Bound to Be a Groom (15 page)

“You were never going to be a lady’s maid,” Anna said. Pia startled at the sound of her voice. “Tell her, Sebastian,” Anna ordered with a sly smile, stretching her arms until she touched the gray fabric of the carriage roof then letting her hands rest in her lap. “Go on. It is such a delightful plan.”

Pia smiled at Anna, then turned her full attention to Sebastian. He was quite enjoyable to gaze upon, after all. Having spent her whole life in the company of women, many of whom had been manipulated by male members of their families, Pia had expected all men to be harsh and brutal, like the traveling priests who said mass at the convent on occasion. Brutal or, at best, dismissive.

While there was something vicious about the turn of Sebastian’s jaw when he clenched it, a deeper compassion and love flowed from him in a seemingly endless supply. He had a generous soul.

“Yes,” Pia whispered. “Tell me.”

His eyes lit as he began. “We shall enter London society as the aristocratic houseguests of the Most Noble Farleigh Edward, Duke of Mandeville.”

“Oh my. He sounds dreadfully fancy. Is he a friend of your father’s?”

“No”—Sebastian beamed—“he is only a few years older than I am. Thirty-two, I believe. We met the year before last, when he was part of a British delegation in Madrid. He took an interest in the . . . efforts upon which Javi and I had embarked.”

Pia looked from Sebastian to Anna and back again. “Well, am I to be included in these exciting affairs of state?”

Anna laughed and reached for Sebastian’s hand across the area of the carriage that separated them. “I told you she would be thrilled. Won’t she be the most delightful spy?”

Sebastian smiled but shook his head as he released Anna’s hand. “I told you, darling. There’s to be no spying.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Intrigue! Excitement! Allow us a bit of enthusiasm, Seb. Think of where we’ve been for the past few decades. Compared to the convent, walking through Hyde Park will feel downright sinful. Don’t you think, Pia?”

“Oh, I do. I am so—” All of a sudden she began weeping again.

Anna knelt in front of her instantly. Sebastian leaned over and put an arm around her shoulders.

“What is it, my sweet?” Anna pleaded, reaching her palm to Pia’s cheek to console her. “What has saddened you?”

She lifted her eyes to look at Anna. “I am not sad. I believe I am overset with joy.” She started laughing through her tears, and Anna reached up and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I know,” Anna soothed. “I cried myself to sleep for many nights while we remained in Badajoz. I couldn’t quite reconcile myself to the truth of our freedom.” She looked at Sebastian, then back at Pia. “But we are free, darling. We truly are.”

Pia inhaled deeply. “There. I feel better again.” She patted her tears away with a small handkerchief. “I suppose I must prepare myself for these crushing tides of happiness. Who would have ever suspected I would need to become accustomed to such a thing as joy?”

Sebastian brought his lips to Pia’s cheek for a brief kiss. “I believe you shall become very accustomed to it, my dear.”

Anna sat back in her seat and smoothed the silk of her skirt as the carriage rumbled along the dark night road. “So, tell her the rest, Sebastian. I love hearing you talk about all these important personages.”

“Yes, do tell me,” Pia added, reaching tentatively for Sebastian’s hand again.

He smiled and squeezed her hand in his. “Very well then,” Sebastian continued. “Once we are settled in London, we will make the acquaintance of one Lieutenant General Arthur Wellesley—”

“A fast-rising member of the British military,” Anna hastened to add.

“Yes, he is that,” Sebastian agreed. “And then we merely need to deliver a message from Javier to Wellesley. Quite simple really.”

“Oh, you’re far too modest, Seb,” Anna scolded. “It’s very important, Pia, in order to root out that interfering Frenchman who thinks he can ride roughshod over all of Europe.”

“Well, I suppose that is true.” Sebastian looked thoughtful as he gazed out at the passing terrain. Pia liked the way his thumb slid across her knuckles as he collected his thoughts. “Spain is ours, after all. If we are able to convince Wellesley to redirect his troops to the peninsula, he may very well be able to help those of us who are, shall we say, unhappy about Napoleon’s recent arrival.”

“Do tell the rest!” Anna looked as though she could barely contain her enthusiasm for her new political purpose.

Sebastian turned to Pia and spoke openly and directly. In a way she’d never dared hope any man would speak to her: honestly. “If we can convince Wellesley to postpone his military adventures in South America and return to Portugal instead, we are certain he can cut Napoleon off before his influence is too widespread. Ever since Bonaparte’s arrival in Spain, Javi and the rest of us—the younger generation as it were—have been eager to find a way to ally ourselves with the British. With the vacillating allegiances of everyone from the Portuguese to the Italians, the Russians, and the Danes, it is imperative that we secure the loyalty of the English at the earliest possible moment.”

Pia nodded her understanding. “I agree with my whole heart. Please let me know how I can help.”

Sebastian reached for her cheek. “Anna knew you would want to.”

Again, Pia sensed in Sebastian a deep connection, like a comrade-in-arms, but the way he touched her so tenderly, the way he spoke to her with respect and kindness, also made her uneasy.

“What is it?” he asked, clearly sensing her hesitation.

“I simply never thought I would meet a man who treated me as his equal. It’s so . . . unanticipated.”

Anna clapped her hands together in delight. “Precisely! I didn’t believe him for a minute, poor thing. He had to explain himself again and again when he proposed. I was that convinced he meant to bully and intimidate me.”

Sebastian blushed, and in that moment, Pia thought he was the most loving man on earth.

The three of them spent the final hours of their journey going over the specifics of Pia’s new identity, that of an eligible, well-dowered young Spanish woman entering London society under the auspices of Farleigh’s powerful mother, the widowed Duchess of Mandeville. Throughout their animated discussions, Pia saw how Anna watched Sebastian. She seemed to love him without realizing it. Anna smiled when she looked at how Sebastian held Pia’s hand or spoke in that soothing way of his.

Through some miracle, after the long carriage ride and the nights on the road, followed by the rough sea voyage from Bilbao to London, there didn’t seem to be a hint of jealousy between the three of them but rather an abiding trust, a growing interdependence. They all warmed to the new and exciting adventures that awaited them, especially Pia and Anna, after having been cloistered for so long.

When the small boat arrived in London, Pia nearly kissed the slimy wooden planks of the dock. “Never again!” she cried.

Anna and Sebastian had nursed her throughout her violent seasickness over the course of the entire journey.

“How will we ever get to Cartagena, my love?” Anna asked, trying to make light of her ill humor. They had spent many hours onboard the ship talking about where they would go after England, what parts of the world they would explore.

“I shall never survive it. You two will have to go without me.”

“Unthinkable,” Sebastian soothed, as he helped guide her along the crowded wharf. “Either we all go or we don’t go at all.”

After he had helped Pia to more solid ground, he looked up at an ornate carriage emblazoned with what could only be the seal of the Duke of Mandeville. A liveried servant jumped down from his seat atop the gleaming carriage and pulled open the door. A tall blond gentleman stepped out.

Pia watched Sebastian’s face light up as the man approached, and then turned to see Anna’s face clouding. Before she had a chance to remark upon Anna’s reaction, Pia was swept up in the swell of Sebastian’s enthusiastic cry.

“Leigh!” Sebastian called. “You shouldn’t have come to the docks to meet us. We are dreadfully tired and probably look a fright.”

As the blond man neared, Pia could see more clearly that he was stunningly handsome. Her seasickness must be wearing off because she thought he might be the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He radiated a classical perfection. A perfectly straight Roman nose, alert light-blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, and a lush mouth that looked quite sinful, almost feminine. But the wide turn of his jaw was utterly masculine and harsh, a perfect counterpoint to those sultry lips.

He and Sebastian were the same height and build—strong shoulders tapering to muscled hips—so when the duke pulled Sebastian into a rough hug, Pia had a moment of unexpected excitement. The idea of two men . . . like that . . . would be . . .

“Quit gawking,” Anna growled.

“Oh.” Pia looked modestly back to the ground, then decided she was not obliged to look away. Anna might control her when they were intimate, but Pia had no intention of submitting to her every whim. She pulled her hand from Anna’s forearm and crossed her arms defiantly in front of her chest.

Sebastian was laughing and talking in English with his old friend. They’d become acquainted during the duke’s visit to Spain as a British envoy two years ago, but by the look of their obvious pleasure at reuniting, Pia was beginning to suspect Sebastian and Farleigh had been far more than acquaintances. Or perhaps that was her lust-addled brain playing tricks on her. Still, something about the way their eyes glinted and widened when they spoke to one another put Pia in a heightened sense of awareness.

“How rude of me!” the duke said in perfect Spanish. He bowed and took Anna’s hand. “You must be Lady Anna de Montizon.” He kissed the back of her glove.

Anna stiffened and withdrew her hand. Pia smiled inwardly at the prospect that Anna might be experiencing her first pangs of marital jealousy. The duke knit his brows momentarily and then turned his attention to Pia.

His blue eyes sparkled. “And you are Patrizia Carvajal?”

“I am, Your Grace.” Pia gave him a small curtsey and dipped her chin.

“And do you also dislike when a duke kisses your hand?”

Anna’s nostrils flared, and she walked the few steps to stand by Sebastian.

“It depends . . .” Pia said with the slightest hint of a smile.

“On what does it depend, my lady?”

“On the duke, of course.” She held out her hand as she said it, offering it to him for a kiss. She caught a glimpse of Anna’s stormy expression, and it stirred something rebellious and sensual inside her.

A few moments later, after the luggage had been secured, the four of them stepped into the duke’s closed carriage. The sheer size of the city was overwhelming enough, but the onslaught of sounds, smells, and streaming, packed humanity had both women staring out the carriage windows with wide, unblinking eyes. From the crowded docks of the Thames Embankment, through the teeming streets near the river, into the loud thoroughfare of Oxford Street, they gaped. As they passed near Bloomsbury, the duke mentioned something called Montagu House, where he promised they would all go visit a treasure of recently acquired artifacts, including the Rosetta Stone and the Townley collection.

Pia squeezed Anna’s hand for a moment at the idea of so many grand discoveries, and her friend turned to smile in shared wonder.

“It is truly magnificent, is it not?” Anna asked.

“It is.” Pia smiled and was glad their wordless squabble at the dock was forgotten. Despite Anna’s intensity and subtlety when she was physically intimate, Pia had always known that her friend was rather a dolt in other ways. Anna was a wonderful listener, but she had to be focused on whomever it was she was listening to; she did not often see the subtle interactions of others unless they were rather glaringly put before her. In Anna’s complete absorption with the city’s splendor, for example, she had completely missed the byplay between her husband and the duke.

Farleigh and Sebastian were sitting on the rear-facing seat in order to afford the ladies a better view. Ostensibly.

Pia was now sure the two men simply wanted to sit next to one another so their strong legs and shoulders could jostle together as the carriage made its way through the huge city. The prospect—real or imagined—of those two men being lovers had sent Pia’s already-full mind into a veritable roil.

Perhaps she had simply become a voluptuary after so many days spent in close confines with Anna and Sebastian, the three of them barely able to keep their hands off one another even in the communal areas of the packet ship. The only time Pia hadn’t felt utterly nauseated was when one or both of them had held her in their arms or touched her with more intimate affection. As a result, maybe everyone with whom she became acquainted would forevermore be reduced to some sort of physical possibility in Pia’s sex-addled brain.

While Anna continued to stare out the window in silent wonder, Pia tried to steal surreptitious looks at those strong male thighs tightly constrained within finest buckskin. It was blindingly erotic, all that muscle barely disguised beneath a layer of taut leather. As she watched through dipped eyelids, Farleigh’s hand rested casually on Sebastian’s thigh, then squeezed the hard muscle. Pia’s eyes flew up, and both men smiled at her.