“You may play all the tennis that you want, Virginia, as this is presently your home.”
Her excitement faded. She had briefly forgotten their bargain because Devlin had been behaving so amiably it was as if he were really her friend. But they did have a bargain and he was buying her a new wardrobe and taking her to balls—he intended to parade her about London now, humiliating her and her uncle until Eastleigh capitulated and paid her ransom.
She moved away from him. “This isn’t my home. It’s my prison, but I had forgotten it, and that is not a good idea.” Suddenly the aching sadness she had been afflicted with yesterday, upon seeing the countess leaving, assailed her again.
“Try to think of it as your home,” he said quietly.
She barely managed to smile at him.
AN IMPOSSIBLY STRAIGHT-FACEDbutler showed them in. Virginia gaped at the immense front hall with its high ceilings, crystal chandelier and works of art. One life-size nude statue was a masterpiece—a Roman soldier mounted on a warhorse.
And the floors beneath her feet were marble. Good God, Devlin was even wealthier than she had thought.
“Good day, sir, we are so pleased to have you back,” the butler intoned, taking Virginia’s hat and gloves and then Devlin’s gloves as well.
“Benson, this is Miss Hughes. Have her bags brought to my rooms, which she will be sharing,” Devlin said.
The butler did not bat an eye. “Yes, Sir Captain.”
Virginia felt drawn to a huge painting depicting some kind of ancient battle. Mounted soldiers, perhaps Greek or Roman, were invading a citadel filled with frightened women and crying children. The scene was grim, but so powerful and so beautifully done. She stared in awe.
“Ty,” Devlin said with surprise.
Virginia turned to see a man standing in the opposite doorway, backlit by the sun.
“Dev.” He came forward and she instantly recognized him as the Earl of Adare’s son. The resemblance, the sense of power, the dark good looks, were remarkable. She watched with real curiosity as the two men embraced, and decided that they were more than stepbrothers—clearly they were genuine friends. Then the man Devlin had referred to as Ty stepped back and looked curiously at Virginia.
“Virginia,” Devlin said, holding out his hand and smiling at her.
She faltered, because once again it was as if Devlin were truly her friend. And suddenly she wished that he was—that he could be a real friend, even if he might never come to love her as a woman. She could settle, she thought, for that crumb.
“Virginia,” he said again. But there was no impatience in his tone.
She came forward, the tall, dark man staring far too directly at her, as if he were inspecting her inside and out. She felt herself flush. Was she to play her part now, again? She paused before Devlin, but he did not put his arm around her as he had when they had performed their charade at Wideacre. “Miss Virginia Hughes,” he said quietly.
Ty nodded, his jaw flexing, his eyes dark. Virginia realized he was angry as he turned to Devlin, not speaking, as if he dared not utter a word.
“My stepbrother, Tyrell de Warenne,” Devlin said to Virginia.
She realized that no charade would be necessary, not with his family.
Tyrell faced her with a bow. “I apologize, Miss Hughes. Your beauty has left me speechless.”
She blinked and smiled at him, relived that she did not have to play the trollop now. “I doubt that.”
He straightened. “I beg your pardon?”
She bit her lip. “I mean, thank you very much.”
Devlin choked.
“Sean speaks very highly of you. He sends his warmest regards,” Tyrell added, not glancing another time at Devlin.
Her heart tightened a little. She smiled, instantly somewhat sad. “How is he?”
“Well, if you mean his state of health,” Tyrell said, “he is fine.”
She met his gaze. Did this man somehow know that Sean was in love with her? Or that he had once been in love with her? And why was he angry with Devlin? “When did you see him? Was it at Askeaton?”
