Chapter 18 #3
Devlin finally tore his gaze from Virginia, an instant from striking Tyrell, his fist raised.
Ty was as tall as he, but heavier and more thickly built, and in any actual fight, stronger, although not quicker.
The two men had never exchanged blows. “Leave this alone, Ty,” he warned, but all he could think about was Virginia outside, crying over Sean’s love letter.
“No.” Tyrell’s jaw was hard and a fierce glint was in his nearly black eyes.
“I am your brother and I will not leave this alone. Sean told me your absurd plan to ransom her. You left Askeaton three weeks ago. Where is the ransom, Devlin? Why is she now your mistress when it is your brother she should be with?”
Devlin’s fury knew no bounds because Tyrell was right. In a red haze, he saw Virginia and Sean in an unholy embrace. “She remains with me, doing as I choose, until I say so,” he ground out.
Tyrell gripped his shoulders. “I have never seen you like this, so thoughtless, so furious. I cannot believe you would destroy her this way—for my brother would never do such a thing! And when this is over? Do you think to escape with your head?” he now cried.
Devlin shrugged him off, Sean’s words suddenly echoing disturbingly in his mind.
You will have to destroy her, will you not?
First Sean and now Tyrell. God, what was he doing?
He knew damn well that Virginia did not deserve to be a pawn in his schemes.
“Virginia will survive,” he said grimly.
“I will rectify everything after the ransom.”
“And how will you do that? Will you marry her to salvage her reputation?”
Devlin started, his heart skipping uncontrollably. “No,” he heard himself say. But Tyrell was right. He had not faced the whole truth before—only marriage would save Virginia from the critics and gossips he had set upon her.
Family and love were not for him.
His life was one of destruction and death.
Tyrell wrenched him around. “And what of your career? It hangs by a thread now! One more false move and I am certain there will be a court-martial! This abduction is criminal, Devlin, and don’t tell me you do not know it. Men hang for less.”
Devlin pulled away. “I will not hang.” And he started, because beyond Tyrell, through the windows, he saw that Virginia was ashen and as immobile as a statue.
Tyrell followed his stare. Suddenly he said, “Are you in love with this girl?” His tone was incredulous.
Devlin recoiled. “No!”
“I see.” Tyrell stared thoughtfully. Then he asked, “Will Eastleigh pay?”
“When I am through, he will.” He paced, shaken and disturbed.
“How can you do this to her?” Tyrell demanded.
“Look.” He jerked his head at the window.
Outside, Virginia trembled, covering her face with her hands.
“She weeps. She is weeping, Devlin. I know it has to bother you, because I know you better than anyone, better even than Sean, and I know you are not ruthless, not completely, at least.”
“Fine,” he said grimly. “Fine! It bothers me! Are you satisfied now, goddamn it?”
Tyrell jerked with surprise, eyes wide and stunned.
Devlin stalked to the sideboard, pouring a large Scotch, his hand shaking.
He ignored Tyrell, trying to come to grips with his anger and other, more confusing, insistent feelings he did not wish to own or understand.
Virginia wept over Sean. Was it possible that he was jealous?
It was an emotion he was unfamiliar with. He had never been jealous of anyone or anything at any time in his life. But this red-hot anger, coupled with the tremor of fear and doubt, felt suspiciously like jealousy.
“Fuck.” He threw his drink as hard as he could at the wall. It shattered loudly, sounding like buckshot.
“I have never seen you lose your temper, not ever,” Tyrell said quietly. “From the day Father brought you home when you were ten, Gerald just murdered, you have been the most stoic and dispassionate person I have ever met.”
Devlin waved at him in real disgust. He had no response to make, as none could be had.
Virginia ran into the room. “God, what happened? Are you all right?” she cried, her cheeks flushed but not tear streaked.
Devlin couldn’t respond to her, either. He could not believe his rage and he could not believe his jealousy—for that was what it was, enraged jealousy—and he stared at her in disbelief.
“I thought someone fired a musket,” she said nervously, glancing between him and Tyrell.
Devlin turned away. He still couldn’t speak.
“No one fired a gun,” Tyrell said quietly. “Could you find Benson and tell him there has been an accident?” He smiled kindly at her.
Virginia nodded, turning to look wide-eyed at Devlin’s back, and she hurried out.
Devlin poured another drink, and this time, he drank it.
Tyrell approached. “I see all is not as it appears,” he said quietly. He laid a hand on Devlin’s shoulder.
Devlin shrugged it off. “All is exactly as it appears,” he returned, his iron control returning. “Would you like a drink?” he asked far more calmly than he felt.
Tyrell de Warenne made a derisive sound. “Actually, I would.” He paused thoughtfully. “I would also like an invitation to supper,” he said.
“Hot loaves! Muffins and crumpets! A penny for a scone!”
Virginia stumbled, reaching for Devlin’s hand. They were making their way up Regent Street, which was, he had assured her, the best shopping in London.
“Chairs to mend!” another street vendor cried, stepping in their path to bow before Devlin, who did not wear his uniform but a fine dark blue velvet coat with his britches and stockings. “My lord, sir, I mend any kind of chair,” he cried.
“No, thank you,” Devlin said politely, and trying not to release Virginia’s hand, he pulled her past the chairman.
“Fish! Fine goldfish fer the lady!” an old woman cried, waving a bucket at them. “Pretty goldfish! Fine fer the lady!”
Devlin smiled at Virginia, pulling her out of the fish lady’s way as well.
But she pulled back. “Let’s look at the fish!”
“Virginia,” he began.
“It’s my turn,” she reminded him, smiling and jerking free. “May I see your fish, ma’am?” she asked.
The old lady grinned, with most if not all of her teeth missing, and she lowered the pail so Virginia could see numerous goldfish swimming about, including several black-and-white striped ones. “How beautiful,” she cried.
“A penny fer a dozen,” the lady smiled at her.
“Virginia, please do not tell me we are buying you fish,” Devlin said, but amusement was in his tone.
“We are not, no, thank you,” she apologized to the vendor.
“Hot loaves! Muffins and crumpets! A penny fer a scone!”
Devlin looked at her, smiling.
Refusing to move she said, “Please?”
“Thank God, you are not fat,” he said, walking over to the muffin man. “Which is it this time?” She’d had a muffin and a scone already, all digested in the span of an hour.
“I’ll try a crumpet,” she said, having not a clue as to what that might be.
Devlin made the purchase and Virginia was presented with a warm and crusty golden bun, which she eagerly tried. “Yum,” she said, then to her horror, realized her mouth was full.
He shook his head, then laughed. “Come on. It’s taken us an entire hour to navigate a single block.”
But Virginia cried out, handing him her crumpet, and ran instead to the huge window display. “Devlin, look,” Virginia cried. “Look at the beautiful black lace!”
He came up beside her, still holding the crumpet in its paper napkin. “Do you wish to buy it?” he asked as they stared into the draper’s shop.
She did. Oh, how she wished to adorn herself in that black lace, in a red dress trimmed with tons of it, and she looked at Devlin, simply breathless. They would attend a ball together, dance the night away…. Then she thought about the countess. She sobered.
Who was she fooling? She was not the kind of woman to wear red or black lace. “No, I don’t think so,” she said.
“Change your mind so quickly?” he asked, studying her intently.
“No, I…I don’t think it’s suitable, really. But it’s beautiful,” she added wistfully.
“Come. We must make our appointment with Madame Didier,” he said, taking her arm and looping it in his.
She glanced at him as they strolled up the block, her heart racing. He kept taking her arm as if they were really lovers—or even a couple. “You do know that one would almost think us real friends,” she said hesitantly.
“It is your turn,” he reminded her easily. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She had to beam. “How can I not? Those wonderful muffins—those pretty fish—they sell everything on the street, do they not? I saw a man selling dust! He was selling brick dust,” she cried.
“It’s used for cleaning knives,” Devlin said. Then rather casually, he asked, “So what did Sean have to say?”
Virginia faltered. And she hesitated, uncertain as to how she should respond.
His letter had both warmed and saddened her.
He hadn’t spoken of his feelings, but it was clear that he still cared deeply for her, and after telling her all that had happened at Askeaton in her absence, he had told her that it simply was not the same without her there.
She knew his unspoken thoughts—he missed her.
And reading it had made her miss him, too, but the way one would a dear old friend, not a lover.
It was wonderful hearing from him, but it was also terribly sad, reminding her of a time and place when she had been so crushed and hurt, though she’d refused to admit it.
She had been so lonely those five months she had been left behind at Askeaton.
His letter and her reaction to it had only confirmed her real feelings for him. She had never loved him more as a friend. But she hoped that, one day, he would fall passionately in love with a woman who would love him back the very same way.
She sighed. “I’m afraid that’s none of your affair, Devlin,” she said.