Part 46 (1/2)

”Yes, I do, and we shall make the best of it. We will hardly be the only couple with divided loyalties in this conflict.”

She trembled, cold all over again. She knew she was losing-she had lost every single battle she had ever waged against this man. ”I cannot marry you, Devlin. Not now, not ever.”

He straightened.

”I mean it,” she said nervously.

A terrible silence ensued. He looked at her for a long time with such a severe mask in place that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling-if, indeed, he felt anything. He set his gla.s.s carefully down. ”But my regret is sincere. I am sorry for everything and I wish to make amends. I wish to save your reputation.”

She felt like weeping. ”Your regret comes too late!”

He looked at her, his gaze searching. ”You did not always hate me.”

She stiffened. ”This is not about hatred. My letter was sincere. I do not hate you, Devlin, in spite of all that you have done.”

”Then accept this marriage, for Tyrell is right-it is in your best interest.”

”I want to go home,” she heard herself say, almost pathetically.

He started.

How she wanted to weep. Her tone quavering, she took a deep breath and said, ”I admit what we both now know-once I loved you, and I wanted you to love me in return. But you cannot offer me love, can you?”

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. ”No.”

”No,” she echoed, and it was impossible not to be bitter. ”You offer me marriage now. I simply cannot accept. You see, you have hurt me for the last time,” she said tersely. ”If you wish to appease this new conscience of yours, then send me home, a free woman, at long last.”

”I cannot.”

”Of course you can. You are the most powerful and independent man I have ever met. Of course you can.” She realized that she was crying.

He suddenly approached.

Virginia stiffened as he paused before her, his expression very severe.

”I will not sell Sweet Briar.”

She froze. ”What?” Had he just said what she thought he had?

”I will not sell Sweet Briar.”

She felt faint. She must have reeled because he caught her. ”You won't sell Sweet Briar? But...I do not understand.”

”Sit down,” he commanded, guiding her to a chair.

She was too stunned to refuse.

”I have purchased the plantation,” he said. ”I bought it to give to you in an effort to make amends for what I have done.”

Virginia felt faint. She could hardly comprehend his words. He now owned her home?

”It will be your wedding present,” he said softly. ”A gift from me to you.”

Part Three.

The Bride.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

THE WEDDING WAS BUT days away.

Virginia had never felt more like a powerless p.a.w.n. With her wedding looming so near, it was impossible not to admit that if Devlin O'Neill loved her, just a little, she would be more than thrilled to be marrying him. But he didn't love her, not at all; until recently, his intention had been to send her home, done with her at last. It hurt still. And as for his grand gesture of buying Sweet Briar with the intention of giving it to her, that had become tainted by the suggestion of blackmail in his offer. It was to be a wedding gift-and Virginia did not have to ask him to know that if she refused to marry him there would be no gift at all. She could not be unhappy with his ”gift,” but she wished it had been offered with no consequent threats. And she would not refuse. Devlin was paying off the plantation's debts and in a few days, her home would belong to her, at last. She was marrying a man who frightened her, a man still bent on revenge, a man she continued to hopelessly love; the future was uncertain and shadowed with doubt. At least she would have a refuge if she ever needed one.

She took the safest possible course; she retreated into herself. She slept late and went to bed early. She immersed herself in books. She tried hard not to think, and when she did, she thought of Sweet Briar and how one day her children would inherit it. She kept her distance from Devlin, knowing it would hurt to be near him, and that was an easy task. He spent most of his waking hours either at the Defiance, as she was in the final stages of being outfitted for her tour, or at the Admiralty, being briefed upon the war. She suspected that he might be avoiding her, as well, and she could only surmise that he found the impending marriage more than distasteful. Most evenings he took his supper out, leaving her to dine alone in the huge, empty dining room. Upon crossing each other's paths, they both became polite, formal strangers, which relieved Virginia to no end, no matter how odd it was.

Mary de Warenne was another problem entirely. Virginia liked his mother and suspected that, had circ.u.mstances been different, they might have become deep and abiding friends. Now, however, his mother was busily and happily planning their small wedding. Virginia was constantly called on for Mary wished her to approve every detail, every decision. The wedding would be held at their Mayfair home in the old chapel there-fine. The wedding would be restricted to the immediate family-fine. The reception afterward would also be at Harmon House-fine. There would be salmon, pheasant, venison, and would French champagne be inappropriate? No, that was fine. And finally there was the matter of Virginia's gown.

Mary de Warenne's couturier was beside herself with enthusiasm. Virginia nodded at lace, at beads, at silk, at satin-she had no idea what the dress would be like and she did not care. Why couldn't they just plan the event, have her appear at the appointed hour and leave her entirely alone?

But Virginia could not be rude to Mary. The effort cost her dearly, but she was polite, friendly and, in general, quite amiable. The moment Mary left her though, Virginia would lock herself in her room, take huge calming breaths and, somehow, avoid the terrible need to cry.

It was noon. Virginia knew what day it was-she kept track of the days with the morbid fascination of a prisoner on his way to the guillotine. It was December 9-in three more days she would be walking down the aisle. Her stomach tightened at the thought, and it was a painful stabbing in her gut.

”Virginia?” Mary knocked on her door. ”I have your gown! You must see it-may I come in?”

Virginia was seated by the window, staring out at the back lawns and the river. Her heart lurched and she stood. ”Come in,” she said.

Mary entered, a bulky, wrapped garment in her arms. ”It is beautiful beyond words, and you must try it on!” She rushed over to Virginia and kissed her cheek. Her face was alight, her eyes sparkling, and she was a very beautiful woman, indeed.

”I don't really think I should try it on,” Virginia said slowly, her heart beating uncomfortably now. She sensed it would be hard to maintain her composure if she tried on her wedding dress, but how to avoid doing so? What logic could she use?

”But what if it needs an alteration?” Mary exclaimed, already placing the garment on the bed and removing the brown wrapper. ”Look! Just look!” she cried.

Virginia hugged herself, ill. Mary held up a white silk dress and Virginia had to look. Almost hypnotized, she saw a gown with a square neckline and long sleeves, covered with a layer of lace that was heavily beaded, the skirts impossibly full, the train elegant and long. She forced a smile; it felt sickly. ”How beautiful,” she whispered. How could this be happening? How?

She was on the verge of marrying Devlin-and he did not love her, not at all.

”You will be the most beautiful bride ever seen at Harmon House,” Mary gushed. ”Let me help you out of your clothes.”

Virginia turned, giving Mary her back, facing the window. An elegant yacht had berthed at their dock and a number of sailors were tying the lines. She blinked back a tear, vaguely wondering who had arrived, as she did not recognize the vessel. A man leapt from the stern to the dock and the sight he made was terribly familiar.

Virginia froze.

He leapt over the stone path, ignoring it, and started swiftly up the lawn.