“Hang her.” Tim McCarthy stepped forward. “She knows too much.”
Virginia gasped and looked at Devlin but he ignored her, stepping forward. “There’s not going to be a hanging, not of anyone, not today,” he said calmly, but with an authority that only he could muster. “Miss Hughes is American, not English, and she’s my fiancée.”
The crowd was silent, but dozens of eyes had widened in surprise.
Virginia seized at the hope he offered. “Yes,” she cried, stepping forward, “Devlin is my betrothed and I only came to—”
He took her wrist and almost snapped it off, but before she could cry out, he had jerked her forward and smothered her words with a kiss.
Virginia gasped. His mouth was hard and angry and hurtful. His arms felt like the iron bars of a prison cage, steel bands tight around her. She vaguely heard some mutters behind her, mutters about O’Neill having taken a bride. She tried to press him away, but his grip only tightened, his lips turning more ruthless, and that was when she felt his arousal.
It was red hot, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to his state of mind and body, and she instantly forgot about the terrible meeting she had just witnessed. Instead, as his mouth started to soften, causing her own lips to instinctively yield and part, she thought about Fiona. His tongue swept inside.Fiona.
Last night he had been in bed with Fiona.
Virginia bit down on it.
He jerked away from her, but he did not yelp or release her. Virginia stared furiously up at him—he stared as furiously back.
“Let me go,” she murmured, low and threatening.
“Like hell, my sweet little bride.” And he smiled and swooped down on her again. But this time, before he kissed her, he hissed, “Pretend you love me,chérie,as your life might well depend on it.”
Virginia felt real despair, as his lips brushed her mouth, and worse, his hands slid so intimately over her back and lower still. But he was right. She was trapped. He pulled her closer still, perhaps thinking to punish her, for the surge of sensation engendered by contact with him was just that, unfair, unjust punishment. “Kiss me back,” he ordered so only she could hear.
All the hurt she had thought safely tucked away in some far and distant place where it could never come back crashed over her now. She knew she should kiss him so that the onlookers would think their engagement real. She simply couldn’t. It was impossible to kiss a man while crying.
And he knew. His body stiffened far differently, the tightening in his shoulders and spine; his roving hands went still, and his mouth, while covering hers, no longer sought to invade. Virginia finally managed a weak and pitiful closemouthed kiss.
He pulled away and looked closely at her.
She wanted to curse him to hell but did not dare, as the crowd had fallen silent. She felt a dozen pairs of suspicious eyes and she summoned up a smile that had to be as pathetic as it felt frail.
His stare intensified.
Someone cheered, “Captain O’Neill and his bride!”
The cry was taken up.
Devlin smiled coldly. He put his arm around her in such a way that she could not move an inch if he did not let her do so. He faced the crowd, which no longer seemed suspicious. “My little fiancée could not wait for me to return home,” he said mockingly.
Rough male laughter sounded.
But McCarthy said, “Will she be sworn to secrecy, Captain?”
Devlin smiled coolly at him, with real warning. “She would never betray me, Tim.”
He nodded slowly, not even looking at Virginia, his gaze hopeful and eager and riveted on their leader.
“Let’s go,” Sean said, appearing with his horse and Devlin’s. He was smiling pleasantly, but Virginia saw the wariness in his gray eyes. For one moment, as his glance moved over her, she saw so much of Devlin in him. His gaze was as cold, his expression as controlled. She sensed a new wariness and some hostility. Was he suspicious of her? she wondered, surprised. Or was it the men in the meeting he did not trust?
Devlin’s hands closed around her waist and before she could protest she was seated on his stallion. He swung up behind her and the saddle was far too small for them both. She held her breath, for otherwise she would turn and quell him with a look. He didn’t seem to notice as he spurred the gray forward.
“How did you get here?” he asked tightly, his breath feathering her ear.
So he was angry, she thought, thinking of Fiona again. Good, because she hated him and she always would. “I rode.”
“Really? And who gave you permission to do so?”
