The Prize. Brenda Joyce
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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. “Bastard” 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 breasts 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 glass.
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 breasts. “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 ship, 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, damn 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, assailed 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 passage, alone and without chaperone, aboard the Americana?”
Her mind scrambled and raced. “I had to lie to Captain Horatio to get passage,” 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 ship and not the Americana. I know that the British navy thinks nothing of seizing American ships, 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?
“We are not allies,” he said harshly.
This was not the reply she had expected and she did not like the look on his face or in his eyes.
“And I am not releasing you in Portsmouth.”
“What?” She was shocked. “But—”
“In fact, I am taking you to Askeaton. Have you ever been to Ireland, Miss Hughes?”
CHAPTER FIVE
VIRGINIA WAS DISBELIEVING. “Ireland? You think to take me to Ireland?”
“I hardly think it,” he murmured, “I plan it. Now, do sit down, as I also intend to eat.” He held out her chair.
Confusion overcame her. “I am not sure that I understand.”
“Good God!” he shot. “What is there to understand? I am taking you to Ireland, Miss Hughes, as my guest.”
She was truly trying to comprehend him. “So I am your prisoner,” she managed to say hoarsely.
“I prefer to think of you as a guest.” He became serious. “I will not harm you—not even if you are eighteen.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. Now, sit.”