How could she fail now? When freedom was so close?
A group of men were stepping onto the gangplank from the docks below. Behind her, Carlos cried, “Seize that woman! That’s not a boy, it’s a woman!O’Neill’s woman!”
Virginia faltered as the men below hesitated, and then the four of them bolted up the plank toward her.
She looked back.
Carlos stood a few feet behind her, grinning at her, his arms dangling at his side, fingers twitching as if eager to grab her.
Virginia looked to her right as the four sailors ran toward her.
The water was black and iridescent in the starlight.
It looked so calm. She was a strong swimmer, too.
Virginia darted toward the rail. And then she leapt up onto it.
Carlos shouted, “Grab her before she jumps!”
Virginia paused on the top rail, took her dagger from her belt, and held both arms high up overhead. Then she dove.
DEVLIN STRODE TOWARD THEdocks, leaving the waterfront bars and inns behind. His mood was dire, indeed. Somehow his dead father had haunted him all day, as if he did not have enough on his mind with Virginia’s witty escape. Everywhere he had turned since setting foot on Irish soil, he had almost expected to see Gerald O’Neill standing there, having something to say. But that was only his imagination, of course. Gerald was dead and unlike most people, Devlin did not believe in ghosts.
Besides, what could his father wish to say to him, anyway? Eastleigh was nearly ruined. Long ago, Devlin had decided a miserable impoverished existence would be far better punishment than death, and wasn’t that revenge good enough?
Sightless eyes stared up at him from the bloody stump of his father’s severed head.
The memory made him angry. He hadn’t been tormented with it since he had set sail from London—no, since he had seized theAmericana,and the absence had been a huge and welcome relief. But hadn’t he known that returning home would undo him?The boy had returned, frightened and uneasy, weak and without confidence.
Devlin hated the boy—he always had—and he softly cursed.
He needed no haunting, no memories of his past, not when his prisoner was missing. And he could not rest easy until he had his captive back. He reminded himself that if she managed to escape, it really did not matter; she was only salt that he would mercilessly rub in Eastleigh’s gaping wounds. But that rationalization did not quell his annoyance. Virginia Hughes was far more than a brat, daring to defy him. This was a challenge, one he could not let pass.
Huge violet eyes gazed pleadingly at him.I cannot survive without Sweet Briar. Please let me go! Please. I beg you….
He refused to feel sorry for her, not even in the most dispassionate and clinical way. He did not wish Virginia ill, certainly, but her last name was Hughes, and she would serve him and his purpose well. But oddly, he could not help but recognize that she was a terribly innocent victim of his plans.
Devlin’s steps slowed as he realized he did pity her after all. He had no feelings for Elizabeth, but he pitied his captive, perhaps because of her youth and innocence, or maybe because she did not know that Eastleigh hadn’t the funds to save her beloved plantation.
Her violet eyes seared him again, this time soft with love.I was born at Sweet Briar. It is near Norfolk, Virginia, and it is heaven on earth….
The anger erupted, stunning him with its force. Pity was a weakness. And if she continued to defy his authority, he could easily enough turn her eyes soft and smoky with the plunging hardness of his own body. In fact, he was beyond tempted now. Should he discipline her in his bed, there’d be no more defiance, no more escape attempts. Then, escape wouldnotbe on her mind.
Cries echoed on the docks ahead.
Devlin started, all thoughts of sex vanishing, and saw a commotion aboard theMystère.A group of men were boarding her. Someone on the deck held a torch, shouting, and Devlin thought he heard his name. Then his gaze slammed to the railing in utter disbelief and instant recognition. Virginia stood atop the rail, arms outstretched, poised to dive into the icy river.
What in hell was she doing?
Devlin’s heart slammed to a hard stop.
And as she sailed off of the rail, he ran for the dock. He saw her break the water, and just before he dove in after her, his heart racing with alarm, he wondered if she could even swim.
As he knifed into the frigid water, he felt a surge of fear. Surely she knew how to swim! After all, the woman could shoot, curse like a sailor, strip a man naked and steal his clothes. She was probably an excellent swimmer—but he was not relieved.
The water was pitch-black. As he dove, he flailed for her, but felt nothing. He continued to dive until weeds grasped greedily at his hands, arms and legs. If Virginia became enmeshed in the vegetation at the river’s bottom, she might never be able to get free. He continued to search for her by feel, but there was only the occasional piece of wood and rock.
His lungs finally bursting, a seizure of panic beginning, he had no choice but to swim back up to the surface. As his head popped free, he breathed in harshly, the air cold and sweet.
