He leaned against the closed door, facing her. “Servants gossip madly, and I would bet my fortune that Mrs. Hill’s telling everyone she can think of how shameless a barbarian her new Irish master is. So this will have to work, and it will, but only if you make an attempt, Virginia, an attempt not to think about your passionate nature.”
“Like you are doing?” she challenged softly.
“Like I am doing,” he said with a smile that was a simple baring of his teeth. “It is called self-will, Virginia, and while I realize you have never thought to exercise it, now is a good time to start.”
“This is not my fault,” she reminded him.
“Lie down, close your eyes and count sheep, Virginia, sheep—or bales of tobacco, if you will—or battleships. Then I am certain you will be able to rest.” He walked out.
“We do not bale tobacco,” she muttered crossly.
Virginia flopped back down, arms crossed, oddly pleased. He wasn’t that hard to provoke, she decided, and she did enjoy stirring him up. And he did find her attractive, of that there was no doubt.
Virginia closed her eyes and began to count tobacco leaves. But the tobacco faded, replaced with a striking image of Devlin O’Neill. Virginia suddenly smiled. Maybe her plan would work after all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“MISSHUGHES? YOU HAVEcallers in the parlor,” Tompkins said.
Virginia had awoken that morning quite late, as it had taken her hours to still her mind and fall asleep, and the bedroom had been empty. It was now noon and she had been strolling the back lawns, finally pausing on the small terrace behind the house. She smiled at Tompkins. “Callers?”
“Yes,” he beamed back at her.
He was not at all like the horrid Mrs. Hill, whom Virginia had seen in passing that morning. The housekeeper had made a remark that breakfast was taken between eight and nine, an explanation for the empty sideboard in the small dining room. She had refused to look at Virginia, as if doing so might make her a mistress, too. Virginia had ignored her growling belly, politely asking for some coffee, toast and chocolate. A maid had brought her the requested refreshments, as it was clearly beneath Mrs. Hill to wait upon her master’s lover.
As they turned to the French doors, Virginia asked, “How long have you been at Wideacre, Tompkins?”
“Ten years, if I do say so myself,” he responded cheerfully.
“And you love it here?”
“Yes, I do. The missus died some time ago, my two daughters are married with children, one in Manchester, the other in a small village to the south, and Wideacre has become my home.” He shrugged a bit, his cheeks pink.
“You do a wonderful job,” Virginia assured him. They stepped into the parlor.
Devlin stood speaking to a country gentleman and his plump, pretty wife. Virginia halted the instant she laid eyes on him and for one moment, she admired him in his fine brown frock coat and tan britches. She had never seen him in a casual coat before. It hardly made a difference; he remained such a stunning man.
He saw her and their gazes locked. She wondered if he had ever come up to their room last night; when she had finally fallen asleep, he had yet to return.Their room.It was still almost impossible to believe, as was the state of her heart, now that she had admitted her worst fears and greatest dreams.
“Do come in, Virginia,” Devlin said, smiling. “Squire Pauley and his wife have been so kind as to call.”
Virginia hesitated, aware of the game they would now play. It had already begun, in fact, with his calling her by her given name so intimately. Both the bewhiskered squire and his blond wife were regarding her curiously, smiling. Virginia knew they did not yet know that she was a fallen woman.
She would change that. She smiled and swept forward, going right to Devlin, where she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth—he had clearly shaved recently. Her heart leapt as she withdrew her mouth and she said, “Good morning, darling,” her voice husky without any effort on her part.
He started, but then, ever the better gamesman, he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips firmly there. “You are ravishing, Virginia,” he murmured. “I see you slept late. No doubt you have deserved it.”
Their gazes held. “I was so tired I simply could not get up,” she breathed, and deciding to outdo him, she stroked his cheek, just once.
He started yet again. That gave her no satisfaction, however, as her heart was racing from the feigned intimacy. It was as if they were really lovers, and in that brief moment of pretense, it had felt as if they were alone.
“May I present Miss Virginia Hughes of Sweet Briar, Virginia,” Devlin said, looping her arm in his.
The squire and his wife were wide-eyed; now, quickly, they both smiled, at once. “How nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Hughes,” the squire said, his gaze shooting back and forth between them. Virginia knew he was trying to fathom their relationship.
“It is my pleasure,” Virginia said, as if she had been the most stellar student at the Marmott School. She extended her hand and he brushed the air above it with his lips. She turned to his wife. “Hello, Mrs. Pauley. Do you live far from here?”
“We live just a few miles away,” the blonde replied, attempting a smile and not quite succeeding.
