“I doubt not, marchese, that the lady’s parents love her much. If that is the case, then I cannot imagine they would wish to make her unhappy.”
“She is a gentle lady, Rayna, and I doubt she has ever before gone against her parents’ wishes.”
“Perhaps, marchese, she has never before had sufficient reason to do so.”
“In the way of things, I believe it a daughter’s duty to abide by her parents’ wishes. I would not like to see her set herself against her parents, and perhaps end by being separated from those she loves.”
“Daughters are possessed of some sense, after all. And if they are convinced that their future happiness is in the balance, surely the final decision should be theirs.”
“And what if, cara, the gentleman, because of his circumstances, has misled the lady?”
“I think the gentleman makes too much of his circumstances. Misleading is not, after all, lying. I am sure,” Rayna continued, rising to stand in front of him, “that this lady will do what she must to ensure she is not made unhappy.”
“But the lady must be very certain,” he said.
Rayna touched his shoulders. He drew her slowly against him, and lifted her chin to him. He sensed no shyness in her when he lightly kissed her mouth, only tentativeness. He let his tongue lightly touch hers, and felt her start in surprise, but she did not draw back. He felt her hands go around his back, and he knew he should release her, get out of this damned garden and out of her life until he could tell her everything. Would she forgive him when she discovered that he was a fraud, that he had played her false?
He said in as calm a voice as he could muster, “I must go now, cara.”
Rayna blinked at him, her senses blurred at the shock of pleasure that washed through her. “Not yet,” she said, “Not yet.”
Adam kissed her until she was breathless. He would have smiled at her enthusiasm had he not wanted her so desperately. He could feel her breasts, her belly against him.
“Rayna,” he said, and pulled away from her. He looked up at the sound of Arabella’s voice.
“Rayna. Where are you, my dear? It is teatime.” Arabella waited a moment in the doorway, then stepped into the garden. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Lord Delford bearing down on her. No, no, everything had gone perfectly. Well, Adam, she thought, I wonder how you have dealt with my very lovely, very innocent friend. She glanced back at the villa, waited a few more moments, then called out again, “Rayna. You must come in now.”
“It really is teatime,” Rayna said. “That was to be our signal.” She lowered her eyes a moment. “Bella didn’t want to interrupt us unann
ounced.”
Adam grinned and kissed her once again, quickly. “I must leave now.”
“When will I see you again?”
He paused. “I don’t know.” He saw uncertainty in her eyes, and quickly added, “You must trust me, Rayna.”
“All right,” she said. “Yes, I shall trust you.”
He touched his fingers to her cheek, then strode away toward the garden wall.
“I am coming, Bella,” Rayna called. She felt such excitement that she thought her sharp-eyed mother would certainly notice. To her relief, her mother seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary. Rayna lifted her cup, a small smile playing about her mouth, and gave her tea all her attention.
It was lucky, Arabella thought, unable to keep the gleam of satisfaction from her eyes, that the Lyndhursts didn’t know her all that well, else they surely would have guessed that something was afoot. She couldn’t wait to get Rayna alone.
“Where the devil is Gervaise?” Celestino growled, not really expecting an answer from the other members of Les Diables Blancs.
“No doubt he will arrive when it pleases him,” Adam said, trying to sound unconcerned.
Vittorio Santini, a gaunt-faced young nobleman whose burning dark eyes reminded Adam of a picture he had once seen of St. Francis, straightened from his post by the fireplace. “He told me that he has a surprise for you, marchese, nothing more.”
“You are new to our company,” Celestino said, pulling his flowered waistcoat over his stomach. “You will find that Gervaise’s surprises are always pleasurable.”
Adam felt his stomach lurch at the thought of taking his turn with a peasant girl. He turned to Ugo Monti, the only one of the group over thirty, married and the father of four children. “I have wondered,” he said, “how our association is maintained. Gervaise has mentioned no dues to me.”
“There are none,” Celestino said. “We have ample means of support, mind you, without a sou from our pockets.”
“What?” Adam asked. “Are we expected to steal silverware from the royal banquets to pay for our activities?”