Don't Bargain with the Devil (36 page)

 

The devil was enjoying this, wasn’t he?

 

His amusement got her dander up. Stabbing a tentacle, she lifted it to her mouth. “You forget, sir, I was raised a Scot. We eat haggis.”

 

She popped it into her mouth and chewed. Lord, it was vile. The flavor was decent, but the flesh was rubbery, and she could feel the suckers in her mouth. She reached for her wine, swallowing a healthy gulp to wash the tentacle down.

 

Clearly struggling not to laugh, Diego served himself a generous portion. “Isn’t haggis the dish of sheep’s entrails stuffed into a sheep’s stomach?”

 

“You’ve had haggis?” she said, surprised.

 

“I smelled it while I was in Edinburgh looking for you.” He made a face. “That was enough. I prefer the Scots’ whisky to their cuisine.”

 

“Englishmen feel the same,” she replied. “I enjoy haggis myself, but even I dislike oatcakes. The good ones are tasteless, and the bad ones are so hard you could probably fire them out of your pistol in your act.”

 

“I believe I shall stick to bullets.” Diego smiled. “More accurate.”

 

“But not nearly as Scottish,” she said.

 

They both laughed. She happened to glance over at her grandfather, who wasn’t laughing. He was watching them, his mouth a thin line.

 

Uh-oh. Dropping her gaze to her plate, she said, “The octopus is quite good, Grandfather. Is it a local specialty?”

 

Instead of answering, he scraped back his chair and stood abruptly, startling not only her but the duke, who’d been too busy enjoying the new wine brought with the
pulpo
to notice the undercurrents at the table.

 

“Don Diego, we have business to discuss, I believe,” her grandfather clipped out. “Come, let us take care of it now.”

 

Diego nodded tersely as he rose, too.

 

Don Carlos patted her arm. “Enjoy your meal, dear girl. I’ll return shortly. In the meantime, I’m sure Don Felipe will be happy to keep you company.”

 

No doubt, judging from the pointed look the duke cast her bosom as the other two men left. Lord, she could only imagine what would happen if she wore an evening gown around him. Between his love of wine and his love of bosoms, Don Felipe would probably plop his head into her bodice and keep it there.

 

Clearly, she had to rethink hiding her loss of chastity. If Don Carlos had his way, she would soon be trussed up and presented to the duke on a platter. And she’d rather eat tentacles morning, noon, and night than marry a man like Don Felipe.

 

Half an hour later, after he’d regaled her with tales designed to show the great honor he paid her by deigning to court her, her opinion had only solidified. And that was
before
he began a parry and thrust with his feet against hers under the table that she assumed he meant to be seductive but she found most annoying.

 

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, Dońa 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.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

H
e 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 Dońa 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
dueńa
.

 

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 gran
dee, but he also liked his
cońac
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
cońac.
“Don Carlos said your wife was eager to return to the north.”

 

His
wife?

 

“It was kind of her to chaperone Dońa 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
cońac
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
cońac
in midair. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Dońa 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 Dońa Catalina married Don Álvaro in a remote part of Spain, that they died of grief after their daughter was stolen from them. Dońa 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 Dońa 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 Dońa Catalina married her sergeant, she lived in Gibraltar at the garrison. Dońa Lucinda spent her first four years there, though I doubt she remembers. Occasionally, people from San Roque would see Dońa 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 Dońa Lucinda’s grandmother? Did she not have a say in the matter?”