Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“Doubtful, given her father. And her brothers probably treat her like a fragile little flower.” Adam was thoughtful for a moment. “I feel some sympathy for the man who must take Rayna to wife. Most English girls, for that matter. He’d have to spend his time pulling her from under the bed and drying her tears.”

“But you haven’t even seen her for—what is it, six years? Rayna is very pretty now, not a skinny little girl any longer. But you’re right, she is wrapped in wool. Perhaps what she needs is a very understanding, gentle man to teach her about things. Do you know, I think her father may not like her to be in my company. He’s always exquisitely polite, just as he is with Father, but distant. Her mother, Lady Delford, well, she’s different. Full of fun and all.”

“Edward Lyndhurst is probably nervous of your influence on his daughter. And you asked the poor girl about lovemaking? For shame, Bella.”

“We shall see,” Arabella said. She glanced toward a white marble statue of one of the Greek gods—which one, she couldn’t remember. “Men are quite lovely, I think. Yet I can’t imagine Eversley looking like that. You probably do, Adam.”

Adam felt himself flush, curse his sister’s eyes. A mistress talking thus was one thing, but a sister, quite another.

“Adam, I don’t suppose you would consider—”

“No.”

“Well, I was just curious, you know. And I am twenty, a veritable spinster now. And you are beautiful.”

Adam grinned despite himself. He wagged his finger at her. “You must learn not to be so . . .”

“Honest?”

“So forward, Bella, and keep your curiosity behind your teeth. If you spoke this way with a man, he would think you the loosest of creatures and treat you accordingly, whether you are Lady Arabella or not.”

“I am not such a fool,” Arabella said. “I would butcher any man who tried anything with me.”

“I do not disbelieve you,” Adam said. “Eversley was lucky, only to have his shin kicked for his impertinence.” Adam glanced up at the balcony of his parents’ bedchamber. The golden brocade curtains were still drawn.

“Surely it must be time for dinner,” he said.

Rosina served dinner on the rear veranda. The earl sat, resplendent in black velvet, at the head of the table, and his countess, arrayed in gold-threaded silk, at its foot.

“I have missed this light, fruity wine from our vineyards,” the countess said. “I propose a toast. To a family united once again.”

Adam sipped his wine, watching his father’s tender glance toward his mother, and wondered briefly if he would ever find a woman who would be the center of his life. Arabella, he no

ticed, seemed to be barely controlling a fit of impatience. He knew well enough that his father could not be rushed, and was content to sit back at his ease and watch the half-moon ascend over the Mediterranean. Arabella suffered through an interminable meal, scarcely tasting the flaky scallops and the fresh garden salad. When the covers were removed and ripe orange slices and nuts set upon the table, she could no longer contain herself.

“Father, will you please tell us what this is about?”

The earl cracked a nut between his long fingers, a slight smile on his lips. The small, scruffy little girl had become a lovely young woman. What had not changed, and it pleased him inordinately, was her straightforwardness, her exuberance, her utter honesty. “Certainly, Bella,” he said pleasantly. “We have lost two ships to date. I must presume that all hands were killed or taken captive, and the ships burned. I have discovered that the cargoes have appeared in Naples—at the court of Naples, to be exact.”

“But the Barbary pirates do not burn captured ships,” Adam said.

“Yes, it is odd.”

“At the court of Naples,” Adam repeated, staring at his father.

“So Daniele Barbaro has discovered. It appears that the bulk of the goods from the Bella have made their way from someone in the court itself to the French. If the Barbary pirates are involved, their motive escapes me.”

“But surely Khar El-Din’s son Hamil would not betray your agreement,” the countess said.

“No, Hamil would not. But I received word some time ago that Hamil is dead, drowned in a storm.”

Arabella, who was gazing intently at her mother, said abruptly, “You sound as if you know this pirate, Khar El-Din.”

The countess flashed a quick look at the earl. “Your father knew him for many years before he died. He was the Bey of Oran, in Algiers.”

“One who died not with a scimitar in his hand,” the earl said, “but in his bed, with his wives surrounding him. Hamil was his son by his first wife, Zabetta.”

“And who rules now, Father?” Adam asked.