Devil's Daughter (9 page)

E
dward Lyndhurst greeted his daughter pleasantly when she stepped into the sitting room with her mother. “This wretched climate appears to agree with you, puss,” he said. “You are looking quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Rayna said, eyeing him a bit askance. It was not yet teatime, and she had not lived with her father for eighteen years without learning to recognize the gleam of purpose in his eyes.

“Sit down, my dear,” Edward Lyndhurst said. “Your mother and I wish to speak with you.”

Rayna obligingly sat on a blue brocade wing chair, smoothed her narrow skirt, and smiled up at her father. “I have always enjoyed speaking with both of you, sir.”

“Yes, well . . .” her father began. He paused a moment, fiddling with his watch fob. “You have always been a good-hearted girl, Rayna, and a pleasure to your mother and me.”

Oh dear, Rayna thought, sitting up straighter. Her father’s tone, though gentle as it always was toward her, was becoming weighted. “I trust so, Father,” she said.

“We are not in England, my dear.”

“Indeed, Papa. I have freckles on my nose, and it is still spring. That would never happen in the fog of London.”

Edward Lyndhurst’s smile was perfunctory at best. Rayna watched him glance toward her mother, then back at her. “What I mean, puss,” he continued stiffly, “is that we are in a foreign land surrounded by people we are not used to. Their ways are different and their customs are much looser.”

“Good heavens, Papa,” Rayna said. “Of course we are not used to them. But I am trying to learn a bit of Italian, and I am finding that they are not so very different. And as for their being loose, Maria, our housekeeper, told me but last week that if I were an Italian young lady, I would have just come from the convent.”

“That, my dear,” Jennifer Lyndhurst said sharply, “is not quite what your father meant.”

“Indeed,” Edward Lyndhurst said. “You have always been protected, Rayna. You know nothing of gentlemen who are not really, well, gentlemen. We are concerned for you. In the future, my dear, when we attend balls or court functions, I would prefer that you not fraternize overly with the gentlemen.”

Rayna’s usually sweet expression darkened and she shot her mother such a reproachful look that Lady Delford’s eyes widened.

“Fraternize, Papa?” she asked, turning her eyes full on her father. “Do you mean that I am so naive and lacking in judgment that I should cling to your coat or to Mother’s skirt? Or would you prefer that I pass what is left of my time in Naples in a convent?”

Lord Edward stared at Rayna in surprise. “I beg
your pardon, miss?” he asked calmly, in the tone he used for his sons.

“I asked you, Papa,” Rayna continued, undaunted, “if you would prefer a convent.” Rayna was aware that her heart was thumping in her breast, but for the first time in her life, she thought her father’s pronouncements sounded positively gothic.

“Perhaps I should have been more specific, Rayna,” Lord Edward said coldly. “I should have said that I will not have you
flirting
with any of the young men you will meet here.”

Rayna could scarce believe her ears. Her mother had betrayed her to her father, all because she had given two dances to the marchese. She looked down at her lemon kid slippers and said mildly, “You have nothing to worry about, Papa, for the young man in question did not find me particularly to his liking.”

“And who might that be, pray tell?” the viscount demanded, knowing full well whom she meant. It galled him to ask, but he wanted to hear from his own daughter’s mouth that Adam Welles had found her wanting. Damned young puppy. From what his wife had told him, he was just like his father.

“The Marchese di Galvani,” Rayna said.

“And just what about the man attracted you, if your
father
may be so bold as to ask?”

Rayna looked directly into her father’s face. “He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

“That says little for his character,” Edward said.

“And the kindest.”

Lady Delford stepped into the breach, seeing that her husband was about to stray from the point.
“Rayna, my love, a man is not beautiful. That is a very odd thing to say about a man.”

“The marchese is,” Rayna said firmly. “He is from Sicily. Perhaps that is why he has such incredible blue eyes.”

Edward Lyndhurst knew exactly where Adam Welles had gotten his blue eyes. He selected his sternest voice. He’d be damned if he would let her throw herself at Adam Welles. “You will perhaps see the marchese at court, but that is the only place, miss.”

“Perhaps you are right, Papa,” Rayna said. “Although he was quite polite to me, he also seemed to enjoy Arabella’s company.” She cocked her head to one side. “I do not understand. He is, after all, a marquess, of noble blood—”

“Bah. Every Italian carries a title. He could easily be a goatherd’s son.”

“He does not smell at all of goats.”

“You would not have spoken so smartly to me before Arabella Welles came to us,” the viscount said. “Arabella is a beautiful young woman, but I find her manners too bright, too open. If this marchese prefers her, it is just as well.” He firmly repressed a twinge of guilt at the false impression he was creating.

“Perhaps,” Rayna said, regarding her father straightly, “when my Italian is more fluent, I can be as witty and beguiling at Bella. And, Papa, whatever you may think, the marchese is an honorable gentleman. He would never take advantage of me.”

He already has, her father thought angrily. “I have told you my wishes, Rayna. That will be an end to it. Now, if you will both excuse me, I must meet with Acton and Sir Hugh. I will see you at dinner.”

It seemed to Rayna as if her father were escaping. It both surprised her and amused her. She supposed he had grown used to her being as pliant as a puppet. He usually had merely to gently tell her what he wished, and she applied herself to please him.

“My dear,” she heard her mother say, “I pray you to attend your father. We both want what is best for you. The marchese appears a very worldly man.”

“Yes, Mother, I am quite certain that he is.” She rose suddenly and walked to the door.

“Worldly men know how to impress young girls,” Lady Delford called somewhat desperately after her daughter.

“I may be innocent, Mother,” Rayna said, her hand on the bronze doorknob, “but I am perfectly aware of what goes on around me.”

How could her mother have told her father? Had she been so obvious about her attraction to the marchese? A small secret smile appeared as she climbed the stairs to Arabella’s bedchamber. During their second dance, he had teased her unmercifully. She would have thought he was showing a sisterly affection for her had she not glanced up at him in an unguarded moment. What she had seen in his eyes had nothing to do with brotherly feeling. She frowned on the heels of that thought. He had spent a great deal of time with Arabella. Well, not a great deal, perhaps, but nearly as much as he had spent with her. When she gained the bedchamber, she found Arabella pacing to and fro.

“Well?” Arabella demanded the moment Rayna had closed the door. “Whatever did your father want? I don’t expect he was angry because you ripped a flounce on your gown.”

Rayna sighed. “Perhaps I am an undutiful daughter,” she began, only to glance up angrily at Arabella’s gay laugh.

“You needn’t make fun of me, Bella.”

“Oh, you silly goose. I’m not making sport. It’s just that you are the most dutiful daughter I have ever known. Come, what happened?”

“Well, you would not believe it, Bella, but all that fuss was over my two dances with the marchese. Papa ordered me not to
fraternize
with the young gentlemen, particularly the marchese. Indeed, he accused me of flirting with the marchese, and, well, I couldn’t let that pass, could I, Bella?”

“Of course not,” Arabella said. “You are eighteen now, Rayna, and no longer a child.”

Rayna fell into a brooding silence, then blurted out, “I also told Papa that he didn’t have to worry. The marchese is more likely interested in you than in me.”

“Ah,” Arabella said, turning her face away so Rayna would not see her smile. “Appearances,” she continued, her back still to Rayna, “are sometimes deceiving. I beg you not to be cast down, love. We will see what happens. Perhaps you will see the marchese again at the queen’s reception for Lady Eden on Friday.” Indeed they would see each other, she thought. She had made certain that Adam would be attending the reception. She turned to face her friend. “I am glad you defended the marchese to your parents. He is a handsome and nice man.”

“It seems that the queen is always receiving somebody,” Rayna said, disregarding Bella’s blatant opening. Her feelings for the marchese were too new and too fragile to discuss, even with her best friend. And,
she thought, sighing, she wasn’t certain that the marchese didn’t prefer Arabella to her.

“Well, I for one am delighted. I want to meet everyone. Now, Rayna, it is time for your Italian lesson.”

“Very well,” Rayna snapped, “though I sometimes wonder why I bother.”

A quarter-moon lit the night sky, its light reflected from the wispy fingers of chill fog that stretched along the narrow streets. Adam flung off his black cloak as he entered his lodgings. He strode into his small sitting room and nodded silently to Daniele Barbaro, who stood near the fireplace, stretching his hands out over the flame.

“I expected you sooner. Here, drink this.” Daniele stepped forward and handed Adam a snifter of brandy. “It will seep the cold out of your bones.”

Adam tossed down the brandy and stared blankly into the empty goblet.

“What happened?” Daniele asked. “You saw the comte and the club members? It’s the narrow house set in the cul-de-sac at the end of the Via Rozza?”

“Aye. I thought I had seen almost everything, Daniele,” he said at last. “But I was wrong. Don’t mistake me, they are not really satanists, but their notion of amusement is disgusting.”

Daniele moved back to the fireplace and waited for Adam to continue.

“Their house, so nondescript from the street, has been furnished like a medieval hall, complete with a trestle table and high-backed chairs. There were eight of them, all charming noblemen one meets at court. Very bored, I fancy, to be drawn into Gervaise’s
influence. In any case, I watched through a narrow window while Gervaise showed them some sort of map. I couldn’t hear what he said, more’s the pity. There seemed to be a lot of discussion and a lot of drinking. When Gervaise left the room, I thought it was the end of their evening.”

Adam rose and poured himself some more brandy. “It was but the signal for their amusement to begin. Gervaise came back into the room with a young girl, a peasant girl, I would imagine, quite pretty and likely very poor. They didn’t rape her. No, I fancy that she and her parents sold her virginity to the group of them. After the fifth man was through with her, I do not imagine she relished her bargain.”

“Jesus,” Daniele said.

“Do you know they drew numbers to determine the order?” He shook his head. “That’s how I know she was a virgin—that, and the look in her eyes when the first man finished with her.”

“We must return, my lord.”

“Aye, we must, Daniele, later, after they have all left. The house is three stories and only the bottom story was lit. Perhaps the upper floors hold our cargoes.” He fell silent, his long fingers tightening about his empty glass. “When I become a member of Les Diables Blancs, I do not know what I will do. Taking young girls seems to be their distraction after they’ve discussed their treason against the king and queen.”

“All of us do what we must,” Daniele said.

Adam raked his hand through his hair and began pacing. “They are not evil men, save perhaps for the Comte de la Valle. Once he is stopped, I imagine they
will disband and search elsewhere for their amusements.”

“I and my men will help you, my lord, when the time is right.”

“Aye, Daniele. I think that time is not too far distant.”

The Contessa Giovanna Giusti, known in Naples as the Contessa Luciana di Rolando, felt the king’s hooded eyes upon her, and forced a smile to her lips. Old fool, she thought as she smiled at him. But she was used to rutting old goats, and she knew how to treat them. This evening it was particularly easy because her blood was coursing through her veins in anticipation.

The proud Earl of Clare’s daughter was in Naples and she would see her again tonight. She had never dreamed of such a plum falling so easily into her lap. She had sought no introduction to her during her first night at court, content to watch her. The girl was the picture of her mother, though her eyes were her father’s, clear, intelligent, and black as night. She had watched the girl’s easy, confident manner with gentlemen and ladies alike. The girl had grown to womanhood, doubtless beloved of her parents, while Giovanna had languished in Algiers, a black veil over her face. Tonight, she thought, forcing herself not to draw away when the king’s age-spotted hand covered hers, she would meet Lady Arabella Welles. She didn’t know why the girl was in Naples. Surely her proud father would not have sent her, a mere woman, to find out who had stolen his ships’ cargoes. She smiled. The earl would come, sooner or later, to join her.