Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

He thrust again, tearing through her thin barrier, burying himself deep within her. He felt her tensing with pain and it brought him a measure of control. He balanced himself above her on his elbows.

“Lie still,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her. He whispered into her mouth, “Is that better now, love?”

Rayna felt him deep within her. It was an odd feeling, yet comforting, as if his body had become a part of hers.

“Yes,” she said. She stroked her hands down his back, felt him quiver at her touch, felt the taut muscles tense beneath her fingers. For the first time she felt the power of her own body.

He was beyond words, beyond thought, beyond himself. He finally stilled.

He kissed her gently, caressing her face between his hands, whispering love words to her. For the first time in his life, Adam thought of the children he would have with her, of all the days and nights they would share, and he smiled.

“Whoever thought I would wed Rayna Lyndhurst,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“You must learn tolerance for the English, sir,” she said, grinning up at him.

He raised his hand and lightly traced her lips. “My love, I have more than enough tolerance for the English. You know, of course, that my sister is more smug than you can imagine, that we will wed. She fancies herself responsible for my passion for you.”

“Imagine, Bella my sister. May I speak to her now? Tell her that I know who you are?”

“I suppose it can make no difference now. I don’t imagine you intend to tell her also how you spent this evening?”

Rayna chuckled. “A woman should have some secrets, my lord. Besides, Arabella wouldn’t understand. Now I am certain I know something Bella doesn’t.”

“I wish you didn’t,” he said on a sigh.

“Adam, am I going to have a baby?”

He rolled off her onto his back. “Do you trust me so little that you came to me because you were hopeful I would get you with child?”

“That was perhaps part of it.”

He pulled her down upon her back and kissed her. “I hope you are not with child, cara,” he said quietly. “Your father will accept me, Rayna. I have told you that. There was no reason to resort to blackmail.”

“I did not intend to take any chances,” she said. “And now I believe I am suitably compromised. They would call me damaged goods, would they not?”

“I do not wish us to have a seven-month child. You will be my wife, and I want no raised eyebrows.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Adam shook his head and laughed. “Here I believed you so very biddable and gentle. You have a stubborn streak, Rayna, that terrifies me.” He felt her fingers tangle in the hair on his chest, and despite himself, his breathing quickened. “No,” he said, pulling away from her. “We are going to clean you up, petite, and then it’s home for you.”

“I am no longer a virgin,” she said in a very cheerful voice.

“No,” Adam replied, a worried frown drawing his brows together, “you are not.”

Chapter 14

Arabella was pleased with herself. The pistol she had taken—borrowed, rather—from Lord Delford’s desk was snug against her thigh, where it would stay until she returned safely from the Contessa Luciana di Rolando’s villa.

Her thoughts veered toward Rayna and Adam, and she smiled. She knew well enough where Rayna had spent several hours of the previous night, for she had heard her tiptoe to her room and had seen Vincenzo moving quietly back to his post near the stables. She wondered briefly if Adam, in the throes of passion, whatever that was, had told Rayna who he really was. She hadn’t had the chance to find out, for Rayna was still asleep in her bedchamber when Arabella had left.

She rode past several small huts, their occupants, she saw, working in the olive groves. She was beginning to think she had taken the wrong road, when she saw a villa nestled at the base of a small hill to her left. It was an elegant house, painted a dazzling white and set amid tall cypresses. She turned her mare onto the drive that wound in circular fashion to the front of the villa. It was small and square, its balconies along the second floor overflowing with blossoming hyacinths, jasmine, carnations, and roses. She wondered cynically if the fat king had provided the contessa with this exquisite little hideaway. She reined in her mare and slid out of the saddle. An old man, his face weathered by decades of blistering Neapolitan sun, ambled toward her, nodded without speaking, and led her mare away.

The peaceful setting suddenly seemed chilling. Surely no harm could come to her over a simple luncheon, and besides she had her pistol. She walked to the front door, her pulse quickening. Today the contessa would talk freely to her.

Arabella was shown into a small parlor by a black-gowned servant, a woman who did not look particularly Italian.

“Ah, Lady Arabella. How delightful of you to pay a lonesome old woman a visit. I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten.”