The Prize (20 page)

Blood pounded in his
groin, in his brain.

She faced him,
smiling softly. "Thank you for the clean gown, Captain." And she was
walking toward him.

He was in a stupor,
one of sheer lust. But even so, he wondered if he were in the midst of a
dream, as this had become far too surreal. She was a seductress now, smiling
softly, pausing to stand before him, naked beneath his shirt, and in spite of
the terrible urgency consuming him, he knew she was up to no good.

"Did you like
kissing her?" she asked. "The woman on the docks?"

"What?" he
asked, giving in. He closed his hands on her waist, pulling her up against his
arousal, precisely where she belonged.

She gasped, eyes
flying wide.

He smiled then,
savagely, and slid his hands down to her buttocks. He gripped her there, hard
and possessive, pulling her snugly over him, so she rode him.

She held on to his
shoulders, eyes closing, moaning deeply.

He looked at her. She
had the face of an angel and he could no more deny it than he could that he was
close to a terrible climax. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld,
and he had thought so from the moment he had seen her standing on the deck of
the
Americana
,
pointing a silly and useless pistol at him.
Her hair had been loose, flying in the wind, and she had been both avenger and
angel. Now she was nothing but soft, succulent woman, warm and wet and ripe,
waiting for him to master her.

He dug his hand into
her nape, wishing her hair was free, and he did what he wanted to do more than
anything, other than to thrust inside her. He took her mouth with his.

She moaned again as
he covered her, as he opened her, not waiting, all patience disintegrating, as
he thrust huge and deep. She moaned as he rocked her back, until she was on the
bed and he was on top of her, still deeply inside her mouth, trying to touch
and taste every possible place. Her hands fisted in his wet hair, her thighs
wrapped around his legs. He began to rub the long edge of his arousal over her
sex.

She tried to tear her
lips away from his mouth desperately.

Amazed, he realized
she was on the verge of her climax. He released her lips and looked down at
her. She gazed up at him with wild, unfocused eyes. "Oh, please," she
gasped, squirming against his shaft.

"With
pleasure," he said, and he held himself up and moved more precisely
against her, once, twice, stroking her swollen flesh three times, while she
clawed and scratched his back and shoulders. He stared, incapable of doing
anything other than watch her every expression now, and when he saw her eyes
fly open, when he saw the heat erupt in the violet depths, when she arched up,
crying helplessly, the pressure became impos-

160                          

sible to resist. The
dam broke. She clung to him, sobbing unabashedly, as he spasmed as uncontrollably,
as suddenly.

Her cries eased.

He lay on top of her,
breathing hard, absolutely shocked. He had just committed a terrible faux pas,
like the greenest of schoolboys, and his little captive had climaxed—loudly,
vocally—with hardly any effort on his part.

Still stunned, but
now acutely aware of the soft, limp woman beneath him, he rolled off of her,
abruptly sitting up. He did not dare look at her now.

And he did not dare
think.

Action.
He needed action. He leapt to his
feet, grabbed clean, dry clothes from the closet, and quickly stripped. His
mind wanted to function, urging him desperately to do so, but with iron
resolve, he refused.

Ruthlessly he blocked
out every single possible thought.

Instead, he carefully
focused on the task at hand. He fastened his trousers, but damn it, he could
feel her gaze on him. He became even more grim, almost furious, knowing he
must not look at her. But one thought finally crept in.
If only he had
resisted, if only he hadn't kissed her
—
and helped her achieve what was
probably her very first climax.

He whirled,
shirtless, and their gazes collided. "Was that your first time?"

She was sitting up
against the pillows, tendrils of dark hair curling about her fragile face, her
eyes huge and riveted upon him. In his large nightshirt, she looked impossibly
innocent. She looked like a goddamned virgin. "Wh-what?" Her cheeks
were turning pink.

"Was that your
first time coming?"

"C-coming?"
She seemed dazed.

"Climaxing,"
he demanded, furious now, at her, at himself, at
Eastleigh
, at the world. He strode over.
"Climaxing—

le petit mort,
the French call it. It means
having an orgasm, if one wishes to be clinical."

"You mean...what
happened at the end?" Her gaze never left his.

He nodded. The urge
was sudden and huge, to strike her not just physically, but to strike her out
of his life. "When you began screaming like a whore," he said coldly,
hating himself for being so cruel and helplessly wishing to be even crueler.

She swallowed.
"Yes."

Relief overwhelmed
him—and only increased the fury. "Remind me to never offer you a Scotch
again," he said.

She winced. "It
had nothing to do with the Scotch," she said unsteadily, but her head was
high. "It had everything to do with you."

He walked away. He
did not intend to hear another word, oh no.

"I have never
been kissed before, Devlin," she said.

Virginia
decided that she hated her dark
blue silk dress and the black pelisse that went with it almost as much as she
hated
him.
She stared at her pale reflection in
his
mirror, her
eyes impossibly huge, the pupils dilated, her mouth appearing oddly swollen, or
at least, it seemed far larger, lusher and riper than before. It was the
morning after. She trembled and wished Mm
dead.

But what, exactly,
would that solve? She would be free, oh yes, to go her unhappy way, but she
would not be free of the memory of him.

She flushed.

Something was
terribly wrong with her. That fact, at least, was clear. Because while no woman
could be immune to a man like Devlin O'Neill, the combination of power, danger
and impossibly virile good looks inescapable, only a fool would be held against
her will and then think to entice him to kiss her. Therefore, she was a very
foolish woman, because last night, alone with him in his cabin, her escape
thoroughly thwarted, she had begun to think about his touch and his

kisses, when she
should have been scheming up another escape instead.

"Are you
ready?" he demanded from outside the cabin door. Last night he had
disappeared, sleeping God only knew where. And he had locked the cabin door
behind him when he had left—
Virginia
had tested it to be certain.

The worst part was,
Virginia
decided, still staring at her
reflection and wondering who the wanton woman staring back at her really was,
she more than ached for his touch. She wanted to know if she had somehow
imagined what had happened. Surely she had. Surely the excitement and thrill
of being in his arms, his mouth and body on hers, had not been as huge and vast
as she recalled. Surely, if he held and kissed her again, she would not be
affected. This had to be a terrible mistake!

He walked in, clad in
a pale gray coat that matched his eyes, riding britches and worn Hessian boots.
His expression was filled with impatience. Instantly their gazes met in the
looking glass.

Virginia
simply could not breathe.

His gaze raked her.
"We'll have your clothes pressed at Askeaton. Come. The coach is
waiting."

Virginia
bit her lip and turned, moving
past him with the utmost caution, as if afraid he might reach out for her—or
she would reach out for him. His gaze narrowed as he watched her, and finally
exasperation sounded in his tone. "Forget about last night," he
snapped. "It was a mistake and it won't happen again."

She whirled.
"Why not?"

"So now you are
eager to warm my bed? One brief encounter—although a mutually satisfying one,
I assure you— and you have changed your tune?"

"I wouldn't mind
if you shared my bed." And that was the terrible truth.

His gaze widened.

Virginia
wished she were a different
woman, one not so amoral and not so outspoken. But the fool remained, oh yes.

"Have you no
wish to be innocent and chaste on your wedding night?" he finally asked
seriously.

"I hadn't ever
thought about it," she said truthfully.

He started.
"It's what all women think about—dream of— live for."

She became annoyed
instantly. "Not this one! I have no intention of ever marrying, not unless
I find the love my parents had."

He stared at her as if
she had grown two heads. Then he dared to laugh. The sound was rough and
condescending. "No one marries for love," he said flatly. "If
the emotion even exists."

She felt tike kicking
his shin. "My parents loved each other and married for love. I am sorry
your parents did not love each other," she said angrily. "Clearly
that has scarred you deeply. Perhaps that explains your cruelty and your lack
of compassion."

In an instant, he was
in front of her, towering over her. "Never bring up the subject of my parents
again, as they are none of your affair. Do you comprehend me, Miss
Hughes?"

She recoiled. How had
this maddened him so? "You could not be more forthcoming."

"And dare I
remind you that not once since I have taken you aboard my ship, has anyone,
myself included, been in the least bit cruel toward you? Unless you consider
the sweet death you experienced last night cruelty—"

"Leaving me to
wonder how a woman feels when the act is truly accomplished, and if the sweet
death you referred to changes in any manner, that is certainly cruel,"
Virginia
heard herself say.

He looked stunned.

                             
165

Virginia
knew she flushed. "I can't
help wondering what it must be like—"

He seized her arm and
propelled her out of the cabin. "I am sorry that I cannot control your
thoughts," he said tersely.

"You cannot be
angry now that I am curious, when it is all your fault!" she cried,
looking at his hard, perfect profile.

"My fault?"
He propelled her down the gangplank. "I do believe you were the seductress,
Miss Hughes."

"I am eighteen.
I had never kissed anyone before last night. How could I possibly seduce
you?" Ahead of them, she saw a carriage and a liveried driver. A big gray
stallion was tied to the back. The mount was saddled. She realized the coach
was for her and the horse for him.

How glorious it would
be to be astride again, she thought. But she instantly knew she should not let
him know the superb rider that she was, just in case another instance
presented itself for escape.

Devlin handed her
into the coach. She dared to look into his cold gray eyes. He remained angry
with her. It was simply ludicrous. "Wait," she cried softly, before
he could leave.

Impatiently he did
so, his jaw hard with tension.

"What is so
terrible about what happened last night? Didn't you enjoy yourself? You seemed
to. But again, I have had no experience so I would hardly—"

He slammed the door
closed in her face. "Good day, Miss Hughes."

Virginia
gazed out of the carriage
window, eager in spite of herself. Although the day was gray and threatened
rain, the countryside was a rich, fertile sweep of verdant green hills, mostly
pasture and crop and the occasional stand of woods. The narrow road they were
on wound atop a ridge. They were passing a number of small farms, where every
cottage looked the same—a garden out back, a field of corn and

wandering, grazing
cows and sheep. Ahead she glimpsed a stone church and beyond that, some other
imposing buildings she could not quite make out.

Suddenly Devlin rode
up to her window, which was open in spite of the chill day. "This is
Askeaton," he said, his gaze fierce with pride. "As far as the eye
can see, the land belongs to me."

"It's
beautiful." She smiled at him. "It reminds me of Sweet Briar,
Devlin."

He stared at her,
then abruptly galloped ahead of the coach.

He angered even more
easily than he had when they had first met, she thought, poking her head out of
the window and gazing after him. He was letting the gray run, and man and beast
were far ahead. But now
Virginia
could see that the buildings
ahead belonged to a manor. She saw several barns, more cottages and a gracious
manor house surrounded by flowering gardens, as well as what looked like an old
tower or castle in the distance. Excitement caused her heart to pound. She was
very curious to see his home and to meet his family—if he had any family, that
is.

The carriage paused
in front of the manor house.
Virginia
didn't wait for the driver,
leaping out instead. Devlin stood with his fists on his hips, staring at the
house, the lawns surrounding it, the buildings they had just passed, and then
back at the house again.
Virginia
could not imagine what he was
thinking, al-though perhaps he was taking an inventory of his holdings. The
manor, which was three stories, looked very new, except for the two chimneys
and an outer wall. Vines crept up the walls and a gazebo was to one side. She
smiled. He had such an enchanting home for such an ill-tempered man.

The front door opened
and a man stepped out, tall, lean and dark. "Dev!"

Her captor whirled.
Virginia
caught his expression and she

inhaled, hard, for it
was one of bright, pure joy. She stood very still as the younger man rushed
down the stone walk. "Sean!" Devlin said hoarsely.

He strode forward.
The two men embraced, tightly clinging.
Virginia
inched forward. This had to be a brother,
as they were close in age and Sean was very handsome, too, with the same
unmistakable silvery-gray eyes, although his hair was nearly black.

The two men pulled
apart. "It's about goddamned time," Sean exclaimed, but he was
smiling.

"Yes, it
is," Devlin said, his tone rough. "The house looks good, Sean.
Clearly it has been well-built, and I like the new door."

"Wait till you
see the hall. I think you'll be pleased." Suddenly he stopped, eyes widening
as his gaze landed on
Virginia
. "We have a guest?"

Devlin turned and
Virginia
received the warmth of his
genuine smile. It made her heart speed and spin and then a terrible yearning
began. "Yes, we have a guest," he said, extending his hand.

Virginia
didn't move. That smile wasn't
meant for her, it was meant for his brother. But it was a smile that could melt
most of the North Pole. Why didn't he use it more often?

"
Virginia
, come. I'd like you to meet my
brother, Sean," he said, the glorious smile fading. But his tone held a
lightness she hadn't heard before.

Virginia
summoned up her own smile and
came forward. "Hello," she said.

"I wish I'd
known we were having company," Sean said with worry. His gaze was wide and
went back and forth between Virginia and Devlin. "But Fiona can have the
yellow room ready soon enough, I think."