The Prize (53 page)

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.

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 un-pleasing 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 stitches. 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."

430                           

Devlin also stood.
"And the unprovoked assault 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
whore?"

"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.

"Do you
comprehend me, Captain?"
St.
John
asked.

Devlin jerked, his
brooding far too intense for comfort, and he bowed. "Completely."

"Good."
St. John
came forward, smiling. "Will
you have a brandy?" he asked, the crisis clearly over.

Devlin nodded; three
brandies were poured and passed around.

Sipping
appreciatively,
St.
John
then said,
"You have received your orders?"

Devlin nodded.
"Yes, I have."

"When can you
set sail?"

"As you
suggested, sir, within two weeks."

St. John
nodded. "Try to hasten your
departure, Devlin. The news arrived today. The HMS
Swift
was captured by
the USS
Constitution. I
do not know how they are doing it, but the
Americans are owning the seas and I am counting on you, my boy, to swiftly
change that fact." He saluted him with his glass.

Devlin set his
snifter down and bowed. "Of course, my lord," he murmured. "I
shall make every effort."

St. John
beamed, pleased.

"What the bloody
hell happened?" the Earl of Eastleigh demanded coldly of his younger son.

Tom Hughes lay in
bed, his torso and one arm bandaged, as his manservant took his breakfast tray
from the room. "My head pounds, Father. Would you please refrain from
shouting?" he said.

Eastleigh
stared. "I was not
shouting."

William stood beside
him, pale. 'This is simply insufferable."

"Be quiet."
Eastleigh
looked his youngest son over.
"How badly are you hurt?"

"I will
live," Tom said. His face tightened. "That bastard only got a set
down. He went before
St.
John
and he only
got a set down."

"He is probably
paying them off,"
Eastleigh
spat. "Either that or the
man has had nothing but luck his entire life." And that would change, he
silently vowed.

"This is beyond
insufferable!" William erupted. "First he parades our cousin about
Hampshire, openly flaunting their liaison, destroying her and, by association,
our entire family! Lord Livingston did not receive my wife the other day. She
is always received there—Lady Livingston loves Cecily! But now the best of
friends are the worst of friends—after all, we have a whore in the family! This
is beyond insufferable. It has to stop!"

"I admit that I
never expected him to go so far as to take her to the Carew ball." Tom was
clearly disgusted.

"And you had to
pick a fight with him?"
Eastleigh
asked, his tone icy.

"He attacked
me,"
Tom exclaimed with indignation. "She is our cousin—and she is a
fetching little thing. I think I had every right to sample her charms—but the
savage attacked me!"

"You have only
encouraged the gossips."
Eastleigh
was outwardly calm, but
inwardly, he seethed. He agreed with his sons. O'Neill had to be stopped. But
the question remained, how? He felt certain that nothing short of killing the man
would dissuade him from his revenge.

"I am sure all
of
London
will do nothing but speak of
last night's entertainment now. Do you know I dread the dinner party we are
attending tomorrow?" William finally sat down. "At least we have an
offer for Sweet Briar. Although the buyer wishes to remain anonymous and we are
selling the place for half its market value."

"I didn't
know!" Tom smiled, pleased. "This shall help ease our depleted
coffers for a while. Father, you must be thrilled."

Eastleigh
did not really hear him. His
sons were both weak; they were both fools. But he was not weak, never mind that
he was older, impoverished, obese. He had killed once before with as much
chagrin as one felt when swatting a fly. The Irish were mostly savages. He knew
that firsthand, having spent his youth as a soldier stationed among them. He
had never favored Catholic emancipation and he despised the fools who did. No
Catholic should be able to vote or own land—and no Catholic should be as
wealthy and powerful as mat savage, O'Neill. What would it matter if he killed
one more time?

He had so little now
to lose.

Eastleigh
began to plan.

Virginia
stood at her window, looking out
at the
Thames
as the twilight grew, where
several yachts sailed among the more plebian traffic of dories, dinghies and
skips. It was suppertime, but she had no intention of going downstairs to dine.
Although she could not remain hateful—she would never hate Devlin O'Neill—her
heart had been broken for the very last time. She smiled sadly, bitterly, recalling
every moment of her conversation that morning—and every moment spent in his
arms last night. But she had had enough. It was over now and she was going
home.