Chapter 17 #2
And as she left, he added, “I am sure there will be more callers, Virginia, so prepare yourself.” His tone was oddly grim.
Finally she gave in and fled.
“Virginia, do come meet Lord Aston and Mr. Jayson.”
It was about five o’clock in the afternoon.
Virginia’s smile was plastered with sheer willpower upon her face.
There had been four other callers since the Pauleys, three couples and the village parson.
There had been five teas, five conversations, five long and interminable acts.
Five smiles, five kisses and perhaps fifty “darlings” exchanged between them both.
Sometime between noon and now, her heart had frozen over, all emotion simply replaced with one, dread.
Virginia stood frozen on the threshold of the parlor, all three men staring at her.
The two gentlemen who had come to call seemed to regard her far too eagerly.
Devlin’s expression was inscrutable, although she sensed his impatience.
How dare he be impatient with her? she thought, the first flurry of anger stirring.
She was doing her best to play her part in the damnable bargain she had once thought ingenious.
She had not known how much it would hurt.
Devlin was suddenly at her side. “Darling, are you ill?” he asked, his tone filled with concern.
She could not look at him. “I am fine…darling.”
He slipped his arm possessively around her. “Lord Aston, Mr. Jayson, may I present my dear friend Miss Virginia Hughes of Sweet Briar, Virginia?” he said politely.
The two men rushed forward, then Lord Aston, a blonde with brown eyes, bowed over her hand. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hughes.”
She felt as if she were in a dream; this was simply too much to bear. Then she realized that Aston still held her hand. Suddenly she felt like a bone being fought over by two dogs—or a whore being passed around. She tried to dislodge her hand and failed.
“My uncle is the Bishop of Oxford,” Aston said with a grin, his gaze penetrating. “Have you ever been to Oxford, my dear? I should love to show you the country if you ever happen by that way.”
Virginia swallowed and said, “I should so love a tour of Oxford, my lord, if ever the opportunity arises.”
He grinned eagerly. “Well, perhaps when Captain O’Neill is called back to duty, you can extend your stay here at Wideacre. Do you ride, Miss Hughes? We have some fine horses.”
“I ride,” she said mechanically.
“Oh, do let me introduce my good friend, Ralph Jayson,” Lord Aston exclaimed.
“I thought you’d never stand back,” Jayson grumbled, but he flashed Virginia a roguish grin.
He lifted her hand. “I am enthralled to make your acquaintance, Miss Hughes. And while Aston may be a bishop’s nephew, I own several factories and mills.
I have a wonderful home just south of London, and the next time you are in town, you must call, or come to one of our balls. ” His dimples deepened.
“I should love to,” Virginia somehow managed. She knew what these men wanted. They wanted to use her the way they thought Devlin was using her, they wanted her in their beds.
“My balls are infamous,” Jayson added almost conspiratorially. “Prinnie usually attends.”
Virginia had no idea whom he was speaking of. “Prinnie?”
Devlin leaned close. “The Prince of Wales, darling, the Prince Regent. Virginia is an American and newly arrived in our country,” he explained.
Both young men laughed.
“Actually, Devlin, it has been a long day and I am not feeling well,” Virginia suddenly remarked. “It was a pleasure to meet you both. Excuse me.” And not waiting for any response from anyone, she hurried out of the room.
Terribly tired, Virginia requested hot water for her bath. When her tub was full, the maid gone, she sank into the steaming water and leaned back, trying very hard not to think or feel, closing her eyes. It was impossible.
She had known it would hurt to be paraded as his mistress, but she had never guessed at the depths of degradation and humiliation, or the extent of the anguish. And now she no longer felt like a mistress, she truly felt like a whore.
She reminded herself that she had wanted this bargain, because she had so foolishly fallen in love with him.
But they were an entire day into their agreement, and though he had what he wanted—the entire shire seemed to know who she was—she had nothing, for they had not become any closer to being friends.
And after this last visit, after being so forcibly presented to the lascivious Aston and Jayson, she no longer knew if she wanted to be his friend. And on that thought, she began to cry.
And then she was furious. She was furious with herself for being so weak.
She wiped her eyes, refusing to shed another tear while reminding herself that Devlin O’Neill seemed able to hurt her at every turn the way no one else could.
She had known that before and she knew it better now. So what was she going to do about it?
She could surrender—or she could fight.
He walked in without knocking.
Virginia gasped and looked wildly about for her towel as Devlin stopped short.
The towel lay on a chair, too far for her to reach it.
She looked up. Devlin stood not far from the threshold of their bedroom, staring into the smaller adjoining chamber where she bathed.
She sank deeper, not quite certain if the rim of the claw-footed tub would shield her body from his eyes, expecting him to walk out.
Instead, he slowly walked over to the open doorway of the chamber, his gaze unwavering and bright.
Virginia tried to be nonchalant. “I beg your pardon, Devlin, I am in the bath.”
He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and looked right into the tub. He seemed to almost smile. “I can see that.”
She felt her cheeks heat. She looked down and saw that the soapy water hid nothing, her entire body was clearly visible, and her breasts almost appeared to be floating. “I’d like some privacy,” she managed.
He folded his arms across his chest and studied her, his gaze nowhere near her face. After a tense, interminable moment, he looked up. “Are you crying?”
“I got soap in my eyes,” she said swiftly. “And would you care?”
“No.” His jaw flexed. He made no effort to leave and he looked her over even more carefully than before. “But if you were crying, I wish to know.”
Her nipples were taut and so was her sex. She wanted to cover herself. “I was not crying. Please hand me my towel,” she said calmly.
His lashes lowered, shielding the gleam in his eyes. He walked over to the chair where she had left her towel, that action bringing him dangerously close to the tub. He lifted it and held it wide open for her.
She inhaled harshly, having no intention of getting out of the tub and letting him wrap her in the cloth. “Just hand it to me,” she said.
“Of course,” he murmured, stepping over to the edge of the tub.
Virginia stood, reaching for the towel, ripping it from his hands. She quickly wrapped it around her naked body, still knee-deep in the bathwater.
He reached for her.
“Don’t,” she said hoarsely.
He froze, his arm extended but not touching her. Then he gripped her arm. “I am only helping you out so you do not fall and break your neck.”
“How kind,” she said tightly.
“I have never pretended to be kind.”
“We are friends now.”
“A mere bargain does not make a friendship.”
“So now you are a philosopher?” she cried furiously. She tried to fling him off.
“Step out of the tub, Virginia,” he said, his expression strained.
She stepped out, and the moment she had both feet on the wood floor, he released her. “I didn’t know it would be this hard!” she cried.
He stared, silent.
“Those men made me feel like a whore.”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” she cried wildly.
“Actually, yes, I am.”
“How relieved I am, you have some capacity for compassion in you,” she said, marching past him and into the bedroom.
He followed. “I have changed my mind. We won’t stay here long. London will be easier.”
“Why?” She faced him. “Because there are many mistresses there—and many whores?”
“You are not a whore, Virginia.”
“Tell Lord Aston and his friend.” Then, because he continued to stare, she flung, “And tell yourself, as you have certainly looked at me as if I am!”
His expression hardened. “I have never looked at you as if you are a whore. No one knows better than I that you are practically a virgin. No one!”
She could only stare, as he was almost shouting. What did this loss of control signify?
He calmed. “And I was not looking at you as if you were a whore.”
“Oh, you did not stare at my breasts and…” She could not continue and she felt her face flame.
“I was merely admiring a beautiful woman.” He stalked out.
His words sank in. She ran to the door and stared after him in real surprise.
When his brother walked into the library, having just arrived from London, William threw his quill aside and did not stand up.
He stared at him, a slender, handsome man with the pale blue eyes the Hughes men were renowned for, and he scowled.
Thomas Hughes, Lord Captain R.N., was in his naval uniform, and he slapped a pair of gloves down on the desk.
“I hope that there is a damned good reason you have called me down to Eastleigh, Will,” Tom said bluntly.
“I sent you a letter a week ago!” William exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
“I had matters at the Admiralty I could not leave unattended,” Tom said darkly.
“We are in a war, Will, or have you forgotten? Actually, we are in two wars, as the damned colonials have gotten their feathers all trussed up after all that squawking no one gave any credence to. Did you hear the latest? We lost the Macedonian and the Frolic.”
Will calmed. “No, I haven’t heard—not two of His Majesty’s battleships?”