Chapter 13 #2
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said, and finally his gray gaze moved over her, from her eyes to her mouth, lingering briefly, across the white cotton shirt covering her chest, past the thick brown belt, knotted and not buckled, and down the britches encasing her slim thighs.
“I’m truly surprised Sean lets you run about like that. ”
If he felt any attraction, there was simply no sign, not in his tone of voice, not in his expression, and most important, not in his eyes. They were flat and opaque, lifeless.
“We’re leaving tomorrow?” she gasped.
“Yes.” He finally turned and walked over to the wide, tall windows where he stood, his back to her, gazing out, apparently at the sweep of lawns and the distant hills. “Eastleigh doubts your existence.”
She was reeling. “What?”
He didn’t turn. He continued to stare out of the window, and no inflection was in his tone as he spoke. “I sent the ransom note from Cadiz. Eastleigh claims you drowned with everyone else aboard the Americana. We are going to Southampton to prove once and for all that you are very much alive.”
So the time for her ransom had finally come.
Virginia was so overwhelmed with hurt and confusion that she could not deal with that matter, even though it meant she would be that much closer to going home.
And oddly, in some ways, Askeaton had become her home.
She had enjoyed the slow days spent farming and tending to the estate.
She had enjoyed the cool days, the mist, the rain. She had enjoyed Sean’s company.
But it wasn’t her home. Sweet Briar was her home and there was still a chance that it hadn’t been sold, which meant that maybe she could find a way to save it. She no longer hoped for her uncle to save the day.
And clearly, Devlin’s plans, although delayed by the war, hadn’t changed. She did not know what to say—because the ransom was not what she wished to discuss. “Will Sean come with us?” she finally asked miserably.
“Do you want him to?”
Was there something odd in his tone? “Of course I do,” she said, searching his gaze, but he turned away.
“I need him here,” Devlin said. “Be ready right after breakfast.” He walked out.
In shock, she stared after him. And then the enormity of what had happened hit her. He had come back and had not said a single word about them. And with that comprehension came anger.
Virginia strode after him.
She found him pouring a Scotch in the salon. Not looking up, he held up an empty glass. “Would you care for a drink?” he said lightly.
Virginia didn’t stop until she was in front of him, forcing him to look at her. “No, I don’t want a drink! And I insist that Sean come with us.”
He slowly set his glass down and looked up. “You are not in a position to insist upon anything.”
“He will be my chaperone,” she said tightly. “I refuse to spend one minute alone with you.”
He slowly stood, and of course he dwarfed her, making her feel small and vulnerable. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I have everything to worry about,” she cried, and she realized she was panting. But the truth was, she doubted she had anything to worry about, as this man didn’t seem to recall ever touching her, much less making love to her.
He held her gaze. “Sean stays here.”
“Then I’m not going,” she cried, as foolishly as a child.
“Don’t worry,” he muttered, lifting his glass and drinking. “You will be reunited—when I am done.”
“You don’t remember, do you?” she asked, her teeth starting to chatter. The salon had become frigidly cold. She was cold. Frozen over, in fact.
He sipped his Scotch as if he hadn’t even heard her.
She seized his arm, shocking herself and spilling whiskey over them both. “The night we spent in bed together? The night you made love to me?” she demanded wildly.
His jaw tightened and he removed her hand from his arm. “Is there a point?”
“Do you remember or don’t you?”
“Barely,” he murmured.
She struck him as hard as she could, across the face.
The slap resounded in the hollow silence of the room.
Virginia backed up, shocked at what she had done. But finally a light had appeared in his eyes, even though it was not the light she had wished for. His gaze blazed furiously. At least, Virginia thought, his eyes were no longer opaque and lifeless.
She flinched, panting heavily, expecting to be struck in return.
But he only said, very hard, “Sex is not love.”
She gasped, his words far more brutal than any real blow.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said tersely.
It was too late. Virginia shook her head, the tears spilling, and she turned to run. But he seized her wrist and somehow she was facing him again. “Let me go,” she warned on a sob.
His jaw flexing repeatedly now, he said, “I am sorry. I believe I said so before. I am saying so again.”
“How foolish I was, to think ‘sex’ meant something to you!”
His gaze flickered. “I deserve your reprobation. I had no right trespassing where no man had gone. Now,” he added firmly, “may we allow the past to rest where it belongs—in the past?”
“Yes, please, let’s do just that!” she cried, trembling, both hands fisted at her sides, her anger so huge it felt suspiciously like hatred. But the hurt continued to tear her apart inside. She only knew now that she had to get away from him.
Tension rippled across his features and he began to walk out of the room, saying, “Tomorrow after breakfast, Virginia.” And it was a warning that she be ready.
She stared, but only for a moment. “And what if I’m pregnant?” She knew full well that she was not, but how she wanted to hurt him, just a little, in return for how he had hurt her.
He froze, and slowly, he turned. “Are you?” he asked, his jaw muscles revealing a slight spasm, his eyes now a stormy and threatening shade of gray—an indication, then, that he had some emotion to share after all.
“No,” she gritted. And then, her pride lost, she cried, “You left without even saying goodbye!”
Now his entire body seemed to flex and coil with a very real anger—one he seemed determined to contain. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Have you no pride? I am a bastard, it is quite simple, really. There is a saying, Virginia, one you should heed: let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I am not a dog and what we did had nothing to do with sleep!”
“I am taking you to my home outside of Southampton, where Eastleigh is but five miles north. I shall prove your existence, collect your ransom and send you on your way. Is that not enough for you? You shall have your freedom,” he ground out.
“It’s not enough,” she heard herself say. And her pride mocked her now.
He started. “Then I am truly sorry, for that is all I have to offer you.” This time, his strides were long and determined, and this time, Virginia sank down on a chaise.
She covered her face with her hands and struggled not to cry.
He had not wanted to discuss the past and the answers he had given were answers she had not wanted to hear.
But it was simply too late. The truth—his truth—was brutal.
Devlin entered the master bedroom and halted hard. He was shaken, enough so that he could not ignore it, but goddamn it, he intended to ignore it. Now was not the time to give in and allow a pair of huge, hurt violet eyes to haunt him…again.
He trembled somewhere deep inside his body and refused to think. Instead, he gripped the post of the bed. If he had known his control would begin to shatter, he would have never come back. He would have ordered Sean to bring her to Southampton.
“You should have sent word that you were coming.”
Devlin turned, relieved at the interruption, and found his brother on the threshold of the room, looking angry and displeased. “You have nothing to hide. I gave you permission to do as you please. Are you fucking her?” he heard himself say.
And a sordid image assailed him, of Sean straining over her, pumping into her.
Sean attacked.
In a way, Devlin had known he would—and this was exactly what he needed.
His brother’s tackle sent him back onto the bed, where they grappled as if they were still boys.
Devlin had always loved a good fistfight.
So did Sean. Using all of his strength, he managed to turn his brother onto his back, but the effort cost them both, sending them to the floor.
Sean grunted, as he took most of the fall.
For one moment, Devlin straddled his brother, and he smiled coldly. He said, “A yes or no would do.”
“You heartless bastard,” Sean cried, and Devlin found himself launched onto his own back, a hard blow landing on his jaw.
Sparks emanated behind his eyes and he welcomed them. But he raised his knee and caught Sean in the gut. Sean gasped, bowled over, and Devlin quickly stood, hauling Sean up and pushing him backward until he hit the wall. There, the two men strained at each other, panting like enraged bulls.
Sean managed to slither free and land another blow to the very same jaw.
Devlin stepped back, pleased as pain exploded in his face. He simply stood there and his brother hit him with all of his strength in his midsection, causing him to gasp and buckle over.
“Fight back, you son of a bitch,” Sean shouted.
He no longer wanted to fight. He preferred the beating of a lifetime. He straightened, smiling lopsidedly, realizing his lip was split. “Do you enjoy her cries?” he purred. “And whose name does she keen in ecstasy—yours or mine?”
Sean hit him again. His head snapped back, into the wall, pain exploding in both his eyes. I’m sorry, Virginia, he thought suddenly, and anguish pierced his heart. But I am not the man you want me to be.
Sean had grabbed him by his shirt. “Do you really think my beating you will make what you did to her right? Damn you, Devlin, damn you!”
He smiled at his brother. “One more blow?”
“Like hell,” Sean gritted, releasing him and walking away.
He tested his lip and found it bleeding. Sean was in love with Virginia, how clear it was, far more so than before.