Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

Ugo looked at the young marchese thoughtfully. “Not at all, signore. The comte provides all the capital we need.”

“He pleasures an old bag of a mistress, and in return, she provides him with goods to sell.”

Adam cocked a questioning brow at Celestino, then gazed about the room at the other members. “Is each of us required to stud rich old women?”

There was a loud guffaw, and Celestino chuckled. “I told Gervaise that you would bring good blood to our group. Actually,” he continued, “before Gervaise met the old witch, we did have to cough up our own funds.”

“But no longer,” Ugo said.

Adam brushed a piece of lint from his black coat sleeve. “The woman heard of his prowess as a lover and moved to Naples?”

“Something like that.”

“I assume she is French, or does the comte make love equally well in Italian?”

Niccolo Canova paused a moment to belch behind his hand. “No, she’s as Italian as the rest of us. I heard Gervaise say once that she might even be caressing the king’s bulbous nose.”

“As well as other things.” Celestino laughed.

Ugo raised a quieting hand. “The comte does not want his liaison discussed. The woman insists upon secrecy.” He shrugged. “None of us know who she is, in any case.”

“She must be excessively ugly,” Adam said, and turned to pour himself a snifter of brandy from the sideboard. His mind raced. He could picture a woman now, speaking to Arabella. He had seen her seated next to Ferdinando. All he needed now was her name, and this wretched charade would be over.

Adam turned at the sound of booted steps outside the drawing room. The other men rose, setting down their drinks and their playing cards. The door suddenly burst open and the Comte de la Valle entered, a cloaked figure held tightly in his arms.

“Good evening, mes diables,” Gervaise said. The cloaked girl was struggling against him, but he did not appear to notice.

“Marchese,” he said, “your surprise.”

He dropped the girl to her feet and pulled back the hood of her cloak.

Adam’s glass shattered on the hearth. Rayna Lyndhurst stood before him, her eyes wide with terror, her hands bound and her mouth gagged with a silk handkerchief.

Chapter 12

The comte dropped Rayna to her feet in view of at least eight men, all staring at her in stunned silence. She recognized many of them from the court. Her gaze caught the marchese when the glass slipped from his hand. She wanted to run to him, but the comte held her firmly by her wrist. She kept her eyes on the marchese’s face.

“Well, marchese,” the Comte de la Valle said, “does my surprise please you? The little slut struck you just as she did me. Will not revenge be sweet?”

Celestino, regaining his wits, yelled, “Are you mad, Gervaise? She is no peasant girl. Her father is Lord Delford.”

“Shut up, Tino,” Gervaise said pleasantly. “She is a gift for the marchese, not for any of you louts. Well, Pietro?”

Adam drew a deep steadying breath and forced his eyes away from Rayna’s terrified face. He said quietly, “Tino is right, Gervaise. The girl did rebuff the both of us, but we cannot use her for our pleasure. It would be madness.”

“Afraid, marchese?”

Adam smiled at the comte’s taunt. “It is true that I have no wish to have my life cut short because of this insipid little virgin. It was you, after all, who explained the queen’s secret police to me. I doubt such an act would go unavenged. You are rather a fool for letting her see all of us.”

“Come, Pietro, I am no fool, and you, I trust, are not a coward. To take her, after all, would prove a great deal about you to us, would it not?”

“A test, Gervaise?” Adam said quietly, his brow arching upward.

“You are too harsh, mon ami. Let us say that you have not yet done anything that would tie you to us. Come, I know you want the girl, I’ve watched you look at her. And of course I want her too. But since she is your surprise, we will save her precious virginity for you.” His eyes roved to Rayna’s pale face, and he touched his fingertips to her cheek. She whipped her head back, a muffled cry sounding through her gag. He tightened his grip about her shoulders. “I will be interested to see what color her aristo’s blood is,” he said, enjoying the fear in her eyes.

You must think, dammit. “How did you get her, Gervaise?” Adam hoped that he sounded bored and aloof, the role he had played with the comte since their first meeting.

“Yes, Gervaise,” Ugo said, “can we expect her outraged father at any minute?”