Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“Actually,” Gervaise said, grinning widely, “it was so easy that I wonder if the little fool is still a virgin. She was wandering about, quite alone and in her nightclothes in the garden. As if she were waiting for her lover. Is that true, little dove?” He caressed the palm of his hand over her breast. “She trembles at the touch of a man. We will soon know.”

Adam felt such rage that for a moment he could not breathe. He smoothed his fisted hands and strolled over to the sideboard to pour himself another snifter of brandy. He turned slowly, took a sip of the rich amber liquid, and stifled a yawn.

“Be that as it may, comte,” he said, aware they were all watching him, “as I said, I have no wish to visit the hangman’s noose. She is a tidy morsel”—this said with a brief bored look at Rayna—“but she is not worth cutting my life short. I doubt any man here would disagree with me.”

Niccolo Canova said thoughtfully, “The fact that she is a lady and was wandering about in her father’s garden thus garbed leads to an interesting question.”

“Ah,” Gervaise said, “our sophist speaks.”

“You appear to have forgotten, marchese,” Niccolo continued, his eyes on Adam, “that the young lady has reason to keep her tongue behind her teeth. Indeed, I wonder if she would even tell her father. But think of the scandal. She would be utterly ruined. Do

not doubt that such an affaire would follow her back to England.”

“Do not forget,” Gervaise said, “that we are not common canailles, but men of high rank, and not without influence of our own.”

“It is not the scandal I am thinking of, but what her father would do to us,” Tino exclaimed, dashing his handkerchief across his forehead. “We could doubtless deny all, even, if you wish, claim that she came willingly. But what would you do, Niccolo, if you were her father?”

“Such theatrics, Tino,” Gervaise said. “Niccolo is quite right. She would be a fool to tell her father. And if she did”—his voice trailed off as he looked at her. You understand me well, little dove, do you not?”

“Her father is, after all, an Englishman,” Niccolo said, “with limited resources in Naples. What could he do if she told him? Send assassins? Hardly. He might even leave Naples in a rage, which would weaken England’s ties to us.”

“You astound me with your flawless logic, Niccolo,” Gervaise said. “Allow me also to point out, my friends, that despite all arguments, the deed is done. She is here. We can always discuss what to do with her later.”

There was no hope for it. Adam tossed down the rest of his brandy and threw the empty glass to Tino. “Very well, Gervaise. She is mine, you say?”

“You are the new member, my randy Sicilian.”

Adam bowed formally to all of them. “You may be certain that when I am through with her, she will say nothing to anyone. I will leave you now. I take my women in private and not in front of a lot of gaping fools.” He took a step toward the comte.

“You wish to deprive your friends of their evening entertainment? Oh no, marchese. The table will do just fine for the little arista.”

“I do not play stud for anyone’s entertainment.” Adam gazed about him, trying to judge the mood. He lowered his eyes and brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “She is for me, is she not, Gervaise?”

“Yes,” the comte said after a moment. “But I would be certain that the deed is, in fact, done.”

Adam shrugged. “Take her yourself, then. I am not interested.”

The comte frowned. His gift of the young English girl was not only a test, it was also his payment to the marchese for saving his life. “Very well, Pietro,” he said slowly. “You will not rut in front of us. But you will remain here.” He jerked his head toward the ceiling. “Take her upstairs.”

Adam felt a surge of relief.

“But first”—Gervaise jerked the cloak from her, closed his fingers over the laced neck of her nightgown, and ripped it apart.

Rayna yelled through the gag, struggling with all her strength. The comte held her painfully tight.

“Lovely,” he said, staring down at her breasts.

Adam could almost smell the lust in the other men as they stared at Rayna. He must act quickly. “Give her to me,” he said.

The comte swept Rayna into his arms and tossed her like a sack of potatoes to Adam. “She is yours.” Gervaise laughed. “Enjoy your sport.”

“We have always shared before,” Tino said.

Adam didn’t wait for Gervaise to change his mind. He pulled Rayna possessively against him and strode toward the stairs.

“The chit is in for a rutting.”

“She will know a man, not any of you clucking roosters,” Adam said over his shoulder. He was pleased at the shouts of laughter that followed in his wake.