“I’m afraid I don’t believe you,” Sean murmured, his hands sliding around her now.
She stiffened, stunned. “What are you doing?”
“I have tried very hard to think of you only as a friend,” he said slowly, his gaze holding hers.
And in the fading light of dusk, Virginia saw every emotion that he was feeling in the pale gray disks that were his eyes. Unlike Devlin’s, they shimmered with sorrow, with sincerity and with something far greater than friendship.He was in love with her.
His hands tightened. “I will always be your friend,” he said grimly. “But what I want to know is if there is any chance that you could forget him and what you have shared with him. If there is any chance, no matter how small, that you might ever think of me as something more than a friend.”
Virginia reeled. She did not know what to say. And she was so touched that she cupped his face in her hands, a strong, handsome face, his features as hard, defined and angled as his brother’s, a face so terribly similar except for his dark brown hair and brows. But she had never confused the brothers, because his eyes were windows to his soul, as Devlin’s were not. “I don’t know,” she began hoarsely. “I am so surprised….”
His hands moved into the heavy weight of her hair, which she had pinned back but left down. “I lied to my brother,” he said as hoarsely. “I am in love with you, Virginia.”
His words were a terrible trigger. She loved him, too, but not that way—and what a fool she was not to love him as a man. Because she knew him completely. He was a man incapable of treachery while capable of loving a woman deeply, forever. “Sean, I can’t.” She dared not admit why, not even to herself.
He nodded, not speaking now. But he held her for one moment longer before dropping his hands. Instantly she seized them and clung. “Don’t leave me now! I need you now more than I ever have!”
“I know.” He smiled sadly, then the smile turned grim. “I will always be here for you, Virginia, but I am not going with you and Devlin to Wideacre. It is a terrible idea. I prefer not to be with the both of you.”
“But—”
“No. Let me speak. I have wanted to speak frankly for some time.”
She tensed but she nodded, for she owed him this. Still, what more could he possibly say after such an admission?
“Devlin is not a bad man. But the day he saw our father murdered, he changed. That was the day he stopped smiling, the day the laughter disappeared. That was the day he became obsessed with revenge.”
She swallowed and nodded. It was impossible not to feel sorry for him, but she steeled herself not to now.
“Virginia, I am telling you this because I love him. Like my mother and stepfather, I worry about him and what he has spent his life doing. His naval career? He couldn’t give a damn about the navy, Virginia. And he cares very little for Great Britain.”
She thought about the secret meeting she had witnessed. “But why?”
“A man like Devlin can become rich and powerful in the navy, and as you have seen, that is exactly what Devlin has done. He used the navy to acquire enough wealth and power so he could destroy Lord Eastleigh.”
She shivered.
“He went to sea at thirteen. His system of revenge began that day, Virginia.”
“Oh, God.” She began to realize the enormity of his obsession.
“He would die for me, our mother, our stepfather or our stepbrothers and stepsister. Gladly. He would die to save his men, his ship. He would die for Ireland. But I suppose his fearless courage is not at issue here.”
“No, it’s not,” she whispered, mesmerized in spite of knowing how dangerous it was to allow such an intense fascination to overcome her now. And where was Sean leading?
“He is powerful, wealthy and fearless, he is widely admired as a great sea captain, and he is both respected and feared. But he is not kind. His ability to be kind died the day our father died.”
“I am sorry,” she heard herself say.
“Don’t be. He is not a ruthless monster, either, though, and I know you saw that. Virginia, I love my brother enough to tell you now that I think, possibly, there is hope.”
“Hope?” she echoed.
He gripped her shoulders. “The Devlin I know would never succumb to his desire for a young, innocent woman. God, we were raised with a stepsister whom we were sworn to protect! And even more important, the day our father died, our baby sister was left by the British to burn in the fire they had set. I can’t remember, not any of it. But Devlin remembers it all. He would never use an innocent woman. To be very crude, if he needed a woman it would be a harlot like Fiona.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered, trembling, afraid, and oddly, so filled with hope.
“I think you have reached a part of him he lost a long time ago, and I think—no, I hope and pray—you can reach that part again and pull him back into the light of a new day.”
