The Prize (44 page)

"A significant
portion of it does," Devlin returned. "But there is also terrible
squalor. I would never drive you through the human misery that exists side by
side with the opulence you are now witnessing."

She faced him
seriously. "Why not? We have horrible poverty at home, too. We simply do
not have so many displays of such lavish wealth."

"
Virginia
, you are a lady, and one does
shield the fair sex from such sights."

Exasperated, she
rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, please."

Then she narrowed her
gaze at him, aware that he was smiling at her, as if she were amusing. Her
heart sang a little, just a little bit. "At home we gave everything that
we could to the poor. Mama demanded it, and of course, Papa was happy to
oblige. Do you give to charity, Devlin?" She realized the question was
terribly important to her.

"Yes, I do. But
I give to the Irish poor, Virginia. The British can take care of their
own."

"Hunger and
sickness know no national boundaries," she remarked. She half turned and
saw that they were turning to race up a road that ran parallel to the
Thames
. Even larger, statelier homes lined its
banks. "Are we there yet?"

"Soon," he
said, a smile in his oddly soothing tone.

She glanced at him.
"Do not patronize me as if I am a child."

"You are as
excited as a child today."

"I hated
Wideacre!" The moment the words had erupted from her mouth, she regretted
them immensely. "I mean..." She faced him again, flushing. She did
not want him to ever guess how horrid it had been, being paraded about
Hampshire like that. "I mean that I much prefer to be in
London
, as I have never been here before."

But he had turned
away, gazing out of his own window.

Virginia
had the chance to stare at his
gorgeous profile and her body tightened, leaving her breathless and confused.
She would never forget the countess—how abused she had been, how hurt and how
utterly sensuous—so why did she still wish to be in his arms? And why couldn't
her heart move on, to far safer ground? For she would never forget the
countess's belated warning, either.

"You need a new
wardrobe," Devlin said suddenly. "I will see if Madame Didier can
accommodate us tomorrow."

She blinked. "I
hardly need new clothes." It was a terrible lie. Now that she no longer
lived in her britches and boots, she desperately needed a well-made dress or
two.

                             
365

"There will be
teas and that kind of thing, and there will be the occasional ball," he
said. "You need some day dresses and a ball gown."

A ball? But she
could not dance!
"But
you make it seem as if we shall be in town for some time."

"We will be in
town for as long as it takes," he said firmly.

She was not attending
any ball. Or could she somehow learn to dance—merely so she could go to a
London ball and one day tell Tillie about it? She began to worry. She did not
want to look like a country bumpkin! Now she regretted refusing to pay
attention to the dance master at the Richmond school.

"Is something
wrong, Virginia?"

She met his searching
gray stare. "Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I would love to go
to a ball—we had many balls at home and I adore dancing," she cried.

His brows lifted in
an expression she had come to know so well, one of mild disbelief and of mild
amusement. "We're here," he said.

She whirled and
leaned out of her window and gasped.

Silhouetted against
the river and the
London
skyline was a castle. Or at
least, Waverly Hall looked like a castle to her, with two towers that graced
either side of the giant limestone house. The gardens were magnificent—she had
never seen such color in the fall. Then she saw a green court of some sort with
a net dividing its center. She turned and pounded on Devlin's arm. "Is
that what I think it is?" she demanded. "Is that a tennis
court?"

He laughed at her.
"Yes, it is."

"I want to
play." She had never played the game before but it sounded like so much
fun.

"You may play
all the tennis that you want, Virginia, as this is presently your home."

Her excitement faded.
She had briefly forgotten their bar-

gain because Devlin
had been behaving so amiably it was as if he were really her friend. But they
did have a bargain and he was buying her a new wardrobe and taking her to
balls— he intended to parade her about London now, humiliating her and her
uncle until Eastleigh capitulated and paid her ransom.

She moved away from
him. "This isn't my home. It's my prison, but I had forgotten it, and that
is not a good idea." Suddenly the aching sadness she had been afflicted
with yesterday, upon seeing the countess leaving, assailed her again.

"Try to think of
it as your home," he said quietly.

She barely managed to
smile at him.

An impossibly
straight-faced butler showed them in. Virginia gaped at the immense front hall
with its high ceilings, crystal chandelier and works of art. One life-size nude
statue was a masterpiece—a Roman soldier mounted on a war-horse.

And the floors beneath
her feet were marble. Good God, Devlin was even wealthier than she had thought.

"Good day, sir,
we are so pleased to have you back," the butler intoned, taking Virginia's
hat and gloves and then Devlin's gloves as well.

"Benson, this is
Miss Hughes. Have her bags brought to my rooms, which she will be
sharing," Devlin said.

The butler did not
bat an eye. "Yes, Sir Captain."

Virginia felt drawn
to a huge painting depicting some kind of ancient battle. Mounted soldiers,
perhaps Greek or Roman, were invading a citadel filled with frightened women
and crying children. The scene was grim, but so powerful and so beautifully
done. She stared in awe.

"Ty,"
Devlin said with surprise.

Virginia turned to
see a man standing in the opposite doorway, backlit by the sun.

"Dev." He
came forward and she instantly recognized him

as the Earl of
Adare's son. The resemblance, the sense of power, the dark good looks, were
remarkable. She watched with real curiosity as the two men embraced, and
decided that they were more than stepbrothers—clearly they were genuine
friends. Then the man Devlin had referred to as Ty stepped back and looked
curiously at Virginia.

"Virginia,"
Devlin said, holding out his hand and smiling at her.

She faltered, because
once again it was as if Devlin were truly her friend. And suddenly she wished
that he was—that he could be a real friend, even if he might never come to love
her as a woman. She could settle, she thought, for that crumb.

"Virginia,"
he said again. But there was no impatience in his tone.

She came forward, the
tall, dark man staring far too directly at her, as if he were inspecting her
inside and out. She felt herself flush. Was she to play her part now, again?
She paused before Devlin, but he did not put his arm around her as he had when
they had performed their charade at Wide-acre. "Miss Virginia
Hughes," he said quietly.

Ty nodded, his jaw
flexing, his eyes dark. Virginia realized he was angry as he turned to Devlin,
not speaking, as if he dared not utter a word.

"My stepbrother,
Tyrell de Warenne," Devlin said to Virginia.

She realized that no
charade would be necessary, not with his family.

Tyrell faced her with
a bow. "I apologize, Miss Hughes. Your beauty has left me
speechless."

She blinked and
smiled at him, relived that she did not have to play the trollop now. "I
doubt that."

He straightened.
"I beg your pardon?"

She bit her lip.
"I mean, thank you very much."

Devlin choked.

"Sean speaks
very highly of you. He sends his warmest regards," Tyrell added, not
glancing another time at Devlin.

Her heart tightened a
little. She smiled, instantly somewhat sad. "How is he?"

"Well, if you
mean his state of health," Tyrell said, "he is fine."

She met his gaze. Did
this man somehow know that Sean was in love with her? Or that he had once been
in love with her? And why was he angry with Devlin? "When did you see him?
Was it at Askeaton?"

"Yes. A
fortnight ago, we actually supped together there." Tyrell reached into his
fine, nearly black coat and withdrew a sealed letter. "For you, Miss
Hughes."

She took it, seeing
her name and recognizing Sean's handwriting instantly. She didn't know whether
to be worried or pleased. Then she felt both men staring and she glanced from
Tyrell to Devlin. His expression had turned aloof. "Thank you for
delivering this," she said to Tyrell. Then to Devlin, she said, "Your
home is lovely. I have never seen anything like it. I am going to step outside
and explore while you and your brother get reacquainted."

Devlin merely nodded
at her.

Clutching the letter
tightly, Virginia hurried out.

Tyrell faced Devlin
then, finally allowing his anger to show. "She is sharing your rooms? I
heard an insane rumor, Dev, about you living openly with some woman in Hampshire,
but I did not believe it."

'Tread with care, Ty,"
Devlin warned, walking into the adjoining salon. He stared across the room.
Huge windows let out onto the terrace there and he could see Virginia, opening
the letter with her fingernail. Was she in a rush?

Anger enveloped him
then.

It was a love letter,
he was certain, and she had been moved to receive it and could not wait to read
it.

"What the hell
are you thinking, Dev?" Tyrell demanded, pausing by his side. He also
glanced out of the windows at Virginia, who was now reading the single page she
held. Clearly her hand trembled, as the page wavered like a flag.

"I am afraid
that whom I wish to bed is not your affair."

"Oh, ho! So you
think to play me for a fool!" Tyrell was incredulous. "She is
Eastleigh's niece. I know now for certain that you continue on some torturous
path of self-destruction."

"The only person
on a path of destruction is Eastleigh himself," Devlin said more calmly
than he felt. He thought he saw Virginia's shoulders shake. Was she crying?

"Sean is in love
with her. You would cuckold your brother?"

Devlin finally tore
his gaze from Virginia, an instant from striking Tyrell, his fist raised. Ty
was as tall as he, but heavier and more thickly built, and in any actual
fight, stronger, although not quicker. The two men had never exchanged blows.
"Leave this alone, Ty," he warned, but all he could think about was
Virginia outside, crying over Sean's love letter.

"No."
Tyrell's jaw was hard and a fierce glint was in his nearly black eyes. "I
am your brother and I will not leave this alone. Sean told me your absurd plan
to ransom her. You left Askeaton three weeks ago. Where is the ransom, Devlin?
Why is she now your mistress when it is your brother she should be with?"

Devlin's fury knew no
bounds because Tyrell was right. In a red haze, he saw Virginia and Sean in an
unholy embrace. "She remains with me, doing as I choose, until I say
so," he ground out.

Tyrell gripped his
shoulders. "I have never seen you like this, so thoughtless, so furious. I
cannot believe you would destroy her this way—for my brother would never do
such

370                          

a thing! And when
this is over? Do you think to escape with your head?" he now cried.

Devlin shrugged him
off, Sean's words suddenly echoing disturbingly in his mind.
You will have
to destroy her, will you not?
First Sean and now Tyrell. God, what was he
doing? He knew damn well that Virginia did not deserve to be a pawn in his
schemes. "Virginia will survive," he said grimly. "I will
rectify everything after the ransom."

"And how will
you do that? Will you marry her to salvage her reputation?"

Devlin started, his
heart skipping uncontrollably. "No," he heard himself say. But Tyrell
was right. He had not faced the whole truth before—only marriage would save
Virginia from the critics and gossips he had set upon her.

Family and love were
not
for him.

His life was one of
destruction and death.

Tyrell wrenched him
around. "And what of your career? It hangs by a thread now! One more false
move and I am certain there will be a court-martial! This abduction is
criminal, Devlin, and don't tell me you do not know it. Men hang for
less."

Devlin pulled away.
"I will not hang." And he started, because beyond Tyrell, through
the windows, he saw that Virginia was ashen and as immobile as a statue.