Part 42 (1/2)

He was grim, torn, confused. It was hard to breathe. Tension filled his body as if he had not been s.e.xually sated a single time. He did not have to close his eyes to see Virginia lying in his arms, smiling warmly at him, love s.h.i.+ning in her eyes.

What was happening to him?

When he had discovered her being mauled by Tom Hughes, he had actually seen red, wanting to kill the man for daring to trespa.s.s on what was his, for daring to hurt her. His murderous rage had had nothing to do with his father's murder and everything to do with his feelings for Virginia.

He trembled violently now. He was no fool. Virginia was not his and she never would be his. Yet he had never touched or kissed any woman the way that he had done last night, and insist as he might to himself that it all meant nothing, in his heart he knew differently. Somehow, his admiration for his captive had become something far more-something far worse.

He reached for his Scotch and found the gla.s.s empty. Grimly he stared at it. No amount of Scotch would erase what he had done-from the very first, when he had taken Virginia as his hostage, intending to use her so callously as a tool of revenge, to this last devastating plan to flaunt her in society as his lover.

The moment he had first seen Virginia in the hold of the Americana, he had known that he should not abduct her-with the finely honed instincts of a true warrior, he had known he should jettison his plan and avoid her at all costs. Instead, he had held true to a fatal course, she the mighty storm and he the tiny sloop. And now their course was run, having come to this final, singular moment in time.

He lurched to his feet with a curse. He could no longer subject her to his whims. He could no longer use her in his terrible scheme. He wished, desperately, that he had not made love to her, not ever. Family and love were not for him.

Eastleigh would still have to pay-Devlin's revenge was hardly complete-but Virginia had paid far more than she ever should have, and now he hated himself for all that he had done.

He strode to the hearth, where last night's embers glowed. He had received his new orders and he was leaving shortly for America. Before then, he needed to free her and he would take her home. At Sweet Briar, there would be no malicious slander to haunt her. In fact, she would probably forget all about him in the span of a few months.

Inside his chest, it almost felt as if the devil were ripping his heart in two.

Are you in love with this girl? Tyrell had asked.

He was not. He had never experienced the emotion, and he never would. He knew that for a fact.

Devlin returned to his desk, trying not to contemplate the fact that once Virginia had returned to her plantation, their paths would never again cross. Almost ill, he began to pen instructions to his solicitor to purchase Sweet Briar anonymously from Eastleigh on his behalf. He would give her the plantation in a very futile attempt to make amends. He did not seek forgiveness-he did not deserve it.

And then, when Virginia was gone, he would finish Eastleigh, one way or the other.

Because the stakes had forever changed and now there was nothing left to lose.

VIRGINIA HESITATED OUTSIDE of the closed library door where she had been told that Devlin was. It was almost noon and she had recently awoken. She could think of nothing other than her lover. Last night he had made love to her. She knew it the way she knew that the air she breathed was filled with oxygen. Everything had changed between them. She hardly knew why-she only knew she had to race back into his welcoming arms, to make sure the night had not been a dream.

But she hesitated because their long history had taught her how ruthless and unpredictable he could be. A part of her recalled every slight and hurt, every single rejection, and that part of her was almost faint with dread. But last night had not been a dream.

She smoothed down her lovely gown and knocked on the door. ”Devlin?”

There was no answer.

Virginia opened the door and glanced inside. The room was empty. She saw a stack of letters on his desk, one unsealed, and a cup and saucer. She walked in, and at the desk, saw that the teacup was half-full. She touched the cup and found it warm-he had only just stepped out.

And then her gaze fell onto the letter that lay open in the center of the desk. Her gaze widened and she glanced up, but Devlin had not appeared in the doorway. Somewhat guiltily, she lifted the letter and read.

Lord Admiral St. John to Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill Waverly Hall Greenwich November 20, 1812 Sir Captain O'Neill, Please be advised of the following. Your orders are to proceed by December the 14 to the coasts of Maryland and Virginia, where you shall commence the blockade of the Delaware and Chesapeake Bays in conjunction with the HMS Southampton, the HMS Java and the HMS Peac.o.c.k. All American vessels are subject to search and seizure. A determination is to be made thereof, and any American vessels, including non-naval s.h.i.+ps, deemed to be engaged in military action, are to be seized or destroyed. All efforts are to be made to avoid harmful intercourse with American noncombatants; any suspicion of military involvement on the part of such American civilians is to be investigated and treated accordingly with His Majesty's rules of engagement.

The Right Honorable Lord Admiral St. John The Admiralty 13 Brook Street West Square Virginia trembled violently and set the letter containing Devlin's orders down. Devlin was leaving to go to war and he was leaving soon-within two weeks. She trembled, sick with fear for his safety.

She inhaled raggedly, reminding herself that Devlin had been going to war since he was a boy of thirteen. It did not help-she feared for his welfare now. She feared for his life.

And then she thought about the rest of his orders. She grasped the back of his chair. Dear G.o.d, he was going to war against her country. His orders were to seize and destroy any American naval s.h.i.+ps and any other vessels suspected of military involvement. He would be fighting her country and her people within miles of her home. And suddenly it was so terribly clear that there was a war raging on the Atlantic Ocean and on American soil, a war between his country and hers.

”Virginia?”

She started and saw him approaching. She swallowed and said, ”I did not mean to pry. I was looking for you. I saw your orders.”

He paused, glancing at the open letter. ”My orders are cla.s.sified.” His gaze was steady upon hers.

”Cla.s.sified?”

”They are meant only for my eyes and those of the Admiralty and the Department of War.”

”I am sorry.” She was breathless; she didn't know what to do now. ”You're leaving?”

”Yes.” He was staring grimly at her. ”As soon as possible.”

He could have merely acknowledged the fact; his choice of words was a dark blow. She gripped the desk. ”As soon as possible?” she echoed.

His gaze did not waver. ”Yes.”

Surely this did not mean anything, surely this had nothing to do with her or the night they had shared. She wet her lips. Her pulse pounded. ”Can you not delay awhile?”

”I don't think so.” He faced her soberly. ”I will take you home-back to Virginia.”

Her heart felt as if it had dropped right out of her body and through the floor. ”What?”

He was far more grim than before. ”I will find another way to ruin Eastleigh. It's time for you to go.”

Virginia sank down in his chair. She was in utter disbelief. He would send her away now? After their pa.s.sion, their love? ”But...”

”But what?” he asked too sharply.

”But last night,” she implored. ”Everything is different now...isn't it?” And she prayed she would not cry.

He did not look at her, pouring a drink. Were his hands shaking? ”You need to be freed, that fact has not changed.”

She was quickly becoming devastated. ”But,” she said, frozen on the inside, and on the outside, too, ”but we made love last night.”

He tossed back a shot. ”Don't,” he warned.

Virginia managed to stand up, holding on to his desk as she did so. ”I know it,” she insisted stubbornly.

He finally looked at her, his face taut, his expression so similar to the one he'd worn last night after the ball. ”I do not want to hurt you again, Virginia.”

”Then do not do so,” she cried.

”Why do you still demand the impossible of me?” he cried in return. ”Why not leave this alone? I will return you to Sweet Briar. This is what you want!”

She stared, her heart, so badly pierced, beginning to break apart into small pieces. ”It's not what I want,” she whispered.