“No.”
Sean flinched.
Devlin hadn’t even thought about it before refusing, and now, as angry as he was, his mind began to tell him that if the little American wanted to cause problems, Sean’s idea wasn’t a bad one. First he could ransom her and break Eastleigh, then Sean could marry her, undoubtedly winning her loyalty and love. The two of them could live happily ever after at Askeaton while he was gone.
But Sean could do better, and Devlin intended for that to be so.
“So even though I wish to marry her, your desire to have her as a plaything usurps my wishes?” Sean asked coolly.
Devlin did not hesitate. “My desire is for you to marry a wealthy heiress so you may raise yourself up in this world.”
Sean strode to him. “Is it? Is it really? Because I don’t think so. I think you are speaking with your prick. Think about it. Really think about it and then give me your answer.” He stalked out.
Devlin stared thoughtfully after him, the rush of anger receding. Sean was wrong—he did not intend for Virginia to be his plaything—and damn it, Sean’s idea was actually clever. And the man who had made a fortune from the bloody ashes of nothing knew it was worth consideration. He lifted his snifter and stared at the contents, trying not to think about Virginia thrashing wildly in his bed, trying not to recall the feel of her slim little body, her soft, wet lips.Why not let Sean at her?At least his intentions were noble ones. And Virginia truly deserved a fine man like his brother. She certainly did not deserve what he was doing to her.
He was so tense he felt like he might snap, so he stood, but there was no relief.
A marriage between Virginia and Sean would solve so many problems. In fact, it would even cover up the crimes he had committed and his life could continue this way indefinitely.
And his life seemed to stretch ahead infinitely, like the bleak gray line of one of the old Roman roads, a strip of nothingness, never used, impossibly dismal, impossibly insignificant, joyless, flat, with no possible end in sight.
Devlin walked to the window overlooking the back lawns, suddenly shaken. He would rather die tomorrow, a murderer and a cutthroat, than live out the interminable travesty that was his life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AS PUNISHMENT FOR HER CRIMES,she hadn’t been allowed out of her room the entire day or even downstairs for supper. Virginia had been sent her repast on a silver tray. She had simmered in rage all afternoon at the absolute injustice of her sentence. She had only gone for a morning ride. How was she to know that she would be uncovering some kind of secret, political, anti-British society? Had she known what was going on in that farmhouse, she would have stayed away! It was all O’Neill’s fault, for bedding that fat Fiona, anyway. Had he not been such a cad, she would not have gone riding so far and for so long. Consumed by such thoughts, she was simply unable to enjoy the cook’s fine stuffed pheasant and roasted salmon, which she barely touched.
Had he meant his terrible and disturbing threat, that he would not let her leave Askeaton if she had seen all that she had? Virginia shivered. He had gone to great lengths to abduct her so he could ransom her, and she seriously doubted he would give all of that up.
He had said he had to protect Sean and the others. Protect them from what? Being convicted as traitors to their country?
Virginia stood at an open window in her cotton nightgown, not having bothered to braid her hair, her supper tray removed a long time ago. The night was filled with a thousand shining stars. She knew she gazed toward the river, even though she could not see it, and beyond that lay the Atlantic Ocean and home.
A terrible heaviness engulfed her. She wanted to go home. The feeling of being homesick took her by surprise; it was as vast and consuming as it had been when she had been locked away at the Marmott School in Richmond.
Virginia tucked her chin on her hand. Now she was locked away at Askeaton. Of course she would be homesick, because until this past year, she had never been anything but free to go and do as she wished. Growing up the way that she had, she hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She realized it now. If only she had said thank you to her parents for all their love, for their confidence in her, for allowing her to wear britches, ride astride and help Father run the plantation.
A knock sounded on her door.
Virginia thought it was Connor, who remained ridiculously outside of her door, guarding her as if she were a dangerous felon. Perhaps he was leaving to go to his bed for the night. If so, she might be tempted to climb out the window, steal the bay mare and simply run as far away as she could.
Virginia wasn’t given a chance to answer. Devlin walked into her bedroom.
For one moment she was shocked. “Get out!” Virginia cried, her rage erupting.
He stared at her, so inscrutable that it was impossible to guess what was on his mind. “We have matters to discuss,” he said carefully.
She strode back to the bed and reached for the closest object on the bed stand, finding a water pitcher there. Hefting it, she turned to throw it at him. She hoped to hit him in the head and, if she were lucky, murder him on the spot.
He leapt forward before she could hurl the object, gripping her wrist and causing her to cry out. “Put it down,” he warned.
“I’ll put it down.” She bared her teeth at him. “I’ll put it down on your head.” She tried to jerk free. Suddenly nothing was as important as breaking his grasp and slamming the pitcher on his head. Images of him and Fiona, starkly naked, passionately entwined, fueled her as nothing else could.
“Stop it, Virginia,” he said quietly, tightening his grip on her wrist.
Virginia glared at him, afraid she was going to start to cry, and said, “Fine.” She dropped the pitcher, hoping it would land on his foot, and if not, that it would break.
It didn’t land on his foot, but it was heavy Waterford crystal, and the handle chipped, the water sloshing over her bare feet and his boots.
