Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

After twenty years, Arabella knew when she could cajole Adam and when she could not. She bit her lower lip, and said on a sigh, “Very well, Adam. Perhaps that is the wisest course.”

“You know it is,” he said. “If you were a man, you would know not to rush pell-mell into the enemy’s camp without knowing his strength or his motives.”

Ah, Arabella thought, still not looking at her brother, but a silly woman doesn’t have the advantage of all your man’s tactics and strategy. She nodded and flashed him a brilliant smile.

Adam observed her closely for a moment, not trusting her, but there was another matter on his mind. “Bella, I have set Vincenzo to watch the viscount’s villa, but he is only one man. How did Rayna seem to you this morning?”

“Quiet, I suppose, more so than usual. Lord, after what happened to her last night, I would expect her to be cowering under her bed. When I left, her mother had decided to physic her.” She laughed, remembering the scene. “Rayna finally talked her out of it.”

“Bella,” Adam said, “I must go now. Keep close to the viscount and away from the contessa. I have a feeling that events are going to close in around us very quickly.”

“You mean that we have, perhaps, stirred the pot to boiling?”

“It is odd,” Adam said thoughtfully after a moment, stroking his thick beard, “but I think the pot was boiling long before we arrived in Naples. It’s like a tangled skein that can be unraveled only by one set of hands.”

“Whose hands, Adam?”

Adam shrugged. “It’s just an odd feeling I have. I believe it is Father.”

Rayna chatted brightly to her parents at the dinner table that evening, laughing as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Arabella didn’t know Rayna had come to a decision, an irrevocable decision of which she was very certain. She smiled serenely at her father as he paused to sip his wine, interrupting his diatribe against foreigners in general and Italians in particular.

“Rayna, my dear,” the viscount said then, “what did you do today?”

Rayna started, but only for a moment, and then smiled brightly. “Ah, naught of much, really. I practiced the piano and studied my Italian. Maria, my maid, believes me nearly a native now.”

Edward, who believed that English was the only useful language, merely nodded.

“I look forward to a restful evening at home,” Lady Delford said to the table at large. “Thank the Lord there are no new arrivals and yet another reception at court.”

“I, too, Mother,” Rayna said. “I for one am rather tired and look forward to an early bed.”

“Do you feel all right?” Rayna’s mother asked.

“Just a bit of a headache,” Rayna said. She listened as her father recounted the news in a letter from her eldest brother. Lord Delford peered at his daughter closely before finishing smoothly, “Thomas hopes to be in England in the fall. And not alone, I might add. He will bring Lord Lynton with him, Rayna, a gentleman he assures me is all that one could wish. Thomas tells me that besides being an excellent soldier—”

“—he enjoys an income of ten thousand pounds a year?”

“Certainly he is not a pauper. He is, evidently, interested in making your acquaintance, my dear. He is Eagleton’s grandson, a gentleman of great good sense whom I much admire.”

“He sounds a paragon, Papa,” she said.

“I look forward to seeing Thomas again,” Arabella said, drawing the viscount’s attention away from

Rayna. “I must convince him that the navy, particularly an assignment with Nelson, would be far more exciting than the army.”

Out of civility, Lord Delford forced a pained smile. As Arabella spoke to his wife, he glanced at her fall of honey-colored hair, just like her mother’s, but when she turned, it was her father’s dark eyes that shone with humor and devilry at him. He said abruptly to his wife, “If you will excuse me, my love, I have some papers to review.” Arabella Welles was a handful, and too damned arrogant and sure of herself for a girl. He found himself rather relieved that she wasn’t his daughter, and wouldn’t be his responsibility for much longer. Without her influence, it would never occur to Rayna to speak back to him. It brought that black-bearded young puppy Adam Wells to mind. At least Rayna hadn’t mentioned him recently. He sighed, wishing they could leave Naples and all its chattering foreigners behind them.

Rayna excused herself directly after tea and locked herself in her bedchamber. After an eternity of waiting, she finally heard the clock downstairs strike eleven. It was time to leave. She thought one last time of her promise to the marchese to stay close to her father’s villa, and resolutely repressed her fear that the comte or one of his friends was skulking about outside.

She donned her cloak, looked back at the lumpy pillow she had placed beneath the covers in her bed, and peeked into the corridor. No one was in sight.

There was a quarter-moon, and the night air was cool. She made her way silently to the small stable at the back of the villa. She would have to ride bareback, for she couldn’t risk her mare snorting and thrashing about if she tried to saddle her. The two stableboys were in their rooms at the rear of the stables, likely already in bed. She crept inside, and her heart jumped as one of the horses whinnied at her arrival.

She shushed the stallion in a harsh whisper and pushed several cubes of sugar into his mouth before seeking out her mare. She stroked the mare’s nose and quietly slipped a bridle over her head.

She looked at every shadow as she led her mare down the graveled drive toward the road, then slipped easily onto her back. The ride to the marchese’s lodgings was blessedly short. She led her mare to the small thatch-covered stable and tied her reins to a post. She crept through a maze of thick shrubbery to the front of the house and firmly grasped the brass knocker.