Devil's Daughter (12 page)

Sordello accepted the glass with trembling fingers and downed the sweet wine. “Tribute is never broken,” he said. “I do not understand.”

“There is much you do not understand, captain. Ali will show you to your cabin. Do not worry about your men. They will not be mistreated.”

Both men whirled toward the door at the sound of a piercing scream. Kamal cursed under his breath and rushed from the cabin, Sordello at his heels. He gained the deck in time to see Droso strike one of his men, Sard, with the flat of his scimitar.

“Marco,” Sordello yelled. “Your word, highness.” He turned to Kamal. “He is just a boy.” His cabin boy was weaving where he stood, his blue shirt rent at his shoulder, his blood rushing down his arm. In his other hand he clasped Sordello’s strongbox.

“The boy tried to break away, highness,” Droso said to Kamal.

Sordello raised anguished eyes to Kamal. “He had not given me all our papers. He was afraid you would kill me.”

Kamal knelt beside Marco. He removed his wide leather belt and fashioned a tourniquet to slow the bleeding. The boy raised wide eyes to Kamal’s face. “The papers,” he whispered between pinched lips. “I have papers for you.”

Hassan was right to say he had mixed wisdom with folly, Kamal thought. What he had done might mean this boy’s life. “Take him below, to my cabin,” he told Droso. “Ali will see to him.” He rose and stared long at Sordello. “If the boy can be saved, my physicians will do it. Do you wish vengeance on the man who struck him?”

Sordello said in a voice of deadly calm, “Unlike your pirates, highness, we are not butchers.”

“No,” Kamal said, “I did not think so. Come, captain, you may stay with the boy until we reach Oran.”

Kamal spoke with Ali, who had been watching the exchange, walked slowly to the railing of the
xebec,
and stared down into the rippling water. The
xebec
heeled sharply to port, its black sails beating loudly in the wind. He raised his head and met Droso’s black eyes.

“Sard is dead, highness,” Droso said calmly.

A
rabella sat in the middle of her bed, her arms clasped around her drawn-up knees, watching Rayna pace back and forth in front of her. “Rayna,” she said finally, “it is after midnight. I wish you would cease acting like a caged tiger and tell me what happened. Come,” she continued, patting the bed, “sit down and warm yourself, and talk to me.” Surely, she thought, Adam could not be the cause of this.

Rayna looked a waif swathed from neck to toe in a white lawn nightgown, her auburn hair loose to her waist. She wrapped a blanket around her and sat on the edge of the bed.

Aha, Arabella thought, realizing the likely truth of the matter. “It is that wretched comte, is it not?”

“Yes,” Rayna said, not looking up. “I was such a fool, Bella. I went for a breath of air on the balcony with him. I didn’t want to, truly, but before I knew it I was in the garden. So stupid of me. Someone closed the balcony door and he became disgusting. Well, I kicked him between the legs, just as Thomas told me to do if ever a gentleman went beyond what was proper.”

Arabella’s eyes widened. “Oh, Rayna, how I would have liked to witness that. Sent him to his knees?”

Rayna shuddered at the memory. “I am not certain, Bella. I was running too fast to notice. But I think I did hurt him.”

“Well, he deserved it. And here I thought you needed protecting from that wretch.” Arabella leaned forward and shook Rayna’s limp hand in congratulation. “I am proud of you, Rayna. He will likely keep his distance from now on.”

“The marchese wasn’t proud of me,” Rayna said.

“What do you mean?” So Adam did fit somewhere in this mess after all.

“After I escaped the comte, I found a small antechamber. The marchese came in.” Rayna’s fingers fretted with a pleat in her nightgown. “He had the audacity to yell at me for being with the comte, as if it had been I who wanted to seduce that beastly man.”

“Did you not explain to him what had happened?”

“Yes. Indeed, he had seen most of it. He went on and on about my being a fool. And then he kissed me.”

“I see,” Arabella said.

“I slapped him,” Rayna said.

Oh dear, Arabella said under her breath. Aloud she said, “Very proper of you, love. My, two gentlemen after you in one evening. You must give me advice, Rayna, on how to interest men. I haven’t had one nibble since our arrival here.”

“You are just trying to make me feel better, Bella. And you know it is not true. I think the marchese was merely toying with me. It is you he is interested in. I have seen how he laughs with you.”

Oh dear, Arabella thought. How could Rayna be so blind? She said, “He does laugh with me, Rayna, but it is only friendship of a sort that we share.”

“His beard scratched me when he kissed me.” Rayna suddenly jumped off the bed and began her pacing again. “I hated it when the comte kissed me, but when the marchese did, I felt the most marvelous feelings. It was he who pulled away from me, as if I were a loose hussy.”

“Nonsense, Rayna,” Arabella said. “He undoubtedly felt guilty for taking advantage of you. He pulled away because he did not want to compromise you.”

Rayna whirled around toward Arabella. “Do you think so, Bella? Do you think he cares for me, a little?”

“I think that he must. There is another infernal court function on Thursday. Likely the marchese will be there. You must talk to him, Rayna. He is probably just as concerned as you are.”

“Perhaps you are right, but he seems so certain of himself, so—” She waved her hand expressively.

“So arrogant?”

“Not really that. He seems a man who gets what he wants. I would not want to be his enemy.”

Neither would I, Arabella thought. “You told me he was kind, Rayna.”

“That is true. And he is gentle with me, and teases me. But still, I saw his anger tonight. I do not believe I could love a violent man.”

“The marchese violent? Come, Rayna, that’s absurd. He was angry because he was afraid for you, not
at
you.”

“Nonetheless,” Rayna said, “he is not at all like Papa.”

“No,” Arabella agreed, “he is not. I think he is used to being in control,” she continued with a sister’s loving objectivity, “and perhaps he can be ruthless. But I
do not believe he would ever be cruel to someone he loved.”

“I do not care for ruthless men,” Rayna said.

Impatient with Rayna’s prim tone, Arabella said, “Likely the marchese doesn’t care for girls who are too timid or too proper to stand up for themselves.”

Rayna sucked in her breath. “I am not too timid. And of course I am proper. I am a lady.”

“I would imagine,” Arabella said thoughtfully, “that the marchese would not particularly want a lady in his bed.”

“Oh.” Color flooded Rayna’s cheeks.

“But,” Arabella continued, “it seems to me you forgot everything when he kissed you.”

A sudden smile lit up Rayna’s face. “I think I did. Bella,” she said after a moment, “have you ever been in love?”

“No.”

“But you’re twenty, Bella.”

“I am content to wait. Perhaps there isn’t a gentleman who will kiss me and make me want to forget I’m a proper lady.”

“You are English, yet you speak Italian like a native.”

Arabella said with her open smile, “I was blessed in my parentage.”

“Your accent, if I am not mistaken, is Genoese?”

The older woman seemed genuinely interested, and Arabella, overly heated from too much dancing, was ready to relax.

“You are very perceptive,
signora.
We have a home in Genoa,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “My father
is the Earl of Clare, and my grandmother was Antonia Parese.”

The Contessa Luciana di Rolando drew her dark brows together as if in thought. “I believe I have heard of your illustrious father. Is he not one of the few English aristocrats who indulge in business? Shipping and banking?”

“Yes, he does,” Arabella said. “And he is successful at whatever he undertakes.”

The contessa smiled. “He is your father, so I suppose that makes him something of a paragon to you, his daughter. My father, on the other hand, was a failure at anything he attempted.”

“A paragon? No, I do not think I am such a fool as to believe him that. But I do love him very much, and find him ever so splendid.”

“And your mother? Is she still living?”

“Indeed. I am told that I resemble her greatly, save for my eyes and eyebrows.”

“Are you their only child?”

“No. I have an older brother. Our other brother, Charles, died when he was very young.”

“Ah, so very sad.”

“Enough about me and my family,
signora.
I have been trying to place your accent, but I confess that I cannot.”

“I have traveled a great deal.”

“Do you live in Naples?”

“For the time being, yes. The world is so very unsettled. I really do not know where I will be in, say, three months.”

“That is what my father says. He is concerned that Napoleon will soon make Genoa part of his empire. I
should hate that, for we would have to return to England, and likely remain there until Napoleon is defeated.”

The contessa reached over and lightly patted Arabella’s hand. “It is a pity that you, so young a girl, must worry about leaving her Italian home.”

“I am not so very young,” Arabella said, chuckling. “I turned twenty last month. Alas, I fear that I will become a spinster.”

“Your parents want to keep you with them, then?”

“My parents,” Arabella said, “only want me to be happy. Unfortunately, I have yet to meet a man who can measure up to my brother and my father.”

The contessa lowered her eyes and let her fingers curl into her palms. “Is your brother here with you?”

Arabella gave a start, but said smoothly, “Oh no, Adam is in Amsterdam. I am merely a guest of the Lyndhursts. Their daughter and I went to school together in England.”

The little chit Gervaise wants.
“And will your parents come fetch you soon?”

Arabella didn’t mind questions, truly she didn’t, but the contessa seemed too curious, too insistent. She said carefully, “My parents, for the time being at least, will remain in Genoa. I am here only because my father thought it would benefit me to see more of the world.”

“How wise he sounds.”

It seemed to Arabella that the contessa’s tone held a touch of sarcasm. She did not understand it, but thought: I will put the shoe on the other foot—and said, “Do you have children, contessa?”

The contessa smiled blandly. “You think I am a nosy old woman. It is true. When you reach my age, there
are few pleasures left. But to answer your question,
signorina,
I have one son, Alessandro.”

“Is he with you in Naples?”

“No, Alessandro, like me, enjoys travel.”

“Is he married?”

“He is only twenty-five years old,
signorina.
Too young, I think, at least for a man, to consider marriage.”

“I have always thought it unfair,” Arabella said seriously, “that women are considered to be beyond the pale if they are not married at an absurdly young age, whereas gentlemen can do just as they please for as long as it pleases them.”

The contessa frowned. How often she had thought that when she was younger, married to a man old enough to be her father when she was but eighteen. At least the old fool had died and left her rich. She firmly repressed the tug of liking she felt for the lively Arabella Welles. “Life is not always fair,” she said aloud, knowing she sounded inane.

Arabella smiled suddenly and rose to her feet. “I have been monopolizing you overmuch, contessa. Forgive me. My father is always telling me that I am sometimes too exuberant.”

“Allow me to disagree with your father,” the contessa said. “But you are young and ready for more dancing, I daresay. Let us speak again, child. There is a handsome young man who appears eager for your company.”

Arabella smiled in her friendly way. “I should like that, contessa,” she said, and offered the older woman a curtsy.

She greeted Adam with an impish grin and
whispered behind her gloved hand, “Have you spoken yet with Rayna?”

“Aye, and I have something of a favor to ask you, Bella.”

She arched a brow at him. “Something wicked?”

He looked for a moment somewhat hesitant. “I wish to speak to Rayna in a more private place. At her parents’ villa, to be precise. Perhaps in the garden.”

“And after all my efforts to have you meet Rayna in England, and you not the least bit interested at the time.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “I pity the man who must break you to bridle. Now, will you shut up and listen? I have no intention of compromising Rayna in any way, so dismiss all your lurid fantasies, Bella. Your role, my dear, will be to play chaperon and guard dog. Unseen and unheard, of course.”

“Naturally.” Arabella paused a moment, then said quite seriously, “Do you intend to tell Rayna who you are, Adam?”

“No. Not until this business of ours is finished. I will take no chances with her safety.”

“Reasonable,” Arabella said, “but not at all romantic. And here I had thought you—”

“A dashing rake?” He laughed. “Come, Bella, this, I believe, is quite different. Will you do as I ask?”

She squeezed his hand. “Of course. Now, Adam, I suggest you take yourself off before we become an
on-dit.
”

Rayna, for her part, was enjoying her dance with Celestino, for she had already managed to speak to the marchese. If Celestino believed her laughter the result of his wit, there was no one to tell him otherwise.
Indeed, he spoke of his conquest some hours later to both Adam and Gervaise as they sat in the comte’s narrow drawing room, sipping brandy.

“Ah, yes,” Celestino said, “the girl obviously has taste. Prefers me to the both of you.”

Adam sipped silently on his brandy. Gervaise, his fair brows raised, said in his hoarse drawl, “Any girl who prefers you, Tino, has need of glasses.”

“You’re jealous, Gervaise,” Tino said with some satisfaction. “I made her laugh.”

“She was likely laughing in anticipation of your waistcoat buttons popping over your fat belly.” His eyes went toward the marchese. He swirled the amber liquid about in the snifter for a long moment, as if in silent contemplation. “I think the time has come,” he said finally.

Adam stretched his long legs before him toward the fireplace, hoping his excitement did not show on his face. “Oh?” he asked, looking bored.

Celestino leaned forward in his chair. “Really, Gervaise?”

“Yes,” the comte said, his eyes still on Adam. “I believe I have an answer to your boredom,
mon ami.
”

“I hope so, Gervaise,” Adam said easily. “I am considering joining the French troops in Calabria. I grow weary of the court and of paying compliments to that hag of a queen and her simpering daughters.”

“How severe you are,” the comte said. “Before you decide, marchese, I ask you to attend me. I believe you will find my diversion far more pleasurable and far less harrowing than the French Army.”