The Prize (42 page)

William straightened,
struck with a notion. "This might be good news, actually."

"How so?"
Tom sat in a large and fading red damask bergere chair.

William walked to
stand before the empty and cold fireplace. "I asked you to come home
because O'Neill has taken up residence in Wideacre, although my sources tell me
he plans to leave for
London
in another day."

Tom made a
disparaging sound. Hatred filled his eyes. "Ignore the rotten
bastard."

"That's a little
hard to do when he is holding our cousin hostage, demanding a ransom and
parading her about Hampshire as his mistress," William said with a grim
smile.

"What?"
Tom shot to his feet.

"I do believe
you heard my every word," William said coolly. "The son of a bitch is
living openly with her! It is beyond shocking. And he has demanded fifteen
thousand pounds. Fifteen thousand!"

Tom had turned
starkly white.

"The scoundrel
flaunts her in good society, dragging our name through the mud, ruining us all
by association! So far

I have kept this
whole scandalous affair from Father, but he will learn of it sooner or later. I
am receiving three or four callers a day, and eventually everyone wants to know
about my cousin! It has become awkward and humiliating and we need to stop this
lunatic from furthering his damnable game. But of course, we are not paying one
pound for her release!"

"Good God, what
the hell does O'Neill want? Other than the ransom? Why does he hound us this
way? I knew he was the scum of the earth, but to destroy a young woman this
way? And he knows we have no funds!"

"I wish to God I
knew why he has chosen us to hound," William muttered. "But there is
simply no possible explanation."

Tom folded his arms
across his chest. "You know the Admiralty almost got him, back in June.
He disobeyed orders yet again, failed to complete his tour. He somehow talked
his way out of a court-martial. Is the countess still sleeping with him?"

"She returned
from town yesterday. I feel certain she is home because he is just down the
road," William returned.

"I have had it with
O'Neill. First my mistress, next our stepmother, and now our cousin. Who is
next? Our stepsister? The man has a reason for what he is doing, and it is, I
think, time we found out what that reason is."

"I think I may
have a solution, Tom."

"Do tell."

"Send O'Neill
over to
America
. The navy is losing battles at
sea over there. Why, who better to engage the Americans? Is not O'Neill the
scourge of the seas? Undefeatable?" William smiled. "You do still
have Farnham's ear."

"That's a bloody
brilliant idea," Tom said. Suddenly a movement caused him to start. He
turned and saw his father standing in the doorway. "Father!"

Eastleigh smiled at
his younger son, his expression impossible to read, just as deciding how long
he had been standing there was also impossible. "Thomas. I did not know
you had come down from town. How wonderful this is. When did you arrive?"
He sauntered into the room, his gaze hooded, and as always, his tone held a
sardonic note.

Tom politely kissed
his father's cheek. "Just a moment ago. You look well, Father," he
lied, for
Eastleigh
had to have put on another stone
since the summer.

"I am very
well."
Eastleigh
glanced sidelong at William.
"And hardly in my grave yet. What are you two discussing? Did I hear you
mention our new neighbor, the so very heroic Devlin O'Neill?" Mockery
crept into his tone.

William and Tom
exchanged glances. The earl's heir apparent spoke. "You do nothing,
Father, nothing, while O'Neill pricks us with this dalliance of his. The
situation has become a crisis and we are all being played for fools. I can
hardly hold my head high while out in public!"

Eastleigh
chuckled. "The only fool is
O'Neill, as he can strut the tart about the royal court for all I care and it
will do him no good."

Tom and William
looked at each other again. Tom stepped forward. "He hates us, that much
is clear. And now it becomes clear that you hate him as well. Why? Why, Father?
Damn it, you owe us an explanation—if one is to be had!"

"He stole my
fastest stallion, my best dogs, my favorite house. And now he has my brother's
daughter in his bed and you ask me why?" His bushy brows lifted. "I
have every reason to despise the man, who claims to be a gentleman but is
actually a pirate."

"No." Tom
confronted his father, his legs braced wide apart. He was half his size and far
shorter. "Why does he seek to punish you? And us?
Why?"

"Because he is a
bloody savage, that's why, exactly like his father,"
Eastleigh
said.

350                           

William and Tom
exchanged startled glances. "You knew his father?" William asked in
real surprise.

"Knew him?"
Now
Eastleigh
smiled widely. "I killed
him, my boy, in the coldest blood."

She simply refused to
believe it.

The Countess of
Eastleigh sat rigidly in her personal coach, her husband's coat of arms engraved
on a gold banner on each side, resplendently dressed in a low-cut ruby-red
silk dress and a black pelisse. Her gloved hands were clasped in her lap and
she found it hard to breathe. This was impossible, was it not?

She had heard the
rumor in
London
from a lady friend whom
Elizabeth
suspected guessed of her affair.
That friend, Lady Farthingham, had mentioned over tea that Captain Devlin
O'Neill was at his country estate in Hampshire, apparently with a new mistress
whom he was openly abiding with.
Elizabeth
had not believed it, although at the time her smile had been plastered in place
and her heart had raced. Devlin was many things, but he was a gentleman and
gentlemen did not live with any woman out of wedlock. She had finally shrugged
at Celia, saying she doubted he would spend any time on his new property, as
she knew the place well and it was entirely rundown.

And she did know it
well, as it was so close to
Eastleigh
. In fact, she had been to
Wideacre on many occasions before its previous owner had passed away without
any heirs. Devlin had also mentioned the manor once or twice in the time she
had seen him over the summer in
London
,
difficult times in which he had been immersed in a hearing, fighting for his
survival. He had mentioned the old manor with very little interest. She had
told him what she knew about it, but he had only shrugged. He had murmured
once, "I doubt I will ever actually see it."
Elizabeth
had known he had meant his words.

Two days ago she had
heard the same rumor that he was at his country estate in Hampshire.
Elizabeth
had been surprised and
dismayed. She was in
London
—and he was within miles of her
home at
Eastleigh
. She'd left the ball early, ordered
her maid to pack her things, and they had returned to
Eastleigh
the following day.

It was all she could
do not to rush over to Wideacre the moment she arrived home, but not only did
she need to visit her husband and concern herself over his welfare and health,
she had two daughters she dearly loved and missed. Instead, she had seen to
Eastleigh
's health and had spent the day
with the girls. It was her stepson, William, who had casually let the
cannonball drop.

"I suppose you
have heard about our new neighbor, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth
sat outside, watching her
younger daughter riding sidesaddle over a series of small jumps. She applauded
enthusiastically. Not looking at William, she had said, "I beg your
pardon?" She very much disliked her eldest stepson.

"Oh, come!"
He sat down next to her in a lawn chair, his long legs sprawling out. "My,
Lila is such a fine horsewoman." He faced her, his face too close for
comfort. "We both know why you have hurried so quickly home in the midst
of the new season!"

"William, I have
no idea what you are speaking of," she had returned, standing and fanning
herself. "Lila!" she called as her daughter rode her chestnut horse
up to the edge of the terrace. "That was wonderful, simply
wonderful!"

"Thank you,
Mother." Lila beamed, her blue eyes sparkling. She whirled the horse and
cantered off, clearly wishing to impress yet again.

William also stood,
just behind her, uncomfortably close. When he spoke, it was in a whisper, and
his mouth practically touched her ear. "Devlin O'Neill is in residence at
Wideacre, and he has openly installed his mistress there."

And
Elizabeth
's heart had stopped.

Now she saw the brick
pillars and the drive just ahead. Her heart felt as if it were lodged rudely in
her throat. And there it burned. This was a mistake, she thought, a terrible
mistake. Devlin could not possibly have a mistress at Wideacre—she was his
mistress!

Of course, she had
always known there were other women. But she did not care about Spanish
barmaids and Sicilian whores. She did not care what he did when he was gone for
months on end on a tour.

She did care, very
much, what he was doing now.

Virginia
had escaped the house hours ago,
taking a very long walk into the village and back. Now, as she entered the
drive, she saw the carriage parked in front of the manor and froze. Dread
began. She firmly—grimly—shoved it aside. Three days had passed since their
first caller and there had been a dozen callers since. Apparently half of
Hampshire knew that the infamous Captain O'Neill was living openly with his
mistress and everyone had to come see for him or herself. She thought she was
playing the game well. She kept her head high, her tone soft, she called him
darling, touched and kissed his cheek, and the scandalmongers were satisfied.
Devlin was satisfied. Only she knew how hard it had all become.

She hated every
moment. It was like being a fish in a fish-bowl. Or worse, it was like being a
naked woman in a fish-bowl, gawked at by lechers with terrible intent. And
Devlin did not seem to care. But then, she would never let him know that the
game had become such a terrible indignity.

She paused, staring
at the front of the stone house, hugging herself. She was simply not up to
another performance;

she was not up to a
severe and judgmental inspection. She debated going back to the road and
continuing her walk when she noticed the banner on the carriage.

She knew it well. Her
father had had a book of coat of arms and she had been shown the
Eastleigh
emblems at an early age. Her
heart lurched. She did not know whether to be thrilled or dismayed. But
Eastleigh
must have come to pay her
ransom. And maybe it was time to give up, maybe it was time to simply go home.

A part of her
shrieked inwardly, refusing to be such a coward.
Virginia
ignored the silent tantrum, but as she hurried
toward the house she wondered how easy—or how hard—it would be to walk away
from Devlin O'Neill now.

"They are in the
library, Miss Hughes," Tompkins said, his eyes wide. And he was not
smiling.

Virginia
halted, confused. Devlin always
entertained their callers in the parlor. And Tompkins always smiled. "Is
something amiss?" she dared to ask.

His smile appeared,
terribly strained. "Of course not. They are behind closed doors," he
added with significance.

Virginia
had been about to walk away. She
halted and looked right at the butler. "It is my uncle, the Earl of Eastleigh?"
she asked.

"It is the
countess," he said.

Virginia
blinked. How odd, she thought,
instantly envisioning an old woman as fat and gray as her husband. But maybe
the countess had come to ransom her, as the earl seemed so feeble. She started
forward, began to open the door, and the moment she did so, she heard the soft,
cultured and sensual tone of a woman who was neither old nor feeble. The tone
was of a young woman in distress.

Virginia
froze.

"I don't
understand this, Devlin."

The countess was
calling him Devlin?
Virginia
peeked past the door, which was
ajar by mere inches. She gasped.

A very beautiful
blond woman, old enough to be William Hughes's wife, not
Eastleigh
's, stood facing Devlin, clearly
aggrieved. She was more than lovely; she had a lush, seductive figure and a
face of terrible, haunting beauty. Beyond dismayed,
Virginia
's gaze shot to Devlin, but his face was a
mask, impossible to read.