his quill aside.

"Father!"
William paused beside the desk and with some

disgust, he saw that
his father was composing a letter to a male friend, and the subject was horse
racing.

Eastleigh
clasped his hands calmly in
front of his face. "You seem upset, William. Do you bring me poor
tidings?"

William was furious.
They hovered on the brink of real destitution because of a single man—and he
did not know why Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill had decided to bring the Hughes
family down. But last month they had received an absurd letter from the man. He
claimed to have William's American cousin at his home in
Ireland
, as his
guest.
Apparently he had
taken her off the
Americana
as it foundered, saving her life. "As
graceful as my hospitality shall be, the time soon comes when Miss Hughes shall
wish to go forth to meet her British family," he had written. "I am
certain that such a reunion can be arranged to all parties' satisfaction."

William had no clue
as to what that odd statement meant. His father had read the note, torn it up
and put the pieces calmly in the fire. He had been utterly dismissive and
refused to discuss the subject at all. In fact, he never discussed anything
having to do with O'Neill, not since he had been forced to sell the man their
Greenwich
home.

"The
Defiance
has just sailed into
Southampton
port, Father, with that lunatic
O'Neill. I can only assume he has come to visit his new country home! What if
he thinks to stay in residence for a while, with Wideacre but miles from
Eastleigh
?"

Eastleigh
stood and laid his hand on his
son's shoulder. "He has every right to reside at Wideacre, if that is what
he wishes to do."

Impatiently, William
tore free and paced. "Goddamn it! I knew it was only a matter of time
before that scum of the earth would appear here, to taunt us beneath our very
nose! He must intend to take up residence at Wideacre. Damn those stupid fools
at the Admiralty! Damn them for letting him off

the hook again! I do
not understand how this hearing failed— Tom swore it would not!"

Eastleigh
folded his hands in front of
him. "I don't understand why you are so upset. It is not our affair if he
resides so close to us."

William whirled in
disbelief. "The man stole our home in
Greenwich
! He lives there like a goddamned king! He
stole Tom's mistress and flung it in his face! I happen to know that the
countess—" He stopped.

"The countess
what?"
Eastleigh
asked mildly, his brows lifted.

William stared,
trembling with his rage. Then he drew himself up stiffly, his mouth pursed. He
had discovered a year ago that his stepmother was having an affair with the man
he so hated. It was beyond belief and he had been outraged, enough so to
confront her about it. She had denied the entire affair, but he had managed to
hire a spy to confirm what he had already guessed. He didn't know why that, at
every turn, the goddamned pirate—and that was what he was, a pirate, not a
naval captain—was always there, a huge thorn in his side. It was as if O'Neill
were an avowed enemy of the Hughes family, but that, of course, made no sense.

And what did that
insane letter mean?

William grimaced.
"Nothing," he said. "Have you forgotten that absurd
letter?" he said more calmly.

"Of course not.
Perhaps he thinks to bring my brother's daughter to our doorstep? If she is
alive, if she truly lives and did not drown, we are indebted to him for saving
her, are we not?"

"Virginia Hughes
was on the
Americana
and it sank, Father, it foundered in a huge
storm, and there were no survivors." William confronted his father
angrily. "Devlin O'Neill has dared claim she lives, as his guest, in his
home, and I begin to suspect a fraudulent plan! She must think to pose as my

cousin in order to
secure some kind of allowance from us! Of course, we have nothing to
spare," he added in warning.

"We have nothing
to spare, but if she is alive, perhaps he deserves a reward,"
Eastleigh
said idly, toying with the letter
opener on his desk. It was a small, pearl-handled dagger.

William felt like
pulling his hair out. "Father! O'Neill has been trying to wound this
family for years. He has stolen everything we most love, but we do not know
why! And now you think to give him a reward? This is some scheme, Father. Virginia
Hughes is dead, there were no survivors, so some actress comes forth at
O'Neill's prodding to leech us of more blood."

"You have a
fanciful imagination, my boy,"
Eastleigh
said, walking over to the window, the small dagger in his hand. He stared
outside at lawns that had once been manicured but were now overgrown, as they
could not afford more than one gardener, and the gardens, once a riot of color
and bloom, were now decayed and devoid of life. He touched the dagger to his
finger and was rewarded wife the gleam of his blood. He smiled.

"I shall send
for Thomas," William decided, "because I have no doubt that O'Neill
will invite us to Wideacre in a neighborly gesture to meet the impostor. But
our cousin is dead. And we do not have the means to support her, anyway, am I
not correct, Father?" And William cared not one whit if the girl were his
cousin or not. As far as he was concerned, his cousin was dead—a very fortunate
circumstance, given their financial state and her being a sudden orphan and not
yet of an age to wed. As far as he was concerned, O'Neill was up to no good and
the woman was an impostor.

But why?

Why did O'Neill, as
controversial as he was, choose to toy with the Hughes family?

Eastleigh
turned. "Fine. Summon Tom.
The two of you can put your heads together and bemoan our loss of
fortune." He smiled, and it did not reach his eyes.