A chill went up her spine. Virginia watched the two men, both reeking of enmity and hatred, and she despaired. If she did not miss her guess something terrible was about to happen. Could she somehow diffuse the situation? She stepped swiftly forward. “Thank you, Uncle. How kind of you to call.”
Devlin gripped her arm, silencing her before she could go on. “Save your false words for a foolish man,” he said coldly. “My stepfather is correct. You are not welcome here. But before I escort you out, I do have one question. Do you not want to know what fate befell your assassin?”
Virginia gasped. Assassin? What was Devlin speaking of? In confusion and dismay, she stared at him. But he did not seem to be aware of her presence now.
“Assassin?” Eastleigh laughed. “I know of no assassin. Did someone try to murder you, O’Neill?” He laughed again. “Why think it was me? You have more enemies than can be counted, and we both know it.”
Devlin leaned closer, smiling, and it was chilling. “Your assassin failed. But I suggest you watch your back, Eastleigh, as two can play this new game.”
Virginia cried out. No one seemed to hear.
“Is that a threat? Have you decided to murder me now? Is my destitution not enough?” He smiled. “Perhapsyourback needs watching, O’Neill, not mine.” He turned and bowed at Virginia. “I do hope you enjoy your birthday gift.” He left.
Virginia simply stared after him as Devlin turned, his expression so hard and ruthless it was frightening. She was vaguely aware of Edward rushing to comfort Mary, as she was close to tears. When Eastleigh was out of sight, his footsteps no longer falling, she turned. The room was now filled with an icy tension.
“I’ll get rid of that,” Tyrell said, lifting the wrapped parcel.
“No!” Devlin strode over and tore the brown waxed paper apart. A painting was beneath.
Virginia could hardly breathe. She was also beginning to feel faint. “What is it?”
Devlin made a rough sound. “Get rid of it. Burn it,” he said.
“Stop!” Virginia ran forward and shoved past him. Then she cried out.
The painting was a beautiful portrait of her parents, painted eighteen years ago, her mother lovely and breathtaking, her father proud and handsome. An infant was in their arms—a babe that could only be Virginia. But they were standing in front of a house that Virginia recognized with stunning dismay. It was Eastleigh Hall. And the Earl of Eastleigh stood with them, younger, more vital, less overweight and as proud and overbearing as ever. The meaning of his gift was unmistakable.
She was a Hughes and the earl’s niece and nothing could ever change that fact—not even her marriage to Devlin.
“I’ll get rid of it,” Tyrell repeated grimly, glancing at Virginia. She nodded numbly and he took the canvas and left.
“Mary is going to lie down,” Edward said, pausing with her at the door. “Eleanor, come.”
Mary smiled apologetically, her eyes moist with tears. “I’m sorry. This evening has not been what I planned…”
Virginia gripped her hands. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It was wonderful, really.”
As they left Cliff went over to Devlin. “Don’t let him provoke you,” he said.
Devlin didn’t respond, staring furiously out the window at the dusky night.
Cliff turned to Virginia. “Are you all right?”
She nodded her head in the affirmative, but it was a lie. “Perhaps you should leave us,” she managed.
He hesitated, glancing back at his brother, but then he nodded and went out.
She and Devlin were alone. He remained at the window now, and it was as if he was unaware that she remained in the room. She looked at his rigid shoulders and back. She could feel his hatred. Worse, she knew he was planning some terrible deed now.
She was ill.
Trembling, she walked up to him. “He tried to assassinate you?” she asked.
He finally glanced at her. “I’m sorry you had to learn of it. It doesn’t matter. He failed.”
“Of course it matters!” she cried.
“Virginia, I survived the foolish attempt.”
