De Warenne Dynasty: The Prize Part 8

She gasped, sitting upright, riveted by an odd glitter in his eyes. Devlin didn't move. He stood in front of the closed door as if he had just entered the cabin.

Virginia leapt to her feet. Her clothes remained damp and wet and that told her she'd slept for just a short time. "How long were you standing there?" she demanded.

His gaze slipped from her eyes to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Quickly, they returned to her eyes, and then he moved across the cabin, past her. "Not long." His reply was cool and indifferent.

Virginia hugged herself, flus.h.i.+ng. Had that man just ogled her bosom? She had no bosom, and the cabin was too small for the two of them. "I thought this was my cabin now."

He was opening the closet door. He turned toward her, his expression mild and inscrutable. "It is."

"Then you should leave."

Now he fully faced her. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the tongue of a shrew?"

"And you are rude. This cabin is too small for the both of us and..." She faltered, finally looking at his wet, b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt. It clung to interesting angles and planes. "You smell."

"For your edification, Miss Hughes, this is my cabin and you are in it as my guest. You did not change your clothes. Why?"

She blinked, his sudden change of topic taking her by surprise. "I don't wish to change my clothes," she said warily.

"You like the appearance of a drowned cat?" His dark brows lifted. "Or is it the cold you enjoy?"

"Thank you for the flattery-and the sarcasm."

He sighed. "Miss Hughes, you will catch pneumonia if you do not get out of those garments. My intention is not for you to die."

She jumped at the cue. "What is your intention?"

His expression changed and it was clear he was now annoyed. He half turned and before she could make a sound, he had pulled his b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt over his head, letting it drop on the floor.

She backed away until she hit the door. "What in G.o.d's name are you doing?" she cried, her gaze riveted on broad, naked shoulders and a glimpse of an equally broad, rock-hard chest.

She looked lower. His belly was flat and tight, with interesting lines, and then it began to ripple. She quickly averted her gaze, but her cheeks had warmed.

"I have the good sense to change my clothes," he returned evenly, forcing her gaze to his.

She met a pair of pale gray eyes and knew she should not have stared. Her spirits sank stunningly, with real dismay. The face of a G.o.d, the body of a warrior. She had seen a few men without their s.h.i.+rts before at Sweet Briar, but somehow, a glimpse of Frank's naked chest had never distressed her in such a way.

Of course, at Sweet Briar, she wasn't being held a prisoner against her will, in such a small, confined s.p.a.ce with her captor. "This cabin is too small for us both," she repeated, aware of her racing heartbeat.

He held a new, clean s.h.i.+rt in his hands, but he didn't move. In fact, had she not seen the rise and fall of his very sculpted chest, she would have thought him to be a lifelike statue. Slowly he said, "You are repeating yourself."

Her s.h.i.+vering abruptly ceased as their gazes locked. The cabin had become hot. It had also become airless.

His face was taut. "You are staring again."

She somehow looked away. "You could have asked me to step outside," she managed, carefully looking at the floor.

"I hadn't realized a man's chest would be so fascinating," he said bluntly.

Her gaze flew up. His back was to her now, encased in fine white lawn, but he was pulling one Hessian boot off, and then another. As he reached into the closet, Virginia glimpsed a sparkle of gold, and then a pair of clean, cream-colored britches were in his hands.

She didn't speak. She whirled, about to dash out the door.

He crossed the s.p.a.ce of the cabin in a heartbeat and placed a hand on the door, preventing her from opening it. "You cannot go out on deck that way."

His arm was over her shoulder and she felt the presence of his large body just behind hers. She couldn't turn around to face him because if she did she would be in his arms. "I am not going to watch you undress," she said, and her tone sounded odd and rough.

"I am not asking you to watch, Miss Hughes. I apologize. I have forgotten how innocent a woman of eighteen is."

Virginia froze. Was he now playing the part of a gentleman? Disbelief warred with a vast confusion.

In that endless moment, she became aware of the heat actually emanating from his body, as only inches separated them. Abruptly he dropped his hand from the door and stepped back.

Slowly, Virginia turned around.

He still held the clean britches in his hand. He broke the silence. Tersely, he said, "Look the other way. I will be done in a moment and then you may change your gown."

"I prefer to step outside-" she began.

"Good G.o.d, woman! Will you dispute my every word? Your gown is indecent." He raked a gaze over her bosom and stalked away, unfastening his britches as he did so.

It was a moment before she comprehended his words. Virginia looked down and was utterly chagrined. The wet silk of her gown and chemise molded her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s, enhanced by her corset, and clearly defined each erect nipple, the entire effect so revealing that no one could be in any doubt as to the size or state of her anatomy. No wonder he had stared. She might as well have been naked. She was mortified.

Cloth rustled.

Virginia looked and glimpsed far more than she should have-high, hard b.u.t.tocks, muscled thighs and calves-and she reversed, facing the door, breathing harshly against the wood. Suddenly she wanted to cry.

She had been as brave as she could be for an interminable amount of time, but her courage was failing her now. She had to get to London, she had to beg her uncle for pity and the payment of her debts. Instead, she was on board a pirate s.h.i.+p, in a pirate's cabin, a pirate who at times spoke like an aristocrat, a pirate who exuded such seductive virility that she was, for the first time ever in her life, aware of her own body in an entirely different way than ever before. How had this happened? How?

He was her enemy. He stood between her and Sweet Briar. She hated him pa.s.sionately-and she must not ever find a single inch of him interesting, intriguing or fascinating.

"I'll wait outside," he said, suddenly behind her again.

Virginia fought the tears back, nodding and stepping aside while refusing to look at him. She was aware of him hesitating and staring at her. She walked over to her bag and made a show of finding new garments, praying he hadn't seen a single tear. Finally, she heard the door close.

She sank onto the floor by her valise and wept.

THE WIND BLEW STRONG and hard behind them. Devlin had taken the helm, as if that would make everything right again. Gripping it with the ease of one who could steer a huge s.h.i.+p in his sleep, he focused on the task at hand-outrunning the storm chasing them.

"Will we make it?" a quiet voice asked from behind just as a pair of moist violet eyes invaded his mind.

Devlin relaxed, relieved by the interruption. He glanced at the s.h.i.+p's surgeon, a small, portly man with thick sideburns and curling gray hair. "It's fifty-fifty," he responded. "I'll know in the next fifteen minutes."

Jack Harvey folded his arms across his chest and gazed up at the inky, starless sky. "What is this hostage-taking business, Devlin?"

Devlin stared into the gray horizon. "My own mad affair, I'm afraid."

"Who is she?"

"Does it matter?"

"I caught a glimpse of her on board the Americana. She's a young lady. I smell a ransom. I don't know why. You've never ransomed a woman before."

"There's always a first time," Devlin said, having no intention of telling the good surgeon anything at all. "How are the wounded?"

"Brinkley is dying, but I've given him laudanum and he doesn't know it. Buehler and Swenson will make it. Does she need medical attention?"

Devlin became irritated. "She needs a gag, but no, she does not need medical attention."

Jack Harvey raised both bushy brows in surprise. Then he said, "She's a beautiful wild thing, isn't she? Good G.o.d, the men are talking about how she tried to shoot you! She-"

"Reams!" Devlin snapped. "Take the helm. Stay true to course." He jammed a finger at the compa.s.s heading and stalked across the quarterdeck. He did not know why he was suddenly very annoyed and angry.

"I take it you are not inviting me to join you for a bite of supper before we face the winds of h.e.l.l?" Harvey called out to his back.

Devlin didn't bother answering. But it was now or never-if the storm caught them, he needed a full belly and all of his strength.

Had she been crying when he left the cabin?

Not that he cared. Women used tears for the sole purpose of manipulation-he had learned that long ago. As he didn't care about any woman to begin with, tears had no effect on him.

He opened the cabin door and saw Virginia seated at his table, which was set with silver and fine crystal and a covered platter, from which savory aromas were wafting. Her posture was terribly erect, her hands were clasped in her lap and two bright pink spots blotched her cheeks. Her gaze, which seemed wild, clashed with his.

He straightened, closing the door, sensing a battle's first blow.

She smiled and it was as cold as ice. "I wondered when you would return...Captain."

Delight tingled in his veins. How he loved a good war. He intended to enjoy this one. "I hadn't realized you were pining for my company," he said with a courtly inclination of his head.

"I only pine for your head-on that silver serving platter," she said, as regally as if she were England's queen.

He wanted to smile. He nearly did. Instead, he approached cautiously and saw the fury in her eyes. "I fear to disappoint you. My chef is French. I have far better fare on that platter."

"Then I shall wait patiently for a better day, when the dinner I truly desire is served," she almost spat.

He refused to chuckle. "You do not strike me as a patient woman, Miss Hughes, and as I doubt the day you seek will come for a good many years, what will you do instead of waiting?"

"You're right. I have no patience, none at all! Rogue!" she cried.

He almost laughed. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d" was more like it. "Have I somehow offended you, Miss Hughes?"

Her laughter was brittle. "You murder innocent Americans, you abduct me, take me prisoner, strip in front of me, ogle my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and ask me if I am offended? Hah," she said.

He reached for the bottle of red wine. "May I?" he asked, about to pour into her gla.s.s.

She leapt to her feet. "You're an officer!" she shouted, and he tensed, thinking she intended to strike him. But she only added in another shout, "In the British navy!"

He set the bottle down and swept her a mocking bow. "Sir Captain Devlin O'Neill, at your service, Miss Hughes."

She was trembling with rage, he saw. He decided to give in to lechery and admire her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Stop leering," she hissed. "You have committed criminal acts. Atrocious criminal acts! Explain yourself, Captain, sir!"

He gave up. This woman dared to order him. It was the single truly entertaining moment of his life. She was on his s.h.i.+p, in his command and she ordered him about. He laughed.

Virginia froze, startled by the brief eruption of that rough sound, with its oddly raw tone. Then, still furious at his deception, and worse, at what clearly was not the dire predicament she had thought herself to be in, she snapped, "I am waiting for an explanation, Captain."

He shook his head and looked at her. Very softly, he asked, "Are you not afraid of me?"

She hesitated. What kind of question was this?

"Be truthful," he said, as if in earnest.

"You terrify me," she heard herself say, her pulse quickening. Then she amended, "You have terrified me, and all for naught, d.a.m.n it!"

His brows lifted. "Ladies do not curse."

"I don't care. Besides, I have not been treated like a lady, now have I?"

He gave her a very odd, long look. "Another man would have had you in that bed-where you belong. But you are hardly there, are you?"

She went still. Alarm filled her. Alarm and such a forceful heartbeat she could no longer breathe. "I har-I har-I hardly belong in your bed!" she stammered. Terrible images of her there, with him, in his powerful arms, a.s.sailed her.

"A slip of the tongue." His brows, darker than his hair, lifted. "I agree. Skinny women tend to be exceedingly uncomfortable."

She almost gasped again. Then she cried, "I am only fourteen, sir! You would take a child to your bed?"

His gaze slammed to hers.

She wet her lips. She was perspiring and she desperately needed him to believe her now.

His jaw flexed. His gaze narrowed with speculation, causing her heart to lurch with dread. "This is a dangerous game you play, Miss Hughes," he said softly.

"It is no game!"

"Indeed? Then explain to me the fact of your pa.s.sage, alone and without chaperone, aboard the Americana?"

Her mind scrambled and raced. "I had to lie to Captain Horatio to get pa.s.sage," she said, and she thought her explanation brilliant. "Obviously he would not let a child travel to Britain alone. I told him I was eighteen-"

He cut her off, his eyes cold. "You did not look fourteen in your wet gown, Miss Hughes."

She stiffened.

His smile was a mere twist of lips. "Do sit down. As interesting as this conversation is, I am here for a purpose. A storm threatens to catch us, and if so, a long night ensues." He moved swiftly to the table and held out her chair.

Virginia found it hard to sit down. Oddly, she hated her deception now; she did not want him to really think of her as a child. But did he even believe her? She did not quite think so. And he wasn't a pirate, oh no! Some of her anger at being duped-and pointlessly frightened-returned. "Why didn't you tell me that you are a captain in the royal navy?"

He shrugged. "Do you care?"

"Of course I do!" she cried, facing him earnestly now. "Because I thought I was your prisoner, although I could not fathom why. Now I know differently, although I still do not understand why I am on your s.h.i.+p and not the Americana. I know that the British navy thinks nothing of seizing American s.h.i.+ps, as you have clearly done, for your country has no respect for our rights! But we are not at war with you, and you are not a pirate! In some ways, we are allies. Clearly you will release me in Portsmouth!" For this was the conclusion she had drawn upon finding his naval uniform in his closet. An officer in the British navy was not about to ransom an American citizen. But what was he about?