Chapter 15 #2
William came forward. “I will call the constable,” he cried. “This man cannot come into our home, flaunting an impostor and making accusations against the countess.”
“I have hardly made any accusations yet,” Devlin said. “I merely threatened to do so.”
“There will be no constable,” Eastleigh choked. “State your business, O’Neill, and leave—before I have you thrown out.”
And Devlin was clearly amused. “And just how would you do that?” He started to laugh.
Virginia saw the absurdity. As if this old man and his pampered son could defy a man like Devlin, a man who did not think twice of attacking and destroying innocent ships. She hurried to him. “We should go.”
But he didn’t hear her—no one did. He said, “Virginia wishes to be reunited with her family—with you. Your reputation for generosity precedes you, my lord, and I wish to discuss the nature of the reward you will want to bestow upon me.” He seemed to be laughing now.
Eastleigh just stood there, looking as if he wished to strangle Devlin but did not dare. He was crimson now.
“Reward?” William gasped. “Good God, the man thinks to ask a ransom! He wants a ransom!” he cried. Then, “Oh, ho, your head will roll for this! Even you cannot abduct a woman like my cousin and get away with ransoming her!” He had become gleeful.
Eastleigh and Devlin stared at each other, neither of them smiling, and if their eyes were daggers, they would both be dead.
“There will be no constable,” Eastleigh said finally. “And you will not, William, mention this to anyone! Not even your brother, do you hear me?”
“But…” William sputtered.
“I do not seek a ransom,” Devlin said far too softly. “I seek merely to have my expenses reimbursed, and we shall call it a reward. Fifteen thousand pounds should do.” He turned. “Let us go, Virginia, our business here is done—for now.”
He had taken her arm. She glanced back and saw Eastleigh in his impotent rage, and William, more stunned than anything else. Fifteen thousand pounds. It was a vast sum of money, a sum Eastleigh clearly did not have.
They were at the door when Eastleigh called out to them. “We are not paying it,” he said. “You have lost this time, O’Neill, for you see, I do not want the girl and I am not paying any ransom at all. You may keep her.” And he laughed.
Virginia huddled in the coach. This time Devlin had the coachman tie his horse to the back of the carriage and he climbed in beside her. Closing the door, he settled back against the leather seat, knocking on the partition. The carriage took off, rumbling down the paved drive.
Virginia looked at him with wide eyes. His face was hard.
So were his eyes. He seemed deeply thoughtful, but if he was dismayed about the interview—or Eastleigh’s refusal to pay her ransom—she could not tell.
She shuddered. What would happen now? She had little doubt that Eastleigh had meant his every word.
He did not care if she lived or died, was captive or freed.
She had never seen such cold eyes—except for Devlin’s.
She shivered again. Somehow, Eastleigh’s eyes were worse. Two things now were clear. Devlin’s hatred knew no bounds—but Eastleigh hated him as ferociously. And both men were at an impasse, were they not? As Devlin was demanding a ransom that Eastleigh refused to pay.
If only she could make Devlin change his course. Would anything stop him from exacting his revenge on his enemy? She did not think so and she despaired. “Devlin…this has to stop.”
He looked at her. “This stops when I say so and not a moment before.”
She stiffened, as his gaze was chilling. “And are you pleased with yourself? Do you get pleasure from what you have done, and what you are doing? My uncle is destitute! You have clearly ruined him. Why continue? Who would choose to live this way—to live a life of hatred and revenge!” she cried.
Something in his gaze flickered. His mouth tightened. “I heard you once say that if someone had murdered your father, you would kill him yourself.”
She stared, for she had said that to Sean. “I’m not sure that I meant it.”
“You meant it. You see, in this one instance, we are not that different, Virginia.”
“We are very different! I have every reason to hate you and to exact my own vengeance. But I don’t hate you—and I never will. And I will never tell the truth to anyone about what you have done. You see, I refuse to walk the path of revenge, Devlin, I simply refuse.”
His face grew hard as he stared at her. “I owe this much to my father.”
“Your father is dead! He has been dead for years!” She could not yet give up. “Devlin, they do not have the ransom, and even if they did, they would not think to pay it. Surely you, a fine judge of character, saw that.”
He did not glance at her now, clearly having no intention of answering her.
Virginia turned away in despair. She had a bad feeling.
She knew he was planning something, and whatever it was, she dreaded it.
But there was nothing more that she could say.
She was clearly not capable of persuading him to give up his course, to change his life—Sean was so wrong!
Perhaps he was a madman—for was not obsession a clinical term for a psychiatric disorder?
And what would happen to him in the end?
If only she did not care! Would Eastleigh’s son call the constabulary?
Wasn’t Devlin afraid of being caged behind prison bars?
She knew how he loved the wind and the sea and she thought that imprisonment might kill him.
But then, this man did not fear death, so maybe he did not fear incarceration, either. He certainly did not seem at all worried about his future. She was the one, dear God, worrying about his future, when she had her own future to worry about, a future that seemed very bleak.
They had left Eastleigh’s tattered estate behind.
Lush green hills were crisscrossed with old stone walls and wildflowers bloomed along the roadside.
They drove through a quaint village filled with small whitewashed stone houses, the shops below and the apartments above, before passing the local church, built in Norman times and never renewed.
A few minutes later they turned off the main road, between a pair of rusting iron gates.
Virginia saw a pleasant sweep of lawn and a modest stone cottage, two stories high and perhaps two rooms wide.
A stone carriage house was behind it, as rundown and ramshackle.
Virginia blinked, surprised at how small and shabby this country home was.
This could not possibly be Devlin’s home—it had to be the wrong address.
But Devlin helped her down, annoyance in his expression.
He took a long, hard look at the house, giving Virginia the impression that he had never seen it before, and she knew they were in the right place after all.
Then, his hand on her arm, he guided her up the stone walk.
At least the roses blooming against the side of the house were pretty, Virginia thought.
The front door opened before they even reached it and a man and woman came out. “Sir Captain O’Neill?” the tall, dark-haired woman asked. She was middle-aged, quite lean, and her features were hawkish. She wore the severe black dress of a servant.
He nodded. “Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, I presume?”
She smiled tightly at him. “Yes. We have been expecting you. I hope the house and grounds meet with your satisfaction, Sir Captain.”
“I will let you know,” he responded noncommittally.
“Sir? I am your butler, Tompkins,” the smaller, dapper man by the housekeeper’s side said. He wore a dark wool coat and trousers. “We are so pleased that you have finally come home, Sir Captain.”
Devlin grunted. “Take all the bags and install them in my suite,” he said.
Virginia was startled—what about her bags?
“And may I introduce Miss Hughes?”
Mrs. Hill smiled at her, as did the butler. The housekeeper seemed tense, her smile rather thin, but the butler seemed quite the opposite, rather jovial, in fact.
“Miss Hughes is to lack nothing,” Devlin announced. “She is my very special guest, and anything that she wishes is to be met.”
Virginia stared at him, a very bad feeling coming over her now. What was he up to?
“And where shall we take her bags, sir?” Tompkins asked.
Devlin’s dark brows lifted in surprise. “Why, to my rooms, of course,” he said.
A moment of surprised silence fell.
Virginia opened her mouth to protest, but he suddenly had her by the hand and he was lifting it to his mouth. Virginia wondered if she was dreaming. He smiled and kissed her hand, his lips firm and warm on her skin.
Her body responded instantly, shockingly, and she could only think, what was he doing? And dear God, why?
“Your suite, er, sir?” Tompkins managed, flushing.
“Miss Hughes is sharing my rooms,” Devlin said, smiling warmly at her.
And Virginia, her heart racing with exertion, suddenly sensed what was coming. “Devlin,” she managed, a feeble protest.
“Hush, darling,” he said. And he smiled at the servants. “Mrs. Hill, Mr. Tompkins, meet Miss Virginia Hughes, my mistress.”