“What?”
“He is sorry,” Sean said. “He told me, and I know him well—it is the truth. But it is not over.”
She could only stare.
“He is not indifferent—it is a sham, a pretense, a huge theatrical act. If you do not hate him, if you can ever forgive him, maybe you are the one who can help him find his soul.”
“Are…are you mad?”
He smiled and released her. “I am sad.”
She quickly moved to embrace him. She hugged him hard.
In her arms, Sean whispered, “My brother needs the love of a good woman, and if you cannot love me, then maybe you can give him another chance.”
Virginia began to shake. “What are you asking me?” she whispered.
“I am asking you to save my brother.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
VIRGINIA STARED OUT OF THEwindow of the coach as it left Askeaton. Sean stood in the courtyard waving, and as the coach traveled down the road, he and the manor became smaller and smaller until finally Sean became indistinct. There was a terrible lump in her throat, and the fact that a part of her, a large part, did not want to leave became glaring. Was it Sean she already missed, or was it the safety she had found at Askeaton, the safety and comfort, the friendship?
Or was she afraid of what the future held?
I am asking you to save my brother.
Virginia inhaled harshly and the cold, wet air somehow burned her lungs and chest. She could see nothing now but the harvested fields and the woods that the road wound through. Panic came, hard and fast.I don’t want to save anyone—much less him!she thought wildly.
Virginia stole a quick glance at her captor. He sat beside her in the back seat, dwarfing her as well as the interior of the coach. The cab was too small for them both, never mind that a few very solid inches remained between them.
I think you have reached a part of him that he lost a long time ago.
Virginia winced, wanting to plug up her ears the way a small child might, only that would not stop Sean’s voice, so loudly speaking in her head.
He is not indifferent. It is a sham, a pretense, a huge theatrical act.
Inwardly, Virginia moaned. Why had Sean urged her to befriend his brother, to awaken him, to heal him? Why? Why not throw such a monumental task on someone else, someone stronger, more experienced, more womanly? She did not want to be his savior. Sean had been mad last night, to think she was the one to help this man recover his humanity.
My brother needs the love of a good woman….
Now she moaned out loud, caught herself, and bit off the sound somewhat belatedly.
She felt his stare.
It felt cool, calm and terribly indifferent.
She dared another sidelong glance at him, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“I…I have a terrible headache.”
Their gazes had met, but only for a moment, because he accepted her excuse and looked indifferently out the window at the passing countryside. It began to rain heavily.
She looked at the edge of his hard jaw, the angle of his straight nose, the slash of a cheekbone. Her heart tightened, and an oh-so-familiar tension, already within her, grew. She remained terribly attracted to this man, against all reason and all common sense. It was as if he were a powerful magnet, she a tiny clip. She could feel the pull that arose from him. Like the very ocean itself, waves emanated from his body, crashing over her and trying to pull her far out to sea.
It was such a waste, she thought. But Sean was wrong in many ways. Devlin was indifferent and he did not care—this could not be an act. And she was not the one capable of guiding him back to his lost soul.
