Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Adam sighed. “His amusements, when he is not spying for the French, are rather despicable.”

“How would you know? You are not a member of his club yet.”

“I followed the comte a couple of evenings ago to their meeting place. I will thank you to accept my word in the matter.”

“You are no fun at all, Adam.”

“Perhaps, but that is all you will hear from me.” His gaze went back to Rayna, who was now in conversation with Gervaise, a glass of punch in her hand. Arabella saw a look of black fury cross his face. “As for Rayna, it appears I will have to speak to her personally. I thought you told her to stay away from him.”

“Rayna doesn’t care for him at all, Adam,” Arabella said reasonably. “It is difficult for her to cut him at a function such as this.”

“Nonetheless—” Adam said fiercely.

“It is you, marchese,” she said, “that Rayna’s father objects to, particularly after Rayna told him she thinks you something of a paragon.”

A fleeting smile touched his lips. “Yes,” he said, “I know. She told me.”

“She did, did she? Then Rayna is not so shy as I had thought. I, of course, tried to convince her you are nothing at all out of the ordinary, but still she persisted in the most dogged fashion imaginable.”

“With you for a sister, I—” He broke off suddenly. “Jesus,” he said, “the little fool is dancing with him.”

“Rayna must be polite, Adam. Her father is a guest here, and his family mustn’t ruffle any feathers. The Comte de la Valle is considered an ardent royalist.”

Adam merely grunted, and left Arabella’s side to move closer to the dance floor.

The comte was trying to make conversation with the stiff girl, whose eyes roamed about the salon whenever she was separated from him in the dance.

“You speak French beautifully, mademoiselle,” he said to her.

Rayna merely nodded, tight-lipped.

“I am of the French aristocracy,” he told her with a touch of anger in his voice.

“My felicitations, monsieur.”

Gervaise ground his teeth at her aloofness. He held himself silent, and by the end of the dance he had maneuvered her near the windowed balco

ny.

“You look overheated, mademoiselle. We will enjoy the evening air for a moment.”

Rayna felt a shiver of fear. The comte was persistent, but there were literally a hundred people nearby. She tried, nevertheless, to pull her arm free of his hand.

“I am not overheated,” she said. “Please release me.”

“In a moment, ma chère, in a moment.”

The comte gave her a light shove through the door that gave onto the wide balcony, smiling at the back of her head.

Rayna, seeing no immediate hope of escaping the comte without creating a scene, raised her chin, walked to the edge of the balcony, and clasped the wrought-iron railing.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” the comte said in his hoarse voice. “Look yon, you can see the English ships in the bay. It is comforting to know that we have protection.”

“It is lovely,” Rayna said coldly. “But I find it rather chilly. I would like to return now, monsieur.”

“Look down into the gardens,” the comte continued, disregarding her. “The scent of the spring flowers is pleasant.” He took her arm and gently tugged. “I would like to stroll in the gardens just for a moment, mademoiselle.”

“It is not at all proper, sir,” Rayna said, unaware for the moment that she had spoken in English.