Don't Bargain with the Devil (5 page)

 

“Then again, what?” Gaspar prodded.

 

Dropping the ball onto the bed, Diego wheeled to face his mentor. “This could work to our advantage.”

 

“How? Trying to gain information is a business of discretion. We do not want to call attention to ourselves.”

 

Diego laughed, startling Gaspar. “That is
exactly
what we want to do. I gave Seńorita Schoolteacher a vague story about trying to determine if the area would suit my purposes, but what if we turned it into the truth? What if we were to visit local businesses, make a show of our plans to build a place of amusement?”

 

“I don’t see—”

 

Diego seized Gaspar by his stock with one hand, while relieving him of his handkerchief with the other. “What is the magician’s most beloved precept?” When Gaspar just stared, Diego waved the handkerchief in his face. “Misdirection. Draw the observer’s attention one place while you work elsewhere.”

 

With a scowl, Gaspar snatched his handkerchief back. “But if you’re right about the school’s owner, then the attention focused on us won’t be friendly. They’ll watch our every move with distrust.”

 

“But they will be looking for the wrong thing. Besides, if I know women, they will not just watch. They will try to change our minds. That gives us a chance to ingratiate ourselves with them.”

 

“Ah, you intend to charm them.”

 

“With a vengeance.”

 

Gaspar arched one gray eyebrow. “This has naught to do with that teacher turning up her nose at you, does it?”

 

“Do not be absurd. I am only thinking of how to solve our problem.” He cast Gaspar an earnest glance. “And this will work, I am sure of it.”

 

“It does sound promising.”

 

“Excellent! Then we’re agreed. We shall take a couple of days to settle into our new home and let the news circulate. Then we take Richmond by storm—beginning with our neighbors at the school.”

 

He allowed himself a private smile.
Particularly Seńorita Schoolteacher.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

 

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

I knew nothing of this until now, but I will do my best to find out how this Montalvo can be stopped. I am appalled that Pritchard could countenance selling his property for such a purpose. I will see what I can discover about the project and let you know what I learn.

 

Your outraged cousin,

 

Michael

 

 

T
wo days after Lucy’s encounter with Seńor Montalvo, the school’s formal parlor filled up with graduates attending Mrs. Harris’s monthly tea. Since the students wouldn’t arrive until later that afternoon, the older women had the place to themselves.

 

And they were preparing for war. As the daughter of a decorated colonel, Lucy knew that war required plenty of recruits and lots of space.

 

The news about Mr. Pritchard’s tenant had shot across town like a cannon ball, even drawing ladies who’d long been happily married. The teas were intended to help eligible heiresses learn how to avoid fortune-hunting scoundrels, so only a few married women generally attended to
visit their friends and give advice. Today, however, nearly everyone was here.

 

Just as the ladies gathered in the parlor, Mrs. Harris was informed of an unexpected arrival—Mr. Pritchard himself. As she left to find out what she could from the horrible little man, the schoolmistress instructed Lucy to begin the meeting herself.

 

Lucy stood there stunned. Mrs. Harris was entrusting
her
with such a task? What an honor!

 

And what a responsibility! The weight of it settled heavily on her as she surveyed the parlor full of distinguished graduates.

 

Viscountess Kirkwood stood chatting with the wife of the Lord Mayor of Bath. Near them sat Lucy’s former teacher, the newly married Lady Norcourt. And was that the Duchess of Foxmoor on a settee near the door? Panic seized Lucy. Good Lord, when had
she
arrived?

 

Not that it wasn’t wonderful to have her. Her charitable works were legendary, and she had the influence to be effective in the campaign against Seńor Montalvo. But although Lucy had been introduced to her at a ball last week, they’d spoken only a moment. Why in the dickens should the duchess listen to
her?

 

Lucy wiped her clammy hands on the skirts of her best day gown. Mrs. Harris wouldn’t have given her the responsibility if she hadn’t thought Lucy could handle it. She must not let Mrs. Harris down. She could do this.

 

Stay calm. Don’t say the first thing that pops into your head. That’s what always gets you into trouble.

 

Drawing in a measured breath, Lucy walked to the podium. But before she could rap the gavel, a peal of laughter
sounded from one end of the room, and a monkey scampered across the back of a sofa.

 

Oh no, the duchess had brought her husband’s famous pet, Raji. He leaped onto the Viscountess Kirkwood’s lap, eliciting a startled shriek that sent him flying under the duchess’s chair to cover his ears. Everyone laughed—except Lady Kirkwood.

 

“Merciful heavens, Louisa,” the viscountess complained, examining her satin skirts. “Would you please cage that annoying creature? I just bought this gown, and if that vile animal tears it, Kirkwood will restrict my allowance again.”

 

The Duchess of Foxmoor arched an eyebrow. “And here I’d thought that your husband restricted your allowance because of your fondness for faro, Sarah.”

 

A strained silence fell across the room. Everyone knew that the duchess and Lady Kirkwood disliked each other, despite their husbands’ friendship. The truth was, no one else much liked the snooty Lady Kirkwood either. She’d been called Silly Sarah in her day, and some still called her that behind her back, because she insisted on gambling away her pin money. Mrs. Harris had tried to instill a dislike of gambling in her students, but it hadn’t worked with Lady Kirkwood.

 

The viscountess flipped open her fan. “You ought to try faro yourself, Louisa. I should think your little jaunts to the prison to help the poor convict ladies would get tedious. What’s the point of marrying a duke if you don’t enjoy what his position can give you?”

 

“And repay his generosity by spending him into the poorhouse?”

 

Lady Kirkwood pouted at the duchess. “My husband wouldn’t have
any
money if not for me. I don’t see why I shouldn’t get a bit of it for myself. You really should learn how to coax your duke into doing what
you
please.” She scowled over at Raji, who lolled in another lady’s lap. “The first thing you should do is inform him that his disgusting pet is not allowed in polite company.”

 

Apparently, the duke’s “disgusting pet” knew an insult when he heard it, for he promptly turned around and presented Lady Kirkwood with his naked bottom.

 

The other ladies burst into laughter.

 

“I believe Raji has just told you what he thinks of your opinion,” the duchess said, eyes twinkling.

 

Lady Kirkwood glared at her. “If that nasty animal doesn’t watch it, he’ll find himself dead at the bottom of a privy one day.” There was no mistaking who meant to put him there, either.

 

When the duchess’s face darkened, Lucy figured she’d best take matters in hand. “Your concern for Raji is admirable, Lady Kirkwood,” she put in. “But I’m sure he’s much too clever to fall into a privy.”

 

The silence in the room thickened.

 

Lucy gripped the edge of the podium. “Still, given his tendency to wander off, Raji might be safer if he spent the meeting in Mrs. Harris’s office.” She cast the duchess a pleading glance. “Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”

 

Fortunately, the duchess was too astute not to notice Lucy’s consternation—and too kind to add to it. “I’m sure he would, Miss Seton,” she said graciously. “I’ll take him there myself.” Picking up her pet, the duchess left the room.

 

“Now then,” Lucy said, taking advantage of the lull in
conversation. “I believe you’ve all heard about Mr. Pritchard’s new tenant.”

 

That shifted everyone’s attention to the proper subject. Swiftly, Lucy sketched out what they’d probably read in the papers. By the time the duchess returned, Lucy was explaining what else she and Mrs. Harris had learned. Seńor Montalvo hadn’t yet applied to the city’s licensing magistrates.

 

“Our best course of attack is to sway public opinion to our side.” Lucy handed out the sheets of foolscap they’d prepared. “We are starting a petition to keep him from gaining a license, and we’re asking you to spend the next few days gathering names from the good people of Richmond. It shouldn’t be difficult to convince them that a pleasure garden in our midst can only lead to disaster.”

 

Lady Kirkwood snorted. “That’s rather overdramatic, Miss Seton, don’t you think? At least a pleasure garden would give people something to do in this dull town. The theater here is pathetic.”

 

“Pathetic it may be,” Lady Norcourt said tersely, “but it doesn’t draw roués and rakehells next door to the school, where they can prey on our girls.” As always, the former teacher’s main concern was for the students’ welfare.

 

“You’re exactly right, Lady Nor—” Lucy began.

 

“Perhaps Mrs. Harris should just speak to this Montalvo fellow,” the naive lord mayor’s wife spoke up. “I’m sure she could persuade him to ban unsavory men from his establishment. They do it at Almack’s.”

 

“Almack’s is not remotely like—” Lucy began.

 

“Speaking of that magician,” said another lady in an eager-to-gossip voice, “has anyone actually seen the man? I’m told that he left a string of brokenhearted princesses behind him on his Russian tour.”

 

Lucy found that vaguely annoying. She wasn’t sure why, since it was exactly what she would expect of Mr. Too Charming for Words.

 

“Oh, he’s very handsome,” said a banker’s wife with sly assurance. “And quite dashing. He made all the ladies swoon when I saw him perform in Italy.”

 

When that got everyone’s attention, she went on gleefully. “And his tricks are every bit as amazing as they say. He had someone choose a card without telling him what it was and then returned it to the deck, which he tied up with string. Then he tossed the bound deck up in the air. When it came back down, the chosen card was attached to the ceiling. It gave me shivers, I tell you. Even my husband couldn’t figure out how the man did it. And then Seńor Montalvo—”

 

Lucy rapped her gavel. “While I’m sure the man excels at his profession, what he intends to build next door would ruin all that Mrs. Harris has worked for.”

 

For a moment, the ladies sat blinking at her, and she thought she’d regained control. Then they turned back to the banker’s wife.

 

“Is he married?” asked one.

 

“What other tricks did he perform?” asked another.

 

“Ladies, please,” Lucy cut in, but they paid her no mind.

 

“Do you know how old he is?” asked an unmarried lady.

 

“Is it true he can catch a bullet in his teeth?” asked the lord mayor’s wife.

 

“It doesn’t matter if he can catch a bullet in his
nose!
” Lucy cried. When everyone gaped at her, she realized she’d shrieked the words. But she didn’t care.

 

“Seńor Montalvo is a menace to everything we hold precious,” she went on fervently. The drawing-room door opened behind her, but she was too caught up to pay it any heed. “And if you succumb to his tricks and physical attractions without a protest, you might as well consort with the devil himself!”

 

For a moment, the words echoed in the immense silence. Then it was punctured by a low male laugh that sent her stomach plummeting.

 

She whirled to find Mrs. Harris and the Spaniard himself standing there.

 

“‘Better the devil you know,’” said Seńor Montalvo, his eyes glinting with fiendish amusement. “Or so I’m told.”

 

Lucy wanted to sink through the floor. Especially when everyone in the room laughed, as if it were all a grand joke. As if
she
were a grand joke. Bother it all, how was she to save the school if she couldn’t even hold her tongue?

 

Mrs. Harris wore a pained smile, but as always in situations when her charges made public fools of themselves, she pretended it hadn’t happened.

 

“Ladies,” Mrs. Harris said as she approached the podium. When Lucy moved aside, the schoolmistress grabbed her hand to stay her, then squeezed it reassuringly. “Mr. Pritchard was kind enough to come introduce our new neighbor, who has asked to address you. So please welcome to the school Mr….” She glanced at the magician. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure exactly what to call you. Is it Seńor or Mister?”

 

“Diego will be fine,” he said smoothly. “I am not one to worry overmuch about proprieties.” Looking over at Lucy, he had the audacity to wink.

 

That chilled her. There was nothing to stop him from telling everyone about finding her splayed on the ground like a doxy. Oh, she’d simply die if he did!

 

Could she claim he was lying? Anyone could see he was an unconscionable scoundrel.

 

She sighed. Not anyone, judging from how the women had gushed over him. And not when he looked like
that.
He was almost more spectacular fully dressed. Lord help her, how did such a dastardly fellow manage to cut such a fine figure?

 

It was more than the excellent tailoring of his dark blue Saxony coat or the fine sheen of his understated silk waistcoat. It was the tall, muscular body they contained. Like a sleek panther, he padded carelessly among the pigeons. His longish hair marked him instantly as being different from other men in society, with their elegant curls. So did his whisper of a dark mustache. Englishmen simply didn’t look like him. And he not only knew it but used it to captivate his audience.

 

Just as he used his tricks. Lucy scowled when he plucked a silk rose from thin air, then presented it to Mrs. Harris amid a smattering of applause.