"Yes, I do, and we shall make the best of it. We will hardly be the only couple with divided loyalties in this conflict."

She trembled, cold all over again. She knew she was losing-she had lost every single battle she had ever waged against this man. "I cannot marry you, Devlin. Not now, not ever."

He straightened.

"I mean it," she said nervously.

A terrible silence ensued. He looked at her for a long time with such a severe mask in place that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling-if, indeed, he felt anything. He set his gla.s.s carefully down. "But my regret is sincere. I am sorry for everything and I wish to make amends. I wish to save your reputation."

She felt like weeping. "Your regret comes too late!"

He looked at her, his gaze searching. "You did not always hate me."

She stiffened. "This is not about hatred. My letter was sincere. I do not hate you, Devlin, in spite of all that you have done."

"Then accept this marriage, for Tyrell is right-it is in your best interest."

"I want to go home," she heard herself say, almost pathetically.

He started.

How she wanted to weep. Her tone quavering, she took a deep breath and said, "I admit what we both now know-once I loved you, and I wanted you to love me in return. But you cannot offer me love, can you?"

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head. "No."

"No," she echoed, and it was impossible not to be bitter. "You offer me marriage now. I simply cannot accept. You see, you have hurt me for the last time," she said tersely. "If you wish to appease this new conscience of yours, then send me home, a free woman, at long last."

"I cannot."

"Of course you can. You are the most powerful and independent man I have ever met. Of course you can." She realized that she was crying.

He suddenly approached.

Virginia stiffened as he paused before her, his expression very severe.

"I will not sell Sweet Briar."

She froze. "What?" Had he just said what she thought he had?

"I will not sell Sweet Briar."

She felt faint. She must have reeled because he caught her. "You won't sell Sweet Briar? But...I do not understand."

"Sit down," he commanded, guiding her to a chair.

She was too stunned to refuse.

"I have purchased the plantation," he said. "I bought it to give to you in an effort to make amends for what I have done."

Virginia felt faint. She could hardly comprehend his words. He now owned her home?

"It will be your wedding present," he said softly. "A gift from me to you."

Part Three.

The Bride.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

THE WEDDING WAS BUT days away.

Virginia had never felt more like a powerless p.a.w.n. With her wedding looming so near, it was impossible not to admit that if Devlin O'Neill loved her, just a little, she would be more than thrilled to be marrying him. But he didn't love her, not at all; until recently, his intention had been to send her home, done with her at last. It hurt still. And as for his grand gesture of buying Sweet Briar with the intention of giving it to her, that had become tainted by the suggestion of blackmail in his offer. It was to be a wedding gift-and Virginia did not have to ask him to know that if she refused to marry him there would be no gift at all. She could not be unhappy with his "gift," but she wished it had been offered with no consequent threats. And she would not refuse. Devlin was paying off the plantation's debts and in a few days, her home would belong to her, at last. She was marrying a man who frightened her, a man still bent on revenge, a man she continued to hopelessly love; the future was uncertain and shadowed with doubt. At least she would have a refuge if she ever needed one.

She took the safest possible course; she retreated into herself. She slept late and went to bed early. She immersed herself in books. She tried hard not to think, and when she did, she thought of Sweet Briar and how one day her children would inherit it. She kept her distance from Devlin, knowing it would hurt to be near him, and that was an easy task. He spent most of his waking hours either at the Defiance, as she was in the final stages of being outfitted for her tour, or at the Admiralty, being briefed upon the war. She suspected that he might be avoiding her, as well, and she could only surmise that he found the impending marriage more than distasteful. Most evenings he took his supper out, leaving her to dine alone in the huge, empty dining room. Upon crossing each other's paths, they both became polite, formal strangers, which relieved Virginia to no end, no matter how odd it was.

Mary de Warenne was another problem entirely. Virginia liked his mother and suspected that, had circ.u.mstances been different, they might have become deep and abiding friends. Now, however, his mother was busily and happily planning their small wedding. Virginia was constantly called on for Mary wished her to approve every detail, every decision. The wedding would be held at their Mayfair home in the old chapel there-fine. The wedding would be restricted to the immediate family-fine. The reception afterward would also be at Harmon House-fine. There would be salmon, pheasant, venison, and would French champagne be inappropriate? No, that was fine. And finally there was the matter of Virginia's gown.

Mary de Warenne's couturier was beside herself with enthusiasm. Virginia nodded at lace, at beads, at silk, at satin-she had no idea what the dress would be like and she did not care. Why couldn't they just plan the event, have her appear at the appointed hour and leave her entirely alone?

But Virginia could not be rude to Mary. The effort cost her dearly, but she was polite, friendly and, in general, quite amiable. The moment Mary left her though, Virginia would lock herself in her room, take huge calming breaths and, somehow, avoid the terrible need to cry.

It was noon. Virginia knew what day it was-she kept track of the days with the morbid fascination of a prisoner on his way to the guillotine. It was December 9-in three more days she would be walking down the aisle. Her stomach tightened at the thought, and it was a painful stabbing in her gut.

"Virginia?" Mary knocked on her door. "I have your gown! You must see it-may I come in?"

Virginia was seated by the window, staring out at the back lawns and the river. Her heart lurched and she stood. "Come in," she said.

Mary entered, a bulky, wrapped garment in her arms. "It is beautiful beyond words, and you must try it on!" She rushed over to Virginia and kissed her cheek. Her face was alight, her eyes sparkling, and she was a very beautiful woman, indeed.

"I don't really think I should try it on," Virginia said slowly, her heart beating uncomfortably now. She sensed it would be hard to maintain her composure if she tried on her wedding dress, but how to avoid doing so? What logic could she use?

"But what if it needs an alteration?" Mary exclaimed, already placing the garment on the bed and removing the brown wrapper. "Look! Just look!" she cried.

Virginia hugged herself, ill. Mary held up a white silk dress and Virginia had to look. Almost hypnotized, she saw a gown with a square neckline and long sleeves, covered with a layer of lace that was heavily beaded, the skirts impossibly full, the train elegant and long. She forced a smile; it felt sickly. "How beautiful," she whispered. How could this be happening? How?

She was on the verge of marrying Devlin-and he did not love her, not at all.

"You will be the most beautiful bride ever seen at Harmon House," Mary gushed. "Let me help you out of your clothes."

Virginia turned, giving Mary her back, facing the window. An elegant yacht had berthed at their dock and a number of sailors were tying the lines. She blinked back a tear, vaguely wondering who had arrived, as she did not recognize the vessel. A man leapt from the stern to the dock and the sight he made was terribly familiar.

Virginia froze.

He leapt over the stone path, ignoring it, and started swiftly up the lawn.

"Sean!" she cried. And thrilled, she threw open the window, waving. "Sean! Sean!"

He heard her, looked up, and he waved back.

VIRGINIA LEFT MARY BEHIND, racing downstairs at breakneck speed. As she skidded through the house and into the family salon, she vaguely realized that Devlin was in the library, speaking to someone. She had not realized he was home; it hardly made a difference. She flung open the terrace doors and raced outside.

Sean was bounding up the stone steps to the patio. He grinned at her.

"I am so glad to see you," she cried, and she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him and holding him hard.

She felt him tense in surprise, but Virginia felt so safe, so secure, so beloved that she did not care and she clung. Finally he patted her back, almost as if he felt awkward. "This is not the greeting I imagined," he murmured.

Virginia realized he did not hug her in return and she let him go, smiling up at him. "I am so happy you are here!"

His gray gaze wandered over her face.

She smiled again and touched his cheek. This time she did not speak.

He pulled away, clasping her hand gently. "You are going to make the groom jealous," he said tightly.

She glanced behind her and saw a curtain fall at the window. She faced him and shrugged. "I know that is not possible," she said.

He stared closely at her. "Are you all right?" he asked, clearly concerned.

That was her final undoing; she could not speak, and she shook her head.

"Come." He released her hand and pressed her back. "Let's take a turn about the gardens."

It was about to rain, but she nodded in a.s.sent.

Sean slipped his cloak off and placed it about her shoulders. "You are not a happy bride," he remarked as they went down the steps to the lawns.

"Oh, no one has told you?" How hysterical and bitter she sounded, she thought. "Devlin has decided to be honorable and save my sordid reputation, at long last."

He faced her, pausing. "You sound very angry."

"Sean!" Tears threatened. "I am more than angry-I am being forced into a loveless marriage with a man I cannot stand!"

He started and cursed. "I thought you were in love with him, Virginia. At Askeaton you had stars in your eyes."

"Do you see stars now?" she flung.

His mouth was tight. "No, I do not."

She tucked her arm in his and they started to walk again. "I tried to run away. But Tyrell betrayed me and called Devlin. He bought Sweet Briar and he has made it clear that if I marry him, the plantation will be my wedding gift."

Sean halted. "He has blackmailed you into this?" He was incredulous.

Virginia hesitated. "Not exactly. But the suggestion was clear-Sweet Briar is to be a wedding gift. If he wanted me to freely have it, he could simply sign the deed over now."

Sean stared and finally said, "Virginia, I heard you were living openly with him. I heard you were his mistress, and so it seemed to me that his finally marrying you was the right thing for him to do."

She hesitated. Because she had willingly enjoyed his bed after the terrible Carew ball, she could not tell Sean that they had played a deadly charade. Did Sean still love her? She knew he remained fond of her. Now she worried that he was more than fond of her and that she should not have involved him in her crisis. She finally said, "I don't want to marry him-but I also have no choice."

He tilted up her chin. "You loved him once. Can you genuinely claim that you do not love him now?"

She opened her mouth to deny it. No words came out.

And his reaction, a terrible darkening of his eyes, followed by the shadow of anguish, told her everything that she had to know. His feelings had not changed.

"My feelings do not matter," she finally said, hoa.r.s.ely. "What matters is that he has hurt me time and again, and if we marry, he will somehow find a way to hurt me another time. I can no longer bear it, Sean, I can no longer bear his terrible indifference!"

Sean swallowed. Tightly, he said, "Virginia, I do not think he is indifferent. I know my brother. No one knows him as well as I. If he did not wish to marry you, nothing on earth could persuade him to do so, nothing and no one."

TOMORROW WAS HER wedding day.

It would soon be dawn. Virginia sat in a window seat, the sky outside a dusky blue-black. Sometime in the evening it had begun to rain, and the gentle rainfall silvered the curtain of night.

She stared at the falling rain. Virginia was trying to imagine the kind of woman she would be like if she had seen her father beheaded as a small child. There was no possible way to do so. She thought she might react like Sean, forgetting every detail.

But Devlin remembered everything. Unlike his brother, he had spent the past fourteen years plotting revenge against his father's murderer. She shivered, and not from the cold morning. That would make anyone heartless, she thought, but the man who had lain with her after the Carew ball had not been heartless, she was certain.

She had refused to reconsider that night again, but now, it was all she could think of.

She closed her eyes in turmoil. Tomorrow was her wedding. She could run away or she could stay; she could accept marriage to a cold, vengeful man who insisted he was heartless or she could have faith. Running away would probably fail, but having faith only promised a future of heartache, if the past were any consideration.

Virginia stood grimly. Her logic indicated that she had little choice but to stay and accept marriage to a heartless man, expecting nothing in return except Sweet Briar. How could she endure such a matrimonial state?

Virginia shivered again, chilled in her soul, watching the falling rain. Images of her parents, laughing, teasing, stealing a kiss or a touch when they thought no one was looking, a.s.sailed her then.

G.o.d, she and Devlin had hardly exchanged words since that awful day when he had almost blackmailed her into accepting their union. One thing was so clear. She could not endure a mechanical marriage to a man universally acclaimed as heartless; therefore, she must continue on, foolishly daring to hope she could somehow save his soul. Virginia realized the amount of courage she now needed to go forward to the altar.

And it was time for a civil conversation. It was time for a truce. They certainly could not live this way after their marriage-or, at least, she could not-and more images of her parents came, full-force, bittersweet.

Her decision was made. She walked barefoot across the bedroom, Arthur happily following, filled with trepidation. She already knew Devlin had not come up to his bed in the adjacent room, so she went downstairs, certain she would find him at his desk in the library.

Virginia let the puppy out on the terrace before approaching the single room that was Devlin's sanctuary. The library door was open and she had been right. A huge fire blazed in the hearth and Devlin sat at his desk, a quill in hand, parchment before him. He looked up, startled.

She smiled and it felt very grim. She was not giving up. She would try to be a real wife to him, no matter the courage it took.

His gaze took in her white cotton and lace nightgown and her bare feet. "Virginia?"

"I thought we could speak-if you have the time," she added in a nervous rush.