by Brenda Joyce
“I’ll get my bag,” Harvey said, striding off.
And they were alone. Devlin stared at her. She, however, refused to meet his gaze. What was this? An effect of guilt? This morning she had been in his bed, on the verge of begging him for his kisses. Devlin was no fool. Desire had clearly shimmered in her hungry violet eyes. “Feeling guilty?” he purred, deciding to enjoy the debate that would surely ensue.
She jumped. “What do I have to feel guilty about? You are the one who should be prone with guilt, but then, you would have to have a heart in order to feel anything.”
“I confess,” he said, smiling, “to being absolutely heartless.”
“How far off course are we?” she asked, and it was more of a demand than a question.
“About a hundred and fifty miles,” he said, and he saw her pale. “That distresses you?”
She stared and finally nodded. “Where do we sail now?” she asked grimly.
She was very clever. He admired her wit and decided never to underestimate it again. “There’s no point in tacking south to Portsmouth. Besides—” his heart tightened, proving that he was capable of feeling after all “—I have grave doubts about the Americana making port there.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t think…”
“I doubt she survived the storm. We barely outran her—the Americana could not outrun her. Mac is a fine sailor, but he was sailing with a skeleton crew.” A soft sorrow crept over him. He didn’t try to shove it away. This was the way of the sea and he knew it very well; it took more lives than it ever let go. Over the years he had learned that it was better to mourn the loss of his men and be done with it. He had also learned not to expect longevity from those who chose to sail with him. It was far easier dealing with death when one accepted its inevitability.
“You don’t care,” she gasped. “You do have a heart of stone—if you even have a heart at all,” she accused. “Those men—that ship—they lie at the bottom of the ocean because of you!”
Now he was angry. He gripped her wrist so quickly that she cried out and he did not let it go. “They lie in a watery tomb because of the gale, Miss Hughes, and as I am not Poseidon, I had little to do with the making of that storm last night.”
She dared to shake her head at him. “No! Had you not battled that ship, wounding it terribly—in order to abduct me—they would be alive!”
This woman seemed to have the capacity to ignite his fury as no one else could. He flung her wrist away and was ashamed to find it red. “Had I not battled that ship, wounding it and abducting you, you would be on the ocean’s floor with them.” He was about to stalk away. It crossed his mind that if he bedded her, he might teach her the respect she so clearly lacked. That, and far more.
But he was struck with his earlier assessment, and he whirled to face her again. “Do not plot against me with Harvey,” he warned.
She cried out, appearing frightened. “I…I’m not!”
“Liar,” he whispered, bending so close that their faces almost touched. “I know a conspiracy when it forms beneath my nose. Do you know what the fate of a mutineer is, Miss Hughes?”
“There is no mutiny,” she began.
He smiled at her coldly. “Should you entice Harvey to your schemes, that is mutiny, my dear. We hang mutineers,” he added with relish, and it was not entirely a lie. He wouldn’t hang Harvey, but he’d lose a damned fine ship’s surgeon, and they were as hard to come by as an Indian ruby, if not even more so.
She shrank away from him, against the wall. “I have something to say to you,” she said fiercely.
He had been about to go. He didn’t like her tone and he turned, awaiting her blow.
“I despise you,” she said thickly.
Oddly, he flinched, not outwardly, but somewhere deep inside his body. Outwardly, he felt his lips twist into a mirthless smile. “That is the best that you can do?”
She looked as if she might strike him.
“Do not,” he warned softly.
She clenched her fists. “I am sorry I missed,” she said suddenly. “I’m a fine shot, and if only I had waited, you would now be dead.”
“But I’m not dead, alas,” he mocked. Her words had an edge he refused to feel, cutting deep. “Patience, Miss Hughes, is a virtue. And you, my harridan, lack it entirely.” He strode away.
“Why are you doing this? O’Neill!” she cried after him. “Harvey says you are rich!”
He pretended not to hear.
“Bastard,” she said.
CHAPTER SIX
JACK HARVEY CLIMBED THE three steps to the quarterdeck. Although his semblance remained cheerful, as was characteristic for him, he was still stunned that Devlin had abused his hostage—stunned and disturbed. But he’d given up trying to understand his captain. He’d served under O’Neill long enough to know that he would never understand him.
Devlin was at the helm and he turned at the familiar sound of the surgeon’s short, surprisingly light footsteps. “How is she?” he asked.
“The gash could have used a stitch or two last night, but it’s healing nicely now. She hasn’t had a headache since she received the blow, which, according to Miss Hughes, was during the storm last night.”
Devlin nodded at his first mate. “Take the helm,” he said. He stepped away and he and Harvey moved to the deck’s larboard side. “You are eyeing me oddly,” he remarked coolly.
Harvey no longer smiled. “Damn it, Devlin, I hope she got that blow as she claimed, by falling, and not from some other means.”
He stared, instantly comprehending Harvey’s meaning. “By God, you think I hit her?” He was genuinely surprised. He had never hit a woman in his life.
“I don’t know what to think,” Harvey grimaced. “Not now.”
Oh, ho, he had a very dark inkling, indeed. “Really?” He gripped Harvey’s arm and they stepped down to the main deck, away from prying eyes and listening ears. “You are a fool, Jack, to allow a clever vixen like Miss Hughes to so sweetly tie you up and wrap you with a pretty bow.”
Harvey appeared flustered. “What does that mean?”
“That means,” Devlin said tightly, “that she has enticed you into disobeying me, has she not?”
Harvey blinked, paling. “Devlin…” he faltered.
“What do the two of you intend? And tell me, how can you justify thwarting me, defying me, when I am your captain?”
Harvey stiffened. “Damn it, you seduced her.”
For one moment, he felt as if Harvey had spoken a foreign language, one he had never before heard. “I what?”
Harvey blinked another time, now looking worried and uncomfortable. “You seduced her,” he said less certainly.
He stared as red-hot fury swept over him. Damn that woman with her clever machinations, her foul lies! “So that is what she told you?” he asked, as if completely calm.
“Er.” Harvey hesitated. “Yes.”
“You know, it is good luck for you that we are, for the most part, on good terms. Otherwise you would not be wearing such a straight nose. I don’t seduce virgins. Innocence does not tempt me.” And as he spoke, he was aware of that having changed.
Harvey paled. “Oh, dear,” he said.
“You have always been taken in by a pretty face,” Devlin said.
Harvey grimaced. “Devlin, I beg your pardon, I am so sorry!”
Devlin didn’t know whom he felt the most umbrage at—Jack Harvey or Virginia Hughes. He certainly felt like throttling the latter. “What did the two of you plan?”
Harvey remained white. He shook his head. “I was to bring her a sailor’s clothes from one of the boys below decks. Then, when we made port, I was to distract and preoccupy you and she would simply walk off the boat with the others.”
“Very clever,” Devlin said, and he meant it. The plan would have undoubtedly worked if he had not sensed the conspiracy between his ship’s surgeon and his little captive.
“Devlin, I am sorry, terribly sorry. I knew it
was not in character for you! But then, this entire affair makes no sense—you’ve never ransomed a woman before. Please forgive me. She was so convincing! She wept, for God’s sake,” Harvey cried, his gaze filled with anxiety.
There would be no forgiveness for anyone. Devlin said, “When we reach Limerick, you will have to find another ship. As of this moment, you are relieved of your duties.”
Harvey’s mouth opened, as if to protest.
Devlin stared, silently daring him to utter a single sound.
Harvey decided the better of it—then amended that decision. “I am sorry,” he said.
Devlin walked away. He no longer cared what Harvey said, thought or did, because their relationship was over.
VIRGINIA SMILED AS SHE STROLLED the deck, uncaring that she had no parasol. In fact, she relished the strong, bright sun. It felt wonderful on her face—it felt wonderful to be alive—and in that moment, she had a sense of why the siren call of the sea was so enchanting. The ship tacked lazily across the wind, the seas were as unhurried, but the breeze was fresh and clean, the skies scintillating, infinity somewhere beyond. She smiled happily, reaching the railing and gripping it. Late tomorrow they would make port in Limerick—and Jack Harvey was going to help her escape.
She laughed out loud, throwing her head back, thinking of how she wished she could see the expression on Devlin O’Neill’s face when he found her gone. She had been wrong to think that she would never be able to win any battle between them. Oh, no. There would be a battle tomorrow and her plan was foolproof. Tomorrow she would be the victor, oh yes.
She knew she was gloating—savoring a triumph she didn’t quite have—and she could almost hear the headmistress at the Marmott School admonishing her. “Ladies do not gloat. In fact, Miss Hughes, ladies do not have battles with avaricious, unscrupulous sea captains, either—a lady does not battle anyone, ever, at all.”
Virginia had to chuckle again. “Well, this lady does do battle, Mrs. Towne,” she said aloud, to the wind and the sea. “In fact, she is rather enjoying herself!”
She realized she had meant her every word and she became reflective. How had she come to this place and time, where she so wanted to outwit Devlin O’Neill? Where the idea of doing so brought her such a thrill? Was it because she still recalled that terrible aching moment when she had desperately wanted his mouth to cover hers? She refused to feel any more desire—and she did not—but she could not escape the singular memory. It had somehow become engraved upon her mind.
Virginia turned to lean her back against the railing, thoughtful still. She glanced toward the quarterdeck and was surprised not to see him there. Why hadn’t he kissed her?
She started, wishing she had never asked herself the question. But she knew why! She was a skinny little thing, with tiny, shapeless breasts, a sharp, angular face and hair that resembled a rat’s nest. Suddenly Virginia felt despair.
It dawned upon her that she wanted her handsome captor to find her beautiful. How foolish could she be?
She drew herself up straighter as the ship rocked over a swell, reminding herself that soon she would be free again, and eventually she would be back at Sweet Briar. Then she would no longer even recall Devlin O’Neill, not by face and not by name. He would not be even the most distant memory.
Somehow she was not reassured.
She suddenly saw Jack Harvey crossing the deck. Virginia’s heart leapt and she waved at him.
He started and changed direction, not waving back or acknowledging her in any way.
Virginia froze. What was that?
Filled with unease, she did not hesitate to rush after him. “Mr. Harvey!” she cried. “Mr. Harvey, do wait!” Surely he had not seen her; surely he had not snubbed her!
Harvey’s steps slowed and Virginia caught up to him. “Hello,” she said brightly, but he did not return her smile. “What a glorious day. Didn’t you see me wave?”
He halted, facing her. “Indeed I did, Miss Hughes.”
Something was amiss, terribly so. “But you did not wave back…or even nod,” she said slowly, with dread.
“I am extremely upset,” he said bluntly. “You see, I have been relieved of my duties, and when we arrive at Limerick, I am to be cast off this ship.”
“Oh,” she managed to say, her heart pounding.
“You lied to me, Miss Hughes. You accused Devlin of a terrible crime.”
She held her head high. “He has committed a terrible crime—I am innocent of any wrongdoing, and he has taken me prisoner against my will.”
“You claimed he seduced you!” Harvey exclaimed. “So that I would defy him and aid you in your escape!”
She had lost after all, she thought miserably. How she wanted to weep. But she did not. Keeping her chin high, she said, “He has abused me, Mr. Harvey.”
Harvey cried, “But not in the manner you claimed. You have never—and I beg your pardon—been in his bed!”
“I never said any such thing. It was a conclusion you drew yourself—those were not my words.”
He blinked. “Does it matter? You understood the conclusion I came to—you encouraged it!”
“The man is a criminal,” she said.
“He is—was—my captain. Now, because of you, I shall have to find a different ship. Miss Hughes, I wish you well. Good day.” He turned and strode away.
Virginia then trembled. Perhaps it had been wrong to let Jack Harvey think the worst, but she was desperate. She had to escape, she had to reach her uncle, she had to save Sweet Briar. Now she succumbed to guilt, but only because Harvey was a very decent sort and he seemed upset at losing his duties upon the Defiance.
It wasn’t right. If anyone were to blame, it was he.
Virginia glanced at the quarterdeck once more, but O’Neill was not standing there, commanding the sun, the sky, the sea. She raced back to his cabin.
As she barged inside, she saw him seated alone at the dining table, slathering butter on a biscuit, a plate containing more biscuits and cheese in front of him. He did not glance up as she stared accusingly at him.
She fought for her breath and her composure, then closed the door and approached.
He finally looked up but did not stand. “Would you care to join me for some dinner?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He ate, sipped from a mug, then said, “You are getting sunburned, Miss Hughes.”
She felt her temper igniting. “It was my fault. The entire plan. If you wish to punish anyone, it should be me, not Jack Harvey.”
Devlin pushed back his chair and rose to his full height, towering over her. His stance made her feel small and vulnerable. She felt certain he knew that his height affected her thusly, and that he did it deliberately. “I would love nothing more than to punish you,” he murmured. “Did you have something in mind?”
Her heart skipped wildly. He stood too close for comfort—he was too tall, too strong, his britches too tight, his shirt far too loosely drawn at the throat. Virginia couldn’t speak.
“You will remain confined in this cabin until we disembark,” he said calmly. “Those are my orders, Miss Hughes.”
“Do not dismiss Mr. Harvey! He is your friend!”
He had been about to walk away; he turned back to her. “My friend? I think not,” he said too softly.
“No, you are wrong, Mr. Harvey cares about you. He admires you greatly—he told me so. He was—and is—your friend,” Virginia cried. “And you must not treat him so callously because of what I have done!”
“I have no friends—not on board this ship, or any other.” He strode to the door.
“Then I feel sorry for you!”
He whirled. “You think to pity me!”
Virginia realized she had hit a nerve—she hadn’t realized he had possessed one. “Is there anyone in this entire world whom you would call a friend, Captain?” she dared, and it was a challenge.
His eyes glittered, turning dark, like a stormy sky. “Do you dare intrude into
my private life?” he asked very softly.
“I didn’t know you had one,” she said as angrily.
He stalked back to her. “Perhaps you will think twice about involving others in your schemes and lies, Miss Hughes. Perhaps next time you will think about the ramifications of your actions.”
“Perhaps I will,” Virginia said, “but this isn’t about me, not anymore. I cannot let you dismiss a man who considers you the greatest captain upon the high seas because of my stupidity, my perfidy. He is your friend, Captain O’Neill, he is your loyal friend!”
“He was my ship’s surgeon and he betrayed me. That is neither friendship nor loyalty. He is lucky I did not shackle him and throw him in the brig.” He strode back to the door, but there he paused. “Why? Why attempt an escape? You would be lost in Ireland. Did you even think your scheme through? I haven’t hurt you. I haven’t even touched you. In a short period of time you will be reunited with your beloved uncle. Why dare to escape? Why dare to defy me?”
Virginia stared helplessly at him. “Because,” she managed, “my entire life is at stake.”
He started.
She stared for a moment longer, then turned and sat down at the table. She felt despondency settle over her like a huge and weighty cloak, and she listened to him walk back to the table, where he also sat. “Explain that statement.”
She shook her head.
He gripped her face, turning it upward so their gazes collided. “I mean it.”
His hand was large, engulfing her chin and jaw. She trembled. “What do you care?” she said awkwardly.
He released her jaw. “I don’t care. But you are in my custody and everything about you is my affair.”
She couldn’t fathom why he should be so interested in her personal matters, and while she did not think sharing her burdens would soften him toward her purpose, she could not think of a reason to remain secretive. She sighed heavily, thought of her parents, and felt a familiar wave of ancient grief. “I was born at Sweet Briar,” she said, her voice low, not looking up at him. “It is heaven on earth, a plantation near Norfolk, Virginia.” She smiled a little, for in spite of the ship’s odors and the scent of the sea, she could smell honeysuckle and lilac and freshly harvested tobacco. “My father built our home with his own two hands, planted the first crops alone.” Finally she looked up, smiling sadly at him. “I loved my father and my mother. Last fall they both died on a stormy night in a foolish carriage collision.”
