“I will kill you.”
Devlin’s strangely fierce words stabbed through the darkness and suddenly Tom Hughes was gone. Virginia collapsed to the floor, still sobbing, her chest and her arm throbbing with pain, and she heard a man scream.
Choking, she looked up.
Hughes lay on the floor, and above him, on the wall, was blood.
Coherence came.
Devlin kicked him. “Get up, coward,” he said very softly.
She had to stop him. He had meant his every word. He was going to murder Hughes.
But Virginia could not yet speak.
Hughes got to his hands and his knees. “She’s only a whore.” He spat blood.
Devlin lifted him to his feet and threw him against the stone wall. Then he caught him as he fell, lifted him again and slammed his gloved fist into his face. Something shattered there.
Virginia ignored all pain and got up. “Devlin, stop! Stop it now!”
But Hughes, his face bloody, withdrew his sword.
Virginia was in disbelief.
Devlin smiled. “A very unwise move,” he said. His sword rang as he unsheathed it. And the two men began to dance softly about each other, each with fatal intent.
“Devlin, no,” Virginia cried.
He gave no sign that he had heard, feinting once. Hughes misread the feint and thrust to receive a blow; instantly, Devlin thrust and slashed open his uniform. Blood welled. Hughes cried out.
Tyrell.Virginia ran around the corner and into the brightly lit gallery, glancing wildly everywhere, and it wasn’t until she was halfway through the hall that she became aware of the people she passed turning to gape and stare. She realized then that her hair was coming down, her gown was torn and that what had happened was terribly clear. But her obvious downfall could not matter now. She paused on one threshold to the ballroom, saw the huge crowd there, and despaired.Devlin was going to kill Tom Hughes, she simply knew it, and he would hang for the offense.
Then she saw him, on the dance floor, partnering a stunning blonde.
And eyes were turning her way.
Summoning up all of her courage, she lifted her skirts and ran. “My lord de Warenne!”
Tyrell was stepping back into line, facing his partner, and he stiffened.
She shouted again. “Tyrell! My lord! Help!”
He turned, saw her, and his eyes widened. Then he ran to her, the dancers ceasing at once. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“Devlin is killing Tom Hughes in the hall behind the gallery,” she cried.
He took off like a shot. Virginia ran after him, aware now of a terrible silence overcoming the ballroom, of the furor of gasps and murmurs. It was too late to care. And as she chased Tyrell through the gallery and into the hall, she did not stop to discover how many guests were on her heels.
In the hall she found the two men parrying, with Hughes a tattered, bloody mess. Devlin was pristine in his uniform, pristine and untouched; his adversary could barely keep to his feet. The two men exchanged blows, and Hughes’s sword clattered across the floor and out of reach. Devlin’s sword thrust against his chest, where it lay, unmoving. And Devlin smiled with ruthless, lethal intent.
“Enough,” Tyrell said, moving to stand behind Devlin.
Hughes stood, his back to the wall, swaying as if about to become unconscious. The crowd behind Virginia gasped and began murmuring in disbelief and amazement.
Devlin’s entire face was a taut, tight, controlled mask, one Virginia had never before seen. She knew he wished to kill. His smile was more than chilling; it was terrifying. “I think not. I think it is time for Tom Hughes to die.”
“And all for your whore?” Hughes managed.
