Don't Bargain with the Devil (25 page)

 

“You d-don’t understand,” she cried between sobs. “That…that devil k-kidnapped me!”

 

“Aye, I gathered that much. But you’ll make yourself sick if you keep going on this way.” Nettie drew her into her arms and rocked her, patting her back, murmuring soothing words, until Lucy’s crying subsided at last.

 

After Lucy had gained control of herself, Nettie pulled out a surprisingly clean handkerchief and dabbed at Lucy’s eyes and nose. “There now, all done, are we?”

 

Lucy gazed at her, desperation making her grab at anyone who might prove a friend. Despite the rouge and powder caking her face, Nettie had kindly features and a warm smile. Perhaps she might prove an ally.

 

Clasping the woman’s hand, she fixed her with a pleading gaze. “I have to get off this ship before we leave England.” She knew from experience that the journey down the Thames could take some time, and then the ship would skirt the coast of England for another few days. If she could just reach the banks of the river…“You have to help me get off the ship!”

 

Nettie’s face fell. “I’m sorry, duckie—”

 

“If it’s a matter of money, I promise my papa will pay you whatever you ask. He can give you three times what Diego is offering.”

 

“It ain’t a matter of money. We’re too far away. What will you do, swim?”

 

Lucy swallowed. She didn’t know how to swim. Nor
did she fancy leaping into the dark, swirling waters of the Thames.

 

Pushing herself up off the floor, she hurried to the porthole, her stomach sinking to see that Nettie was right. The river was far wider than she remembered. “If we could get a boat…or perhaps someone to row us—”

 

Nettie came over to stand beside her at the porthole. “It won’t work, miss. None of the sailors speaks English, ’cepting the captain, and he looks to be a good friend of Seńor Montalvo. What will you do, lower the boat yerself? Row it to the bank? In
that
current? It can’t be done, even if you had a mind to do it. And to be honest, I don’t fancy drowning in the river.”

 

Lucy gazed out at the bank that taunted her by being so far away. She might as well be in Spain already.

 

Pulling her from the porthole, Nettie led her to a chair and poured tea into another cup. “Besides, Seńor Montalvo is just bringing you home to your rich grandfather, right? That Gaspar fellow said you’re heiress to millions.”

 

“I don’t want the millions,” she said petulantly, cringing as she realized she sounded like a spoiled child.

 

“Only them that already has money ever says a fool thing like that.” Nettie added milk and sugar to the tea, then handed the cup to Lucy. “Drink some of this now. You’ll feel better if you do. I always say a cup o’ tea is all a body needs to feel right with the world.”

 

To her surprise, Lucy found that between the tea and her good cry and Nettie’s kindness, she did feel a little better. She was still furious with Diego, but the situation didn’t seem quite so hopeless.

 

Nettie smiled her approval and dropped into the other chair. “I say you should meet this rich grandfather of yours.
Let him spend his money on you. Them Spanish ain’t so bad, you know. We gets a few of ’em at the inn from time to time, and some of ’em are right handsome. That Cap’n Rafael, for example…now he’s a fine specimen of mankind, he is. And your Seńor Montalvo—”

 

“He’s not
my
Seńor Montalvo,” Lucy snapped. “I’ll throttle him before I let him near me again.”

 

That was what hurt most—that after Diego’s sweet words and attentions and the way he’d seemed to understand her better than almost anyone, he could do something as awful as this. She would never forgive him for it. Never!

 

“Throttling might seem a good idea right now, with your temper up and all,” Nettie said, “but there’s better ways to get what you want from a man. Give him a little of this…” She tossed her hair. “And a lot of
this
…” She thrust out her chest. “And you’d be surprised what concessions you can weasel out of him.”

 

Lucy didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or burst into tears again. “Nettie, I thought you said you were a respectable woman.”

 

“I am. Most of the time.” Seeing Lucy’s expression, she thrust out her chin. “I ain’t no whore or nothing. I’m just…practical. If a man wants to buy me sumpthin’, well, I might be inclined to be a bit nicer to him, if you know what I mean.”

 

“If you think I will cozy up to Diego—”

 

“No, no, you’re too respectable for that, as well you should be. But I saw how he looked at you. He ain’t happy about rousing your temper, and you can use that. If you really want him to turn the ship around, ask him nicely. Flirt a little. Won’t do you no harm.”

 

Lucy sighed. If Diego had gone so far as to drug her and have notes forged, he wasn’t going to change his mind because of a few smiles.

 

First, she had to find out why he was so bent on reuniting her with her grandfather. Then she’d know better what to do. If it was money he wanted, she might convince him that Papa would pay him more to take her back to England. If she returned soon enough, she might even escape ruination. Mrs. Harris would surely keep it quiet as long as she could.

 

Nettie walked over to open the canvas bag the sailor had carried in earlier. “They told me they brought clothes for you.” To Lucy’s shock, Nettie drew out one of her evening gowns and held it up with a sound of delight. “See here, duckie, this is right pretty, it is.”

 

“How in the dickens did they get my clothes?” Lucy went to look inside the bag. Day gown, shift, drawers, petticoats. No nightgown, but she could always sleep in her shift. There was even a pair of slippers. And down at the very bottom…

 

She dug deep and came up with her sketch pad. She sighed. It did her little good with no charcoals, inks, or pencils.

 

Nettie thrust the day gown at her. “You should put this one on.”

 

Lucy peered into the bag, but it was empty now. “I can’t. It’s missing the chemisette that goes inside it, and without that I’d be indecent.”

 

“Exactly,” Nettie said with a gleam in her eye. “A man’ll do much for a woman wearing a gown like this.”

 

Her eyes narrowing thoughtfully, Lucy took it. Diego
had
been quite susceptible to her in her low-cut eve
ning gown. And if she wanted to get information from him…

 

It might work on the captain, as well. If Nettie was right, outrage would do her no good, since the man was a friend of Diego’s. But if she could turn his head with flirtation, she might persuade him to turn the ship around.

 

It was worth a try. She had to do
something.
Because she wasn’t about to be led off to Spain like a calf to the slaughter simply because the almighty Diego Montalvo had decided it.

 

 

It was nearly noon by the time Charlotte Harris rushed into the Duke of Foxmoor’s house, praying he was home. She’d already sent Terence, her personal footman, to Charles Godwin’s house, only to have him discover that Charles was in Bath for the week. Then she’d gone to Cousin Michael’s solicitor, who had only promised to pass on the message, refusing even then to reveal her cousin’s identity. Without the help of Michael or other friends of the school, she didn’t know what she’d do about Lucy.

 

Charlotte cursed herself again for her own stupidity. How could she have let that blasted magician meet with the young woman alone yesterday? She would never forgive Cousin Michael for talking her into
that
foolishness. She was almost certain Seńor Montalvo had taken the opportunity to persuade Lucy to run away with him. That would explain Lucy’s quiet demeanor at dinner, her refusal to reveal what she’d discussed with the handsome conjurer.

 

Still, she would never have guessed that Lucy, of all people, would do such a thing. Elope with a virtual stranger? Had she lost her mind?

 

“Mrs. Harris!” exclaimed a voice as she was ushered into the drawing room. “How could Louisa’s note have reached you so soon?”

 

It was the duke himself, thank heaven. And rising beside him were the Marquess of Stoneville and Tessa’s Uncle Anthony, the Viscount Norcourt. Good—Anthony would help her, though she wasn’t sure about the rakish Stoneville. Why they were all here, though, she couldn’t fathom. And where was Louisa?

 

Then the duke’s words registered. “What note?”

 

The men exchanged glances as the duke’s expression grew grave. “There’s been an accident.”

 

“What kind of accident?”

 

“Not an accident,” Anthony snapped. “Though I still can’t believe that the bloody little fool killed herself.”

 

“Who?” Charlotte asked, now shocked.

 

“Lady Kirkwood took her own life last night,” Foxmoor explained. “Kirkwood and his housekeeper found her in the bath. She left a note mentioning her gambling debts.”

 

Charlotte stood thunderstruck, Lucy’s situation temporarily paling. Charlotte had always hoped Sarah might come to her senses one day. Now she would never get the chance.

 

“There will be a huge scandal,” Lord Stoneville said bitterly. “Selfish little twit. Kirkwood is destroyed. We’ve been discussing how to handle the gossip.”

 

Heaven help her. Charlotte hadn’t even thought of that. Society would eat her alive.
Two
of her graduates embroiled in scandal! Though it was no better than she deserved; she’d failed both women. Staggering a little, she had to be helped to a chair.

 

“Are you all right?” Anthony asked, a rock as always.

 

“We have a desperate situation at the school, too, I’m afraid. That’s why I came. I hadn’t heard about Sarah yet. But Lucy has eloped with Seńor Montalvo.”

 

Anthony frowned. “Lucy? Tessa’s friend Lucy?”

 

She nodded. “You saw how he was with her at the charity affair. He must have been…working on her even then.”

 

“Are you sure she eloped and didn’t just visit a friend?” Foxmoor asked.

 

“Of course I’m sure,” Charlotte retorted. “She left a note. Besides, that servant of Seńor Montalvo’s is still at Rockhurst. He had a note from his master, too. It appears that they left in the middle of the night.”

 

Anthony shook his head. “It doesn’t seem like something Lucy would do. She was in love with that idiot Hunforth for years, according to Tessa. Then she turns about and runs off with a Spaniard?”

 

“That’s
why
she ran off with the man,” Charlotte said. “She was very vulnerable. He took advantage.”

 

“We all agree on that,” Foxmoor said grimly.

 

“You know, Mrs. Harris,” Lord Stoneville said dryly, “you really need to start offering classes to your girls about how to avoid elopements. This makes what, three of your pupils now? There was that girl Amelia who ran off with the American soldier, and then Lady Venetia who ran off with a Scot—”

 

“Stoneville, you are not helping,” Anthony put in as Charlotte paled.

 

The man was right. This was happening with appalling regularity. Honestly, though, she could hardly have stopped the first two. Although few people knew it, Amelia had actually been kidnapped from her father’s town house
by that horrible Lord Pomeroy, forcing Major Lucas to rescue her by marrying her.

 

And Venetia was no longer a student at the school when she decided to elope. Besides, she and Sir Lachlan had known each other for years. It hadn’t been a shock to either family when they’d run off together. Or so Charlotte had been told, though she did wonder about the truth of that tale.

 

In Lucy’s case, however, Charlotte had clearly been lax. She had let the young woman be stolen right off the premises of the school.

 

“I assume they went north to Gretna Green—” Foxmoor began.

 

“Why?” Lord Stoneville drawled. “Just as easy for him to whisk her off to Spain. That
is
where the man is from, isn’t it?”

 

Charlotte’s heart sank. She hadn’t even considered that. She seized Anthony’s hand. “I need your help. I know you’re upset right now, what with Sarah’s suicide, but I have to do something about Lucy. There’s no time to waste.”

 

“We’ll help, too,” the duke put in. When the others eyed him in surprise, he added, “Kirkwood will be tied up for hours with the inquest. We can be no good to him until it’s done. Louisa is with his family. I don’t know about you, but I need to keep busy until we can help Kirkwood.”

 

“I would be most grateful,” Charlotte said.

 

“Here’s what we’ll do,” the duke said, taking charge of the situation. “Anthony, go back with Mrs. Harris to the school. See if Tessa can shed any light on this. Perhaps Lucy confided in her.”

 

“I already spoke to Tessa,” Charlotte put in.

 

“Yes, but she might be more willing to tell the truth to her uncle,” Foxmoor pointed out. “I’ll go to the docks to see if I can discover whether any ships bound for Spain lifted anchor last night.”

 

“Someone has to fetch Colonel Seton,” Charlotte said. “He’s still in Edinburgh.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Lord Stoneville said.

 

The other three gaped at him.

 

“What?” he said. “I’ve got the fastest rig of any of you.”

 

“Yes, but why would you—” Anthony began.

 

“For God’s sake,” Lord Stoneville said, “despite my title, I’m not made of stone. I’ll stop at Gretna Green, and if I don’t find them there, I’ll go on to Edinburgh.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Stoneville,” Charlotte said. “I am very grateful for your help, no matter what the reason.”

 

The marquess cast her a rakish smile. “Just how grateful might you be, Mrs. Harris?”

 

As she gaped at him, Anthony scowled. “Stop that, you blasted whoremonger. Can’t you see this is no time for flirtation?”

 

“I was just asking,” Lord Stoneville said with a shrug.

 

Charlotte tried not to show her consternation. She’d heard much about the marquess, one of society’s most outrageous rakehells, and did not want to find herself owing him any favor of
that
kind.

 

“Pay him no mind,” Foxmoor put in irritably. “He thinks every woman is fair game. But I assure you, madam, we will play your knights errant in this. After you helped three of us find our wives, Kirkwood included, we can do no less.”