Don't Bargain with the Devil (6 page)

 

“Thank you for the opportunity to speak with your lovely ladies,” he said in that husky tone designed to lull any woman into doing as he wished.

 

But although Mrs. Harris accepted the rose in one hand, she squeezed Lucy’s hand hard with the other. Could the woman have some plan in mind?

 

When he moved to the podium, Lucy turned her gaze to the audience to find the duchess and some others openly frowning. Perhaps all wasn’t lost.

 

Seńor Montalvo offered the audience an amiable smile. “I should like to assuage your fears regarding my plans for
Rockhurst. It is true that I mean to develop the property into a pleasure garden.” He ignored the low murmurs provoked by that comment. “But I assure you that I shall take your concerns into account. I have no desire to harm this admirable institution, if I can prevent it.”

 

When someone snorted loudly, he arched one brow. “Have you any questions? I am happy to answer them.”

 

“You insult our intelligence, sir.” The duchess shot to her feet. “We know that men generally ignore our wishes where business is concerned.”

 

“And you, madam, insult my honor,” he countered with quiet dignity. “Did I not just say I mean to take your concerns into account?”

 

The duchess’s lips thinned. “Have you considered that your establishment will draw men of every stamp, who will surely accost our young ladies?”

 

“While your students would undoubtedly tempt any man, you need not worry about the gentlemen who will visit my gardens,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Unlike other popular amusement places, mine will be open only in the evenings, when your pupils are ensconced in their beds.”

 

The quick burst of laughter in the room seemed to take him by surprise.

 

Lady Norcourt rose to stand next to the duchess. “This is no Continental convent school, where we pack our charges off to bed at dusk,” the former teacher chided. “Our girls have lessons on astronomy in the evenings in our garden. Some read aloud in the parlor; others perform music. And if you think that on a hot summer night, they’ll wish to keep the windows and doors locked up against your visitors, you’re quite mad.”

 

“Then I will build a wall. I can wall off the entire place if need be.”

 

“But surely you do not expect your visitors to limit themselves to approaching the park from the river,” the duchess said. “Many will use the road, so they’ll be forced to leave their carriages alongside it for miles. What is to keep the gentlemen—if such they can be termed—from strolling down our drive?”

 

“Perhaps I will build a wall around the school as well.” Exasperation showed in his handsome features. “Though it would seem to me that gently bred pupils should not be allowed to roam freely without a male escort, pleasure garden or no.”

 

“So now we’ll need male escorts on our own grounds out in the country?” Lady Norcourt shot back. “And where can we find the men to accommodate our young ladies? We can hardly find enough town lads to attend our assemblies as it is.”

 

“I think Seńor Montalvo is saying that the school will require more footmen,” the duchess remarked slyly.

 

“But someone would have to pay these footmen,” Lady Norcourt pointed out. “And all to protect our girls from unsavory gentlemen who attend these gardens?”

 

“I did not mean that the school should hire additional servants,” Seńor Montalvo protested.

 

He was ignored. “We have more than unsavory gentlemen to worry about,” the lord mayor’s wife remarked. “Ladies of ill repute inevitably flock to pleasure gardens, and we certainly do not want
them
about.”

 

A smile tugged at Lucy’s lips. Seńor Montalvo’s expression grew more annoyed by the moment. She doubted that he found their observations quite to his liking. Apparently, Mrs. Harris had planned this outcome all along.

 

“There are other concerns as well—” the duchess began.

 

“Thank you,” he said with an air of finality, looking exactly like grandees Lucy had seen in Spain: arrogant, proud, and formidable. “I will carefully weigh your concerns.” He bowed to the ladies. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Rockhurst. You have given me a great deal to think on.”

 

“You have given
us
a great deal to think on as well,” Mrs. Harris said as she cast him a considering look. “It will help us know how to act.”

 

He nodded with an air of nonchalance that seemed at odds with his purpose. Didn’t he realize he’d just lost the first skirmish? Why wasn’t he more upset?

 

“Miss Seton will show you out.” Mrs. Harris winked at Lucy and added, “I’m sure she can answer any questions you might have. She knows more about the school than anyone.”

 

And Mrs. Harris was clearly counting on Lucy to voice her opinions.

 

Lucy would do so, too…after she made sure that Seńor Montalvo wasn’t going to tell anyone about finding her in the orchard.

 

She didn’t trust him. Something in his manner made her wary, and it wasn’t only his charm and smooth compliments. Some instinct told her that he posed a threat to more than just the school, though she wasn’t sure what or how.

 

But she would find out. She would be calm, rational, and determined. She meant to uncover the nasty details of his plan, no matter what he pulled out of his sleeve.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

 

 

 

Dear Cousin,

 

We plan to thwart our new neighbor by petitioning the licensing magistrates to refuse him a license. It was Miss Seton’s idea—she has proved quite an asset. She has matured so much. Granted, she is still outspoken, but I do not find that nearly as annoying in a teacher as in a pupil. Teachers
should
be opinionated. And it will serve her well in navigating society’s treacherous waters.

 

Your harried relation,

 

Charlotte

 

 

M
iss Seton?
Diego stood frozen, trying to gather his wits. He could not have heard correctly. Seńorita Schoolteacher was his quarry? Could he possibly be so fortunate?

 

When she hurried to the door, he struggled to mask his surprise as he followed her. But once they left the parlor, he could no longer restrain his need for information. “Your name is Seton?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Spelled S-e-t-o-n?” He had to be sure. The next soldier on their list was a Colonel Seton.

 

“Yes, that’s how I spell it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Do you know the name?”

 

“No,” he said hastily.
Watch what you say, man. You must not give anything away until you are absolutely certain of the facts. Too much is at stake.
“After you were so stingy with it two days ago, I merely want to be sure I have it right.”

 

As expected, that reference distracted her sufficiently. She slowed her steps and looked as if she meant to say something, but before she could, a young girl cleared the top of the stairs and stopped in front of them.

 

Miss Seton broke into a smile of genuine pleasure. “Why, Tessa, aren’t you looking all grown-up these days?” she said, and opened her arms.

 

“Lucy!” The girl rushed into her embrace. “My aunt said you were here!”

 

He stood back watching, his mind awhirl. Lucy. Her Christian name. That was short for Lucinda, wasn’t it? Lucinda Seton was the colonel’s daughter, according to their sources in Edinburgh.

 

Lucinda also just happened to be the name of Dońa Catalina’s daughter. That had been one reason they had placed her so high on the list—on the chance that the nurse had not changed her name after stealing her.

 

So Seńorita Schoolteacher
was
their quarry, and he had stumbled upon her almost immediately.

 

Take care,
he cautioned himself.
Remember what the marqués said. This is a delicate situation.

 

Even if she was the Lucinda Seton they sought, it merely meant she was next on their list. He must be sure of the facts before he revealed his purpose.

 

Besides, Lucy might be short for Lucia or Lucretia. He did not know enough about English names to be certain. And Miss Seton did not look remotely Spanish. Nor was she a student, as their sources had claimed.

 

While the girl named Tessa babbled on, he surveyed her teacher, searching for some hint of the woman’s foreign blood.

 

She lacked any olive tone to her skin, and her eyes were not dark. Her features did not resemble Dońa Catalina’s, though both women were beautiful in their own ways. Where Dońa Catalina’s image evoked the serenity of a Madonna, Miss Seton’s evoked the sensuality of a Mary Magdalene. Her features were rounder, softer, her nose less narrow. Her full lips tempted a man to taste and plunder.

 

God preserve his soul. He must not think of her in such terms. If she proved to be the
marqués’s
granddaughter…

 

But today the silken female witchery she wore showed off her lush hips and ripe breasts only too well. The slender span of her waist made him itch to put his hands on it and draw her close.

 

Then there was her hair—a rich chestnut brown, the texture of rumpled velvet. When down, it had fallen in undulating waves about her slender shoulders, reaching to her hips. What he would give to see it like that again…

 

A pang of regret stung him that he ruthlessly shook off. It did not matter how pretty she was. It did not even matter if she roused his blood. She had a more important purpose: she could be the key to his escape from this dreary life of odorous hotels, tasteless inn meals, and cold theaters in icy climes. The key to home, to restoring his family honor. He would not jeopardize that.

 

“And who is this?” young Tessa asked as she turned to him. She had been shooting him curious glances. “A new teacher?”

 

“Hardly,” Miss Seton said. “This is Seńor Diego Montalvo, our new neighbor. Seńor Montalvo, this is Miss Tessa Dalton. She’s a student here.”

 

The girl sketched a pretty curtsy beneath the approving eye of Miss Seton.

 

“Delighted to meet you.” Diego reached out and pretended to pluck a sixpence from behind the girl’s ear.

 

When he presented it to her, she seized it with a laugh of delight. “That was amazing!” the girl exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

 

“It is nothing for a man like me,” he quipped. “Ask Miss Seton—she has already determined that I am the devil himself.”

 

He had the very great pleasure of seeing the teacher blush to the roots of her pretty hair. “I-I did not mean to call you the devil,” she stammered.

 

“I think you did.” He chuckled. “But do not worry. You would not be the first to call me such, nor the last. Conjurers often bring forth such responses.”

 

“You know perfectly well I was not referring to your profession.”

 

Tessa’s eyes went wide. “You must be that magician my aunt and uncle have been talking about! The one who wants to ruin the school!”

 

He gritted his teeth. “I have no desire to—”

 

“Tessa’s aunt is Lady Norcourt,” Miss Seton explained with a mischievous expression. “She was the woman who joined the Duchess of Foxmoor in criticizing your plans. Lady Norcourt taught here before she married a viscount.”

 

If Miss Seton thought to intimidate him by citing the rich and titled friends of the school, she was in for a surprise. He had dined with kings—he could handle a few English lords. Especially when he meant the school no harm anyway.

 

But he must play his role, so he smiled at Tessa. “Please tell your aunt and uncle that they should not listen to idle gossip about my intentions. I merely want to enhance the adjoining property, not ruin your school.”

 

Miss Seton snorted. “Tessa, if you go to Mrs. Harris’s office, you’ll find a surprise there.”

 

Tessa’s face lit up. “What surprise?”

 

“Go and see. I think you’ll be pleased.”

 

Young Tessa looked torn between wanting to stay and hear the gossip and the temptation of her “surprise.” The latter apparently proved too much. “I hope we can talk later,” she told Miss Seton. Then, after a quick curtsy for him, she raced off.

 

“I see that bribery still works as well on pupils as it did in my youth,” he remarked as Miss Seton headed for the stairs once more. “Do you even have a surprise for that poor girl? Or was that merely a ploy?”

 

She eyed him askance. “It just so happens that the duke’s pet monkey is in the office. Since Tessa adores animals, I knew she’d enjoy keeping him entertained.” Lifting her skirts, she descended the stairs. “Unlike you, Seńor Montalvo, I am forthright and honest in my dealings with people.”

 

She was using her “proper” voice from two days ago, but he began to wonder if it was her real one. Her impassioned remarks in the meeting suited her more than this formal façade.

 

“How have I not been forthright and honest with you?” he teased.

 

She shot him a mutinous look. “When we first met, you didn’t say one word about what you really intended for Rockhurst. You were purposely evasive.”

 

He had to restrain a laugh. “Ah, yes. But as I recall, you were equally evasive.”

 

Her face clouded over as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I do hope you aren’t planning to mention to anyone where…that is,
how
we first met.”

 

“Why should I?” That wouldn’t suit his purposes.

 

When relief spread over her face, he remembered how prickly the English were about their propriety.
Dios mio,
that must be why she hadn’t told him her name—for fear that he would speak to her employer about something as inconsequential as finding her in the orchard behaving with the exuberance of any other young woman.

 

He wanted to laugh. No wonder he had failed to charm her then. She had probably hoped that withholding her name would protect her.