“Well, I for one am delighted. I want to meet everyone. Now, Rayna, it is time for your Italian lesson.”
“Very well,” Rayna snapped, “though I sometimes wonder why I bother.”
A quarter-moon lit the night sky, its light reflected from the wispy fingers of chill fog that stretched along the narrow streets. Adam flung off his black cloak as he entered his lodgings. He strode into his small sitting room and nodded silently to Daniele Barbaro, who stood near the fireplace, stretching his hands out over the flame.
“I expected you sooner. Here, drink this.” Daniele stepped forward and handed Adam a snifter of brandy. “It will seep the cold out of your bones.”
Adam tossed down the brandy and stared blankly into the empty goblet.
“What happened?” Daniele asked. “You saw the comte and the club members? It’s the narrow house set in the cul-de-sac at the end of the Via Rozza?”
“Aye. I thought I had seen almost everything, Daniele,” he said at last. “But I was wrong. Don’t mistake me, they are not really satanists, but their notion of amusement is disgusting.”
Daniele moved back to the fireplace and waited for Adam to continue.
“Their house, so nondescript from the street, has been furnished like a medieval hall, complete with a trestle table and high-backed chairs. There were eight of them, all charming noblemen one meets at court. Very bored, I fancy, to be drawn into Gervaise’s influence. In any case, I watched through a narrow window while Gervaise showed them some sort of map. I couldn’t hear what he said, more’s the pity. There seemed to be a lot of discussion and a lot of drinking. When Gervaise left the room, I thought it was the end of their evening.”
Adam rose and poured himself some more brandy. “It was but the signal for their amusement to begin. Gervaise came back into the room with a young girl, a peasant girl, I would imagine, quite pretty and likely very poor. They didn’t rape her. No, I fancy that she and her parents sold her virginity to the group of them. After the fifth man was through with her, I do not imagine she relished her bargain.”
“Jesus,” Daniele said.
“Do you know they drew numbers to determine the order?” He shook his head. “That’s how I know she was a virgin—that, and the look in her eyes when the first man finished with her.”
“We must return, my lord.”
“Aye, we must, Daniele, later, after they have all left. The house is three stories and only the bottom story was lit. Perhaps the upper floors hold our cargoes.” He fell silent, his long fingers tightening about his empty glass. “When I become a member of Les Diables Blancs, I do not know what I will do. Taking young girls seems to be their distraction after they’ve discussed their treason against the king and queen.”
“All of us do what we must,” Daniele said.
Adam raked his hand through his hair and began pacing. “They are not evil men, save perhaps for the Comte de la Valle. Once he is stopped, I imagine they will disband and search elsewhere for their amusements.”
“I and my men will help you, my lord, when the time is right.”
“Aye, Daniele. I think that time is not too far distant.”
The Contessa Giovanna Giusti, known in Naples as the Contessa Luciana di Rolando, felt the king’s hooded eyes upon her, and forced a smile to her lips. Old fool, she thought as she smiled at him. But she was used to rutting old goats, and she knew how to treat them. This evening it was particularly easy because her blood was coursing through her veins in anticipation.
The proud Earl of Clare’s daughter was in Naples and she would see her again tonight. She had never dreamed of such a plum falling so easily into her lap. She had sought no introduction to her during her first night at court, content to watch her. The girl was the picture of her mother, though her eyes were her father’s, clear, intelligent, and black as night. She had watched the girl’s easy, confident manner with gentlemen and ladies alike. The girl had grown to womanhood, doubtless beloved of her parents, while Giovanna had languished in Algiers, a black veil over her face. Tonight, she thought, forcing herself not to draw away when the king’s age-spotted hand covered hers, she would meet Lady Arabella Welles. She didn’t know why the girl was in Naples. Surely her proud father would not have sent her, a mere woman, to find out who had stolen his ships’ cargoes. She smiled. The earl would come, sooner or later, to join her.
Giovanna became aware of the queen’s eyes upon her. When she met her gaze, the queen smiled, then turned to speak in a low voice to her daughter Amélie. Amélie laughed and said something back to her mother behind her gloved hand. Let them gossip about her, the cold bitches.
When the king’s attention turned to Sir Hugh Elliot, the English ambassador, Giovanna gracefully moved away, and smoothed down the wrinkles in her green taffeta gown. She knew she still looked attractive, despite her fifty years, and her figure, at least through her gown, appeared slender and firm.
“Madame, you look radiant this evening.” Her young lover, Gervaise, Comte de la Valle, was standing in front of her. Was there amusement in his voice? she wondered.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes narrowed on his handsome face. There were tiny lines about his eyes. He was young, but the life he led would age him prematurely, if he lived that long. The thought pleased her. He thought he was using her, an older woman, grateful for a young man’s lovemaking. He was a fool, like most men, and it would be too late for him when he at last realized she was using him instead.
“I am hungry for you, madame,” the comte said, his voice softly hoarse, the way he knew women liked it.
“There will be a banquet in but an hour,” Giovanna said in a tart voice, “and I am not one of the courses.”
“Ah, you are being cruel.”
“You must know, comte, that it is unwise for me to speak to you here at court. Come to my villa tomorrow night, and I will provide you with food and talk.”
Gervaise’s smile did not fade. She was older than any lover he had had, but at least she didn’t repel him, and the rewards he reaped were making him rich.
“As you wish, madame.”
Giovanna watched him step through the inevitable crowd. He stopped near the daughter of Viscount Delford, the Englishman here in Naples as an adviser to Sir Hugh Elliot. He seemed to be waiting for someone, she thought, somewhat amused. Had the little red-haired chit appealed to him? Her gaze shifted to Lady Arabella Welles, who was talking to Lady Eden. The girl seemed to draw people to her side, with her warmth and her tinkling laughter. I was once like her, Giovanna thought.
“You should not wear white, ma mie.”
Rayna’s obliging social smile became radiant at the sound of the marchese’s voice. “Monsieur. I had hoped you would be here.” She looked into his twinkling eyes and grinned charmingly. “As for the color I am wearing, marchese, I believe my white and your black announce our respective characters.”
“An angel and a devil? You wound me, mademoiselle.”
“But why, monsieur?” Rayna asked with mock seriousness. “As a devil, you would be most exciting and wicked, whereas as an angel I would most assuredly be insipid and boring. It is you who wound me.”
A black brow winged upward. “You are no angel, Rayna, but a minx.”
Rayna was pleased that he used her name. He said it as the English did, and she wondered at it for a moment. “Are you wicked, marchese? A rake, perhaps?”
“No,” Adam said rather curtly. At her questioning look, he added on a lazy smile, “My dress and my black beard are misleading. I am the mildest of men, mademoiselle, I assure you.”
“That is what I told my parents,” Rayna said, pursing her lips.
“What?”
“Well, you see, my parents believe that you are a very worldly man, far too sophisticated for me.”
“So you informed your fond parents that I, far from being a rake, am a gentle soul?”
Rayna gazed raptly at the gold buttons on his waistcoat. “Not precisely,” she said. “I
told them I think you are kind.”
Adam stared at her for a long moment. “In England, young girls go to London for a Season, do they not?”
Rayna nodded. “Yes, and it’s very silly, I think. They go to balls and routs and all sorts of things, just to find a husband. Fortunately, I came to Naples instead.”
“Then you have not met many gentlemen,” he said, thinking of all the debutantes he had observed over the years in London. He had found several of them interesting enough, he supposed, but none like the glowing girl standing in front of him. “You have been protected.”
“I have never understood,” Rayna said thoughtfully, “why girls are so hemmed in, whereas gentlemen are so very free. No one cares if they are not chaperoned. I am thinking, of course, of my brothers.”
“Perhaps, ma mie, you have been influenced by your friend Lady Arabella.”
“That is what my father said, but I assure you it is not true. Bella may be half-Italian, but after all, I am half-American. That, surely, is more adventurous. I can tell you quite as many tales about New York as she can about Genoa.”
Adam gazed down at her, silent for a moment. She is enchanting me, he thought. “So you can tell me all about red Indians,” he said, not really attending his words.
“Bloodcurdling stories,” she said. “Of course,” she added on a sigh, “all the Indians I have seen were quite kind, actually. But it was not always so, particularly when my father was a young man during the revolution.”
“I thought all good Englishmen called it a mere uprising.”
“Perhaps,” Rayna said, “but look at the result. My mother and her father were Tories, but even she believes England was unfair in her treatment of the colonies.”
“I believe, Rayna, that your father has noticed our conversation. He doesn’t look happy.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Sometimes I feel like the colonists must have felt. I wish I were free to do as I please, without my parents suffocating me with restrictions.”
“Perhaps,” Adam said very softly, “you will not always want to be free.”
“Would I not be free as a wife?”
“Not all of you,” Adam said, fascinated, as he watched her pink tongue glide unconsciously over her lower lip.
“Then neither would my husband.”
“Men,” Adam said, wondering how the devil he had gotten himself into this discussion, “are different.”
“Do they not want a family, a lady they can love?”
Adam flung up his hands. “Enough, mademoiselle. I am undone. Will you dance with me later, Rayna?”
“Perhaps I will, marchese.” She lightly touched her fingers to his black sleeve as he turned away from her. “I find you very persuasive.”
Rayna’s smile was still hovering when the Comte de la Valle blocked her view of Adam’s retreating back. “Good evening, mademoiselle,” Gervaise said, bowing over her hand. “I hope you do not mind my saying that you look exquisite this evening, like a spring rose ready to unfurl its petals to the sun.”
Rayna’s smile faded. “Good evening, comte,” she said, ignoring his ridiculous compliment. Arabella had mentioned to her that the comte might not be the honorable young man he appeared to be, and Rayna agreed with her. There was something about him, something elusive, that struck her as false.
“Your gown is lovely. The green silk matches your eyes, and your beautiful hair is like spun flame.”
“Spun flame?” Rayna eyed him in amusement, and said lightly, “What a dreadful thought.”
Gervaise grinned through the flash of anger he felt at her. “Give me but the time, mademoiselle, and I will find the words to suit you. Would you allow me to bring you a glass of punch?”
Anything to get rid of him, Rayna thought, and quickly nodded. “Thank you, monsieur.”
Where was the marchese? she wondered, searching the faces in the huge salon. She felt her mother’s watchful eyes on her, and turned to smile at her. It was then she saw him, speaking with Arabella, not six feet away from her.
Lady Delford followed her daughter’s gaze, and felt her heart plummet to her toes. She had watched her daughter speaking to Adam Welles, and it had looked innocent enough. Now the look of naked longing in Rayna’s eyes smote her. It was the look of a woman, not a girl, a woman who could no more help what she was doing than breathe. She knew well why her husband disliked Adam Welles, indeed all the Welles family. She had told him of her concern only because she had believed that Adam Welles was trifling with her daughter, perhaps just to provoke her husband, something Adam’s father would have done. Now she was not so certain. She suddenly felt old, and angry with her husband. He was stiff-necked and overly protective of his daughter. She wished now they had never come to Naples, never agreed to the Earl of Clare’s deception. But it probably would not have mattered. Rayna would have met Adam in England, and the result would likely have been the same.
“Have you discovered anything?” Arabella was saying in a low voice to her brother. She laughed before he could reply. “It seems that is the only thing I ever have to say to you.”
“True,” Adam said. “Actually, I have discovered what is left of our cargoes. Obviously the comte has been selling the goods, likely to the French for a sizable profit.” He paused a moment, his eyes going toward Rayna, for he saw the comte approaching her. “I cannot yet face Gervaise down until we find out who is providing him with the goods.”
“Well, I haven’t been much help,” Arabella said. “Perhaps,” she continued, her eyes following Adam’s toward Rayna, “I should flirt with the comte—that is, if I can draw his attention away from Rayna.”
“He is as I suspected, Bella. You will stay away from him.”
Arabella arched a fair brow at him.
Adam sighed. “His amusements, when he is not spying for the French, are rather despicable.”
“How would you know? You are not a member of his club yet.”
“I followed the comte a couple of evenings ago to their meeting place. I will thank you to accept my word in the matter.”
“You are no fun at all, Adam.”
“Perhaps, but that is all you will hear from me.” His gaze went back to Rayna, who was now in conversation with Gervaise, a glass of punch in her hand. Arabella saw a look of black fury cross his face. “As for Rayna, it appears I will have to speak to her personally. I thought you told her to stay away from him.”
“Rayna doesn’t care for him at all, Adam,” Arabella said reasonably. “It is difficult for her to cut him at a function such as this.”
“Nonetheless—” Adam said fiercely.
“It is you, marchese,” she said, “that Rayna’s father objects to, particularly after Rayna told him she thinks you something of a paragon.”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “Yes,” he said, “I know. She told me.”
“She did, did she? Then Rayna is not so shy as I had thought. I, of course, tried to convince her you are nothing at all out of the ordinary, but still she persisted in the most dogged fashion imaginable.”
“With you for a sister, I—” He broke off suddenly. “Jesus,” he said, “the little fool is dancing with him.”
“Rayna must be polite, Adam. Her father is a guest here, and his family mustn’t ruffle any feathers. The Comte de la Valle is considered an ardent royalist.”
Adam merely grunted, and left Arabella’s side to move closer to the dance floor.
The comte was trying to make conversation with the stiff girl, whose eyes roamed about the salon whenever she was separated from him in the dance.
“You speak French beautifully, mademoiselle,” he said to her.
Rayna merely nodded, tight-lipped.
“I am of the French aristocracy,” he told her with a touch of anger in his voice.
“My felicitations, monsieur.”
Gervaise ground his teeth at her aloofness. He held himself silent, and by the end of the dance he had maneuvered her near the windowed balco
ny.
“You look overheated, mademoiselle. We will enjoy the evening air for a moment.”
Rayna felt a shiver of fear. The comte was persistent, but there were literally a hundred people nearby. She tried, nevertheless, to pull her arm free of his hand.
“I am not overheated,” she said. “Please release me.”
“In a moment, ma chère, in a moment.”
The comte gave her a light shove through the door that gave onto the wide balcony, smiling at the back of her head.
Rayna, seeing no immediate hope of escaping the comte without creating a scene, raised her chin, walked to the edge of the balcony, and clasped the wrought-iron railing.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” the comte said in his hoarse voice. “Look yon, you can see the English ships in the bay. It is comforting to know that we have protection.”
“It is lovely,” Rayna said coldly. “But I find it rather chilly. I would like to return now, monsieur.”
“Look down into the gardens,” the comte continued, disregarding her. “The scent of the spring flowers is pleasant.” He took her arm and gently tugged. “I would like to stroll in the gardens just for a moment, mademoiselle.”
“It is not at all proper, sir,” Rayna said, unaware for the moment that she had spoken in English.
“There is no need to be prudish,” the comte said smoothly, and pulled her with him. Rayna looked back at the balcony door. Someone had closed it.
“You have no reason to be uncomfortable, ma chère,” he said softly, close to her temple. “A few minutes of your charming company—it is all I ask.”
Rayna considered screaming. It seemed like the thing to do, but it would be something of a scandal, and her father would have to be displeased. Perhaps he would forbid her to leave the villa, or give her no chance to see the marchese again. She shook her head. This comte angered her, but he could hardly harm her, not in the royal gardens.
“Very well,” she said, “but only for a few minutes.”
The comte smiled. He knew women well. Only the English, it appeared, had to make some sort of coy fuss before giving themselves enjoyment. He supposed she was a virgin, and overly valued that commodity. Perhaps he would have to marry her. The thought was not appalling. She was lovely and likely would bring him a sizable dowry.
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