“A pity,” Adam said obscurely. He kept his gaze fixedly on the queen, not wanting to glance toward Arabella. The queen sat upon a high-backed chair, flanked by her two daughters. She looked pale and painfully aged, Adam thought, with her crimped gray hair and the wrinkles obvious on her face, even from a distance. The Princess Amélie was a tall, quite lovely young woman, but her sister, Christine, some three years older, had unfortunately inherited her father’s rather bulbous nose and his rounded shoulders. The king had not yet made his appearance, and Adam had heard that the prince royal, Francesco, and his young Bourbon princess, Isabel, were at his farm near the palace at Caserta. He did not particularly care. He would not have come to the reception in any case if it had been his choice, but the Comte de la Valle had baited him, insisting in his hoarse voice that he must see the lion in his den surrounded by all his cubs and keepers before deciding if he deserved to rule.
“Such a pity that the lazzaroni starve,” Adam said in a sneering voice, “while that fat king fills his belly.”
“Ah, but the lazzaroni adore King Ferdinando, mon ami. He is one of them, you know. Despite his royal Bourbon blood, he is as ignorant as a pig, talks in the most vulgar parlance I’ve ever heard, and enjoys himself most when he is selling fish in the market.”
“You sound most critical for a royalist, Gervaise,” Adam said.
The comte shrugged. “It’s the truth. Prepare to compose your pirate’s face into a more accepting expression, Pietro. Here is his royal majesty.”
King Ferdinando, closer to sixty now than to the fifty he proclaimed, strolled into the vast salon, nodding to his right and left, acknowledging bows and curtsies. He wore rich purple Genoese velvet, adorned with thick gold braid at the shoulders and over his breast. He greeted the queen and his two daughters when he reached them, and heaved his bulk into his chair beside the queen’s.
Adam watched him greet Edward Lyndhurst and his wife, his guests of honor, and then bestow his most beguiling stare on the two rather taken-aback young ladies with them. When at last he had looked his fill, he waved toward the musicians to begin their music again, and strains of the minuet filled the huge chamber.
“Would you look at that lovely little morsel.”
Adam turned and saw that the comte was gazing fixedly toward the Lyndhurst party. Adam’s eyes fell upon Arabella, breathtakingly lovely in a gown of pomona-green satin with rich embroidered gold binding the material beneath her breasts. Her honey-colored hair was braided into a high coronet, with thick tresses falling over her shoulder.
He said in a dismissive voice, “If you like her washed-out coloring, I suppose the girl is passable.”
“Washed-out? Really, mon ami. That beautiful auburn hair and those exquisite hazel eyes? And she is so very young and untouched.”
Adam’s eyes followed the comte’s to Rayna Lyndhurst, who was standing slightly behind Arabella. He started at seeing her. The scraggly little peahen of a girl he remembered had emerged as a young lady of glorious plumage. She was standing very close to her mother, gazing timidly about her. He had the unaccountable urge to tell her not to be afraid. It was all show. Adam tried to subdue the uneasiness he felt at the comte’s words.
“She has the look of a convent,” he said indifferently.
“And I have the look of a man who will scale the convent walls.”
“I believe,” Adam said thoughtfully, ignoring the comte’s jest, “that she must belong to the Lyndhurst family. He is the new adviser to Sir Hugh Elliot, I hear.”
“How convenient that I am such an ardent royalist,” the comte said. “After they have paid their respects to their raddled majesties, I will contrive an introduction. I wonder if that other lovely girl is also a daughter. I did not know the English bred such exquisite females.”
Both females were curtsying deeply to Queen Maria Carolina, having endured the king’s ogling.
“Welcome to Naples,” the queen said, giving her hand to Viscount Delford. “You have made Mr. Acton’s acquaintance, have you not?”
“Indeed, madam,” Edward Lyndhurst said. He nodded formally to Acton, who stood beside the Princess Amélie. He felt a tug of liking for the most powerful man in Naples. He was tall, portly, and heavily jowled, but his eyes were alight with amusement at some untold joke.
“My wife is shortly expecting a baby, else she would be here to greet you, my lord,” Acton said.
“Please offer our congratulations to your wife, sir,” Lady Delford said. “This is my daughter, Rayna, and her friend Lady Arabella Welles.”
“Charmed,” the queen said, bestowing a royal smile on the two young ladies.
“As am I, your majesty,” Arabella said with a brilliant smile.
“I will agree,” Acton said, his smile widening. “Ladies,” he continued after a moment, “I will leave you with Sir Hugh, the English ambassador. He knows everyone and will give you splendid introductions. Lord Delford? Have you a moment?”
To Arabella’s surprise, the queen rose and led Acton and Viscount Delford through a narrow door behind the dais. The king did not appear to notice their leaving, for he was in conversation with an older woman who was flirting outrageously with him from behind her ivory fan.
Sir Hugh noticed Arabella’s raised brows and followed her gaze. He said in a lightly snide undervoice, “Please ignore his majesty, my dear. He takes little notice of the running of his kingdom. The lady is his latest flirt, a newly arrived contessa from Genoa or Milan, I am not certain which.”
“This is a splendid gathering, Sir Hugh,” Lady Delford said.
“And the palace is impressive,” Arabella added.
“Indeed, ladies,” Sir Hugh agreed. “It is a pity the queen dislikes it so much. You see, the French held Naples back in 1797 for some five months, and used the palace for their own diversions. It holds some bitter memories for the royal family. They now do most of their entertaining at the palace at Caserta. But Monsieur Alquier is approaching.”
Arabella thought the monsieur a slippery snake when he finally allowed them to escape. Her thoughts were so clear in her expressive eyes that Sir Hugh chuckled.
“Do not, my dear,” he said quietly, “let Alquier know what you are thinking. He is unbelievably powerful. For the moment, he is content to allow their majesties to reign.”
“It is a fault of mine, Sir Hugh,” Arabella said. “I will contrive to keep my lashes fluttering.”
Sir Hugh turned to Rayna. “What did you think of Monsieur Alquier, Miss Lyndhurst?”
Rayna did not hear the ambassador. She was occupied in staring at a tall young man who was standing on the opposite side of the salon. He was dressed elegantly in black velvet evening clothes, with frothy white lace at his throat and wrists. His eyes were a startling blue, and he sported a full black beard on his lean face, as dark as she was fair. A man shouldn’t be that beautiful, she thought, shaking her head at herself. Maybe she was wrong about his eyes; after all, he was some distance away. Maybe he had bad teeth. She remembered her father telling her “foreigners have nothing worth hearing to say and their manners have no dignity,” or some such thing. In this man’s case, she doubted her father’s pronouncement.
“Rayna, my love. Are you all right?”
Rayna blinked. “Yes, Mother?”
“Sir Hugh is speaking to you, my dear.”
“Oh. Yes, Sir Hugh, I agree with you fully,” she said.
“Excellent.” He laughed and tossed a smile to Arabella, as if sharing a secret. He led the ladies through the salon. He appeared to know everyone. Arabella was beginning to think her face would freeze into a permanent smile before they were through. She met Adam’s eyes as they approached and winked at him. A brief frown crossed his forehead.
“Monsieur le comte,” Sir Hugh said. “Allow me to present Lady Delford, her charming daughter, Rayna, and Lady Arabella Welles. Ladies, the Comte de la Valle.”
Rayna murmured something, unaware that the comte was regarding her closely. She
barely noticed him.
“You will have to introduce your friend, monsieur le comte,” Sir Hugh said.
Gervaise bowed. “Ladies, my friend the Marchese Pietro di Galvani, newly arrived from Sicily.”
He has lovely teeth, Rayna thought, extending her hand to the marchese. Adam smiled down at Rayna Lyndhurst, carefully avoiding Arabella’s eyes, and brought her slender white hand to his lips. He gently turned her hand over and lightly kissed her palm.
Rayna knew the marchese was taking liberties, but still she felt her pulse quicken at the touch of his mouth. She did not snatch her hand away.
“Signore,” she said, raising her eyes to his face. She blinked, thinking for an instant that he looked somehow familiar. But that was surely impossible. She had never been in Italy before, and he was a Sicilian nobleman. For a long moment he held her gaze and she noticed that his eyes were an even more vivid blue than she had first thought.
Adam released her hand and looked into his sister’s face. He saw a silent warning in her eyes, and a measure of amusement. And something else, he thought. Smugness. That was it. The chit looked smug.
“Signorina,” he said politely, bowing to her and then to Lady Delford.
“Do you speak Italian, signorina?” Adam asked lightly, turning back to Rayna.
“A little,” she said. Indeed, she thought, she would pay more attention now to Arabella’s lessons.
“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.”
Devil's Daughter Page 7
