St. John beamed, pleased.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED?”the Earl of Eastleigh demanded coldly of his younger son.
Tom Hughes lay in bed, his torso and one arm bandaged, as his manservant took his breakfast tray from the room. “My head pounds, Father. Would you please refrain from shouting?” he said.
Eastleigh stared. “I was not shouting.”
William stood beside him, pale. “This is simply insufferable.”
“Be quiet.” Eastleigh looked his youngest son over. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I will live,” Tom said. His face tightened. “That bastard only got a set down. He went before St. John and he only got a set down.”
“He is probably paying them off,” Eastleigh spat. “Either that or the man has had nothing but luck his entire life.” And that would change, he silently vowed.
“This is beyond insufferable!” William erupted. “First he parades our cousin about Hampshire, openly flaunting their liaison, destroying her and, by association, our entire family! Lord Livingston did not receive my wife the other day. She is always received there—Lady Livingston loves Cecily! But now the best of friends are the worst of friends—after all, we have a whore in the family! This is beyond insufferable. It has to stop!”
“I admit that I never expected him to go so far as to take her to the Carew ball.” Tom was clearly disgusted.
“And you had to pick a fight with him?” Eastleigh asked, his tone icy.
“He attackedme,” Tom exclaimed with indignation. “She is our cousin—and she is a fetching little thing. I think I had every right to sample her charms—but the savage attackedme!”
“You have only encouraged the gossips.” Eastleigh was outwardly calm, but inwardly, he seethed. He agreed with his sons. O’Neill had to be stopped. But the question remained, how? He felt certain that nothing short of killing the man would dissuade him from his revenge.
“I am sure all of London will do nothing but speak of last night’s entertainment now. Do you know I dread the dinner party we are attending tomorrow?” William finally sat down. “At least we have an offer for Sweet Briar. Although the buyer wishes to remain anonymous and we are selling the place for half its market value.”
“I didn’t know!” Tom smiled, pleased. “This shall help ease our depleted coffers for a while. Father, you must be thrilled.”
Eastleigh did not really hear him. His sons were both weak; they were both fools. But he was not weak, never mind that he was older, impoverished, obese. He had killed once before with as much chagrin as one felt when swatting a fly. The Irish were mostly savages. He knew that firsthand, having spent his youth as a soldier stationed among them. He had never favored Catholic emancipation and he despised the fools who did. No Catholic should be able to vote or own land—and no Catholic should be as wealthy and powerful as that savage, O’Neill. What would it matter if he killed one more time?
He had so little now to lose.
Eastleigh began to plan.
VIRGINIA STOOD AT HER WINDOW,looking out at the Thames as the twilight grew, where several yachts sailed among the more plebian traffic of dories, dinghies and skips. It was suppertime, but she had no intention of going downstairs to dine. Although she could not remain hateful—she would never hate Devlin O’Neill—her heart had been broken for the very last time. She smiled sadly, bitterly, recalling every moment of her conversation that morning—and every moment spent in his arms last night. But she had had enough. It was over now and she was going home.
Her sadness felt like grief, heavy and depressing, a weight that threatened to sink her down.
Virginia heard voices on the terrace below her window. Her puppy came to stand beside her, whining.
She started, as she had not known they were having company. She heard a man’s and a woman’s voice, both terribly familiar.
Her cheeks heated. She recognized the woman instantly and she thought, oh no! For it was none other than Mary de Warenne, which meant the man with her was the Earl of Adare.
A knock sounded on her door. Virginia was hardly surprised, and reluctantly she turned. “Come in.”
Hannah smiled at her. “Captain asks fer you to come down to dine, Miss Hughes. Her ladyship and his lordship are here, as well.”
Virginia smiled grimly. “I have a headache,” she said. “Please send my regrets, but I will not be going down to dine tonight.”
“Shall I bring you a supper tray?” Hannah asked, instantly concerned.
“I have no appetite,” Virginia said.
When the maid was gone, she walked over to the sofa and sat down, pulling the puppy, whom she’d named Arthur, close, staring at the fire in the hearth while stroking him. Then she buried her face in his fur, but she did not cry.
It hurt so much. The heartache this time was worse than it had ever been, because she had truly allowed herself to hope and dream of Devlin’s love. But how foolish and naive could she be? Devlin had no heart. He was incapable of loving anyone. He had proved it once and for all. She simply could not wait for the future, for a day when he was not even the vaguest memory.
