Chapter 13
He squinted into the gray day.
Ahead of him the country road from Limerick wound away, disappearing into the now-harvested fields and rolling hills, crisscrossed with stone walls.
For one moment he stared, and as he sat his mount, he was very, very careful not to allow any feeling to creep over him.
He succeeded. This time, there was no warmth within him in coming home.
It was merely another mission he must accomplish.
Devlin spurred the liveried gelding into a canter, well aware that around the next bend he would be able to see his fields, his pastures, his land. But it didn’t matter. He had an iron grasp on himself—he had never been more in control.
He rounded the bend and finally took some small, idle pleasure in the sight of the harvested fields that lay bare and brown ahead of him.
As he passed the first farmhouse, he noted, almost indifferently, that McCarthy must have had done well that year—his flock of sheep seemed twice the size and his house had been recently whitewashed.
A stone wall cut across the field. Devlin rode his mount at it, and when the animal wavered, he spurred him on, clamping hard with both legs.
The gelding took the wall, landing roughly.
When he’d recovered his stride, Devlin gave the animal a pat for his courage.
The skies finally parted and a light drizzle began.
A field lay ahead, the earth being turned over by a laborer.
Devlin saw two horses grazing by its border and he instantly scanned the area for the riders.
When saw two figures standing by the edge of a stream, apparently in conversation, he halted his horse abruptly.
His heart quickened but he ignored it. One of the figures was small enough to be a child—or a very petite woman—and he knew beyond any doubt who she was.
He was grim. His legs tightened so hard around the horse that the animal shot forward. Instantly he jerked to a halt, causing the gelding to rear. He could not look away from his brother and Virginia.
He reminded himself that he controlled his men, his ship, the enemy. That he had done so for a good ten years, and never more effectively than this past summer and autumn, while patrolling the coast of Spain, while guarding the Straits. His heart mocked him, hammering hard and fast.
He had also controlled his thoughts. He had not thought about anything other than his mission, his ship, his men and the enemy in the course of the past five months. With an iron fist, he’d beaten each and every unwanted thought back into the shadows of the past, where they belonged.
He had come back for one reason and one reason only, and he had come back knowing he was in absolute self-control.
He told himself, very firmly, that he did not care what they were discussing. Let them debate the merits of the Irish soil. He held the impatient gelding at a halt, continuing to stare.
They were too far away for him to make out their features, their expressions or anything other than the fact that Sean’s shirt was white, his boots black, and that Virginia also wore pale britches and knee-high riding boots.
Her hair seemed to be pulled back—left loose or braided, he could not be sure—but the mass of dark hair fell down her back.
He strained, looking for some telltale sign of any pregnancy, but at this distance, it was simply impossible to tell.
His mouth twisted grimly. The insane attraction lay in the past, he felt certain. When they came face-to-face he would feel no differently toward her than he did Elizabeth or Fiona or any other woman. He was through with thinking—he was wasting his time—there was nothing more to think about.
He whirled the bay and galloped to Askeaton.
“It’s a secret recipe,” Virginia said, smiling, as they walked into the house. “Not my mother’s, but Tillie’s great-grandmother.”
“Tillie, your best friend, the slave?” Sean asked, following. He was carrying a dozen ears of corn.
Virginia nodded, flushed from the mad gallop they’d just had. She wasn’t sure who had started to gallop home first, but suddenly they were both flat out and clearly in a race. Sean had won—but only by a length. As a result, they were both covered with red dust.
“I’ll supervise the cooking,” Virginia said. She was salivating just thinking about the corn pudding they would share that night. “We are lucky we still have any corn,” she added.
Sean smiled and said something, but Virginia failed to hear him as she rounded the corner. Standing in the hall was Devlin.
She halted and Sean collided with her back.
Virginia hardly noticed. For her heart had stopped and she failed to breathe. He was back.
Devlin stood there nonchalantly, staring calmly at her, clearly having expected her. His hard thighs were braced as if he rode his ship. His gaze never wavered from her face.
Virginia gulped down air and it burned her lungs and chest. He had come back after all.
Her heart now slammed, causing more burning, more pain.
She began to shake. She turned, realizing Sean had dropped the corn, and managed to glimpse his shocked expression.
She bent, inhaling hard, saw how terribly her hands were shaking.
As she reached for an ear of the scattered corn, she tried to think, but her thoughts were wild and incoherent.
Oh God, what did she do now?
Images afflicted her, images of Devlin O’Neill getting up from the bed they had shared, not looking at her.
“Devlin,” Sean said quietly, but as he spoke he bent and seized Virginia’s arm, hauling her to her feet. “We didn’t know you had come back.” He did not release her, clearly knowing that she might not be able to stand if he did.
There was no response to his remark.
Virginia half turned, fully panicked now, and saw him smiling at them both. Instantly their gazes locked. “The corn,” she said, her voice low and husky, incapable of looking away from him.
He hadn’t changed. He was seductive and powerful and magnetic; he remained mesmerizing. If only he had changed…
“Leave it,” Sean snapped, also staring at Devlin as if hypnotized. “You didn’t send word of your arrival.”
“I didn’t realize you needed to be warned of my return,” Devlin said calmly.
Virginia could not look away from him. Almost every moment she had spent alone with him crashed over her then, from their first debate in the confines of his cabin upon the Defiance to the last time she had seen him, walking out of her bedroom.
I’m sorry I hurt you, he had said.
“Hello, Virginia,” he said now.
She couldn’t speak so she tried to nod.
“Sean,” he added with an inclination of his head.
Sean finely moved, coming forward slowly. “Father was here the other day. I heard about your tour—and the hearing. I’m glad you’re back.”
“Are you?” Devlin asked rather coolly.
Sean stiffened. “Yes, I am.” He now glanced back and forth between his brother and Virginia.
Virginia realized that she was paralyzed and that she continued to openly stare.
Although she remained stunned, her mind began to work.
She hadn’t really ever expected to see him again.
And she had been fine with that. He had hurt her beyond words, but she was certain she had recovered, that time did heal all wounds.
But now he was back, standing just a few feet from her, and nothing had changed.
It was as if the months had never passed.
Her wounds, once tightly sewn up, split asunder.
How could he have left her the way that he had? How?
Suddenly Sean made a sound and walked out of the hall, leaving the two of them standing there, staring.
“You look well,” he commented, his tone neither indifferent nor interested. “Other than the dirt.”
She inhaled. Did he remember anything, anything at all? But how could he possibly forget!
He strolled forward. “I take it you and Sean are getting on?”
She stiffened. He had once suggested, absurdly, that she would marry his brother. “He has become a good friend.”
He didn’t seem to care and he shrugged.
She wet her lips. “Did you really tell him…that we should marry?”
“Actually, yes, I did.”
“Have you no heart at all?” she whispered.
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
“Then can you not show me any sign of compassion?”
“I hardly know what it is that you wish of me, Virginia. I’m sorry you have been so long in my brother’s care, but the war delayed my return,” he said levelly.
She reeled. He didn’t remember, did he? Was it possible that she was so insignificant, so unmemorable?
“What were you and Sean doing?” he asked casually.
“I…what?” She blinked hard. “We were making corn pudding. I mean, we…I was going to show the cook how to make a recipe.”
A tawny brow lifted and he said nothing.
Virginia didn’t move. Was it possible, she wondered in dismay, to still have some feelings for this man?
She hadn’t seen him in five months. He had callously left her after the most significant moment of her life.
He had given her no sign of warmth, no personal greeting, since he had arrived.
But she could feel a desperate tension in herself and she knew, miserably, what it meant.
It meant she wanted him to tell her that he cared, that he remembered every moment of their lovemaking—as she did—and that he wished to beg her for forgiveness.
“Corn pudding,” he murmured. “How interesting.”
She stiffened defensively and held her head high. But he wasn’t going to say anything about their past. She now knew it. “It happens to be delicious. If you’re planning on staying for supper, you will certainly enjoy it.” How hard it was to keep her voice even, to keep her pride gathered about her.
Now both brows lifted. He seemed amused and mildly incredulous. “This is my home. I had intended to dine before leaving tomorrow.”
Her heart slammed to a wild halt. “You…you’re leaving…tomorrow?”