Nothing had been resolved, nothing yet was finished.
“When will you decide that you have had enough of this terrible obsession? When will you decide that there is a chance for happiness? When will you choose joy over pain?” Edward demanded softly. “When will you choose to live?”
“If you had been murdered as Gerald was, Tyrell, Rex and Cliff would do just as I have to avenge you,” he said, speaking of the earl’s three sons.
“I hope not,” Edward said. “You know what you must do. I imagine that somewhere in the back of your mind, you have known all along.”
Mary stepped quietly into the room, closing the door behind her. “Devlin? I love you the way only a mother can love her firstborn, but this is about right and wrong. It is about honor and dishonor, and it is about duty. If you are truly my son—the son I have raised—you will do what is honorable and you will stand up with Miss Hughes.” Tears filled her eyes. “I know you will honor Virginia with marriage—I know it,” she said.
And he was lost. He could not refuse the woman who had borne him into this world, the woman who had raised him, loved him and succored him until his thirteenth year, when he had gone to sea. He could not refuse his mother, who somehow retained a remarkable and unrealistic faith in him, and they were both right, this was the only real means of making amends.
Last night I gave myself to you with joy and love.
He closed his eyes, fiercely resistant, sweating. He did not want this. He did not need joy, he did not need love, but surely he could marry Virginia and maintain a proper distance between them. Surely he could marry her while maintaining his true course—revenge. Nothing had to change, really, except for her title and the fact that her stay with him would now be a permanent one.
“Devlin?” Mary asked.
He turned and met her gaze. With a bow, he said, “I will marry Virginia. Plan the nuptials, I will be there.” And there, it was done, the act of honor, what was right, because there was no choice after all.
Mary cried out and rushed to embrace him, tears wetting her cheeks. “Darling, she will make a wonderful wife, I am certain of it.”
Devlin nodded but he felt dazed. And oddly, he was also relieved. He had thought to return Virginia to her home, never seeing her again. Instead, they had a lifetime to share.
God, he would have to tread with care or he might truly fall under her spell, he thought with a stab of uncertainty and panic.
“Edward, we have a wedding to plan,” Mary was saying with delight. “And no time in which to do it!” She smiled at Devlin. “I expect you wed within the next two weeks, well before you set sail on theDefiance.”
DEVLIN FOUND IT IMPOSSIBLEto concentrate on the task at hand. His first officer had presented him with a list of supplies that he needed to authorize, but the words on the vellum blurred. The oddest feeling of relief consumed him, and he could not get over the fact that he was to marry Virginia before theDefianceset sail on December 14.
He finally pushed the page away. Where the hell was Virginia, anyway? He understood that last night she had pleaded a headache and had taken a supper tray in her room. Her avoidance of him had been to his advantage, then, too—he had hardly wished to speak with her so shortly after agreeing to their marriage. But it was noon, another day, and he felt quite certain that she had not come downstairs for breakfast, either. Virginia did not loll about her bed. What was more likely was that she had gone out at dawn for a long walk. In any case, she continued to avoid him, and now he felt pressured to meet with her and discuss the fact of their future. Surely they could structure an arrangement that suited them both. He felt it urgent to do so, and he intended to put her on notice that little would change in their relationship except for her official title. And as important, surely she was pleased with the impending nuptials—surely she no longer hated him.
Benson appeared in the doorway. Devlin tensed and sat up more stiffly, expecting Virginia. But it was William Hughes who was ushered in.
He was very surprised. He stood.
Hughes inclined his head in a parody of a bow. Devlin imitated him exactly, becoming wary and cautious. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he murmured. What could Will Hughes want?
“Shall we cease with any pleasantries?” William returned, standing stiffly where Benson had left him.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Devlin replied, moving out from behind his desk. William was very unhappy, very displeased—why? His curiosity knew no bounds. “Brandy? Scotch? Wine?” he offered, his blood heating with the call to arms that this visit signaled.
William made a dismissive gesture.
Devlin smiled at him. “And how is the health of your brother?”
William seemed to choke. “Cease with all pretense!” he cried. “I have had enough! You have sullied the good Hughes name for the very last time. I have come with an offer, O’Neill.”
His cold smile fixed, his hands clasped behind his back, Devlin said, “Do tell.” Had Eastleigh, the coward, sent William to do his dirty deeds?
His nostrils flared. He held out a banknote. “This is the best I can do. It is not fifteen thousand pounds, an absurd sum. It is three thousand pounds, and it is yours if you release my cousin.”
Devlin made no move to take the offered note. He was stunned—and then he almost laughed, as the money being offered him had been his to begin with, undoubtedly garnered from their sale of Sweet Briar to him. “Does your father know what you offer me?”
“Does it matter?” William asked caustically, telling him that he did not.
Devlin shrugged, accepting the note. “Actually, it does not.”
William looked at him with real disgust and walked out.
