Don't Bargain with the Devil (27 page)

 

Too late, Diego remembered that Hunforth had chosen to marry someone else solely because Lucy’s dowry wasn’t large enough. “I did this for you, too,” he said fiercely. “Because I know what it is like to lose your parents at a young age, to be without a family, without anyone who cares—”

 

“How
much
is he paying you?” she repeated, swiping at tears. “After all you’ve done, I think I deserve to know at least that.”

 

Her tears nearly undid him. Damn it to hell. How had she managed to twist this into something sordid, when all he wanted was what was best for her?

 

“He is giving me my family estate, Arboleda,” he said dully. “He purchased it years after my mother sold it to pay our creditors. Even if I could afford to buy it, he has refused to sell to me. Unless I do this. Then it is mine. Free and clear.”

 

“An entire estate.” She sucked in a harsh breath. “I see. I would never have guessed I was worth so much.” Her look of betrayal cut him to the bone.

 

Turning away, she went to stare out a porthole. “Now I understand why the captain wasn’t interested in my offer of financial compensation. Anything of that magnitude would beggar Papa. My dowry is only a thousand pounds.”

 

“Lucy—”

 

“Thank you for clarifying things, Seńor Montalvo,” she said coldly. “If you don’t mind, I wish to be alone now.”

 

Mind? He minded a great deal. He hated her calling him Seńor Montalvo. He despised making her cry. Most of all, he detested being at odds with her, when he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his arms, kiss the hurt from that lovely face, and claim her for his own.

 

But he had no right to that. She did not yet even know the full measure of what she was,
who
she was. Once her grandfather introduced her into society, she would see how much her new family had to offer and how little he did. Especially if he could not fulfill his vow, which would happen if he attempted to marry her. Without Arboleda, he was not worthy of her.

 

So he left.

 

From now on, he would have to keep a polite distance and treat her as he might treat any woman of her advanced station and prospects. Anything else would tempt him to do the unthinkable.

 

And that was not acceptable.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

 

 

Dear Charlotte,

 

I received your messages about Miss Seton. Do not blame yourself. I alone am at fault. I should have realized what Montalvo intended, but I truly thought he meant to make a respectable offer of marriage. Is it possible it was Miss
Seton’s
idea to elope? Perhaps she feared her father would not approve of a Spanish son-in-law.

 

Your guilty cousin,

 

Michael

 

 

F
or the next few days, Lucy wandered the ship in a fog, grateful that Diego hadn’t followed through with his threat to lock her in the cabin. She’d been given the freedom to come and go as she pleased.

 

Diego avoided her, no small feat on a ship, and she was grateful for that, too. Because every time she saw him, hurt and anger roared up inside her again until she thought she might choke on it. He was being paid to deliver her to her grandfather like a trussed-up goose. How could he? She’d thought him a decent man, for all his flirtations. He’d claimed to be honorable.

 

But he wasn’t. He was exactly the scoundrel she’d taken him for initially. The sooner she accepted that, the better.

 

Unfortunately, she kept remembering how he’d leaped to her defense with Peter, how his attentions had made her the toast of society for one afternoon…how he’d held her and kissed her and murmured endearments that still made her shiver to remember them. Even after he’d told her about her grandfather, he’d professed to desire her.

 

It was the desire that confused her. Clearly, he’d gone against every promise he’d made to the
marqués
just to kiss her and give her pleasure. That proved either he was a reckless fool—and she knew he wasn’t that—or he really did desire her.

 

But if he cared for her, why do this mad thing? Was it just about his estate? He’d said no, but how could she believe him?

 

And what had he meant when he said he’d lost his parents at a young age? Why had his mother sold the estate? It was only the second time he’d mentioned his parents. He had said very little about his past until now.

 

How had a count been forced to turn to stealing in a regimental camp? Hadn’t he possessed other family? Or was he like her, an orphan?

 

He knew more about her than almost anyone, yet she did not know
him
at all. Certainly not well enough to know why he’d risked so much to carry her off to meet her grandfather. Aside from his ruse about the pleasure garden, he’d never seemed that interested in acquiring property.

 

Then there was the mysterious
marqués,
who wanted to marry her off to someone so she could beget his heir. Diego
had dismissed the idea of her grandfather wanting her only for such a reason. She snorted. And he called
her
naive?

 

Still, he seemed to think her grandfather was eager to meet her. Now that she’d had time to consider everything, she needed some matters clarified—not only about her background and her grandfather but also about his bargain with Diego. Unfortunately, only one person could fill in the missing pieces. She would have to talk to Diego.

 

It took her a while to find him, leaning against the quarterdeck wall out of the wind and smoking a cigarillo, his look pensive as he stared at the churning ocean. With his longish hair tousled by the breeze and his olive skin, he looked like a Barbary pirate contemplating his next prize. The Pirate Count. It sounded like one of those adventure novels she used to love to read.

 

Steeling herself against his good looks, she walked up to him. “I have some questions for you.”

 

Though a muscle flicked in his jaw, he merely continued to smoke.

 

“I want to know what evidence my grandfather offered to prove that I was stolen from his daughter and son-in-law.”

 

A frown touched his brow. He snuffed the cigarillo out against the wall, then looked at her for the first time in days. “I already told you—the birthmark.”

 

“Why didn’t he show you my birth in the parish register? It must be there.”

 

Diego tensed. “He could not. I asked for a meeting to discuss my purchasing Arboleda, and he agreed to meet me in Cádiz, where he was taking the waters for his illness. That is where he asked for my help in getting you back. The register was in San Roque, where you were born.
There was no time to return there to look at a document that would not aid in finding you.”

 

“So you made this trip only on the strength of what he told you? You never went to San Roque to determine if his tale about my abduction was true?”

 

“Why should I? He is a
marqués,
a highly respected man.”

 

“And he owned the estate you wanted. That was all you needed to know.”

 

His eyes darkened as he shoved away from the wall. “Why would he invent a granddaughter? Besides, he could not have known about your birthmark if you weren’t his granddaughter.”

 

She dragged in a breath. “I’ve been thinking about everything you told me, and there are other possibilities for what happened. Perhaps my
mother
ran away with her lover, taking me with her.”

 

“Then why would your grandfather say otherwise?” Diego snapped.

 

“Out of embarrassment? Fear of scandal?”

 

“So you speculate that you were only stolen from
one
parent. That it was only Don Álvaro who lost his daughter.”

 

She glanced away. She hadn’t thought that far. “I-I suppose.”

 

“And does that make the matter any better in your eyes? Would you rather Sergeant Crawford be an adulterer than a kidnapper?”

 

“No, of course not.”

 

“I swear,” he said coldly, “I do not understand you. I have never seen anyone fight so hard against gaining a fortune.”

 

“I told you, money doesn’t mean much to me.”

 

“That is because you have never had to do without it. You were adopted by an English officer and given the advantages that his rank could provide. What do you know about having to scrabble for every morsel?”

 

Leaning one arm against a mast, he searched her face. “There was a time when I would have given anything for half a stale crust of an empanada, yet you look down your pretty nose at me because I agreed to take property for finding you. You have a chance to gain what I have struggled my entire life to regain—”

 

“And all I have to do is marry a stranger to produce an heir for my grandfather,” she said coolly.

 

He stared bleakly at her. Then he drew himself up, every inch the haughty grandee. “You do not have to marry anyone if you do not wish. We Spaniards are not barbarians, you know.” His eyes glittered at her. “If I were you, I would make good use of the great fortune at my disposal. But if you choose not to, it is not my concern. I will still do my part in delivering you to your grandfather. And yes, I will take Arboleda for it.”

 

“Why is property so important to you? You’re a famous conjurer, and—”

 

“I cannot talk about this with you.” He started to walk past her.

 

She blocked his path. “Why not?”

 

He cast her a glance that chilled her blood. “Because it will not change anything. My mind is made up.”

 

As he stalked off, his shoulders hunched against the wind and his back rigid, she felt the urge to run after him and push him over the side. She’d thought the man cared about her? She must have been insane! He was determined
to hand her over to her grandfather, no matter what
she
thought about the matter. He acted as if she should be grateful for it, too!

 

Well, she would show him. It was time she had a say in this plan. He had some notion that her grandfather wouldn’t force her into marriage, even though the man had already demonstrated what he wanted from her by placing conditions on Diego’s behavior toward her.

 

Fine. She would use those conditions to her advantage. Her grandfather demanded a chaste granddaughter, did he? Well, there was only one way to thwart that: make herself
un
chaste. Once her virtue was gone, she would have the upper hand. She wouldn’t have to fear anyone forcing her into marriage.

 

That meant she needed a man to take her innocence. And as angry as she was at him, Diego was the only man she could consider to do it.

 

Between his determination to avoid her and his skewed ideas about honor, he wouldn’t just fall into her arms. She’d have to give him no choice.

 

A smile lit her lips. She could be as devious as he. For all his coldness, she was sure he still desired her. She hadn’t missed the heat flaring in his gaze when she’d worn half a gown in the cabin a few days ago. There was a reason he’d been avoiding her, after all.

 

Not anymore. She’d see to that.

 

A thrill coursed through her at the thought of sharing Diego’s bed, and she frowned. Careful, or she’d find herself falling in love with the cursed man. Diego had made it perfectly clear he had no interest in her beyond her usefulness to him; she must be just as ruthless. This was only about thwarting her grandfather, nothing more.
This would not be lovemaking; it was simply eliminating a pesky inconvenience.

 

She would need help, and she knew exactly the person for that.

 

She found Nettie chatting with the ship’s cook. “Nettie,” she said, drawing the woman aside, “I need your particular skills.”

 

“To do what?”

 

“Help me seduce a reluctant man.”

 

Nettie smiled broadly. “Oh, duckie, that’s the easiest thing in the world. There ain’t no such thing as a reluctant man.”

 

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, thinking of Diego’s iron will. “Anyway, it’s not so much the seduction part that I need help with but something else entirely. If you’re willing, here is what I was thinking…”

 

 

Shortly before ten that night, Diego followed Nettie down the narrow companionway stairs, trying not to panic. The idea of Lucy suffering a “violent illness,” as Nettie had called it, twisted his gut into a knot.

 

Now he wished he had not been so cold toward her earlier. But she had provoked his temper by raising questions about the
marqués
’s motives, implying that Diego had not examined the situation thoroughly. She had made him wonder what he had not thought to wonder before, which irritated him exceedingly.

 

“Are you sure she’s not just seasick?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

 

“T’ain’t that,” Nettie said, “or she wouldn’t have a fever. If you ask me, she took a chill from wandering that deck too much in the cold. Didn’t your man think to put a cloak in that bag? The poor thing is shivering so.”

 

“God preserve my soul,” he said hoarsely as they reached the lower deck. If something happened to Lucy, he did not know how he would bear it.

 

Nettie opened the door, and he rushed in to find the cabin dark as pitch. The lantern light in the companionway barely penetrated inside.

 

Even that was snuffed out when the door suddenly closed. “Damn it, Nettie, first light the lantern in here,” he growled.

 

As if in answer, the lantern next to the door sprang to life, spreading light over the cabin. And the empty bed.

 

“
Qué demonios
—” he began as he turned to Nettie…and found Lucy instead.

 

He rushed to her in alarm. “You should not be out of bed,
querida!
”

 

“Why not?” she asked as she glided from the lantern toward the bed.

 

Barefoot, with her hair down, wearing only her chemise, she was a wanton goddess limned in golden light.