She sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap. “I know you are from Sicily. Tell me about your home. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Yes,” Adam said, “I have one sister. She is near your age, a year or two older perhaps.”
“Is she married?”
“No. She is as fickle as I am.”
“Come, marchese,” Rayna said, “I would not call you an old man precisely. You have not been fickle overly long.”
Adam lightly stroked his fingers over her palm. “It may be that you are right,” he said.
“Do you plan to stay in Naples?”
“Yes, for a short time,” he said, smiling, his teeth shining white against his tanned face and black beard. “My father married when he was in his thirties. I believe that I shall wed sooner.”
“You have found the woman you wish to wed, marchese?”
He looked away from her for a moment, wondering why the devil he had said that. He said deliberately, as if he were coming to a decision, “I believe so. Perhaps it was fated, long ago, just as my parents were fated to be together.”
“She is Italian?”
“She is someone very special, Rayna.”
“This girl who is special to you, is she pretty?”
He studied her face. “She is lovely,” he said.
Rayna frowned. “I do not understand,” she said finally.
“Are you certain you do not?”
Rayna turned to face him. “I’m not stupid.” Then she slowly raised her hand to stroke his bearded jaw. He caught her wrist and bore it back to her lap.
“No, but you have been protected by your family.”
“If I met a gentleman I wanted, I doubt my inexperience would last out the year.”
He knew he should keep his tongue behind his teeth, but he asked her, “Have you met the gentleman you want, petite?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Adam rose suddenly, finding it unbearable to be so close to her.
Rayna drew back from him. “I cannot seem to please you. I only say the truth, and you reject it.” She looked away from him, trying to draw her pride together. “You believe I speak this way to many gentlemen?”
“No. Will you believe me when I tell you that I have never before desired a young lady of quality?”
“I do not believe you are a scoundrel, marchese. Nor do I believe that you would toy with me.”
“If the truth be told, Rayna, I should not want anything to do with you.”
“Why? Because I am English? Because I am not witty or clever?”
“No, because this is not the time or the place. There is much about me you do not know, Rayna, much I cannot tell you. Perhaps I should not have come tonight, but, you see, I am not much at writing letters, and I have no penchant at all for poetry.” He paced several steps in front of her and paused. “I suppose you could say that I want to court a lady, but as I said, it is impossible for me to do so now. There are others involved. It would not be particularly wise for me to continue seeing this lady until all has been resolved. But I would not want her to believe that I do not care about her.”
Rayna traced her fingertip along the edge of the marble bench. “This lady,” she said, “could you not tell her what you are involved with? Perhaps she would understand.”
“I cannot tell her. As I said, this lady was raised in a very protective family. It is quite possible that her parents, say, would not wish her to become involved with me. I should not wish her to be hurt.”