Devil's Daughter (8 page)

“French?”

“Oui, monsieur, je parle français.”

“Her French is far more fluent than mine,” Arabella said, sounding mournful. “Indeed,” she added with a covert glance at her brother, “now that you have discovered a common language, why do you not dance?”

Adam cast her a smile, but quickly turned back to Rayna. “An excellent idea,
mademoiselle.
Your permission, my lady?”

Lady Delford was in a quandary. Her husband had assured her they would not see much of Adam Welles,
yet here he was, looking for all the world like a bearded buccaneer, asking her permission to dance with her daughter. There was no reason she could think of to refuse him, and she nodded, albeit unwilling. She saw her daughter smiling up at him, her eyes sparkling outrageously. She was not blind to Adam Welles’s attraction—what woman could be? And it was but one dance. “Enjoy yourself, my love,” she said to her daughter.

“If it pleases you, my lady,” the Comte de la Valle said, staring for a moment after the marchese and Rayna, “I also would like to dance with your lovely daughter, after the marchese.”

“Certainly,
monsieur,
” Lady Delford said.

“I will wait with impatience, my lady,” the comte said, his eyes on Rayna’s retreating back.

“So you are left high and dry,” Sir Hugh said to Arabella.

“I am quite sunk,” Arabella said. “I ask you, ma’am,” she continued to Lady Delford, “is it fair that Rayna receives all the masculine attention? Perhaps I am fated for a convent.”

Things, she thought, were going quite well. Adam and Rayna seemed quite taken with one another, as she had thought they would be.

“It is a pity,” Adam said to Rayna as he took his place opposite her in the dance.

“What is,
signore
?”

“The dance leaves little time for conversation.”

They were immediately separated to perform their steps with the others.

“I have never before been to Italy,” Rayna said, pleased that she had managed to think of a sensible
comment before they stepped back together. They touched hands lightly, Adam bowing and Rayna curtsying. Rayna’s attraction for him was not lost on Adam, but what he did not understand was why he had asked her to dance. He saw her flush deeply, and cocked his head to one side in silent question.

“Have you ever been in England?”

“I? Why do you ask,
signorina
? What reason would I have to travel to that cold, distant country?”

“It is not that cold,
signore.
”

“And the English,” he said, a wicked light in his eyes. “I have heard it said they are as cold and aloof as their wretched weather.”

“I—we are not cold,
signore.
”

They were separated again, and by the time he was close to her, Adam said, “That will doubtless please your husband,
signorina.
”

“I do not have a husband.”

“A lady as beautiful as you will not long last without one, I think,
signorina.
”

“You speak very smoothly,
signore,
” Rayna said stiffly. She thought he was flirting with her simply because it was his habit to do so.

“Yes, I suppose that I do,” Adam said.

“I wish you would not. I do not like gentlemen to say pretty things. It is not honest.”

“Just because I spoke smoothly,” Adam said, studying her upturned face, “does not mean I am not honest. It simply means that I am intelligent enough to be able to admire a beautiful woman suitably.”

“I am but half English,” Rayna said.

She has no guile, he thought. It both intrigued and worried him. “Ah, a skeleton in your sire’s closet?”

“Oh, no. My mother is an American. They met in New York when my father was a major in the English army during the war with the colonies. I am the youngest of six children, and the only female.”

Adam managed to look appropriately surprised. “Then I must be careful not to offend you,
mademoiselle.
Five brothers. I am blessed with but one sister to protect me.”

“They are overbearing at times,” Rayna said. “They teased me unmercifully when I was a child.”

“It must be the fate of younger sisters,” Adam said. “I too am a mixed breed.”

“You are from Sicily,
monsieur
?”

Adam found he did not wish to lie outright to her, and said easily, “You are wondering perhaps about my blue eyes?”

“They are rather startling. I was waiting to get closer to you to see if they were truly such a deep blue.”

Adam stared down at her for a long moment. He realized with a start that the music had stopped. “I thank you for the dance,
mademoiselle.
Perhaps you will dance with me again this evening?”

“Yes,
monsieur,
I should like that.”

“You dance as sweetly as you blush,” Adam said.

Rayna’s hands flew to her cheeks. “I cannot help it. It has nothing to do with you,
monsieur.
”

“A pity,” Adam said, grinning. He knew that flirting with Rayna Lyndhurst was the height of folly. But she was so damned refreshing, and so unlike the flippantly sophisticated ladies of his acquaintance. “I will take you back to your fond parent,” he said, offering his arm. He felt her fingers tighten about his sleeve, and cocked a thick black brow at her.

“You will not forget our next dance, will you?”

The Comte de la Valle was striding confidently toward them, ready to take Rayna back to the dance floor.

He said, “No, I shan’t forget. Your friend—Lady Arabella is her name?” At her nod, he continued, “I should like to dance with her.”

She had bored him. She knew Arabella would never bore anyone, this gentleman included. “Arabella is a graceful dancer,” she said only.

“If she is as graceful as you,
mademoiselle,
then my evening—well, it will not have been a futile exercise in smiling.”

The Comte de la Valle was standing impatiently beside them. “Gervaise,” Adam said to him. He bowed and strode away toward Arabella, who was standing alone, fanning herself.

“Why don’t we get something cool to drink?” Adam said to his sister, and without waiting for an answer, caught her arm.

Rayna watched the marchese and Arabella walk to the far end of the salon, where refreshments were laid out on long tables. She felt something like what she thought was jealousy, and was surprised at herself. She noticed that her dancing partner was watching her closely.

“I have not stepped on your foot,
signorina,
” the comte said.

“No,” she said. “I suppose that I am not used to the heat.”

“Heat?” Gervaise raised his brows.

Rayna realized that the vast room was really quite cool. “I meant cold.”

“Ah, I see,” he said pleasantly enough. So the girl is
taken with the marchese, he thought. He would quickly change that.

“We mustn’t spend too much time together, Bella,” Adam was saying to his sister.

“Better with me than with Rayna,” Arabella said. “Lady Delford had a mild fit while you two were dancing.”

“It was only one dance,” Adam said.

Arabella sipped at the sweet wine punch and said in her blandest voice, “I think you’ve made an impression on Rayna.”

“She has changed.”

Arabella laughed and touched her hand familiarly to his arm. “Ah, Adam, can it be that you are equally taken?”

“With a child fresh from the schoolroom?” Adam asked. “Really, Bella, strive for a little sense. Now, tell me what you have been doing.”

“Well, we moved into a charming villa last Wednesday. It is on the outskirts of the city, set upon a hill overlooking the bay. Sometimes I can almost imagine that I am home in Genoa, with the smell of the water and all the flowers.” She saw that Adam’s eyes had strayed from her face to the dance floor. “Soon you won’t have to speak French with Rayna. She is quite fast with languages, and will be fluent in Italian in no time at all, much to her father’s disapproval, I might add.”

“I am relieved she didn’t recognize me. Lady Delford, as you said, was rather put out. You shouldn’t have engineered the dance between us.” He negligently flicked a puff of lint from his sleeve and added,
“Her father will not like it when he finds out she danced with me twice.”

“Twice?” Arabella asked.

“I also told Rayna I would dance with you. Come along.”

“No,” Arabella said. “You are only my brother, and I don’t have to suffer through a dance with you. You see, I am wearing Rayna’s slippers, and alas, they are too small for me. But tell me what you have learned. Has the Comte de la Valle anything to do with what father told us about?”

“God, yes,” Adam said. “I am in his good graces now, having saved him and one of his friends late one night from three vicious brigands. Daniele’s men, of course. No one was hurt, thank God. Keep Rayna away from him, Bella. And don’t you tread near him either.”

“Yes, I shall.”

“As to learning anything, no, not yet. The comte has let slip that he has a mistress, an older woman who is in the court circle—near to the king, I might add. His friend Celestino let drop that the
old hag
is making Gervaise richer than he has a right to be.”

“Rich with our cargoes?”

“Possibly. As for this society he has organized, I haven’t yet been asked to join. But I think I’ve met most of the other members at Gervaise’s lodgings. They are, for the most part, young noblemen bored and primed to be wicked. Gervaise is undoubtedly their guiding light.”

“Well, I shall have very attentive ears and eyes. If the woman is here in the court, I am bound to meet her.”

“You will take care, Bella.” He nudged his knuckle against her jaw.

“You know I will.”

Rayna forced a smile. “It is all so exciting,” she said to the comte.

“Indeed,” the comte agreed.

Rayna was thankful the music came to a stop. She dipped a curtsy. “I must return to my mother, sir. I see her waving to me.”

Gervaise bowed and offered her his arm. “How long will your illustrious father stay in Naples,
mademoiselle
?”

Was there a tinge of sarcasm in his voice? “I am not in my father’s confidence. I suppose that much depends upon what happens in the king’s negotiations with the French.”

“I shouldn’t like you to be in Naples when or if the Treaty of Amiens is renounced. I have heard it said that Napoleon is displeased with Acton. The pot is nearing the boiling point again, I’m afraid.”

“I sincerely hope it will not boil over,
monsieur.
I pity any country that is conquered by another, and its people enslaved.”

The comte arched a fair brow. “There are many in Naples,
mademoiselle,
who view Napoleon as a liberator, many who would throw the city open to him.”

“I fear they are deluded. Napoleon has looted every country he has taken, and tried to destroy the traditions that bound their people together.”

“And some say these people have never known greater freedom since his arrival, and less corruption.”

“For an ardent royalist,
monsieur
, you seem rather open-minded.”

Gervaise smiled down at her serious young face. “I have lived more years than you,
mademoiselle.
Perhaps I have become a cynic.”

“I thank you for the dance,
monsieur.
”

Before he could ask her for another, Rayna curtsied to him and turned to her mother.

“
A bientôt, mademoiselle,
” he said softly.

O
ld Antonio Genovesi scratched his wiry gray beard as he pondered the slow progress of the man on the beach below him, the man he had pulled from the churning waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea some six months before. He was not a young man, but his features, gaunt from months of fever and pain, made him appear older than his years. That he had survived the stab wounds and hours spent in the storm-tossed water, clutching a piece of driftwood, testified to an extraordinary strength. As his wife, Ria, had said as she nursed him, “This one will not let the devil have him, not before his time.”

Ria had hardly left his side for months, hovering about him as if he were her son. Not that Antonio minded. Ria’s grief over the son they had lost to the sea years before had aged her too. She called him Dono, for to her he was a gift from the sea. There was a fierce light in her rheumy eyes now, and they held purpose again. During the months of fever, he had raved of odd and strange things, and places so bizarre that Ria and Antonio could only gape at him. “He is no common sailor, our Dono,” Ria had whispered to him.

He watched Dono turn slowly back up the beach
toward their thatched hut. He raised his head, and even from the distance brilliant black eyes met Antonio’s gaze. Dono raised his crutch and waved it toward him. “Who are you?” Antonio whispered. He waved back and made his way down the crooked path to the beach.

Hamil had just seen his reflection clearly for the first time in six months in a limpid sea pool. A wide strip of shock white hair flowed from his temple through his black hair, as if painted there. His full beard was threaded with white, and there were lines etched about his eyes. He had stared at a stranger.

His once powerful body still trembled from weakness whenever he walked the length of the rocky beach. It was his fury that kept him doggedly exercising, fury at his betrayal that had kept him clinging to that piece of wood when other men would have let go. He still asked himself: Who had paid Ramid to betray him?

Hamil smiled to himself as he watched the old man carefully tread down the path toward him. Antonio would say nothing, but would walk beside him, ready to shoulder his weight should he falter. Soon, he thought, he would not need the crutch; soon his strength would return.

He waited for the old man to reach him, leaning heavily on the crutch Antonio had carved for him several months before.

“Dono,” Antonio said in his soft, scratchy voice. “I watched you. You walked the whole length of the beach without halting. Soon, my son, you will be as you once were.”

My son.
Hamil smiled at the grizzled old man who barely reached his chin.

Antonio saw a grimace of pain through Dono’s smile and pulled the younger man’s arm over his shoulder. “Ria will have our lunch ready,” Antonio said quickly, wanting to spare Dono the embarrassment of leaning on him, an old man. “Fish stew today, but it’s tasty, as you know, Dono.”

“I know,” Hamil said, allowing Antonio to support some of his weight.

As they neared the hut, Hamil said abruptly, “I wish to fish with you, Antonio. I have done nothing save take from you. I must repay you if I can for your kindness.”

“Yes, you will fish with me, perhaps next week,” Antonio agreed. “But you are not a fisherman. I would not wish to fish you out of the sea again.”

“No,” Hamil said. “I am not a fisherman, but I am a good sailor. I will learn.”

Ria appeared in the doorway of the small hut, waving her faded apron at them. “Dono. Look at you, boy. You have had enough exercise for this day . . . leaning on that old man. You walked too far. Come, you must rest now and eat. It’s a thick stew I’ve got for you today. Potatoes from that old witch who lives beyond the hill.”

Hamil, used to Ria’s scolding chatter, allowed her to lead him into the one large room and settle him on a chair beside the rough-hewn table. In truth, he was exhausted. He attacked the stew as if his life depended on it.

He laid down his spoon beside his empty wooden bowl and leaned back in his chair. Unbidden, the
image of Lella rose in his mind. Had she been killed as he was to be, six months ago?

For the first time in his life, Hamil bowed his head and let pain-filled sobs break from his throat. He felt burning tears streak down his cheeks. He felt Ria’s arms close about his shoulders, and without thought, he buried his head against her scrawny bosom.

“Dono, my son,” he heard her whisper softly to him as her fingers stroked through his thick hair, “it is all right. No one else will hurt you again.”

“Lella,” he whispered.

“Your sweetheart, Dono?”

“My wife. Perhaps she is dead now, even as I was meant to be.”

Ria’s eyes met her husband’s over Hamil’s bowed head. Gently, her fingers still stroking his hair, she asked, “Who are you, Dono?”

Hamil stilled. He felt a great shame at his weakness. A man did not weep like a woman, not even a skeleton of a man. He raised his head and looked into the wrinkled face he had come to know well.

“Ria,” he said sadly, “I have shamed myself.”

“Men,” Ria grunted. “Do not be a fool.”

Hamil had never before been called a fool by a woman; indeed, only his father had dared. Yet he wasn’t angered; rather, he felt strangely comforted.

“My name,” he said slowly, looking from Antonio to Ria, “is Hamil.” At their blank looks, he gave a mocking laugh. “Until six months ago, I was the Bey of Oran.”

Ria sucked in her breath and gazed at him, appalled. “A pirate? You’re one of those men who raid ships and make slaves of people?”

“I rule them. Rather, I ruled them. I am now supposedly dead.”

Antonio stared at him as if he were a creature with three heads. “You are a . . . king?”

“Something like that. The Bey of Oran rules at the whim of the Dey of Algiers, who, in turn, owes his allegiance to the Grand Turk in Constantinople.”

“You’re a heathen,” Ria said.

“No, but I am a Muslim.” He saw Ria mouth the foreign word. He asked softly, “Do you want me to leave? I must go soon in any case, to Cagliari. I have friends there, powerful men who will help me regain what is mine.”

“No,” Ria said, tightening her arms about his shoulders. “I don’t care if you are one of them. I’ll not let you go until you are well. We will speak of this again. Eat the stew, Dono.”

“Antonio?” Hamil inquired.

“Eat the stew, boy.”