Don't Bargain with the Devil

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She was about to stamp her foot on his instep when Diego and her grandfather returned. Grateful for the reprieve, she smiled up at them both.

  Don Carlos looked a trifle too self-satisfied. And Diego looked grim as he approached her chair, then bowed.

  “I fear I must take my leave now, Doña Lucinda,” he said tightly.

  She leaped to her feet. “But you haven’t finished your dinner!”

  “Don Diego has a number of important business affairs to settle, my dear,” her grandfather said firmly.

  Her heart twisted. Was the moment here so soon? She held out her hand to Diego. “Then I must thank you for tarrying as long as you have.”

  He ignored her hand, though frustration showed in his eyes. “You owe me no thanks, my lady.” He gazed at her face as if trying to memorize her features. “It has been an honor to serve you,” he said softly.

  That sounded so final. She could scarcely keep her expression impassive. “Tell me, sir, did you receive everything you hoped for?”

  She had to know that. If Don Carlos had refused to honor his bargain with Diego, she’d drag Diego to the nearest altar herself.

  His eyes locked with hers. “Everything that your grandfather promised me. That will have to be enough.”

  With those enigmatic words, he bowed again and left.

  She stood there a moment, desolate. Then she caught her grandfather watching her. He must never guess what had happened between her and Diego. Never.

  “Well, that’s done,” she said with false brightness as the duke leaped up and came around the table to pull out her chair for her.

  Now all she had to figure out was how to live the rest of her life missing a piece of her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Dear Charlotte,

  You should assume that Mr. Pritchard has no one’s best interests at heart but his own. I shall try to counter his tactics, but unfortunately he has a right to do as he pleases with his own property. Perhaps it is time you consider finding another, better place to locate the school. I fear this situation will only worsen in time.

  Your concerned cousin,

  Michael

  He had Arboleda at last.

  With the deed tucked safely inside his coat pocket, Diego strode down the steps outside Don Carlos’s impressive mansion. Yet instead of crowing over his success, he could only seethe over his last sight of the group at the table. That dandified duke was holding out Lucy’s chair, staring into her bosom with such a leer that it had taken all Diego’s will not to lay the man out.

  Damn Don Carlos! During their brief interview in the man’s study, the marqués had informed him that he would be pleased to give Arboleda to Diego in exchange for his successfully bringing Doña Lucinda home. But with one condition—Diego must agree never to go near her again.

  The marqués was no fool. He had noticed how comfortable they had been with each other at dinner. He had voiced great concern about the apparent “infatuation” for Diego that Lucy seemed to have developed during their journey.

  He did not blame Diego, he’d said.

  It had to be nipped in the bud, he’d said.

  The Duque de Málaga was very interested in her, he’d said. And it would be a brilliant match.

  Between that overblown drunk and Lucy? The very idea made Diego want to pound the man into a bloody pulp.

  His only consolation was that Lucy had not seemed pleased by the duke. But how long would it be before her grandfather found a fellow who did please her?

  He gritted his teeth. He could not dwell on that. She was no longer his concern.

  Over the next four days, as he formed connections with local wine merchants and arranged to visit a local vineyard, he repeated that litany to himself. It was the only way he could endure seeing Lucy being squired about town by the Dandy Duke, with Nettie playing her dueña.

  Why was Lucy putting up with him, anyway? Had she warmed to the man? Could she possibly be attracted to his riches and grand connections?

  No, he could not believe it. Either she was simply indulging her ailing grandfather, or the marqués had used unsavory tactics to encourage the match.

  That thought kept Diego up nights. As did the knowledge he had gleaned from asking about the duke in town. Apparently, not only was the idiot a self-important grandee, but he also liked his coñac a little too much. There were tales of the havoc he had wreaked on local businesses when he was in his cups.

  Dios Santo, he had not brought Lucy here just to deliver her to a dissolute devil. And why did she continue to let the duke escort her about town? Why did she not tell her grandfather that she was no longer chaste? That would put a swift end to the duke’s interest.

  By his fifth evening in town, Diego could not bear it anymore. Ignoring the fact that he was acting like a besotted fool, that he might make a powerful enemy if the marqués learned of his interference, he decided to follow the duke once he left the marqués’s abode.

  Don Felipe headed straight for a nearby taberna. Diego headed inside after him. He would just talk to the man and see what his intentions were. No harm in that, right?

  The duke sat drinking at the bar, while half the tavern maids vied for his attention and the other half gossiped about him.

  Acting as if they were old friends, Diego sat down next to him and clapped him on the back. “I thought that was you, Don Felipe. Let me buy you a drink.”

  Don Felipe glanced at him through bleary eyes that made it clear he’d started drinking long before he’d left the marqués’s. “Don Diego, isn’t it? That fellow who found the marqués’s granddaughter?”

  “That’s the one.” Tossing some pesetas onto the counter, Diego ordered two brandies.

  “Surprised to see you still here in town.” Don Felipe drained the rest of his coñac. “Don Carlos said your wife was eager to return to the north.”

  His wife?

  “It was kind of her to chaperone Doña Lucinda on the trip,” the duke went on, “but surely she’s ready to go home by now.”

  Diego scowled. Apparently, the marqués had been nervous about how the duke might view the long voyage with Lucy and had invented a lovely tale to keep Don Felipe happy. Devious old wretch. “As it happens, my business is keeping me in town longer than I had expected.”

  “Ah. Planning another conjuring performance, are you?”

  “You could say that.” Conjuring Lucy right out of the duke’s grasping arms. She deserved better than this sot.

  Actually, Diego had been approached by several gentlemen eager to finance tours in Spain. One had even suggested that they partner to open a pleasure garden in Cádiz. Lucy would have appreciated the irony of that.

  “I understand congratulations are in order,” he told the duke. “Don Carlos said that you and his granddaughter are as good as betrothed.”

  “Well, she’s being stubborn, but I’m sure the marqués will bring her ’round.” Don Felipe sipped the fresh glass of coñac set before him. “He’s eager to have me for a son-in-law, you know.”

  “And I’m sure you could use the nice inheritance she’ll bring.” When the duke scowled at him for his presumption, Diego reined in his temper. “With all those properties to maintain, one must be practical.”

  Apparently that mollified Don Felipe. “True, true. And she is quite pretty to look at. Though a bit too outspoken for my taste.”

  Diego wished she were a lot more outspoken. At least, about protesting any interest in the duke. He took a long swallow of brandy.

  “I suppose that couldn’t be helped,” the duke went on, “given her background. From what my aunt says, her mother had quite a defiant streak herself. She would have had to, running off with an English soldier the way she did.”

  Diego froze with his glass of coñac in midair. “What are you talking about?”

  “Doña Catalina. She eloped with some fellow from the Forty-second Regiment.”

  “No, no, you are wrong.” He had to be wrong. Otherwise, Diego
had done all this for . . . Por Dios, it was not possible! “Her father was Spanish. The marqués told me that most specifically.”

  “He tried to pass that tale off on you, too, did he?” Don Felipe downed more brandy. “He’s been saying that for years, to prevent a scandal—that Doña Catalina married Don Álvaro in a remote part of Spain, that they died of grief after their daughter was stolen from them. Doña Catalina was indeed engaged to such a fellow, but it never came to anything.” He shook his head. “Ah, well, I suppose Don Carlos didn’t want you to slip up and tell the girl. He said he’d just as soon she didn’t know. Didn’t want to ruin her rosy image of her parents.”

  Anger roared in Diego’s veins. No, that was not why Don Carlos had lied. He had lied so he could manipulate Diego into doing what he wanted. He must have guessed that the best way to get Diego to help him was to play on Diego’s hatred of the English. Offering Arboleda might not have been enough to overcome Diego’s scruples, and he had probably realized that Diego would do anything to rescue some poor victim of an abduction by an English devil.

  Like a fool, he had played right into the man’s hands. He had been stupid enough to believe a fabrication created for the marqués’s selfish purpose—to regain his granddaughter and have her produce his heir without involving her legal guardian.

  “Of course,” the duke went on, his words slightly slurred, “I have more at stake than you in the matter. So after my aunt told me that Doña Catalina had run off with a soldier, I demanded that Don Carlos tell me the real story.”

  “How did your aunt know of it?” Diego asked, grasping at straws to assuage his guilt. Perhaps she had merely heard some idle gossip.

  With a laugh, the duke downed the rest of his brandy, then motioned for another. “Apparently, quite a few knew. Once Doña Catalina married her sergeant, she lived in Gibraltar at the garrison. Doña Lucinda spent her first four years there, though I doubt she remembers. Occasionally, people from San Roque would see Doña Catalina with her husband and daughter. Of course, no one said anything to Don Carlos—they wouldn’t have embarrassed the old man—but he must have known she was there. He’d disowned her by then, but he knew.”

  Diego clenched his fist around his glass. What kind of father cut his daughter out of his life just for marrying badly? “What about Doña Lucinda’s grandmother? Did she not have a say in the matter?”

  “Are you mad? That woman always did whatever Don Carlos commanded. I think after the regiment left she began to regret it, but she devoted herself to making sure her son made a good marriage. A pity that his wife proved barren.”

  His mind reeling, Diego could only sit there running through everything he had believed, everything he had thought. The facts made so much more sense now. Aside from the still-peculiar one that Colonel Seton had chosen to adopt Lucy after her parents died, this explained why the “nurse” had been named Catalina. Because she had been Catalina.

  It also explained why the marqués had not begun searching for his long-lost granddaughter sooner. It was just as Lucy had speculated. The marqués had waited until he had lost his son and needed an heir. Only then had he tricked Diego into retrieving her.

  Diego winced. No, he had only himself to blame for that. If he had delayed the trip in order to come here from Cádiz and ask a few questions, he would have uncovered the real tale. But he had been so consumed by outrage over the marqués’s tale of an abducted Spanish girl, so blinded by his own hatred of English soldiers, that he had not bothered to be cautious. And the marqués’s very real illness had added to his sense of urgency.

  He downed his brandy and ordered another. He had to tell Lucy the truth.

  His stomach sank. Dios Santo, she would hate him for it, and rightfully so.

  “Of course, it is not a pity for me,” the duke went on, oblivious to Diego’s torment.

  Diego had to search his memory for what the damnable man was talking about. Ah, yes. The barren wife of Don Carlos’s late son.

  “Now that the son is out of the running,” Don Felipe continued, “I get to step in and provide the marqués with an heir.” He smirked at Diego. “I believe that is something I will enjoy.”

  Not nearly as much as Diego would enjoy smashing the man’s face against the bar. “You are not perturbed by her dubious family background?” he gritted out.

  The duke shrugged, swaying a little on his stool. “Her fortune makes it worth it.” His words were seriously slurred. “All those lovely properties, you know. Got to keep ’em up somehow.”

  “What if she refuses to marry you?” Diego asked as the barkeep placed another coñac before him. “What if her grandfather cannot convince her?”

  Don Felipe rolled his eyes. “The marqués says that it’s her choice. Bloody old man is turning into a sentimental fool now that he’s got his granddaughter back.” He tapped his forehead. “But I have got a plan, you see.”

  Diego carefully blanked his expression. “Do you?” he said encouragingly.

  Clutching his brandy glass, the duke looked around as if expecting spies to be lurking in the busy taberna. Then he leaned close. “All I have to do is seduce her. She’ll be only too eager for marriage then.”

  Or Diego could break the brandy glass over the man’s head and slit his throat with the shards. “She may not be that easy to seduce. The British have strict rules of conduct. And her maid is a fierce protector of her.” When she was not helping Lucy get herself ruined. Diego scowled.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Don Felipe patted his breast pocket. “I have a key.”

  Diego blinked, not following. “To what?”

  “To the kitchen door of the marqués’s house.”

  Horror seeped into Diego’s bones. “The marqués gave that to you?”

  “No, he’s much too old-fashioned to approve of seduction. I bribed a servant. Had a copy made. Easy as that.” He attempted to snap his fingers and nearly fell over. “Not my first choice but good enough. Imagine how the old man will react to finding me in her bed. Won’t have a choice then.” He winked at Diego. “Neither of them will.”

  For a moment, Diego could only stare at the man, his mind inventing several creative tortures for the lecherous duke. But he had to be smart about this. Lucy’s well-being depended on it.

  “Sounds like a plan that will work,” he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice. “Good luck with it. I must go now; my . . . er . . . wife is expecting me.”

  As he rose, he bumped the duke, then apologized profusely, making a great show of dusting off his coat. When Diego left the taberna, he had the key in his own hand.

  Try to seduce Lucy, would he? Try to take her by force?

  Diego would see the man dead first. Or better yet, he would marry Lucy out from under the duke’s nose.

  He stopped short in the street. Yes—that was the answer. She would have to accept Diego’s proposal now. How else could he protect her from the machinations of her grandfather and the duke?

  Of course, when she heard of how reckless he had been to trust Don Carlos, she would be furious. It would not exactly persuade her to trust him further.

  Fine. First, he would get her out of the marqués’s house and back on Rafael’s ship. Then, once he had persuaded her to marry him, he would tell her about her grandfather.

  And make an enemy of Don Carlos in the process.

  He considered that a moment. If Don Carlos chose to oppose him, he might never be able to gain a market for his wine, even if he could revive the vineyards. He might lose any hope of ever restoring Arboleda.

  But it did not matter. He had wronged Lucy. He had ruined her, and now she was in trouble. There was only one way to make that right. And this time, he would brook no refusal.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Dear Cousin,

  Move the school? It has taken me years to adapt this building to my purposes. How could you even think it? Or perhaps you have another reason for your appalling suggestion. Perhaps you are reconsidering our paltry rent. You
could gain much higher rents these days. Perhaps you grow tired of carrying your “cousin.”

  Yours sincerely,

  An outraged Charlotte

  “You’re awful quiet tonight,” Nettie said as she brushed out Lucy’s hair.

  To Lucy’s surprise, Nettie had stepped into the role of lady’s maid with aplomb. Grandfather hadn’t even guessed she’d ever been anything else. For Lucy, she was also a rock to cling to, and Lord knew she needed one these days.

  “You miss Don Diego sumpthin’ fierce, don’t you?” Nettie asked, correctly assessing her mood as usual.

  “Of course I miss him.” Sometimes she felt as if her heart had been excised from her chest, leaving only the hollow shell of her ribs.

  “If you really missed him, you would fight for him,” Nettie said.

  “How? He has duties, obligations. I can’t ask him to put them aside for me.”

  “You never gave him the choice.”

  “Because I knew he would do it only to satisfy his honor.”

  Nettie snorted. “A man don’t hang around pining for a woman just for honor.”

  “Diego would. You don’t know him.”

  “Neither do you, if you think those looks he gives you mean nothing.”

  Lucy set her lips in a line. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Nettie brushed harder. “So you’re going to marry that ass of a duke?”

  “No! I don’t even like him.”

  “Well, thank God for that. You been going ’round with him so much I thought you were considering it.”

  “I told you, Grandfather said that if I spent a week with the duke and still didn’t like him, I needn’t marry him. Indulging his request is the least I could do, considering how much my poor abuelo suffered all those years, not knowing where I was.” And given how her grandfather had acted about her and Diego, she dared not tell him she was unchaste. He would assume it was Diego, no matter what she said.

  “I notice you been dropping that Spanish into your speech more and more,” Nettie said. “And you and the marqués have got right chummy.”