"Do you comprehend me, Captain?" St. John asked.

Devlin jerked, his brooding far too intense for comfort, and he bowed. "Completely."

"Good." St. John came forward, smiling. "Will you have a brandy?" he asked, the crisis clearly over.

Devlin nodded; three brandies were poured and pa.s.sed around.

Sipping appreciatively, St. John then said, "You have received your orders?"

Devlin nodded. "Yes, I have."

"When can you set sail?"

"As you suggested, sir, within two weeks."

St. John nodded. "Try to hasten your departure, Devlin. The news arrived today. The HMS Swift was captured by the USS Const.i.tution. I do not know how they are doing it, but the Americans are owning the seas and I am counting on you, my boy, to swiftly change that fact." He saluted him with his gla.s.s.

Devlin set his snifter down and bowed. "Of course, my lord," he murmured. "I shall make every effort."

St. John beamed, pleased.

"WHAT THE b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l HAPPENED?" the Earl of Eastleigh demanded coldly of his younger son.

Tom Hughes lay in bed, his torso and one arm bandaged, as his manservant took his breakfast tray from the room. "My head pounds, Father. Would you please refrain from shouting?" he said.

Eastleigh stared. "I was not shouting."

William stood beside him, pale. "This is simply insufferable."

"Be quiet." Eastleigh looked his youngest son over. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I will live," Tom said. His face tightened. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d only got a set down. He went before St. John and he only got a set down."

"He is probably paying them off," Eastleigh spat. "Either that or the man has had nothing but luck his entire life." And that would change, he silently vowed.

"This is beyond insufferable!" William erupted. "First he parades our cousin about Hampshire, openly flaunting their liaison, destroying her and, by a.s.sociation, our entire family! Lord Livingston did not receive my wife the other day. She is always received there-Lady Livingston loves Cecily! But now the best of friends are the worst of friends-after all, we have a wh.o.r.e in the family! This is beyond insufferable. It has to stop!"

"I admit that I never expected him to go so far as to take her to the Carew ball." Tom was clearly disgusted.

"And you had to pick a fight with him?" Eastleigh asked, his tone icy.

"He attacked me," Tom exclaimed with indignation. "She is our cousin-and she is a fetching little thing. I think I had every right to sample her charms-but the savage attacked me!"

"You have only encouraged the gossips." Eastleigh was outwardly calm, but inwardly, he seethed. He agreed with his sons. O'Neill had to be stopped. But the question remained, how? He felt certain that nothing short of killing the man would dissuade him from his revenge.

"I am sure all of London will do nothing but speak of last night's entertainment now. Do you know I dread the dinner party we are attending tomorrow?" William finally sat down. "At least we have an offer for Sweet Briar. Although the buyer wishes to remain anonymous and we are selling the place for half its market value."

"I didn't know!" Tom smiled, pleased. "This shall help ease our depleted coffers for a while. Father, you must be thrilled."

Eastleigh did not really hear him. His sons were both weak; they were both fools. But he was not weak, never mind that he was older, impoverished, obese. He had killed once before with as much chagrin as one felt when swatting a fly. The Irish were mostly savages. He knew that firsthand, having spent his youth as a soldier stationed among them. He had never favored Catholic emanc.i.p.ation and he despised the fools who did. No Catholic should be able to vote or own land-and no Catholic should be as wealthy and powerful as that savage, O'Neill. What would it matter if he killed one more time?

He had so little now to lose.

Eastleigh began to plan.

VIRGINIA STOOD AT HER WINDOW, looking out at the Thames as the twilight grew, where several yachts sailed among the more plebian traffic of dories, dinghies and skips. It was suppertime, but she had no intention of going downstairs to dine. Although she could not remain hateful-she would never hate Devlin O'Neill-her heart had been broken for the very last time. She smiled sadly, bitterly, recalling every moment of her conversation that morning-and every moment spent in his arms last night. But she had had enough. It was over now and she was going home.

Her sadness felt like grief, heavy and depressing, a weight that threatened to sink her down.

Virginia heard voices on the terrace below her window. Her puppy came to stand beside her, whining.

She started, as she had not known they were having company. She heard a man's and a woman's voice, both terribly familiar.

Her cheeks heated. She recognized the woman instantly and she thought, oh no! For it was none other than Mary de Warenne, which meant the man with her was the Earl of Adare.

A knock sounded on her door. Virginia was hardly surprised, and reluctantly she turned. "Come in."

Hannah smiled at her. "Captain asks fer you to come down to dine, Miss Hughes. Her ladyship and his lordship are here, as well."

Virginia smiled grimly. "I have a headache," she said. "Please send my regrets, but I will not be going down to dine tonight."

"Shall I bring you a supper tray?" Hannah asked, instantly concerned.

"I have no appet.i.te," Virginia said.

When the maid was gone, she walked over to the sofa and sat down, pulling the puppy, whom she'd named Arthur, close, staring at the fire in the hearth while stroking him. Then she buried her face in his fur, but she did not cry.

It hurt so much. The heartache this time was worse than it had ever been, because she had truly allowed herself to hope and dream of Devlin's love. But how foolish and naive could she be? Devlin had no heart. He was incapable of loving anyone. He had proved it once and for all. She simply could not wait for the future, for a day when he was not even the vaguest memory.

And that day would come, she insisted to herself. It would, although perhaps it might take some time. But surely in a year or two, or maybe even three, she would not even recollect his features.

She felt even more anguished and more saddened than before.

"Virginia?"

Virginia gasped, turning.

Mary de Warenne stood in the doorway in a ginger silk evening gown, trimmed with bronze lace. She smiled. "I knocked several times. I'm sorry, but when you did not answer I thought to come in and check on your welfare. Are you all right?"

Virginia stood. "I have a headache, but it will pa.s.s," she said tersely.

Mary smiled. "May I?"

Virginia had no choice but to nod. Miserably, she whispered, "Do come in."

Mary did so, closing the door behind her. She paused at Virginia's side, her expression far too inquisitive and far too searching. "How are you, my dear?"

"I suppose I have a bit of an influenza," she managed. She dreaded the interview she sensed would follow.

Mary searched her eyes. "I understand you and my son have been living together openly."

Virginia flushed. "You are very direct."

"I am very ashamed," Mary said, and although she was blunt, her tone was soft. "I raised Devlin to know right from wrong and to treat women with respect."

Virginia backed away.

"He has used you terribly, I fear," Mary said.

Oh, dear, the anguish had returned, vast and full force, threatening to break like a flooding dam. Virginia turned away.

"I am truly furious with him. But what I want to know is if he has hurt you-other than your heart?"

Virginia gasped, whirling. "I cannot answer that!" she cried.

"I believe I have answer enough," Mary said gently, and she came forward. Before Virginia could protest or elude her, she had embraced her. "I like you very much...daughter."

Virginia knew she must not cry. Then she realized what Mary had called her and she flinched. "What did you say?"

Mary smiled and brushed some curls away from her eyes. "I called you daughter."

Virginia shook her head, speechless.

"For you shall be my daughter-very soon. Edward and I have discussed it at some length. Some small length, actually, as there was so little to discuss. My son will do what is right."

Virginia shook her head, disbelieving, backing up.

"He will marry you, Virginia, have no fear, and he will treat you with the respect owed a wife. Of that I have no doubt," Mary said firmly. "Edward is speaking with him now." And she smiled, waiting for Virginia to tell her how pleased she was.

But Virginia could not speak, not for a long moment. She was in disbelief. Briefly, she saw herself in her wedding finery, Devlin in his dress uniform, standing before a priest. Then she shook the terribly fanciful image aside. She finally said, hoa.r.s.ely, "Thank you, my lady."

"Come, let us go downstairs," Mary said, placing her arm around her.

Virginia prayed for help. She said, "My lady? I truly must rest in bed this evening. I am afraid I would be very poor company if I joined you in my present state."

Mary kissed her forehead. "I understand. I will have a light supper sent up. Virginia?"

Virginia turned away to avoid eye contact. "Yes," she whispered.

"Everything will turn out for the best, I feel certain of it," she said.

Virginia could not nod. Mary left, gently closing the door behind her. Virginia sank down in the nearest chair.

Nothing would turn out well. For it was simply too late. She would not marry Devlin, not even if he were the last man on this earth.

DEVLIN OFFERED HIS STEPFATHER a gla.s.s of red wine and then sat down in an adjacent chair. Edward sipped and said, "This is d.a.m.nably good."

"Yes, it is," Devlin returned, glancing at the open door. But his mother and Virginia did not appear. The standing grandfather clock in the corner of the room chimed half past the hour. He hadn't seen her since their terrible conversation that morning and he could not deny that he wished to see her now. He sincerely hoped that she had recovered from the encounter.

"I heard you have received new orders," Edward commented, setting his gla.s.s down and comfortably stretching out his long legs.

"Yes. I leave in two weeks. I am to partic.i.p.ate in our war with the Americans," Devlin said.

Edward nodded. "It's ironic, is it not? The triumphs in Canada, when we are so outmanned there, and the losses in the Atlantic, when we are the greatest navy on the earth."

"The Americans are a tough and fierce lot," he remarked, a pair of huge violet eyes, flashing with hatred, in his mind. He shifted, aware of a seizure in his chest. But it was her right to hate him and he was glad-he merely had to remind himself of this yet another time.

"And that affair last night?"

"I was wondering if you had heard," Devlin said, bracing himself for the censure he felt certain was to come.

"Devlin, for G.o.d's sake, what did you expect, bringing her there, that way?" There was disapproval in Edward's tone.

Abruptly Devlin stood, wine in hand. "I was called in by St. John today. I've truly heard it all. Yes, I made a mistake, and frankly, I am sorry for it. However, Hughes got a beating-which is almost what he deserved."

"And Virginia?" Edward stood. "What did she deserve?"

He tensed.

"Or rather, what does she deserve?"

"Edward, I am well aware that I have behaved shamefully. She did not deserve to be used in my scheme of revenge. But I have made amends, I hope." He met Adare's unwavering gaze. "I have purchased Sweet Briar, which I intend to give to her, and I will take her home when I set sail," he said tersely.

"The son I raised knows what she presently deserves, and it is not to be tossed away over your father's b.l.o.o.d.y grave."

"I regret all that I have done," he said sharply. "Isn't it enough that I have bought Sweet Briar for her?"

"You tell me."

Devlin met his dark, blazing eyes. "You know the life I have chosen-you know the man that I am. I am not a family man, Edward," he warned.

"But your father did not raise you to be a rogue. He raised you to be the family man you have just spoken of."

The blow was a fierce one, for Edward was right. "Do not bring my dead father into this," Devlin said sharply.

"Why not? Your father's murder is the crux of this matter-as it is the crux of your life. Good G.o.d, he died fifteen years ago! When will you let him rest in peace? When?"

Devlin turned away, trembling. Sean had said the exact same thing, but he could not let go of the past, the effort being beyond his capacity.

"There is only one manner in which you may make amends to Miss Hughes, and you d.a.m.n well know it," Edward said softly to his back.

He did know it. He had known it for some time now, though from precisely when, he could not be certain. The only real way to make amends was through marriage. And Virginia's violet eyes flashed. Today there is only hatred.

Hatred, so much hatred...It was all Devlin knew and he had taught Virginia the horror of it, too. "I doubt she would have me," he heard himself say.

"Of course she will have you! Will you marry her, then?" he demanded.

He faced his stepfather and the devil had returned, ripping not just his heart but his entire being in two. And he actually wished that he were a different man, one incapable of ruthless vengeance, a man capable of letting go of a ghastly past, a man worthy of Virginia's love. But he was not.