The Prize. Brenda Joyce

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      “You are very beautiful,” Harvey said in the lapse that had fallen. “I have never seen such extraordinary eyes. I do not approve of Devlin sharing that cabin with you.”

      Did she have an ally in the ship’s surgeon? She inhaled sharply, her mind racing. Then, carefully, she summoned tears—a feat she had never before performed. “I begged for mercy,” she whispered. “I told him I was a young, innocent and defenseless woman.” She stopped as if she could not continue.

      Harvey’s eyes widened in shock. “I don’t believe it! The bastard…seduced you?”

      He would be an ally, she could feel it. “Seduced? I don’t think that is the right word.”

      He was pale beneath his coppery tan. “I will make sure he finds accommodations elsewhere,” he said tersely. He glanced over his shoulder at O’Neill, who remained with his back to them, facing the prow of the ship. “Not that that will change what he has done,” he said, clearly distressed. “Miss Hughes, I am so sorry. Clearly you are a lady, and frankly, this is entirely out of character for Devlin.”

      She was certain she had won him over. She pretended to wipe her eyes, making certain that her hands trembled. “I am sorry, too. You see, I have terribly urgent affairs in London, my entire life is at stake, and now…now I doubt I will be able to solve the crisis I am in. Are you his friend?” she asked without a pause and without premeditation.

      He started and then became thoughtful. “Devlin is a strange man. He keeps his distance from everyone. You never really know what he is thinking, what he is intending. I’ve been aboard his ships for three years now and that should make us friends. But the truth is, I know very little about him—no more than the rest of the world. We all know of his exploits, his reputation. I do consider myself a friend—he saved my life in Cadiz—but frankly, if we are friends, I have never had a friendship like this before.”

      It was almost sad, but Virginia was not about to be swayed by any compassion. Curiosity consumed her. “What exploits? What reputation?”

      “They call him ‘His Majesty’s Pirate,’ Miss Hughes,” Harvey said, smiling as if on safer ground now. “He puts the prize first always, and I suspect he has become a very rich man. His methods of battle are unorthodox, as are his strategies—and his politics. Most of the Admiralty despise him, for he rarely follows orders and thinks very little of those old men in blue and doesn’t care if they know it. The papers fill pages with accounts of his actions at sea. Hell—er, excuse me—they write about his actions on land, too. The social pages always mention him when he is at home, attending this ball, that club. He was only eighteen at Trafalgar. He took over the command of his ship and destroyed two much larger vessels. He was instantly given his own command, and that was only the beginning. He will not accept a ship-of-the-line, however. Oh, no, not Devlin.” Finally Harvey paused for breath.

      “Why not? What’s a ship-of-the-line?” Virginia asked, glancing toward her captor again. Daylight glinted boldly on his sun-streaked hair. The man attended balls and clubs. She could not imagine it. Or could she?

      She had a flashing image of him in a black tailcoat, a flute of champagne in his large, graceful hand, and she had no doubt the ladies present would all be vying desperately to gain his attention.

      Oddly, she didn’t care for the image at all.

      “A battleship—they travel and fight in a traditional formation. Devlin is too independent for that. His way is to sail alone, to swoop in on the unsuspecting—or deceive the suspecting. He never loses, Miss Hughes, because he rarely maneuvers the same way twice. The men trust him with their lives. I’ve seen him give commands that appeared suicidal. But they weren’t. They were victorious instead. Most commanders flee—or try to—when they realize the Defiance is on the horizon. He is the greatest captain sailing the high seas today, mark my words.” Harvey was smiling. “And I am not alone in that opinion.”

      “You like him!” Virginia accused, amazed. But in spite of the animosity she refused to release, she was also impressed—with his exploits, not the man himself.

      Harvey raised both brows. “I admire him. I admire him greatly. It is impossible not to, not if one is in his command.”

      “He saved the ship last night,” she remarked. “Why didn’t he send someone else up that mast?”

      Harvey shook his head. “Because he knew he could accomplish the mission. That is why we admire him, Miss Hughes, because he leads—he really leads—and then, how can we not follow?”

      She hesitated, her heart racing. “Is he…married?”

      Harvey was surprised, and then he laughed. “No! I mean, do not get me wrong, he likes his women, and there are many London ladies who wish to entice him to the altar—he was just knighted, you know—but I cannot imagine Devlin with a wife. She would have to be a very strong woman, to put up with a man like that.” He became thoughtful. “I don’t think Devlin has even thought of marrying, if you must know. But he is young. He is only twenty-four. His life is the sea, I think. I suppose that could one day change.” He sounded doubtful.

      O’Neill appeared as harsh and hard as he had been heroic—and he also seemed very alone. Virginia realized she was staring at him again. Standing there as he did, controlling the huge frigate, a commanding figure with an inescapable presence, the aura of power almost visible, she instantly amended her thoughts. The man gave no sign that he was lonely. In fact, he seemed an island unto himself, and only a very foolish woman would dare to think him lonely or needy in any way.

      “He is not a bad man,” Harvey said softly. “Which is why I do not understand what he has done and what he is doing. He certainly doesn’t need this ransom.”

      Virginia started. “Are you certain?”

      “As captain, he gets three-eighths of every prize we take. I know what we’ve been about these past three years. The man is wealthy.”

      Virginia shivered, staring with dismay and dread. If this was not about her ransom, then what, dear God, was it about?

      And she decided the time was now. She touched the surgeon’s hand. “Mr. Harvey, I need your help,” she said plaintively.

      HE HAD HAD ENOUGH. His damned ears were burning as if he were some child in the schoolroom—he knew they were talking about him. “Martin, take command of the ship,” he said. As the officer came forward, Devlin wheeled and leapt off of the quarterdeck.

      His eyes widened as he saw his little hostage with her hand on Harvey’s, her eyes huge and pleading, her rosebud mouth trembling. Suspicion reared itself. The chit was acting like some foolish, simpering coquette—and there was nothing foolish, simpering or coy about Miss Virginia Hughes. What was afoot?

      His irritation had decreased, amusement taking its place. The one thing Virginia Hughes was, was entertaining.

      He almost smiled, until he thought of how she had felt, asleep and spooned into his stiff, aroused body last night. He grimaced instead. He hadn’t even known she was in his bed when he had dropped there in absolute exhaustion after the storm had abandoned the ship. But he had certainly become aware of her while asleep, because when he had awoken, his body had been urging him to take instant advantage of her. Fortunately, he prided himself on his self-control—he had been exercising self-will and self-discipline since he was a boy of ten. Ignoring his physical needs was not the easiest task, but there was simply no question that it was СКАЧАТЬ