Devil's Daughter (13 page)

“Then I shall wait,” Adam said.

A
rabella stood in the shadow of the villa, a bemused smile on her face at the sight of Adam. He was leaning against an oak tree watching Rayna pace about the garden. She would retreat, she told herself, the moment Adam approached Rayna. Even though the evening shadows had lengthened, she could still see the expression on his face. He looked hungry, she thought, startling herself at such an odd notion. No man had ever looked at her like that. She felt a spurt of jealousy and longing. Stop it, she told herself firmly. She glanced toward Rayna, and imagined that Adam, who had never seen her with her hair loose, was thinking of rubbing his hands in the thick tresses that flowed nearly to Rayna’s waist. How strange it was that Rayna, two years younger than she, did not look at all virginal in her simple white muslim frock. Indeed, her every graceful step seemed a promise. Was Adam’s pulse quickening at the gleam of excitement in Rayna’s hazel eyes? Arabella felt an elusive, faint pain. Someday, she thought.

Finally Adam dusted his hands on his black breeches and walked silently toward Rayna. Arabella grinned, for the wall surrounding the garden at Lord
Delford’s villa was not particularly high, but it was filthy.

Arabella knew she had to leave them and turned to walk quietly back into the villa, her thoughts turning to Lord and Lady Delford. She didn’t want to imagine her consternation when they learned of their daughter’s attachment to Adam Welles. She told herself fiercely that it wasn’t their lives or their decision. It was Rayna’s and Adam’s. She only wished that Rayna knew who Adam really was. What a shock that would be. She smiled when she heard Adam say Rayna’s name softly, obviously not wanting to startle her.

Rayna whirled about to face him, and for a moment they stared at each other. “I am glad you waited for me,” he said.

“Pietro,” she said, “I was afraid you would not come.”

“So little faith in me?” he said lightly. He switched from French to Italian. “Where is our guard dog?”

“I am not certain. Bella just told me she would be about and we were not to worry. I imagine she is keeping an eye on Papa’s study, and Mama and her cooking.”

Her starchily accented Italian brought a smile.

“But we are alone. Bella promised she wouldn’t interrupt unless she had to. How did you get into the garden?”

“Over the wall,” he said, grinning. “Actually, I would have swum a moat to see you.”

“I am glad that wasn’t necessary. You would have smelled dreadful, I would imagine.”

He chuckled at the laughter in her voice. “We will
speak quietly, even though your papa is in his study and your mama is immersed in her cooking.”

“At Arabella’s home in Genoa,” Rayna said, looking up at him, “there are exquisite gardens. And in the gardens are marble statues of naked gods and goddesses. I thought the male statues truly beautiful, despite what my father said. But you, marchese, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

“Even with my pirate’s black beard?” He tried to keep his voice light, but failed.

Rayna raised her hand and lightly touched her fingertips to his thick bearded jaw. “Yes,” she said simply.

She is too young and innocent, Adam told himself, forcing himself to pull away from her fingers, and she is only infatuated, for the first time in her life. But he did not want to believe it.

“Come,” he said, “let us sit down.” He took her arm firmly and guided her to a narrow marble bench beneath a rose bower.

She sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap. “I know you are from Sicily. Tell me about your home. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yes,” Adam said, “I have one sister. She is near your age, a year or two older perhaps.”

“Is she married?”

“No. She is as fickle as I am.”

“Come, marchese,” Rayna said, “I would not call you an old man precisely. You have not been fickle overly long.”

Adam lightly stroked his fingers over her palm. “It may be that you are right,” he said.

“Do you plan to stay in Naples?”

“Yes, for a short time,” he said, smiling, his teeth
shining white against his tanned face and black beard. “My father married when he was in his thirties. I believe that I shall wed sooner.”

“You have found the woman you wish to wed, marchese?”

He looked away from her for a moment, wondering why the devil he had said that. He said deliberately, as if he were coming to a decision, “I believe so. Perhaps it was fated, long ago, just as my parents were fated to be together.”

“She is Italian?”

“She is someone very special, Rayna.”

“This girl who is special to you, is she pretty?”

He studied her face. “She is lovely,” he said.

Rayna frowned. “I do not understand,” she said finally.

“Are you certain you do not?”

Rayna turned to face him. “I’m not stupid.” Then she slowly raised her hand to stroke his bearded jaw. He caught her wrist and bore it back to her lap.

“No, but you have been protected by your family.”

“If I met a gentleman I wanted, I doubt my inexperience would last out the year.”

He knew he should keep his tongue behind his teeth, but he asked her, “Have you met the gentleman you want,
petite
?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

Adam rose suddenly, finding it unbearable to be so close to her.

Rayna drew back from him. “I cannot seem to please you. I only say the truth, and you reject it.” She looked away from him, trying to draw her pride together. “You believe I speak this way to many gentlemen?”

“No. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have never before desired a young lady of quality?”

“I do not believe you are a scoundrel, marchese. Nor do I believe that you would toy with me.”

“If the truth be told, Rayna, I should not want anything to do with you.”

“Why? Because I am English? Because I am not witty or clever?”

“No, because this is not the time or the place. There is much about me you do not know, Rayna, much I cannot tell you. Perhaps I should not have come tonight, but, you see, I am not much at writing letters, and I have no penchant at all for poetry.” He paced several steps in front of her and paused. “I suppose you could say that I want to court a lady, but as I said, it is impossible for me to do so now. There are others involved. It would not be particularly wise for me to continue seeing this lady until all has been resolved. But I would not want her to believe that I do not care about her.”

Rayna traced her fingertip along the edge of the marble bench. “This lady,” she said, “could you not tell her what you are involved with? Perhaps she would understand.”

“I cannot tell her. As I said, this lady was raised in a very protective family. It is quite possible that her parents, say, would not wish her to become involved with me. I should not wish her to be hurt.”

“I doubt not, marchese, that the lady’s parents love her much. If that is the case, then I cannot imagine they would wish to make her unhappy.”

“She is a gentle lady, Rayna, and I doubt she has ever before gone against her parents’ wishes.”

“Perhaps, marchese, she has never before had sufficient reason to do so.”

“In the way of things, I believe it a daughter’s duty to abide by her parents’ wishes. I would not like to see her set herself against her parents, and perhaps end by being separated from those she loves.”

“Daughters are possessed of some sense, after all. And if they are convinced that their future happiness is in the balance, surely the final decision should be theirs.”

“And what if,
cara,
the gentleman, because of his circumstances, has misled the lady?”

“I think the gentleman makes too much of his circumstances. Misleading is not, after all, lying. I am sure,” Rayna continued, rising to stand in front of him, “that this lady will do what she must to ensure she is not made unhappy.”

“But the lady must be very certain,” he said.

Rayna touched his shoulders. He drew her slowly against him, and lifted her chin to him. He sensed no shyness in her when he lightly kissed her mouth, only tentativeness. He let his tongue lightly touch hers, and felt her start in surprise, but she did not draw back. He felt her hands go around his back, and he knew he should release her, get out of this damned garden and out of her life until he could tell her everything. Would she forgive him when she discovered that he was a fraud, that he had played her false?

He said in as calm a voice as he could muster, “I must go now,
cara.
”

Rayna blinked at him, her senses blurred at the shock of pleasure that washed through her. “Not yet,” she said, “Not yet.”

Adam kissed her until she was breathless. He would have smiled at her enthusiasm had he not wanted her so desperately. He could feel her breasts, her belly against him.

“Rayna,” he said, and pulled away from her. He looked up at the sound of Arabella’s voice.

“Rayna. Where are you, my dear? It is teatime.” Arabella waited a moment in the doorway, then stepped into the garden. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Lord Delford bearing down on her. No, no, everything had gone perfectly. Well, Adam, she thought, I wonder how you have dealt with my very lovely, very innocent friend. She glanced back at the villa, waited a few more moments, then called out again, “Rayna. You must come in now.”

“It really is teatime,” Rayna said. “That was to be our signal.” She lowered her eyes a moment. “Bella didn’t want to interrupt us unannounced.”

Adam grinned and kissed her once again, quickly. “I must leave now.”

“When will I see you again?”

He paused. “I don’t know.” He saw uncertainty in her eyes, and quickly added, “You must trust me, Rayna.”

“All right,” she said. “Yes, I shall trust you.”

He touched his fingers to her cheek, then strode away toward the garden wall.

“I am coming, Bella,” Rayna called. She felt such excitement that she thought her sharp-eyed mother would certainly notice. To her relief, her mother seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary. Rayna lifted her cup, a small smile playing about her mouth, and gave her tea all her attention.

It was lucky, Arabella thought, unable to keep the gleam of satisfaction from her eyes, that the Lyndhursts didn’t know her all that well, else they surely would have guessed that something was afoot. She couldn’t wait to get Rayna alone.

“Where the devil is Gervaise?” Celestino growled, not really expecting an answer from the other members of Les Diables Blancs.

“No doubt he will arrive when it pleases him,” Adam said, trying to sound unconcerned.

Vittorio Santini, a gaunt-faced young nobleman whose burning dark eyes reminded Adam of a picture he had once seen of St. Francis, straightened from his post by the fireplace. “He told me that he has a surprise for you, marchese, nothing more.”

“You are new to our company,” Celestino said, pulling his flowered waistcoat over his stomach. “You will find that Gervaise’s surprises are always pleasurable.”

Adam felt his stomach lurch at the thought of taking his turn with a peasant girl. He turned to Ugo Monti, the only one of the group over thirty, married and the father of four children. “I have wondered,” he said, “how our association is maintained. Gervaise has mentioned no dues to me.”

“There are none,” Celestino said. “We have ample means of support, mind you, without a sou from our pockets.”

“What?” Adam asked. “Are we expected to steal silverware from the royal banquets to pay for our activities?”

Ugo looked at the young marchese thoughtfully.
“Not at all,
signore.
The comte provides all the capital we need.”

“He pleasures an old bag of a mistress, and in return, she provides him with goods to sell.”

Adam cocked a questioning brow at Celestino, then gazed about the room at the other members. “Is each of us required to stud rich old women?”

There was a loud guffaw, and Celestino chuckled. “I told Gervaise that you would bring good blood to our group. Actually,” he continued, “before Gervaise met the old witch, we did have to cough up our own funds.”

“But no longer,” Ugo said.

Adam brushed a piece of lint from his black coat sleeve. “The woman heard of his prowess as a lover and moved to Naples?”

“Something like that.”

“I assume she is French, or does the comte make love equally well in Italian?”

Niccolo Canova paused a moment to belch behind his hand. “No, she’s as Italian as the rest of us. I heard Gervaise say once that she might even be caressing the king’s bulbous nose.”

“As well as other things.” Celestino laughed.

Ugo raised a quieting hand. “The comte does not want his liaison discussed. The woman insists upon secrecy.” He shrugged. “None of us know who she is, in any case.”

“She must be excessively ugly,” Adam said, and turned to pour himself a snifter of brandy from the sideboard. His mind raced. He could picture a woman now, speaking to Arabella. He had seen her seated next to Ferdinando. All he needed now was her name, and this wretched charade would be over.