“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.
He stiffened and he was clearly angry. “Do not ask me to give you something I cannot, and will not, give.”
The tears fell. She could not stop them. She stared, and with the hurt, there was almost hatred. “So it meant nothing…last night?”
He drew his shoulders back. “I enjoyed myself very much, Virginia, as I know you did, too. But it meant nothing.”
She cried out, and had she been closer, she would have struck his handsome face.
“Clearly, I should not have given in to my passion last night. You are too young and too innocent to understand men, Virginia—and I am only a man, and not a romantic one. I am sorry. I am sorry you think last night meant more than it did. Now, I have a ship to attend to.” His shoulders squared, he turned and started for the door.
She somehow stood. Her tone sounded frigid to her own ears. “How odd it is,” she said harshly.
He froze but did not turn.
“They say love and hate are the opposite sides of the same coin. I never understood that before.”
He stiffened even more—and he looked back at her.
She smiled without any mirth. “Last night I gave myself to you with joy and love.”
He stared, no expression on his face or in his eyes, none at all.
“Today there is only hate.” And even as she heard herself utter the terrible words, she wished she had not—she hated herself, too, for her cruelty.
His face twisted and he bowed. “It is your right. Good day, Virginia.” He walked out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DEVLIN TOOK THE WIDEfront steps to the Admiralty two at a time, his mouth set in a grim line. He had received notice of this meeting but an hour ago. He had been expecting such notice; after all, all of London would be talking about the affair last night and the befuddled old men in blue were no exception. His conduct had not been that befitting an officer and a gentleman.
Other officers and their aides were coming and going; Devlin did not nod at anyone, as he saw no one. A beautiful pale face with furious violet eyes haunted him instead.Last night I gave myself to you with joy and love. Today there is only hate.
His mouth twisted. There was a terrible piercing in his chest as her hurtful declaration echoed, but he was glad, fiercely so, that she had come to her senses. He deserved only hatred, not love, and he was relieved, as fiercely, that finally she would cease imploring him with her every manner to love her in return.
“Captain O’Neill, sir?” A young lieutenant was waiting for him inside at the top of the marble staircase.
Devlin shoved his thoughts of Virginia aside. His feelings were not so easily shunted; both guilt and regret tormented him. He calmly accepted the lieutenant’s salute. Inwardly he remained in turmoil.
“Admiral St. John is waiting, sir,” the young officer added.
Devlin knew the way—how many times had he been called to Brook Street to be set down? A dozen, perhaps more. He preceded the junior officer down the hall, knocked on St. John’s office door and was instructed to enter.
He did so, saluting smartly and giving no indication of any surprise or any other feeling when he noticed Admiral Farnham present. He removed his bicorn, tucking it under his arm, remaining at attention.
“Do sit down, Captain,” St. John said, his florid expression grim.
Devlin nodded and took a chair.
St. John took his seat behind his desk, while Farnham sat in an adjacent chair. “I am very sorry to have called you in today,” St. John said grimly, “especially after the most unpleasing hearing of last summer.”
Devlin said nothing.
“The events of last night have come to my attention, rightly so. Do you care to explain yourself, Devlin?”
