Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“I have never understood,” Rayna said thoughtfully, “why girls are so hemmed in, whereas gentlemen are so very free. No one cares if they are not chaperoned. I am thinking, of course, of my brothers.”

“Perhaps, ma mie, you have been influenced by your friend Lady Arabella.”

“That is what my father said, but I assure you it is not true. Bella may be half-Italian, but after all, I am half-American. That, surely, is more adventurous. I can tell you quite as many tales about New York as she can about Genoa.”

Adam gazed down at her, silent for a moment. She is enchanting me, he thought. “So you can tell me all about red Indians,” he said, not really attending his words.

“Bloodcurdling stories,” she said. “Of course,” she added on a sigh, “all the Indians I have seen were quite kind, actually. But it was not always so, particularly when my father was a young man during the revolution.”

“I thought all good Englishmen called it a mere uprising.”

“Perhaps,” Rayna said, “but look at the result. My mother and her father were Tories, but even she believes England was unfair in her treatment of the colonies.”

“I believe, Rayna, that your father has noticed our conversation. He doesn’t look happy.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Sometimes I feel like the colonists must have felt. I wish I were free to do as I please, without my parents suffocating me with restrictions.”

“Perhaps,” Adam said very softly, “you will not always want to be free.”

“Would I not be free as a wife?”

“Not all of you,” Adam said, fascinated, as he watched her pink tongue glide unconsciously over her lower lip.

“Then neither would my husband.”

“Men,” Adam said, wondering how the devil he had gotten himself into this discussion, “are different.”

“Do they not want a family, a lady they can love?”

Adam flung up his hands. “Enough, mademoiselle. I am undone. Will you dance with me later, Rayna?”

“Perhaps I will, marchese.” She lightly touched her fingers to his black sleeve as he turned away from her. “I find you very persuasive.”

Rayna’s smile was still hovering when the Comte de la Valle blocked her view of Adam’s retreating back. “Good evening, mademoiselle,” Gervaise said, bowing over her hand. “I hope you do not mind my saying that you look exquisite this evening, like a spring rose ready to unfurl its petals to the sun.”

Rayna’s smile faded. “Good evening, comte,” she said, ignoring his ridiculous compliment. Arabella had mentioned to her that the comte might not be the honorable young man he appeared to be, and Rayna agreed with her. There was something about him, something elusive, that struck her as false.

“Your gown is lovely. The green silk matches your eyes, and your beautiful hair is like spun flame.”

“Spun flame?” Rayna eyed him in amusement, and said lightly, “What a dreadful thought.”

Gervaise grinned through the flash of anger he felt at her. “Give me but the time, mademoiselle, and I will find the words to suit you. Would you allow me to bring you a glass of punch?”

Anything to get rid of him, Rayna thought, and quickly nodded. “Thank you, monsieur.”

Where was the marchese? she wondered, searching the faces in the huge salon. She felt her mother’s watchful eyes on her, and turned to smile at her. It was then she saw him, speaking with Arabella, not six feet away from her.

Lady Delford followed her daughter’s gaze, and felt her heart plummet to her toes. She had watched her daughter speaking to Adam Welles, and it had looked innocent enough. Now the look of naked longing in Rayna’s eyes smote her. It was the look of a woman, not a girl, a woman who could no more help what she was doing than breathe. She knew well why her husband disliked Adam Welles, indeed all the Welles family. She had told him of her concern only because she had believed that Adam Welles was trifling with her daughter, perhaps just to provoke her husband, something Adam’s father would have done. Now she was not so certain. She suddenly felt old, and angry with her husband. He was stiff-necked and overly protective of his daughter. She wished now they had never come to Naples, never agreed to the Earl of Clare’s deception. But it probably would not have mattered. Rayna would have met Adam in England, and the result would likely have been the same.

“Have you discovered anything?” Arabella was saying in a low voice to her brother. She laughed before he could reply. “It seems that is the only thing I ever have to say to you.”

“True,” Adam said. “Actually, I have discovered what is left of our cargoes. Obviously the comte has been selling the goods, likely to the French for a sizable profit.” He paused a moment, his eyes going toward Rayna, for he saw the comte approaching her. “I cannot yet face Gervaise down until we find out who is providing him with the goods.”

“Well, I haven’t been much help,” Arabella said. “Perhaps,” she continued, her eyes following Adam’s toward Rayna, “I should flirt with the comte—that is, if I can draw his attention away from Rayna.”

“He is as I suspected, Bella. You will stay away from him.”

Arabella arched a fair brow at him.