She stared, for she had said that to Sean. “I’m not sure that I meant it.”
“You meant it. You see, in this one instance, we are not that different, Virginia.”
“We are very different! I have every reason to hate you and to exact my own vengeance. But I don’t hate you—and I never will. And I will never tell the truth to anyone about what you have done. You see, I refuse to walk the path of revenge, Devlin, I simplyrefuse.”
His face grew hard as he stared at her. “I owe this much to my father.”
“Your father is dead! He has been dead for years!” She could not yet give up. “Devlin, they do not have the ransom, and even if they did, they would not think to pay it. Surely you, a fine judge of character, saw that.”
He did not glance at her now, clearly having no intention of answering her.
Virginia turned away in despair. She had a bad feeling. She knew he was planning something, and whatever it was, she dreaded it. But there was nothing more that she could say. She was clearly not capable of persuading him to give up his course, to change his life—Sean was so wrong! Perhaps he was a madman—for was notobsessiona clinical term for a psychiatric disorder? And what would happen to him in the end? If only she did not care! Would Eastleigh’s son call the constabulary? Wasn’t Devlin afraid of being caged behind prison bars? She knew how he loved the wind and the sea and she thought that imprisonment might kill him.
But then, this man did not fear death, so maybe he did not fear incarceration, either. He certainly did not seem at all worried about his future. She was the one, dear God, worrying abouthisfuture, when she had her own future to worry about, a future that seemed very bleak.
They had left Eastleigh’s tattered estate behind. Lush green hills were crisscrossed with old stone walls and wildflowers bloomed along the roadside. They drove through a quaint village filled with small whitewashed stone houses, the shops below and the apartments above, before passing the local church, built in Norman times and never renewed. A few minutes later they turned off the main road, between a pair of rusting iron gates. Virginia saw a pleasant sweep of lawn and a modest stone cottage, two stories high and perhaps two rooms wide. A stone carriage house was behind it, as rundown and ramshackle. Virginia blinked, surprised at how small and shabby this country home was. This could not possibly be Devlin’s home—it had to be the wrong address.
But Devlin helped her down, annoyance in his expression. He took a long, hard look at the house, giving Virginia the impression that he had never seen it before, and she knew they were in the right place after all. Then, his hand on her arm, he guided her up the stone walk. At least the roses blooming against the side of the house were pretty, Virginia thought.
The front door opened before they even reached it and a man and woman came out. “Sir Captain O’Neill?” the tall, dark-haired woman asked. She was middle-aged, quite lean, and her features were hawkish. She wore the severe black dress of a servant.
He nodded. “Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, I presume?”
She smiled tightly at him. “Yes. We have been expecting you. I hope the house and grounds meet with your satisfaction, Sir Captain.”
“I will let you know,” he responded noncommittally.
“Sir? I am your butler, Tompkins,” the smaller, dapper man by the housekeeper’s side said. He wore a dark wool coat and trousers. “We are so pleased that you have finally come home, Sir Captain.”
Devlin grunted. “Take all the bags and install them in my suite,” he said.
Virginia was startled—what about her bags?
“And may I introduce Miss Hughes?”
Mrs. Hill smiled at her, as did the butler. The housekeeper seemed tense, her smile rather thin, but the butler seemed quite the opposite, rather jovial, in fact.
“Miss Hughes is to lack nothing,” Devlin announced. “She is my very special guest, and anything that she wishes is to be met.”
Virginia stared at him, a very bad feeling coming over her now. What was he up to?
“And where shall we take her bags, sir?” Tompkins asked.
Devlin’s dark brows lifted in surprise. “Why, to my rooms, of course,” he said.
A moment of surprised silence fell.
Virginia opened her mouth to protest, but he suddenly had her by the hand and he was lifting it to his mouth. Virginia wondered if she was dreaming. He smiled and kissed her hand, his lips firm and warm on her skin.
Her body responded instantly, shockingly, and she could only think, what was he doing? And dear God, why?
“Your suite, er, sir?” Tompkins managed, flushing.
“Miss Hughes is sharing my rooms,” Devlin said, smiling warmly at her.
And Virginia, her heart racing with exertion, suddenly sensed what was coming. “Devlin,” she managed, a feeble protest.
“Hush, darling,” he said. And he smiled at the servants. “Mrs. Hill, Mr. Tompkins, meet Miss Virginia Hughes, my mistress.”
