Part 21 (2/2)
”Devlin?” she whispered, suddenly worried. She was on the verge of a great happiness, and surely she need not worry now! Not after what they had just done, the beauty of what they had just shared. Surely he was feeling what she was, too.
But he did not answer her and he did not open his eyes.
She knew he was not asleep. Suddenly she wished that he would reach out and stroke her arm, her hair, anything, smile just a little and rea.s.sure her that he, too, was feeling simply wonderful.
The bed dipped as he sat up. She also sat, expecting him to turn to her, to say something, and she waited, but he stood, not looking at her-not even once. She glimpsed his expression, and she thought she saw his features rigid and strained with displeasure, and perhaps, with anger.
”Devlin?” she whispered again, and heard how fragile and pleading her tone did sound.
There was the rustle of cloth as he fastened his britches and tucked in his s.h.i.+rt. He finally glanced at her, his face smooth and expressionless. ”Go to sleep, Virginia,” he said.
She stared, his dispa.s.sionate words as painful as the stabbing of a knife.
”It's late,” he added, his brief smile forced.
Oh, G.o.d, what was he thinking? Why was he behaving as if nothing had happened? Why wasn't he happy?
”Devlin,” she began, suddenly panicked.
But he was crossing the room, he was leaving.
”Devlin?” She could not believe he would leave without a meaningful word, kiss, or even a look.
But at the door he paused, not turning to look at her. ”I'm sorry I hurt you,” he said.
She knew he referred to the physical invasion of his large body into her small, narrow one, and she was finally disbelieving.
He walked out.
HE WAS A MAN ON A MISSION. He traversed the house with hard, purposeful strides, refusing to think. He only knew one thing. Never again.
He had failed to keep the vow he had made, to her and himself, and he had failed his parents, both alive and dead-he had failed. In the end he had been caught up in a hunger that was impossible to control or resist. He had never felt such urgency before and he was never going to feel it again.
Never again.
He stood before Sean's closed bedroom door. He did not see the wood there-he saw only violet eyes, wide and glazed, and he heard only her wild cries of pleasure, her begging for more. What was wrong with him? A woman was only a vessel. Elizabeth, Fiona, they were objects to be used. G.o.dd.a.m.n it. When he was inside of her, something had begun to break apart inside of him, something had begun to tear apart, almost like a dying man in an endless black tunnel, finally glimpsing the shadow of faraway light and life.
He didn't like it.
He didn't like it one bit.
Never again.
He realized he was standing in front of his brother's door. He could still hear Virginia's cries, he could still taste her, he could even smell her, all over him. If he dared, he could walk through the blackness and seize that faraway light.
The idea s.h.i.+mmered, beckoned. Devlin shoved his terrible thoughts aside and focused on a far more important matter. What if he had gotten her pregnant?
He reminded himself that he wouldn't be around to find out.
His mind was ruthlessly made up. If anything, the thought of her being pregnant confirmed his decision. He banged upon the door twice.
Sean answered it, clad only in his drawers and looking as if he had been soundly asleep. But he took one look at Devlin and his eyes widened.
Devlin meant to smile at him. Nothing was more impossible. ”Fine,” he said.
”What?” Sean asked, shock in his gaze, for he clearly knew what his brother had just done.
”You have my permission to court Virginia. Court her, woo her, win her love, it's all the same to me-but in the end, you will marry her.”
Sean gaped.
Devlin slammed the door in his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
VIRGINIA ALMOST WEPT.
She no longer felt eighteen, never mind that she was a woman now-the little girl she'd once been had returned, bewildered and hurt. She lay in bed, desperately trying to understand what had just happened. She had just let Devlin O'Neill make love to her. She had let the man who had abducted her and who was holding her prisoner make love to her, and it had been everything she had expected and more. But he had walked out a moment ago as if their lovemaking meant nothing to him.
She refused to cry. Instead she tried to understand him, she tried to make excuses for him. It was late. He was tired. For all she knew, the act exhausted men. Tomorrow he would really smile at her, and he would pull her aside to kiss her and hold her and tell her that he was falling in love.
Virginia moaned. She sat up, absolutely ill with dread. Who was she fooling? She didn't even know the stranger whom she had allowed such complete possession of her body. And what she did know of him did not allow much hope. He was a brave man, but he was also hard and cold. He had just left her bed without a single affectionate gesture or word. And last night he'd been with a different woman. What had she done?
Why had she enticed him into her bed? Virginia knew very well that she had seduced him, never mind how inexperienced she was. Now she simply failed to understand how she could have done such a thing. He was her captor, a man with an iron heart, if any. But dear G.o.d, it had been more than wonderful, it had been right. Yet she was so shaken now, so confused, at once sick and desperate and even afraid. Never had she felt so lost and alone.
If only he had said something kind to her before he'd so abruptly left.
If only he had kissed or held her, if only there had been one sweet caress.
If only...
And finally, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Angrily she brushed it away. She was a strong woman and she would not cry over something she had so wanted! Besides, maybe tomorrow he would really smile at her, and that would be enough. One smile to show her that he did care, just a little, after all.
Virginia realized that she was terrified to face him again.
She was terrified that he would not be kind, or worse, that he would be indifferent.
Virginia turned onto her back again. In the mora.s.s of her confusion and fear, only one thing was clear. She should go home. If she went home, everything would be all right again. Wouldn't it?
But she didn't even know if she still had a home, and if she somehow did leave Ireland, what about Devlin O'Neill?
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