Don't Bargain with the Devil (21 page)

send
you?
Why not just come himself?”

 

“He is ill, and his doctors said he could not manage the voyage. I agreed to look for you in his place.”

 

And for that, Diego had manufactured this entire scheme of the pleasure garden? For that, he had engineered everything that had happened in the past week?

 

Pain knotted in her throat. “So you’ve been lying to me all this time.”

 

His expression turned fierce. “I had to be sure you were the person I sought. I did not want to upset your life unless I was sure.”

 

“That’s why you’ve been coaxing me into talking about things?” With a groan, she remembered his questions about La Coruńa, about her parents’ deaths.

 

She shook her head, unable to take it all in. “But the papers said you’re here to buy Rockhurst. Mr. Pritchard still
believes
you’re here to buy Rockhurst!”

 

“It was a ruse,
carińo.
That’s all.”

 

“You looked at other sites up north! Mrs. Harris said—”

 

“Gaspar and I have traveled throughout England, tracking down daughters of officers serving in Gibraltar who were the right age to be Dońa Catalina’s. I needed a reason for being in the country, and a pleasure garden seemed as plausible as any. I dared not raise the authorities’ suspicions.”

 

A sudden chill swept over her as everything he’d said sank in. “How did you know my mother’s name was Catalina? I never told you that.”

 

“For the same reason I know that you are the one we seek.”

 

Family. She had family other than Papa. Could that really be?

 

“Why is the
marqués
looking for me after so many years? What does he want with me? Why didn’t my parents ever tell Papa I had family? I don’t understand.”

 

“I know. And I cannot answer your questions now.” His voice dropped low. “I must speak to you more privately. There are other things you need to hear. I have documents to show you. And information about Colonel Seton.”

 

Fear gripped her. “What do you mean? What has this to do with Papa?”

 

“I cannot speak of it here; these walls have ears. And I do not trust your guardians.”

 

“That’s absurd.”

 

“Is it? They arranged this meeting. They deemed saving their school more important than keeping you from me—a man you did not trust.”

 

“No!
I
did that!”

 

“You should never have been given the choice. In Spain, you would have been kept from me, not sacrificed for the good of Mrs. Harris’s school.”

 

“This is not Spain. Besides, aren’t you glad of that? You wouldn’t even be talking to me now if we English were as strict as you Spanish.”

 

“You are
not
English,” he said with surprising virulence. “You are Spanish.”

 

She tipped up her chin. “Half Spanish.” When he didn’t answer, she narrowed her eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

 

“A great deal. If you wish to hear it all, you must meet me tonight at Rockhurst. Alone. Without your untrustworthy guardians.”

 

A frown knit her brow. “Diego, you know very well I cannot go to an unmarried man’s house alone at night.”

 

“Would you prefer to come this afternoon, when every eye is upon you?”

 

“No, of course not, but—”

 

“Do not be concerned about your virtue. Had I wanted to take it,
mi dulzura,
I would have done so when I had the chance three days ago.”

 

A blush heated her cheeks. He had a point. She’d practically thrown herself at him in the duke’s library.

 

“You need only worry about preserving your reputation,” he went on, “which can be done if you slip away tonight after everyone is asleep. Pay me a visit at Rockhurst.
Gaspar will be there, too. We will be discreet, I assure you. But I must have more time and privacy for this discussion.”

 

“How can you even be sure I’m the person you’re looking for? Catalina is a common Spanish name. All you have is a few bits of information.”

 

“And your birthmark. It is the confirmation of who you are.” He drew out a piece of parchment inscribed with the signature of Don Carlos, Marqués de Parama, along with an elaborate wax seal that bore the imprint of an ornately decorated P. On the parchment was drawn a butterfly figure exactly like the one on her thigh.

 

The
marqués
knew of her birthmark? Her hands began to shake. That, more than anything, lent truth to Diego’s tale. Only Papa knew of it…and her parents, of course.

 

It also explained why Diego had reacted so strongly when he’d seen it.

 

A fresh torrent of betrayal swept through her. Good Lord.
That
was why he had spent the past week kissing her and caressing her and—

 

“Why, you despicable, vile…unfeeling…” She burst into tears.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

 

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

And another thing. Sometimes we must weigh the good of the many against the good of the few. But do not worry—if I hear anything to imply Miss Seton is in danger from Seńor Montalvo, I will send him packing. Richmond’s businessmen will not be so eager to see his pleasure garden established in their environs at the risk of his preying upon their innocent daughters.

 

Your protective relation,

 

Michael

 

 

D
iego watched in horror as Lucy began to sob. What the devil? “
Carińo,
please,” he said, reaching for her.

 

She swatted his hand. “Don’t you dare! And don’t you ever call me
carińo
again either! Everything you said to me was a lie!”

 

“Not everything,” he said hoarsely. “I avoided lying as much as I could. But I could not tell you the truth until I was sure.”

 

“So you kissed me…and c-caressed me until you…could g-get a chance t-to see my…b-birthmark.”

 

“No!”
Dios mio,
he should have realized she would think he had dallied with her only as part of his mission.

 

Backing away from him, she cast him an accusing gaze. “How
could
you? All you had to do was ask to see it. Instead, you let me think you desired me.”

 

“
Dios Santo,
Lucy, I
do
desire you. How could you believe otherwise?” With panic rising in his chest, he stalked her. “It was desire that made me do what I did, not any need to see your birthmark. You have to believe me!”

 

“How much of a fool do you think I am?” she whimpered, her pretty eyes clouded by tears.

 

“What happened between us in Foxmoor’s library had nothing to do with this, I swear,” he murmured, conscious of Mrs. Harris outside the door. “Surely you recall that I wanted to stop it. I was the one who said it was unwise.”

 

“But you didn’t stop, did you? Not until you had your cursed confirmation.”

 

She whirled toward the door, but he snagged her about the waist from behind, yanking her up close to him. At once, she began to fight him.

 

“Yes, I got my confirmation,” he bit out as he struggled to subdue her. “And in the process, I broke my promise to the
marqués.
”

 

His words must have penetrated, for she went still. “What promise?”

 

“That I would not touch you.” Burying his face in her hair, he breathed in the heady scent, knowing it was forbidden to him and not caring. “That I would find you and do as I was asked and no more.”

 

She said nothing, but at least she had stopped fighting him.

 

“Every time I kissed you,” he went on hoarsely, “I broke
that promise. Every time I caressed you, I broke it again. It was foolish. It was wrong. I
know
that. And you have no idea how much I regret it.”

 

Realizing that if he held her any longer, he would break down and do more things to regret later, he forced himself to release her.

 

As he stepped back, she whirled to face him, her eyes uncertain. “You didn’t give me pleasure just to get your confirmation?”

 

“No.” He had not wanted the confirmation. In his mad hunger for her, he had even hoped she would not prove to be Dońa Lucinda after all.

 

But she was. And he could not tell her how it tore him in two. Not if both of them wanted to gain their birthrights.

 

“No,” he repeated more firmly. “Giving you pleasure was never part of the plan. The
marqués
would skin me alive if he knew how I touched you.”

 

“Then why did you do it?”

 

Because you have bewitched me. Because when you are near, I want only to have you.

 

This cursed desire was a temporary madness. It would surely fade once he brought her to Spain and could return to his old life. It had to.

 

They could never be together, for the same reasons as before—his lack of money, his aims for Arboleda, his vow to Father, her future. Even if she felt something deeper than physical attraction, nothing could come of it. It was time to end this insanity between them, so he must play the villain with her. Again.

 

“I know I am not the first man to desire you, Lucy.” He forced coldness into his voice. “It should not come as a
surprise to you that I am no more immune to your charms than other men.”

 

Hurt swamped her lovely face. “You were dallying with me. For your own enjoyment.”

 

For his own torture, more like. “And yours. If you will recall, you
asked
me to dally with you that day in the library.”

 

“Oh, yes,” she said in a hollow voice. “I recall it very well. And I am paying now for letting my impetuous nature rule my actions.”

 

He wanted to shake her, to tell her that her impetuous nature was what fascinated him. That he envied her for it. He had long ago lost the ability to be impetuous—except when it came to her.

 

“I behaved unwisely at the breakfast,” he said, “but you must not let my actions affect your decision about whether to meet with me tonight. I can restrain my urges, as you well know, as long as you are not tempting me to do otherwise.”

 

A knock came at the door. “Lucy, are you all right?”

 

Diego held his breath.

 

After a second, Lucy said, “I’m fine, Mrs. Harris. Perfectly well.”

 

“Inform Seńor Montalvo that he has five minutes left.”

 

With a stubborn tilt to her chin, she turned to him. “Tell me the whole story now, and I will speak with you longer.”

 

He shook his head. “Not here.” Bowing to her, he added, “Keep the miniature—it should belong to you regardless. But I hope to see you this evening. If not, Gaspar and I will be gone tomorrow. And that will be the end of this.”

 

“Gone!”

 

“I can no longer afford to tarry in England. I have to make a living, you know.” He had to coax her out tonight.
This had already taken longer than Don Carlos had predicted. “I would appreciate it if you kept this between us until we can talk, but of course, you have to do what you must.”

 

It took all his will to head for the door, to pretend he did not care.

 

“Diego,” she called.

 

He kept going.

 

“Diego!” she cried. “Wait!”

 

He paused at the door to bow to her, then opened it and strode out. Mrs. Harris watched with unveiled curiosity as he walked off. He heard Lucy rush into the hall behind him.

 

He was taking an enormous risk. She could tell Mrs. Harris the truth about their encounter and bring a world of trouble down on his head.

 

But he did not think she would. Not the adventurous Lucy. Not the woman who hungered for information about her parents. He was counting on that hunger to coax her into going where he wanted.

 

And once he had her to himself tonight, he would do everything in his power to get her to accompany them home.

 

What if she does not agree to go?
Gaspar had asked him earlier.

 

Then he would simply change tactics. Because one way or the other, Lucy
was
going to Spain with them. For her own good
and
his.

 

 

Long after midnight, Lucy picked her way through the cherry orchard, guided by the candlelit windows of Rockhurst. Behind her, the school was dark. Everyone had re
tired, but her regular life dragged her back like a river current. It might have had its disappointments, and she might not always have felt part of the society she moved within, but it was still all she knew.

 

What lay ahead was unknown, and she had the sneaking suspicion that once she stepped inside the dilapidated old manor, her life would change forever.

 

She paused in the middle of the grove. It was mad to be here. She ought to run back, forget about her supposed grandfather, let Diego leave. Then she could close the intriguing chapter of her life that he’d opened.

 

But she couldn’t. She touched her hand to the miniature that lay inside her pocket. Ever since he’d shown it to her, she’d been unable to think of anything but the tantalizing idea of knowing who her family was at last.

 

She’d nearly confided in Mrs. Harris, but something had held her back. For one thing, the schoolmistress would probably prevent her from speaking to Diego again. Mrs. Harris would summon Papa, and they would close ranks around her.

 

And Lucy would forever lose the chance to learn the truth about her parents. She couldn’t bring herself to do that.

 

She had another concern. Diego seemed to think he knew something sinister about Papa. Though she was sure Papa was honorable, Diego had no cause to think so. He might act on his suspicions, and with the power of a Spanish
marqués
behind him, he might make trouble for Papa. She couldn’t risk it.

 

As she continued through the orchard, she prayed she wasn’t making a mistake, especially given how her heart still ached at the loss of Diego. He had made it perfectly