Sins of a Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

“Of course.”

  “I was born in Cornwall, and thanks to my family’s influence, bought a lieutenant’s commission in the army when I turned seventeen. After ten years I found myself growing restless, sold what had become a captaincy, and decided to travel.”

  “That’s very admirable,” Sir Henry commented. Josefina didn’t think he meant it as a compliment. He would.

  “Thank you. It was when I reached the northeast coast of South America, however, that my true adventure began. I hadn’t been there long when I began hearing of the oppressive Spanish rule, and of a growing move to force Spain to give up her American territories. At this same time I gained an introduction to General Simon Bolivar, a champion of the people. Apparently he was as impressed with me as I was with him, because he offered me a position as a major under his command.

  “For years we fought together, driving the Spanish out of town after town, valley after valley. I gained a promotion to colonel under my own command, in the meantime meeting and marrying my wife, Maria Costanza-y-Veneza, and having a daughter, Josefina.”

  “This is all fascinating, Your Majesty, but—”

  “Please allow me to finish, Sir Henry,” her father broke in. “I assure you, this all has relevance.”

  “Go on,” Melbourne said quietly. Much more than Sir Henry, Josefina guessed, he was assessing her father’s words. After all, if the bank decided to issue bonds to aid the development of Costa Habichuela, it would be in part because of him. Even in Jamaica, everyone knew of the Griffin family and their impeccable reputation and unmatched power and influence. Yes, the investment was a sound, low-risk one, but Melbourne as much as Sir Henry needed to be convinced of that.

  “My men and I were on a sweep of the eastern coast of Central America, on our way south to rendezvous with the main army. We came across a group of Spanish soldiers attacking a small, beautiful city located between a low range of mountains and a deep, secluded harbor. We drove them off, and the people thanked us with a three-day-long feast. As we were preparing to leave and meet up with the main forces, Qental, King of the Mosquito Coast, arrived. Seeing that I was English, he told me that without outside help even isolated parts of the Mosquito Coast such as this one would be lost to Spain. And then he gave it to me.”

  She’d heard the story a hundred times, but Josefina still enjoyed listening to it. Her gaze caught Melbourne, to find that he was looking straight back at her. She didn’t know what he might be hoping to see, but to herself she could admit that she liked having him look.

  “That same night the people of San Saturus—that’s the name of the city we saved—declared me to be their ruler, their rey, as they call it. And their well-being and safety became my primary concern. There is so much potential for growth and expansion there—which is why I need your help.”

  “An English foothold other than Belize in Central and South America could be very beneficial,” Sir Henry said absently, almost to himself. “Are the citizens Spanish? Once their gratitude at being saved from marauders wears thin, they may want to return to Spanish rule.”

  The rey sat forward. “That’s the beauty of Costa Habichuela. The citizens never were Spanish. They are mostly natives, coupled with a great many English and Scots who’ve migrated there from other, Spanish-dominated territories. They are extremely happy to have even more distance between themselves and Spain. And to be honest, with the mountains at our back and an easily defensible bay at our front, we are in a perfect location to ensure a long and stable rule.”

  “How much land did the Mosquito King give you?” Sir Henry asked, practically rubbing his hands together.

  “A million acres. I have a map,” the rey returned. “Orrin? I can show you precisely.”

  As the former sergeant dug into his satchel and produced a large map of Costa Habichuela showing its position on the eastern coast of Central America, Melbourne straightened and moved closer.

  “What happened to the men?” he asked.

  The rey furrowed his brow. “Beg pardon?”

  “You said that you and your men were supposed to rendezvous with the main part of the rebel army. What happened to them, and to the army?”

  “Oh. I sent them on under my second-in-command. I tendered my resignation, as did several of my most loyal men—the ones who’d served with me through the years, like Orrin here. They now make up most of my personal guard and cabinet ministers.”

  “So you have a stable government, a stable population, and a beautiful capital city in an ideal location,” Melbourne said, looking over the map.

  “Precisely.”

  “What do you need a loan for, then?”

  Josefina’s father actually sent her a quick, annoyed glance. Was she supposed to have swayed Melbourne already? She’d only seen him four times, now. And kissed him once. She drew a breath. “Not even Eden could stand still in the midst of progress and hope to survive,” she said. “Costa Habichuela needs to be able to thrive into the future. We must be able to govern effectively, and to protect ourselves. If England is unable to assist us,” she continued for good measure, “we will have to find someone who can. We have no choice in this.”

  “What amount did you have in mind?” Sir Henry asked, running a finger along the generous borders of Costa Habichuela. “A loan to a newly formed country is a risky proposition at best.”

  “Actually,” the rey returned, “this loan won’t be much of a risk at all. I would like the opportunity to secure a permanent friendship between our two countries. I’ve taken the liberty of having several bonds drawn up. That way any loan you made to my government would immediately become an investment opportunity for every progress-minded Englishman.”

  “Hm,” Sir Henry mused, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I have to say, given the background of Costa Habichuela, purchasing bonds from you—or me, rather—certainly seems far more sound than a European investment right now. And as you said, a great portion of South America is fighting over who governs it.” He looked up at Melbourne. “What’s your opinion on this, Your Grace?”

  Melbourne looked at the map for a long moment while Josefina held her breath. She and her father might both outrank the duke, but here in England he definitely had more power and influence.

  “Costa Habichuela might very well be a safer investment than any other foreign one I can think of at the moment,” he finally said, “but it’s also very new and very far away. I think if you intend to garner sufficient interest to support a loan of any large amount, you’ll have to offer some sort of incentive.”

  “A discounted bond perhaps?” Sir Henry continued. “That worked quite well for bolstering monetary support of Chile a few years ago.”

  The rey sat back, stroking his moustache with his fingers. “You know, gentlemen, that is a very fine idea. By offering to sell hundred-pound bonds for ninety pounds, say, we are both stating our confidence in the future and insuring a level of profit for investors.”

  “At ninety pounds to the hundred the interest rate can’t be more than three percent—say over ten years?”

  “That sounds fair and equitable.” Stephen Embry gave a rueful smile. “We do, however, have one more point to discuss.”

  “The amount of the loan,” Melbourne supplied. Josefina couldn’t read his expression; if she didn’t know better, they might well have been discussing the weather. “I assume you have a figure in mind, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, I do. To establish import and export, and even immigration, I will need to hire ships, purchase cargo, and of course establish a permanent consulate here in London. I think one hundred thousand pounds should cover that.”

  Sir Henry choked. “One hun…hundred thousand? Good God! I thought you would ask for twenty thousand or so.”

  “Twenty thousand would hardly be enough for us to approach anyone on equal footing,” the rey replied calmly. “As His Grace said, we are very young. We need to begin from a position of strength or we will never find one.” He blinked, as if
suddenly remembering something. “I’m such a fool. Orrin, the prospectus, if you please.”

  Melbourne raised an eyebrow. “You have a prospectus?”

  “I had a surveyor write one last year, as we prepared for our trip here.” The minister pulled a fat manuscript from his satchel and handed it over. “It details everything,” the rey continued, leaning forward to set it on the desk. “Agriculture, temperature, climate, trading routes, population and growth equations—and it’s illustrated.” He flipped open the leather cover to reveal a sketch of a three-masted rig sailing into a harbor, mountains behind it in the distance and a picturesque mixture of houses, huts, and paved roads flowing down to the dock at the water’s edge below.

  “San Saturus, I presume?” Melbourne drawled.

  “Yes. And a very good likeness, if I say so myself.”

  “This is most impressive,” the banker said, pulling the prospectus around to flip through several of the pages. “Rainfall, planting seasons, even figures for wood harvesting.”

  “As I said, Sir Henry, we are very serious about placing Costa Habichuela permanently on the map. I would like it to be listed there as an ally of England.”

  The banker stood and stuck out his hand. “One hundred thousand pounds.”

  The rey rocked to his feet and shook hands with Sir Henry. “My deepest and most humble thanks to you, sir.”

  “Congratulations,” Melbourne put in, his gaze moving once more to Josefina. “You don’t happen to have another copy of that prospectus, do you?”

  “We had a dozen printed,” she said. “I’m afraid the rest are at Colonel Branbury’s house, however.”

  “Come by at eight o’clock tonight,” her father suggested. “We’ll have a brandy before we venture to Almack’s, and I’ll give you one.”

  The duke nodded, turning for the door. “I will. If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of before tonight.”

  “Good day, Melbourne. And thank you.”

  “Until tonight.” His parting glance was at Josefina, and she took a slow breath. She needed to secure his interest. Apparently she already had his attention.

  Chapter 5

  “Just why are you dragging me to Almack’s?” Valentine Corbett, the Marquis of Deverill, muttered as he tried to balance half a glass of scotch in the rocking coach.

  “Because you married my sister and you’re now part of the family.” Sebastian snagged the glass from his closest friend and took a swallow. “And because you’re incurably cynical.”

  “A character trait of which I’ve always been proud.” Deverill recaptured the scotch and nearly had it jostled out of his grip. With an annoyed scowl he opened the coach door and tossed out the liquid, dropping the glass onto the seat beside him. Out of their sight on the street a male voice yelled a curse.

  “Valentine. That’s my crest emblazoned on the door, you know.”

  “And this is a new jacket. I didn’t want to see it ruined. Though after wearing it to Almack’s I may never want to see it again.” He sat forward. “So I ask you once more, Melbourne. What am I doing here?”

  “I want your opinion.”

  “Very well. On what?”

  This time Sebastian frowned. “I’m not certain.”

  “That’s helpful.”

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open tonight.”

  “Regarding your new royal friends, I suppose?” Valentine looked at him, then sat back again. “Very well.”

  It would have been so much easier if he’d known what it was that had been tickling at him all afternoon. For a former soldier, Stephen Embry definitely knew his way around matters of finance. With two years to formulate a plan, however, he should have been knowledgeable. The rey was also glib and charming—but again, if he hadn’t been, King Qental wouldn’t have been moved to grant him a substantial piece of the Mosquito Coast. Granting the loan made sense—even with a hundred thousand pounds at risk, the probability of a profit to investors was very high. And the benefit of having another friendly port in the New World couldn’t be overstated.

  “What do you know about Central and South American politics?” he asked, since he couldn’t be more specific even if he wanted to be.

  “Only the broad strokes. Spain governs most of it, but the independence movement seems to be filtering south from the Colonies. Bits and pieces are being chipped away, and Spain’s not happy about it. With Bonaparte in their home territory, though, their focus isn’t on undeveloped land an ocean away.”

  Sebastian cracked a brief smile. “I sometimes forget that you do pay attention.”

  “I’m a husband and a father, now. I’ve found that that circumstance both narrows and broadens one’s perspective.” He kicked Sebastian in the ankle. “If this is going to be another lunatic assignment from you of the keeping-an-eye-on-someone sort, I want more details. What’s going on?”

  “You heard about last night, I presume.”

  “The chit slapping you and then you dancing with her? No, didn’t hear a bloody thing.”

  “Mm-hm. Prinny’s gotten some sort of honor from them, and he thinks very highly of the rey and his entourage. For me, what’s the saying? If something seems too good to be true, etcetera, etcetera.” The explanation was as vague as he could make it; Valentine was as sharp as a knife blade, and no one needed to know that he’d blundered so far as to kiss Princess Josefina.

  “I’m a damn chaperone.”

  “You—”

  “Shay’s the diplomatic one. Why isn’t he here?”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. Because Shay already thinks I’m interested in the chit wouldn’t suffice; he wanted an unbiased opinion of the entire situation, not his…insanity where it came to Josefina. “I want eyes, not diplomacy.”

  “You’re being obtuse, and I think it’s deliberate. But since you’ve dragged me along, I shall do my utmost to fulfill my duty at whatever it is I’m doing.”

  The duke nodded. “That is all I ask.”

  Ten minutes later as they left the carriage, Colonel Branbury’s butler opened the front door for them. “Your Grace, His Majesty awaits your pleasure in the drawing room. This way.”

  “Thank you.”

  With Valentine on his heels, Sebastian followed the butler upstairs. The house was well-kept, if small by his standards, and he guessed that Branbury had been a compatriot of the rey’s when Embry had served in the British army. “Where is Colonel Branbury, if I might ask?”

  “The colonel has given over his house to the Costa Habichuela delegation,” the butler returned, “though he has been called back to the Peninsula. He hopes to return before the end of the Season.”

  Did Branbury’s absence mean something? Bonaparte had been creating havoc on the Peninsula, so the timing of the colonel’s trip might well have been mere coincidence.

  Stopping before a set of double doors, the butler knocked and then pushed them both open. “His Grace the Duke of Melbourne and guest, Your Majesty, Your Highness.”

  Princess Josefina sat in one of the chairs beside the fire. Sebastian tried to steel his expression, the effort hampered by Valentine elbowing him in the back and muttering “‘And guest’? Since when am I ‘and guest’?”

  Sebastian bowed, deliberately keeping his gaze on the seated rey rather than the princess. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, may I present my brother-in-law, the Marquis of Deverill? Valentine, this is Stephen Embry, the Rey of Costa Habichuela, and his daughter, Princess Josefina.”

  They both remained seated. Recently crowned or not, neither the rey nor his daughter seemed to require any schooling in social rankings. Sebastian rubbed his left eye to cover the jump of his muscles.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Deverill.”

  “And I you, Your Majesty,” Valentine returned with one of his charming smiles. “Sebastian mentioned something about brandy.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Finally the rey rose, gesturing to the footman who stood beside the liquor cabinet. “Three brand
ies and a glass of red wine, if you please, lad.”

  “Very good, Your Majesty.”

  As Valentine wandered over to collect his drink, Sebastian finally turned his gaze to Princess Josefina. For the barest of moments his breath caught. Tonight her silk gown was violet, dotted with silver to look like starlight.

  “Join me, Melbourne,” she said, gesturing at the chair her father had vacated.

  “Of course.” She smelled like lilacs, he decided as he moved past her to sit, though the scent was more likely deadly nightshade.

  “So, Your Grace,” she continued in a lower voice, while behind them Valentine and the rey chatted about boots, “have you finally decided to mind your manners?”

  “I’m searching for the most diplomatic way to offer you another piece of advice,” he countered, focusing on the emeralds dangling from her ears, sparkling against the midnight of her hair. The ear bobs jangled as she shifted, and he blinked, refocusing in time to see her gaze on his mouth.

  “I don’t expect diplomacy from you. Say what you will.”

  Even if she wanted to begin an argument, he would not play along. He’d learned that strategy. “I only wanted to advise you that it is the custom here for young ladies making their first appearance at Almack’s to wear white for their presentation to the patronesses.”

  Josefina looked down at her dress. “Don’t you like my gown?”

  He swallowed, his cock twitching. “It’s very nice. But that’s not the point.”

  “What would those patronesses say to a young lady who didn’t bow to their dictates?”

  Was that hesitation? Until this second he’d never seen her unsure of her footing. “I’ve seen them ask girls to leave, never to be invited back again,” he answered truthfully.

  “That’s absurd.”

  “I agree. But it’s also custom.”

  “I am not customary.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “No, you are not that.”

  “They wouldn’t dare ask a princess to leave.”

  Wouldn’t they? They counted a minor princess among their number. “Honestly, Josefina,” he said in a low voice, “I think you should wear white. Your father is trying to find investors, and some of them will be in attendance tonight. You seem eager to cause a stir, but I do not recommend one of that sort.”