Devil's Daughter by Catherine Coulter
“The contessa,” Adam said slowly. “You search for the contessa.”
Hamil whirled about at Adam’s words. “What do you know of the bitch?”
“I searched for her too, highness, in Naples. Unfortunately, as Captain Alvarez will confirm, although she did hire the ship, she never appeared to take her to Oran. I do not know where she has gone. Perhaps northward to leave from another port.”
Hamil stood silent, deep in thought. “You are alone, Lord St. Ives?” he asked finally.
“No, I have two men and my cabin boy with me.”
“Your destination is Oran?”
“Yes.”
Hamil turned to Alvarez. “Lord St. Ives and his men will accompany me. You may take your leave, captain, but you will not dock at Oran. I believe you and I have much to discuss,” he continued, turning to Adam. “I will deliver you safe to Oran. My oath on it.” He stretched out his hand and Adam grasped it.
“May I say, highness,” Adam said, “I am glad that you live.”
“No more glad than I,” Hamil said.
A silent slave lighted the candles in Hamil’s cabin. Hamil waited until the man had finished his task, then nodded dismissal to him.
“We are in private now, my lord. Be seated and we will talk. Your cabin boy, send him away.”
“I ask that he stay, highness,” Adam said.
Hamil smiled, and gazed thoughtfully at Rayna. “He is a very pretty boy,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to sell him to me? I have a good friend who has a liking for well-favored boys. No ugly whiskers to mar his pretty face. Yes, I will buy him from you.”
“I must decline, highness,” Adam said politely. “He may be pretty, but his temper is capricious. He is disobedient and impertinent, and would bring no pleasure to this man you speak of. Indeed, he would likely whiten his hair within a month.”
“I am certain,” Hamil said, lowering his eyes as he brushed away a fleck of dust from his white sleeve, “that my friend could make him more conciliatory. Such a foul-tempered youth as you describe, my lord, is in need of the whip. It would soon enough still his tongue. Once he is tamed, my friend would doubtless treat him well.”
“The boy, despite his looks, is no plaything for a pederast, highness. I should dislike seeing him forced to play the part.”
“Ah,” Hamil said, his eyes still lowered. “So he prefers girls, does he?”
“Highness,” Adam said, “I wish the lad to remain in my service. He is my obligation and my responsibility. Now, if you please, we have much to discuss.”
“Certainly,” Hamil said easily. He motioned to the cushions that surrounded a low, round sandalwood table. “Be seated, my lord. As to the boy, it will be as you wish. But his clothes offend me. As a sign of my friendship to you, I will have him better garbed.”
“Oh no—goodness, no!”
Hamil smiled. “I had thought the boy older, my lord, yet his voice has not yet deepened. And I believe you are right. Your servant dares to speak when he should be silent.”
Hamil shrugged, turning away. “Be seated,” he said again. He poured two goblets of wine and offered one to Adam.
Adam took the goblet and eased down onto the cushions, motioning Rayna to sit behind him. He said without preamble, “Highness, the contessa has had my sister abducted and sent to Oran. I do not know why. I do know that three of our ships were taken this year by the Barbary pirates, and it was she who was selling the cargoes in Naples. But it has done me little good to discover that. My sister is taken. Who, highness, is this contessa?”
“None of your ships were taken until after my presumed death,” Hamil said. “That is true.”
“This contessa, my lord, is the mother of my half-brother Kamal, the man who now rules Oran.”
Surprise held Adam silent for some moments. He said finally, “But she is Italian.”
“Indeed. She was sent to my father, Khar El-Din, some twenty-six years ago from Genoa, by your father. She is the Contessa Giovanna Giusti.”
“My father,” he repeated slowly. “I felt he would know her motive. But why, highness? Why would my father send a woman into captivity?”
“I was very young at the time,” Hamil said. “I do recall my father mentioning that she was involved in an intrigue against your father’s wife.” He frowned with concentration. “I remember that my father received a chest of gold in payment from your father.”
“All these years, Adam,” Rayna said suddenly, sitting forward, “she has waited to revenge herself on your father.”
“Indeed, signorina,” Hamil said. “Why do you not remove that ridiculous wool cap? A slave cannot drink wine in his master’s presence, but a young lady most certainly can.”
Rayna gaped at him.
“I suppose,” Adam said, a black brow cocked at Hamil, “that you have known for some time that my cabin boy was not what he purported to be.”
“I am not blind, my lord. Even in those clothes—well, just to see her walk—” He laughed deeply. “ Forgive me, signorina, but I have had little to amuse me these last months.”
Adam pulled off her cap. Her hair tumbled down her back. “This, highness, is Rayna Lyndhurst, my affianced wife.”
“I am charmed, signorina.” He poured her a goblet of wine and handed it to her.
Her cheeks were flushed. “I am mortified,” she said.
“Besides being disobedient,” Adam said, “she believes that I cannot conduct my own affairs without her protection. She stowed away aboard the Malek. When I discovered her, it was too late to turn back to Naples.”
“I have another friend, my lord,” Hamil said, “who has a fondness for white-skinned women with red hair. Perhaps you would like to—”
Adam burst into laughter, covering Rayna’s horrified gasp. “I will keep her,” he said finally. “I believe she is correct. It is revenge the contessa seeks.”
“To hear a woman speak wisely is refreshing,” Hamil said.
Adam smiled, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “I was right, then. My sister is to be bait. Bait for my father.”
“Yes, it would appear so.”
“Why, highness, have you not returned to Oran to reclaim your throne?”
Hamil stared thoughtfully into his goblet of wine. “My half-brother Kamal,” he said. “I have always held great fondness for him. I do not know if he is involved in this treachery with his mother. I wish to be certain before I proceed.” He raised dark eyes to Adam. “My wife is in Oran, in the palace harem. She still lives— that I know. I will do nothing to place her in danger.” He added, his voice filled with pride, “She carries my child.”
Rayna broke the brief silence. “If the contessa sent Arabella to her son, it does not bode well for his innocence.”
“No,” Hamil said, “it does not.”
“And the contessa will most assuredly return to Oran,” Adam said.
“Of a certainty she will.”
“Will Kamal harm Arabella?” Rayna asked.
The men’s eyes met across the table. Hamil said slowly, “It is true that my brother carries the blood of the corsairs, but he was educated in Europe. I cannot imagine he would harm a gentle, well-bred lady.”
Adam cursed. “My sister, unfortunately, is about as gentle as a desert storm, a—”
“A sirocco,” Hamil supplied. Again he met Adam’s worried gaze. “I understand your feelings about your sister, my lord, but you must understand mine. I had hoped to capture the contessa and wring the truth from her. That failing, I must, somehow, manage to see my half-brother alone, without warning, and learn the truth. If he is part of his mother’s treachery, I cannot risk my wife’s safety.” He rose gracefully from the cushions. “I will leave you now, my friends. I must tell my captain to set course for Oran.”
Hamil strode from the cabin.
“Perhaps,” Rayna said, “Arabella will be too frightened to anger this Kamal.”
“What is likely is that I shall have to kill him,” Adam said. ?
Kamal flexed his shoulder and winced at the pain the movement brought him. He tried to shake away the image of Arabella’s face, streaked with tears of frustration at her failure to kill him. It came to him again that she had hesitated before she struck. What kind of woman was she? He was, he decided, seven kinds of a fool to see her again.
She looked too proud, too calm, when she stepped into his chamber. Her hair fell nearly to her waist, her dark eyes looked velvet black, like midnight. He felt a stirring in his loins as his eyes fell to her breasts. She stood silently, saying nothing, enduring his scrutiny.
“Come,” he said in an oddly hoarse voice. “I wish to speak with you.”
Arabella glanced at the food set upon the table and felt her throat tighten. She nodded and eased down on the cushions.
A slight Nubian slave boy poured wine into her goblet. She downed it quickly. Her goblet was quickly filled again. She raised her eyes to Kamal’s face as she sipped the sweet wine.
“I trust you wear no hidden weapons tonight,” he said.
“No. Would it matter if I had?”
He gave her a twisted smile, watching her gulp down some more of her wine. “It is I who should be wary of you,” he said quietly. “I do not know what it is you expect me to do to you, but you needn’t drink yourself into a stupor.”
“Why not?”
“I have never forced a woman. I have no intention of starting now.”
She could not help herself, and the words flowed from her mouth unbidden. “No, but then again, a slave would have no say in the matter, would she?”
He said easily, “You are right, of course. But I have never used a woman, even one of my slaves, harshly.”
Arabella found herself for the first time seeing him as a man, seeing him as the man who would likely take her innocence. Before, she had recognized that he was as striking as a Viking warrior, his hair bronze and gold, his eyes a brilliant blue. His body was powerful.
Now he was a flesh-and-blood man. She observed his high cheekbones, his straight nose, his square, clean-shaven jaw.
“Do you like what you see, Arabella?”
She said honestly, without weighing her words, “I had not seen you as a man before.”
“And you do now?”
“It is difficult not to,” she said. “You are large and the room is small.”
“I see,” he said. He leaned back against the pillows, his eyes narrowing on her face. “There is no knife, and the fork is dull-pronged. If it is your plan to lull me, it will do you no good. And I might be tempted to break your beautiful neck if you attack me again.”
“No,” she said. “I will not try to harm you again.” She raised her eyes to his face. “I discovered that I am not a murderer.”
“I consider myself fortunate that you have some qualms, my dear. Odd, but you look like a queen when you raise your chin. A very cold queen.”
“I do not wish to fight with you. I wish only to make you understand, to make you believe that my parents are not what you have been told.”
Kamal raised his wine goblet and sipped at the sweet liquid, all the while his eyes narrowed on her pale face. “I’m listening,” he said.
“Lella told me that you lived for many years in Europe, that you are not like other Muslim men, that you are kind.”
“Ah, my sweet Lella. Did you despise her for her defense of me?”
“Perhaps,” Arabella said. “At least I disbelieved her. You have not been kind to me.”
“Would you have been kind to a wild creature who called you vicious names and hurled more insults than my soldiers have scimitars?”
“You had not been held alone in the dark hold of a ship for a week with naught but rats for companions.” She added bitterly, “I suppose I should thank your mother for making me look like a crone, else I would certainly have been raped by all your honorable men.”
“Yes,” Kamal said. “She did show some mercy, did she not? I wonder why. She has been single-minded in pursuit of her revenge.”
Arabella leaned forward to plead with him, but before she could open her mouth, he said, “Likely she didn’t want to take the chance that you would become diseased, and thus harm me. But then, of course, she could not be certain that all your dalliance at the court had not resulted in the same thing.”
She stiffened, jerking back.
Kamal frowned at the pain he saw in her eyes. “Why do you draw away at the simple truth?” he asked. “Why do you continue to act like the innocent maid? My God, woman, if you wish me to listen to you, you will cease this nonsense.”
Arabella choked back tears of frustration and dashed her hand across her eyes. It was an oddly childish gesture, and Kamal felt an instant of compassion for her. No, he thought, honest with himself, it was tenderness he felt, and it alarmed him.
“I should not have had you brought to me tonight,” he said.
“No. I mean that I wanted to see you.”
She seemed so damned transparent, so guileless. He shook his head, his shoulder reminding him that her guile could fool a saint.
“Why? To plead with me? To charm me into giving in to you?”
“I am not charming, at least with you,” she said, and he flinched at the open candor in her voice, the damned innocence in her eyes.
She drew a deep breath, and her chin tilted upward. “I do not mean to anger you. It is just that I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do, Arabella?”
He watched her eyes widen and her tongue caress her lower lip. It was a sublimely sensual gesture, and he felt his body leap in response. He drew back, knowing it was but another ploy, but toward what end? “Do you want to bed me? Compare me, the savage barbarian, to your other conquests?”
To his utter surprise, she did not fling angry words at him. She bowed her head in silent submission. His loins tightened and he felt his pulse begin to race. Even as he damned her silently for her effect on him, he rose gracefully to tower over her.
“Come, Arabella, I wish also to compare you to my other women.”
She raised her face to his. Again her tongue moved unconsciously over her lower lip. Her mouth felt dry with fear. “You will not hurt me?”
“Hurt you? I would not hurt you even if that is what pleased you.”
Her eyes went blank at his words.
Damn her. When would she cease acting? He stretched out his hand to her. For a moment Arabella gazed at his hand, at his strong fingers, their blunt tips. Bronze hairs covered the back of his hand, and she shuddered at the image of his hands on her.
She closed her eyes a moment, drawing strength from herself. She had naught but her body, and her body would be all of her that he would possess. He would not touch any other part of her. Slowly she rose to her knees and raised her hand to his. She felt his warmth as he drew her to her feet.
“Your hand is cold, Arabella,” he said, pulling her gently against him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She felt his arms close around her back.
He held her, lightly stroking his hands down her back. He felt her quiver but knew it was not from desire, not yet. “Give over, Arabella,” he said against her temple. “I will give you pleasure. It is what you desire, is it not?”
His arms slid over her hips and in a swift graceful movement he lifted her into his arms.
“Your shoulder.”
“I shall survive.”
She forced herself to wind her arms around his neck and lay her face against his shoulder.
Kamal smiled grimly. She was soft and giving now. He eased her down upon his bed and released her. “You are made for pleasure.”
“I do not understand this pleasure you speak of.”
“Do you not?” Why did she continue to lie to him? He stepped back, unfastened the leather belt at his waist, and drew off his white shirt.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Arabella said, raising her hand to touch the white bandage
Kamal drew back, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. When he rose he was wearing only his trousers. His hands were on the buttons when he chanced to look down at her. He saw fear and embarrassment in her eyes. Did she dislike naked men? He shook his head, suddenly angry with her, and stripped off his trousers. He straightened slowly and watched her eyes fall down his body.
Arabella felt herself go cold at the sight of him. He was more beautiful than any of the statues in the Parese gardens, and more frightening. The golden hair that was sprinkled over his chest narrowed to a straight line down his flat belly, then bushed out at his groin. His sex was swollen, thrust out from his groin, and she could not imagine how he could come inside her.
She was unaware that Kamal was standing quietly watching her reaction to his body.
He sat down beside her, and she tried to pull away, but he pressed her onto her back. She could feel the heat of him. He clamped his arms on either side of her, holding her still.
“Arabella,” he said, and lowered his head.
She breathed in the scent of him, sweet and musky, a heady male smell. She felt his mouth lightly touch her forehead, her eyelids, her nose.
“Touch me, Arabella,” he said against her lips.
Slowly she raised her hands and rested them on his chest. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart beneath her palm. He felt so warm, his flesh smooth. Suddenly she felt his tongue probing against her closed mouth and she stiffened. His hand moved to stroke her throat, then upward to caress her chin. “Open your mouth. I want to taste you.”
She obeyed him.
It was an invasion, relentless but oddly exciting. He probed her mouth, touching her tongue, until she was gasping for breath.
He raised his head and smiled down at her. He ran his fingers along the line of her jaw, back to circle her ears and pull the hair from her face. He looked thoughtful as he smoothed her hair on the pillow, forming a cloud of gold about her face. “Let’s try again,” he said. He lowered his face and this time she didn’t start at the touch of his mouth. She parted her lips this time without instruction from him and felt a jolt of warmth surge in her belly at the touch of his tongue. He said, his warm breath filling her mouth, “Think of me coming into you as my tongue does into your mouth.”