Her hand tensed in his, but he didn’t let go. “I told myself it was the least I could do after I had wronged you by believing your grandfather’s lies. I told myself you might not agree to marry me if you knew how I had wronged you.” He held her sweet hand against his cheek. “But the truth is, by then I would have sold my soul to make you mine. I finally realized I could not bear a life without you.”
He lifted his gaze to her. “I will do whatever I must to have you in my life, querida. I will continue touring, sell Arboleda, restore it, move to England and work for Philip Astley, whatever you wish. Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”
Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I only want one thing,” she whispered, and dropped to her knees in front of him. “I want you. None of the rest of it matters.”
With a glad cry, he caught her to him, kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her hair. Laughing, she kissed him back so sweetly that he thought he might die of joy. For a moment, they were the only people in the courtyard, the only people in the world, kissing and murmuring endearments and rejoicing in each other.
That ended when something hard was thrust into his back. Startled, he turned to see her grandfather stabbing at him with his cane. Don Carlos was glowering, with the colonel standing right beside him doing the same.
Brought painfully back to the present, he and Lucy scrambled to their feet to face the two men. Diego put his arm instinctively about her waist.
“I can destroy you for this, you know, Don Diego,” her grandfather growled. “And if you think you’ll see a penny of her inheritance—”
“I don’t care about her inheritance,” Diego shot back. “She’s all I want.”
It was true. Somewhere in the midst of this tempestuous night, he had lost the driving need to restore his family’s estate. If he and Lucy could manage it, then he would do it, but he now realized that Gaspar had been right. Fulfilling his impossible vow to his father would never wipe out what the English had done. It would never assuage his pain. Only Lucy could do that.
“What if I threaten to have you arrested for kidnapping?” the colonel asked.
Diego blinked at him.
“Oh, yes,” Colonel Seton went on, his eyes unreadable. “I know my daughter didn’t come here by choice. Your man Gaspar told me the truth. You drugged her to carry her off. I could have you hanged for that.”
“You’ll look a fool if you try it, Papa.” Lucy clutched Diego tightly. “Because I’ll be standing right next to him, swearing I came of my own free will.” She frowned at her grandfather. “And I should think by now, Abuelo, you’ve learned your lesson about interfering in affairs of the heart.”
Lucy glanced over at Lady Kerr. “You were right. I didn’t like everything I heard.” She gazed up at Diego with a soft smile. “Except for what you said, mi amor.” She kissed him, and he responded instantly, even though he suspected she did it only to provoke her idiot father and grandfather.
After prolonging the kiss long enough to have the other two grumbling under their breaths, she broke it, winked at Diego, then frowned as she faced her father and grandfather once more.
“Fortunately, I heard enough to tell me that while you’re a pair of bull-headed fools, you do seem to care about me. And I can probably learn to forgive what I heard that I didn’t like. As long as you meet my conditions.”
The two men exchanged wary glances.
“Grandfather,” she went on, “Diego is my choice for a husband. If you truly want to have me in your life, then you’ll have to honor my choice. There will be no negotiation on that point. Do you agree to my condition?”
Her grandfather gazed at her, hope rising in his face. “You would stay in Spain then? Be a comfort to your old abuelo?”
She glanced up at Diego.
“I told you, cariño, whatever you wish,” he said.
With a brilliant smile, she returned her gaze to Don Carlos. “I can’t answer that yet. My husband is so talented, he could do absolutely anything he pleases, so we’ll have to decide what’s best for us both.” Pride shone in her face. “But I’m sure we can visit here from time to time. I will be at your side when I can.”
“Then I am content,” the old man said, wiping away tears.
“As for you, Papa,” Lucy said, “if you want me to forgive you for keeping the truth from me so long, you’ll have to accept Diego as my husband. And agree at least to be civil to Grandfather. Can you do that?”
Colonel Seton scowled, his gaze shifting to Diego, then to Don Carlos.
“Hugh?” Lady Kerr demanded.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” His gaze fell on Lucy, and a softness entered his eyes. “Oh, very well. As long as the bloody scoundrel doesn’t keep you over here in Spain all the time.”
“Very good.” Lady Kerr beamed at her husband, then at Lucy and Diego. She headed over to kiss both their cheeks. “I’m so happy for you.”
Casting Lady Kerr a smile, Lucy squeezed Diego’s waist. “I’ve caught myself quite a fine husband, haven’t I, Mother?”
For a moment, Lady Kerr looked stunned. Then tears welled in her eyes, and a glorious smile curved her lips. “Yes, sweetheart, you certainly have.” She dropped her gaze to Diego’s bare chest, and her eyebrows shot high. “Though I do think it long past time that he don more appropriate attire. It simply is not dignified for a count to go about in his drawers.”
Lucy burst into laughter. As Diego frowned at her, she teased, “Given your gift for sleight of hand, I would have thought you’d have palmed the key to my bedchamber on the way out the door.”
With an arch smile, he held out his hand. “I did.”
She looked at the key, then at Nettie. “You said you locked the door!”
Nettie winced. “Weren’t no key in the lock when I went to do it, miss. And I didn’t think you’d be too happy to hear that at the time.”
Lucy turned back to Diego with widening eyes. “You mean you could have gone in anytime and just carried me out if you’d wanted?”
“If I had wanted. But I figured you’d had enough of being carried off against your will. I decided to let something other than my head dictate my behavior for a change.”
“Oh?” she said, taking his hands in hers. “And what was that?”
“My heart.”
And as she beamed up at him, he realized what he should have known from the first. A man could never go astray if he followed his heart.
Epilogue
Dear Charlotte,
Then perhaps it is time I remove myself from your life. I have only ever asked one thing of you—that you accept my condition of anonymity. If you cannot grant me that, I fear there is no hope for us continuing our correspondence.
Yours sincerely,
Michael
L ater that year, Lucy watched from across the drawing room of the Seton town house in London as her husband made a card disappear from Lord Stoneville’s hand. She smiled. Diego would be doing a charity performance for the Newgate Children’s Fund at the Athenaeum Theater in two hours, yet here he was entertaining guests at the reception her parents had thrown for them. He never could stay still.
He fanned out the cards, caught her watching him, and winked. There came that quiver in her belly again. Five months married, yet he could still turn her into mush with just a wink.
“Do you know how he does it?” murmured a familiar voice beside her.
“Mrs. Harris!” she cried as she turned to greet her old friend and schoolmistress. “I thought you didn’t expect to make it for the reception.”
“And miss seeing you?” She kissed Lucy’s cheek. “Never, my dear.”
“How have you been?” Lucy asked.
Mrs. Harris flashed her a wan smile. “As well as can be expected.”
She didn’t look particularly well; her features were pale, her eyes sad. She’d been enduring the scandal of Lady Kirkwood’s suicide ever since Lucy’s abduction, as even more information came out about Silly Sarah’s indi
scretions.
Her death had gone hard for the school. Mrs. Harris’s lesser competitors had dredged up older scandals of past elopements, along with Lucy’s. People were saying Mrs. Harris could no longer be trusted to control her girls. Never mind that the elopements had resulted in happy marriages; society cared nothing about that.
And there were other problems. “Is it true that Mr. Pritchard has found a buyer for Rockhurst?” Lucy asked.
Mrs. Harris sighed. “I know as little about it as you do, I’m afraid. Right now, it’s all rumors.”
“What does Cousin Michael say?”
A frown touched the pretty widow’s brow. “Nothing. We quarreled and are no longer corresponding.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Not over me and Diego, I hope. I know you blame Cousin Michael for pressing you into letting me meet with Diego that day.”
“That had nothing to do with it, dear. We fought over something else.” She changed the subject. “But your husband’s lovely performances on behalf of our charities are sure to counteract any bad press. It’s very good of him.”
“He’s happy to do it. He enjoys what he does.”
Astonishingly, that had become true. He’d begun to recognize how amazing it was to be able to entertain people so effortlessly. Though this would be his one and only tour of England, he’d clearly been having fun.
“So, do you know how his tricks work?” Mrs. Harris asked again.
“Are you mad?” Diego answered from behind her. He strolled up to gaze at Lucy with eyes gleaming. “Have you not noticed that my wife’s tongue often runs away with her? The whole world would know how I do my tricks if I told her.”
“That is not true!” Lucy protested, though it was.
“Fortunately,” he went on, “I shall soon be curtailing my performing quite a bit. Then my tricks will not have to be such a state secret.”
“You are planning to run Arboleda full-time?” Mrs. Harris asked.
Lucy laughed.
“It’s not funny, cariño.” But the corners of Diego’s mouth were twitching.
“Oh, I believe it’s quite amusing.” Lucy leaned toward Mrs. Harris. “It took my husband only one long month in the remote mountains of León to realize that running a vineyard, far from any society, wasn’t for him. You should have seen his expression when he learned that his favorite brandy could not be had within a day’s ride, for love or money.”
Diego sighed. “Nor my favorite newspaper, coffee, cigarillos . . .”
With a grin, Lucy tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Who could have guessed he was so particular about his creature comforts? And so grumpy without them, too.”
“That is not why I sold the place,” Diego protested. “I did not want you to give birth out there, with only an old midwife of dubious credentials to attend you.”
“I know, darling, I know.” She cast Mrs. Harris a sober glance. “I’m afraid Villafranca isn’t fully recovered from the damage the British and French inflicted fifteen years ago. Raising a child there would be difficult, to say the least.”
“You’re expecting a child?” Mrs. Harris asked.
Lucy glanced at Diego, who beamed at her with adoring pride. “Yes. Sometime next spring.”
“Congratulations, my dear!” Mrs. Harris said warmly. Then she looked perplexed. “But if I may be so bold as to ask, with your husband performing less and Arboleda sold, how do you intend to live?”
As Diego burst into laughter, Lucy explained. “Diego has bought a pleasure garden in Cádiz with the money he got from the sale of Arboleda.”
“A pleasure garden!” Mrs. Harris exclaimed. “You’re bamming me!”
“It’s a joint venture with my grandfather, of all people,” Lucy said. “It keeps us close to him while he’s ailing, and we anticipate its being quite a success.”
“And if it’s not, we’ll come back here and move in with you at the school,” Diego quipped. “Have you any positions for teachers of the conjuring arts?”
“I somehow think that’s not a skill for young ladies,” Mrs. Harris said dryly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucy said. “It might be useful to know how to make an unwanted suitor disappear.”
“Unfortunately,” Diego put in, “at this moment I must disappear. Gaspar awaits me at the theater, mi dulzura.”
Gaspar was married to his cook now, and he and Diego had repaired the rift in their friendship. Thank God. The more Lucy knew the man, the more she realized how he’d become a father to Diego over the years.
“You can come with me if you like,” Diego told Lucy, “unless you’d rather stay here.”
“And miss my chance to see how you do your tricks? Not on your life!”
They said their good-byes to her parents, who were planning to attend the performance later. Though Papa had reluctantly resigned himself to having a conjurer for a son-in-law, he’d been noticeably more friendly since he’d learned he was to be a grandfather.
As soon as they were in the carriage and off, Diego drew her into his arms and kissed her until her toes tingled. When at last he pulled back, his eyes were smoldering. “I am so glad you decided not to stay.”
“Oh?” she teased. “I thought you didn’t like me hanging about when you’re preparing for a performance.”
“That depends on the theater.” He closed the curtains. “And on the performance.” Drawing down the shoulder of her gown, he pressed a kiss to the upper swell of her breast. “And most definitely, it depends on the audience.”
She knew her husband’s appetites only too well. She reached for the buttons of his trousers. “So it’s to be that kind of performance, is it?”
“If madam approves.” He moaned as she swept her hand along his already stiffening “tallywhacker.”
“Madam most definitely approves. As long as you don’t rip anything. Nettie gave me quite a lecture the last time we had a . . . performance in the carriage.”
“Nettie has turned into a prude since she became lady’s maid to a condesa.” He drew up her skirts with a devilish smile.
“And I have turned into a hot-blooded hoyden.” Her blood was already hot, and her heart racing with anticipation.
“No, mi amor. You are every inch a condesa.” He grinned. “Except in the bedchamber.”
“And the carriage,” she added.
Then she showed him exactly how much of a hot-blooded hoyden she could be.
Author’s Note
Thanks to Bernard Cornwell’s Richard Sharpe series, I have a fascination for the Peninsular Wars, with all their drama and pain. Everything that happened at Villafranca is true, except for the rape, which I took from similar incidents with the British army at Badajoz. The French were even more brutal, and the Spanish retaliated with equal brutality, so no one came out of that war entirely pristine, which makes for plenty of fodder for personal tragedy and triumph.
To create Diego’s conjuring persona, I used Giuseppe Pinetti, a very popular eighteenth-century Italian magician. He extinguished and ignited candles with a pistol shot, he made eggs dance down a cane and cards dance in a closed glass container, and he removed a man’s shirt without removing his coat. But more than his tricks, Pinetti was known for his panache onstage. So I put him in my magic hat, added a touch of David Copperfield, a dollop of Philip Astley (who invented the bullet catch), and the looks of actor Rodrigo Santoro, covered the whole thing with a handkerchief . . . and abracadabra! A guy Lucy could fall madly in love with jumped out.
Want even more sizzling romance from New York Times bestselling author Sabrina Jeffries? Don’t miss
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the next installment in her sizzling and sexy Sinful Suitors series.
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Monique fought panic as Lord Fulkham expertly maneuvered them through the crowded rooms of St. James’s Palace toward the garden. Curse the count for throwing her to the wolves. And after he’d said he and Lady Ursula would always be
at her side, too!
She should have known not to trust him. Ever since they’d left Calais she’d had the sense that he was hiding something. Still, she hadn’t expected him to sabotage her masquerade after he’d gone to such trouble to set it up. Could he not see that Lord Fulkham was baiting him? Baiting her?
Probably not. To be fair, he didn’t know of her former association with Lord Fulkham. He must never find out, either. Because she had to secure help for Grand-maman in her final days, and this pretense seemed the only way to do so.
But why oh why did Lord Fulkham have to be the man at the center of these proceedings? And why must he seem to have recognized her? All his veiled remarks and his intense scrutiny—he remembered her. She was sure of it.
And why hadn’t the count warned her that there was a portrait of Aurore in the Lady’s Monthly Museum? She must finagle a chance to see it. She dearly hoped it was indeed of poor quality and not a likeness that highlighted the few ways in which she and Aurore did not resemble each other.
When they reached the garden, her heart sank to see it so deserted. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one to think dinner might soon be served. Even the band they’d heard playing out here earlier had packed up and moved inside, closer to the banqueting room.
You can handle this, she told herself. You’re an acclaimed actress, for God’s sake. This is what you do—play roles. Why, you’ve even played a princess before. So get to it, and show this pompous gentleman what you’re made of.
With that in mind, she went on the offensive. “Please forgive me if this is rude, Lord Fulkham, but I’m confused by what my uncle said concerning your part in these negotiations. I was unaware that undersecretaries were of such profound importance in English political matters. I thought they were little better than clerks.”
If she’d thought to insult him, his laugh showed that she’d failed. “Some of them are. It just so happens that England has two kinds. I’m the political kind. Especially these days, with the foreign secretary laid up in bed.” He cast her a searching glance. “You have a better knowledge of English affairs than I would have expected.”
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