Don't Bargain with the Devil (20 page)

 

But he could not imagine how they would be any more on guard against him than they were now.

 

After all the whispering, Baines’s reply was amazingly simple. “Why?”

 

“I believe your client knows why, given his long correspondence with Mrs. Harris. A man does not become a woman’s champion without having some feelings for her, does he?”

 

As his client muttered a curse under his breath, Baines managed a weak smile. “So you know about my client’s…er…association with the school.”

 

“I am assuming he is the infamous Cousin Michael, but I am perfectly happy to be corrected. As long as I have my requirement met.”

 

A short burst of whispering followed.

 

“You wish to make Miss Seton an offer?” Baines asked hopefully.

 

“Not unless I can talk to her first,” Diego evaded. He hated taking this tack, but he had only one chance to persuade Lucy to return with him to Spain. If he had to equivocate to get that chance, then equivocate he would.

 

“How do we know your purpose is honorable?” Baines asked. “How do we know that you don’t mean to use that hour to assault her virtue?”

 

“If that was what I wanted,” he said tersely, “I have had ample opportunities to do so before now. You may set up the terms of the meeting however you please. It can take place in the middle of the damned school with a ring of teachers and footmen and whoever else aims to protect her virtue standing within shouting distance. But I wish to speak to her alone. Understood?”

 

A long silence ensued, followed by a terse whisper from Cousin Michael.

 

Baines stood. “My client says we will see if we can arrange it. But not an hour. Half an hour.”

 

Diego hesitated. It was not enough time, but he could work with it. He nodded.

 

“You will also be expected to sign papers beforehand regarding our private agreement about the purchase of Rockhurst. But assuming that Mrs. Harris and Miss Seton agree, you will have your meeting.”

 

“Thank you,” Diego said, bowing to his worthy opponent.

 

Now all he need do was figure out how best to use the meeting to his advantage.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

I understand why you are concerned about Montalvo’s latest proposal, but you did not see his face when he spoke of Miss Seton. He seems quite smitten. Even you admitted she fell into the doldrums after the breakfast. Why not see how
she
feels about it before dismissing it? You will know how to ask her without her feeling forced. But if we can save the school while at the same time resolving her feelings for the man, how can that be bad?

 

Your servant always,

 

Michael

 

 

L
ucy paced Mrs. Harris’s office, her mind awhirl. She hadn’t seen Diego in nearly a week, afraid to trust him, afraid to trust herself around him.

 

After the breakfast, she’d been terrified that she’d actually let herself be swept away by some blackguard. There were his lies and inconsistencies to bolster her fears, plus Mr. Godwin’s claims.

 

Then the truth had started to emerge. He
had
made an offer to Mr. Pritchard. He
was
applying for the license. The money he’d donated
had
been genuine.

 

But he’d lied to her about his past. He still hadn’t even
told
her about his past.

 

She clasped her hands at her waist to keep them from trembling. What did he intend to say today? Could he truly mean to give up his pursuit of Rockhurst just to see her? It seemed impossible, but why else had he made this secret bargain with Cousin Michael’s solicitor?

 

He wanted to see her and was willing to give up his plans to do so. He cared that much? Or was she just falling prey to her weakness for handsome gentlemen?

 

“Lucy, for heaven’s sake, sit down,” Mrs. Harris said irritably. “He will not arrive any faster for your pacing, I assure you.”

 

With a sigh, Lucy dropped into a chair, then just as quickly rose to pace again. “Forgive me, but it’s the only thing that keeps me calm.” She halted to stare at Mrs. Harris. “Why does he not come?”

 

“Because our agreement was that he arrive at noon, and it’s only ten till.”

 

“Oh. Of course.”

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Mrs. Harris said. “We will find another way. With the funds we raised, we can offer Mr. Pritchard a substantial sum.”

 

“Yes, but will he take it?”

 

Mrs. Harris forced a smile. “I don’t see why not.”

 

“And you don’t see why he would, either.”

 

“My cousin says—”

 

“And that’s another thing,” Lucy broke in. “Why did Diego even go to your cousin? How did he know where to find him, when all these years you’ve never located him yourself?”

 

Irritation shone in Mrs. Harris’s face. “He
didn’t
go to him. My cousin requested a meeting with Seńor Montalvo
through his solicitor.” She began to drum her fingers on the desk. “I have always known that Mr. Baines works for Michael—his office receives my rents, which, as you know, belong to my cousin. Yet that blasted Michael will not arrange any meetings with
me
. He only comes out of hiding for foreign magicians who—”

 

She halted, her cheeks reddening. “Forgive me, my cousin and his reticence drive me mad. When he first offered me this property at such a low rent, he made me sign an agreement that I would not try to learn his identity through any means, or risk eviction. I have held to that because I dared not risk the consequences. I honestly thought he would relent in his condition after he knew me, but if anything, he is more firm. It is exceedingly annoying.”

 

“I imagine it is.” Despite her anxiety, Lucy found it vastly amusing how much Mrs. Harris changed when she spoke of her cousin. She became almost as flustered as Lucy did around Diego.

 

Mrs. Harris schooled her features into serenity. “In any case, no matter what part my cousin played in arranging this, you should not feel obligated to go through with it.”

 

Lucy managed a smile. “If Diego—I mean, Seńor Montalvo—is willing to strike a bargain with Cousin Michael, it can’t hurt for me to talk to him, can it?”

 

“That depends.” Her gaze searched Lucy’s face. “Why have you avoided him until now?”

 

“I told you. I don’t…I’m afraid…” She was afraid of falling in love with him. And given her questionable taste in men, she wasn’t about to risk it without knowing him better. “The bank is absolutely certain that his donation was genuine?”

 

“You’ve asked that three times already. Yes, Seńor Montalvo donated three hundred genuine pounds to our fund. That is not the action of a thief.”

 

Lucy whirled to pace the other way. “But why did he do it? Why did he go to the breakfast in the first place, if not for the reasons Mr. Godwin gave? I can’t help feeling he isn’t telling the entire truth.”

 

“You don’t trust him.”

 

“No…yes…I don’t know. I would trust him more if I knew his reasons.”

 

“What if he has no good reason? Men in love do strange things.”

 

Lucy eyed the schoolmistress askance. “He’s not in love with me.”

 

Mrs. Harris smiled faintly. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.” But he desired her, and she desired him, which also frightened her. “I’m quite sure.”

 

“He as much as told Cousin Michael that he wanted to make an offer.”

 

As much as told.
That meant nothing. Diego was very good at evasion. Besides, he’d told
her
that his circumstances didn’t permit him to marry. As far as she knew, that hadn’t changed.

 

Mrs. Harris was probably only considering this because she thought Lucy and Diego were in love. The widow could be cynical, but she wasn’t opposed to love. She knew Lucy lacked the dowry to tempt a serious fortune hunter, so she’d probably decided that Diego’s motivations were romantic. Especially after seeing how Diego had humiliated Peter publicly. So if Lucy told Mrs. Harris flat out that Diego had no interest in marriage, Mrs. Harris would call a halt to the meeting.

 

And Diego would buy Rockhurst.

 

But that’s not really why you’re going through with this, is it?

 

She sighed. No. She had to know why he wanted to see her. It must be something important. It might even hold the key to his sometimes inexplicable behavior.

 

It wasn’t as if he would misbehave, with Mrs. Harris just outside the door and footmen stationed at either end of the hall. She was perfectly safe here.

 

“Seńor Montalvo has arrived,” announced a servant from the doorway.

 

Lucy’s heart flipped over. Safe? She was never safe around Diego. Good Lord, when just the sound of his name trebled her pulse, she was done for.

 

Buck up, or you won’t last a minute with him, let alone a half-hour. You must keep your wits about you,
she told her thundering heart.

 

Mrs. Harris cast her a quick glance. “Well? Shall we let him in?”

 

Not trusting her voice, Lucy nodded.

 

Diego entered the room, his gaze seeking out Lucy before it shot to Mrs. Harris and hardened. “I said the meeting had to be private.”

 

“It will be.” Mrs. Harris headed for the door, then paused to look back at Lucy. “I shall be just outside, my dear. All you need do is call.”

 

“Thank you.” Lucy marveled at how calm she sounded.

 

The door closed behind Mrs. Harris. They were alone.

 

Diego stared at her as if starved for the sight of her. The intensity of his look reminded her of their intimate moments in the Foxmoor library. That seemed ages ago, yet it gave her the same primitive thrill.

 

“You look very well,” he said in that accented voice that never failed to make her shiver deliciously.

 

She’d dressed with particular care but doubted he was referring to her attire. “So do you.”

 

He gave a harsh laugh. “Really? I do not look as if I have been dragged down a country lane by a cart horse a few hundred times?” He speared his hands through his hair, disordering it. “Because that is how I feel.”

 

She could see the circles under his eyes, the haunted look in his features, the brittle glitter in his gaze. “What’s this about, Diego?”

 

“First, I must know one thing.” He strode to the desk, propped his hip against it, then pushed away to stalk back to her. “Did I do something wrong that evening at Foxmoor’s?” His voice was a husky murmur. “When we were in the library and I was…touching you, did I hurt you or alarm you or…”

 

“No.” She wiped her clammy hands on her skirts. It wasn’t what he’d done but what she’d been willing to do that still alarmed her.

 

“Then why have you refused to see me?”

 

“Because I realized how little I really know you.”

 

His features turned stony. “Because Godwin said I was a thief.”

 

“That was part of it, but—”

 

“He did not lie, Lucy. I was indeed a thief, and a cardsharp.”

 

That took her aback.

 

“It was only for a short while in my youth, before I became a magician.” He set his shoulders back with a defensive air. “I had an ailing mother to support, so I stole. Until Gaspar caught me and offered me a position as his assistant.”

 

“Gaspar! I thought he was
your
assistant.”

 

“Not until recently. Anyway, I have not been a thief in some years. So if you thought this was an elaborate plan to rob you and your friends—”

 

“I know it wasn’t,” she said hastily.

 

His eyes narrowed. “But you have refused to see me.”

 

“Because I realized you’re still a stranger to me.” What he’d said just now proved it. She hadn’t known of his ailing mother or Gaspar’s role in his life.

 

“Nonetheless, I must ask you to trust me. I have something important to tell you.”

 

She braced herself for a great revelation about his past. “All right.”

 

“First…” He strode toward the door. With a sudden motion that took her by surprise, he jerked it open. Mrs. Harris nearly fell in.

 

Scowling, he shut the door in Mrs. Harris’s face before heading back to take Lucy by the arm. He drew her rather forcibly to the other end of the room. Then he reached into his pocket, drew out an object, and handed it to her. It was a miniature.

 

“Do you recognize the woman in that picture?” he murmured.

 

She stared down into features that seemed familiar but also not…that seemed precious but also foreign. It was surely the face from her hazy memories.

 

No, how could that be? “Wh-who is she?”

 

“Do you recognize her?” he repeated more firmly.

 

She lifted her gaze to him. “She looks like…that is, she resembles the woman I have often thought of as my mother. But how did you come by this?”

 

“It was given to me by your grandfather.”

 

Her
grandfather?
“I don’t have a grandfather. Even if I did, why would he give
you
—”

 

“I am not here to buy a pleasure garden,
carińo,
” he said, his voice infinitely gentle. “I have no interest in Rockhurst and even less in your school. I certainly have no desire to live in England. I came here for one reason only—to find
you.
”

 

She gaped at him, remembering some of the things that had worried her about him: how he’d insisted upon her being the one to bring him around the school, how he’d involved himself to an inordinate degree in her personal life, how he’d demanded this meeting today. “I-I don’t understand.”

 

“Your Spanish grandfather, the Marqués de Parama, asked me to come to England to find you.”

 

She had family? No, Papa would have told her if she had. “Why would this
marqués