Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“There is no need to be prudish,” the comte said smoothly, and pulled her with him. Rayna looked back at the balcony door. Someone had closed it.

“You have no reason to be uncomfortable, ma chère,” he said softly, close to her temple. “A few minutes of your charming company—it is all I ask.”

Rayna considered screaming. It seemed like the thing to do, but it would be something of a scandal, and her father would have to be displeased. Perhaps he would forbid her to leave the villa, or give her no chance to see the marchese again. She shook her head. This comte angered her, but he could hardly harm her, not in the royal gardens.

“Very well,” she said, “but only for a few minutes.”

The comte smiled. He knew women well. Only the English, it appeared, had to make some sort of coy fuss before giving themselves enjoyment. He supposed she was a virgin, and overly valued that commodity. Perhaps he would have to marry her. The thought was not appalling. She was lovely and likely would bring him a sizable dowry.

Rayna walked stiffly beside him down the short flight of steps into the gardens. She was beginning to think herself seven kinds of fool, for the only light came from above, from the salon, and she was alone with this man.

“The flowers fade into insignificance when you are present,” the comte said in a ridiculously seductive voice.

“Hardly,” Rayna said, striving for calm. “I am a quite indifferent specimen.”

“There is no need for playacting,” he murmured. He clasped her arms in his hands, pulled her toward him, and kissed the cluster of curls over her ear.

“Let me go. I am not playacting, monsieur. If you are a gentleman, you will cease this nonsense.”

The comte’s response was to hold her wrists with one hand and close the other over her chin.

She felt him press her body against the length of him, felt him glide his tongue over her mouth. For an instant she was paralyzed with fear, and then she felt ferocious anger.

She pulled her hands free and hit him as hard as she could across his mouth with the flat of her hand.

The comte drew back, surprised and angered. He lightly touched his fingers to his cheek. “You will pay for that, little dove,” he said in a soft voice, and reached for her again.

Rayna suddenly remembered her brother Thomas telling her, with embarrassment clogging his normally steady voice, that if a man ever went beyond what was proper, she was to kick him with her knee. She remembered wondering why that would make a man cease being improper, but she brought up her knee nonetheless, and slammed it with all the force she could muster into the comte’s groin.

He fell away from her as if she had shot him. She saw his face contort with pain and his hands clutch convulsively at his groin.

“You damned little bitch.”

His voice sounded as if he were strangling, but she did not wait to hear any more. She dashed toward the steps that led back to the balcony.

Her fear returned in full measure only when she halted just inside the salon, trying to calm her breathing. She felt certain that anyone who saw her would know what had happened. She edged around the side of the salon and ducked into an antechamber. It was a small private receiving room, a room, she supposed, for diplomatic discussions. She fanned herself, discovered that her legs had somehow become weak as water, and sank down into a stiff-backed chair.

“Why the hell did you go outside with the comte?”

Rayna raised her flushed face and found herself staring up at the Marchese di Galvani.

“Have you no bloody sense at all?”

“A great deal, I daresay. I did get away from him, after all.”

“Yes, I saw you kick him in the groin. Most enterprising. Did you learn that trick from one of your brothers? No, don’t tell me. You were a fool to go outside with him.”

Rayna rose to her feet. “I have no intention, signore, of remaining here and listening to your insults. Perhaps I wasn’t wise to allow myself to be placed in such an intolerable situation, but it is over.”

“The comte is not a man to forget that he was bested by a woman. Damn, you have pulled the tiger from his cage.”

“Perhaps,” Rayna said, “you and my father see more eye to eye than I imagined. You are just as unfair as he is.”

Adam heard the slight break in her voice, and felt his anger ease. She looked pale and beautiful and immensely vulnerable. “Rayna,” he said, “I am simply worried for you. Promise me that you will not again allow him to be alone with you.”

“You mean as we are now, marchese?” She pictured him suddenly in laughing conversation with Arabella. “I am not a fool, signore, nor am I blind. Did you come in here because Arabella is otherwise occupied and you couldn’t be with her? Or perhaps Arabella sent you after me.”

“Stop ripping up at me. I came after you to be certain you are all right.”