Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

“We are not in England, my dear.”

“Indeed, Papa. I have freckles on my nose, and it is still spring. That would never happen in the fog of London.”

Edward Lyndhurst’s smile was perfunctory at best. Rayna watched him glance toward her mother, then back at her. “What I mean, puss,” he continued stiffly, “is that we are in a foreign land surrounded by people we are not used to. Their ways are different and their customs are much looser.”

“Good heavens, Papa,” Rayna said. “Of course we are not used to them. But I am trying to learn a bit of Italian, and I am finding that they are not so very different. And as for their being loose, Maria, our housekeeper, told me but last week that if I were an Italian young lady, I would have just come from the convent.”

“That, my dear,” Jennifer Lyndhurst said sharply, “is not quite what your father meant.”

“Indeed,” Edward Lyndhurst said. “You have always been protected, Rayna. You know nothing of gentlemen who are not really, well, gentlemen. We are concerned for you. In the future, my dear, when we attend balls or court functions, I would prefer that you not fraternize overly with the gentlemen.”

Rayna’s usually sweet expression darkened and she shot her mother such a reproachful look that Lady Delford’s eyes widened.

“Fraternize, Papa?” she asked, turning her eyes full on her father. “Do you mean that I am so naive and lacking in judgment that I should cling to your coat or to Mother’s skirt? Or would you prefer that I pass what is left of my time in Naples in a convent?”

Lord Edward stared at Rayna in surprise. “I beg your pardon, miss?” he asked calmly, in the tone he used for his sons.

“I asked you, Papa,” Rayna continued, undaunted, “if you would prefer a convent.” Rayna was aware that her heart was thumping in her breast, but for the first time in her life, she thought her father’s pronouncements sounded positively gothic.

“Perhaps I should have been more specific, Rayna,” Lord Edward said coldly. “I should have said that I will not have you flirting with any of the young men you will meet here.”

Rayna could scarce believe her ears. Her mother had betrayed her to her father, all because she had given two dances to the marchese. She looked down at her lemon kid slippers and said mildly, “You have nothing to worry about, Papa, for the young man in question did not find me particularly to his liking.”

“And who might that be, pray tell?” the viscount demanded, knowing full well whom she meant. It galled him to ask, but he wanted to hear from his own daughter’s mouth that Adam Welles had found her wanting. Damned young puppy. From what his wife had told him, he was just like his father.

“The Marchese di Galvani,” Rayna said.

“And just what about the man attracted you, if your father may be so bold as to ask?”

Rayna looked directly into her father’s face. “He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

“That says little for his character,” Edward said.

“And the kindest.”

Lady Delford stepped into the breach, seeing that her husband was about to stray from the point. “Rayna, my love, a man is not beautiful. That is a very odd thing to say about a man.”

“The marchese is,” Rayna said firmly. “He is from Sicily. Perhaps that is why he has such incredible blue eyes.”

Edward Lyndhurst knew exactly where Adam Welles had gotten his blue eyes. He selected his sternest voice. He’d be damned if he would let her throw herself at Adam Welles. “You will perhaps see the marchese at court, but that is the only place, miss.”

“Perhaps you are right, Papa,” Rayna said. “Although he was quite polite to me, he also seemed to enjoy Arabella’s company.” She cocked her head to one side. “I do not understand. He is, after all, a marquess, of noble blood—”

“Bah. Every Italian carries a title. He could easily be a goatherd’s son.”

“He does not smell at all of goats.”

“You would not have spoken so smartly to me before Arabella Welles came to us,” the viscount said. “Arabella is a beautiful young woman, but I find her manners too bright, too open. If this marchese prefers her, it is just as well.” He firmly repressed a twinge of guilt at the false impression he was creating.

“Perhaps,” Rayna said, regarding her father straightly, “when my Italian is more fluent, I can be as witty and beguiling at Bella. And, Papa, whatever you may think, the marchese is an honorable gentleman. He would never take advantage of me.”

He already has, her father thought angrily. “I have told you my wishes, Rayna. That will be an end to it. Now, if you will both excuse me, I must meet with Acton and Sir Hugh. I will see you at dinner.”

It seemed to Rayna as if her father were escaping. It both surprised her and amused her. She supposed he had grown used to her being as pliant as a puppet. He usually had merely to gently tell her what he wished, and she applied herself to please him.

“My dear,” she heard her mother say, “I pray you to attend your father. We both want what is best for you. The marchese appears a very worldly man.”

“Yes, Mother, I am quite certain that he is.” She rose suddenly and walked to the door.