Don't Bargain with the Devil Read online

  Lucy wasn’t sure what to make of this new turn.

  Diego flashed the audience his charmer’s smile. “I, of course, prefer that you fill the second bowl, but since Miss Seton and her friends hope you fill the first, I will be a gentleman and not try to influence your decision. In either case, the duke and duchess have agreed to match the amount in whichever bowl has more money. So choose well.”

  “And you, sir?” Lord Kirkwood called out, having managed to drag Silly Sarah to the breakfast despite the lack of card playing. “Will you agree to match the amount, too?”

  Diego feigned a look of horror. “I said I was open-minded, sir. Not insane.”

  That brought another round of laughter.

  Fixing his gaze on Lucy, Diego struck a pose of exaggerated seriousness. “I know that there are some in this audience who think my character very bad. And to those people who call me the devil and such, I can only promise that . . .”

  A fit of giggling at the front of the room made the others strain to see what was going on.

  A pair of horns had begun to emerge from beneath Diego’s hair. He talked on as if he didn’t realize it, but the horns soon rose so high that everyone in the room could see, and laughter drowned out his words.

  Several ladies who’d heard her comments at the tea turned to smile at Lucy, but she didn’t mind his little joke at her expense since it brought such pleasure to the audience. And when he finished his speech with a formal bow, then turned to head upstage, displaying a long barbed tail that stuck out from beneath his tailcoat, the crowd roared with laughter.

  That set the tone for his performance.

  Lucy could only watch in awe as a succession of astonishing tricks followed. First, he took four cards chosen by audience members, restored them to the deck, placed the deck in a goblet, and then, from several paces away, made the chosen cards dance out of the deck at his whim. He poured a seemingly endless flow of different wines from one ordinary bottle into wine glasses, passing them out among the audience. All the while, he interspersed his tricks with amusing remarks that had people laughing with delight.

  Then came more ambitious feats: coaxing eggs into strolling up and down a cane taken from someone in the audience, removing a man’s shirt without removing his coat, making cards disappear from a deck only to appear again in the donation bowls at the back of the room.

  Things got really interesting when he brought out his pistol. He had someone choose a card and restore it to the deck before he tossed the deck into the air and pinned the selected card to the ceiling with one pistol shot.

  The audience was still gasping over that one when Diego motioned to his assistant, who brought out a waist-high pedestal and set upon it a candelabra with three candles. Diego picked up another candelabra, which he displayed to the audience. “For this next trick, I will need a volunteer.”

  Several female hands shot up, but he ignored them, fixing his gaze on someone to Lucy’s left. “Lord Hunmouth, if you would be so kind?”

  Lucy pivoted to see Peter’s reaction, not surprised to see him stiffen with outrage—not only at Diego’s deliberate slaughtering of his title, but also at being singled out for such an undignified role. It was all Lucy could do to suppress her laughter as Peter hesitated while others near him prodded him to go on.

  “Then again,” Diego went on with deceptive nonchalance, “I cannot blame you for not wishing to face a man with a pistol. Is there someone else who—”

  “Nonsense.” The implication of cowardice made Peter rise. “I’m perfectly happy to help.”

  As Peter strolled up, Lucy saw Diego’s satisfied smile and swallowed hard. He was planning something that didn’t bode well for Peter.

  Why did those two despise each other? Could it really be just because of her?

  That seemed unlikely, yet she’d swear Diego had never met Peter until today. Diego could have no reason for disliking the earl except jealousy. Over her. The very thought sent a thrill through her.

  Once Peter was onstage, Diego went through the usual routine of having him check the articles—the pistol, the candelabras, the pedestal—to be sure they were in order. Then he directed Peter to stand three feet away from the pedestal. Handing the earl the second candelabra, he moved the man’s arms until the candles were positioned in a line with the others.

  “Now, my lord, I hope you have a steady hand.” Diego strode back to the pedestal and lit the three candles on the candelabra. “Because I mean to transfer the flames on these candles to your candles with one pistol shot. And it will only work if you keep the candles perfectly aligned and do not move a muscle.”

  As it dawned on Peter that Diego meant to shoot in his general direction, the alarm spreading over his features was priceless. Lucy bit down hard on her lip to keep from laughing, though no one else seemed to have such restraint. And when a red flush of embarrassment stained Peter’s pale cheeks, Lucy could have kissed Diego right there in front of everyone.

  She couldn’t have thought of a better—or more public—humiliation. It almost made up for Peter’s pompous remarks about wanting to be her friend. As if he hadn’t already given up the right to that by insulting her.

  Diego called the duke’s friend Lord Stoneville up to the stage to load the pistol, which only made everything worse, since it implied that Diego would be using a real ball, not a trick one. Peter’s eyes widened, and his body stiffened until he looked like a rabbit cornered by a fox.

  By the time Diego took his position, sighting down the barrel at the line of candle flames and empty wicks, Peter’s candelabra had begun to shake uncontrollably. Lucy could almost feel sorry for him.

  Almost.

  “Steady, man, steady,” Diego said with a decidedly devilish glint in his eye. “Wouldn’t want to clip you instead of the candles.”

  Diego continued to sight and aim and adjust his position. To anyone else, it probably seemed as if he were merely drawing out the suspense, but Lucy recognized the dark pleasure shining on his face. He was reveling in Peter’s fear. It was really too awful of him, but she couldn’t blame him when she remembered Peter’s nasty remarks about his abilities.

  At last, a shot sounded. The first three candles were extinguished; the second three caught fire. And Peter looked as if he might actually faint.

  Diego, however, looked intensely satisfied. As the applause sounded, he bowed to the audience and said, “Please give another round for my accommodating friend.”

  Lucy stifled a smile. It was clear from Peter’s face that he’d caught Diego’s sarcasm. As the audience applauded again, Peter headed for the stage steps, pausing to shoot Diego a venomous glance. Diego’s chilly nod made Lucy shiver.

  Good Lord. She would have to keep an eye on those two. She couldn’t have the wonderfully successful charity breakfast end in a brawl. Or worse.

  “For my final trick, I require the assistance of Miss Seton. Señorita? Will you please come to the stage?”

  Nervous at what he had up his sleeve now, Lucy rose and joined him onstage amid enthusiastic applause.

  With a wicked smile, Diego doffed his hat. “Here we have an ordinary hat. Is that not correct, Miss Seton?”

  Lucy checked the hat and agreed that it was indeed a plain top hat.

  He took it from her. “Now, if you will be so good as to give me one of your lovely earbobs.”

  She did so. He placed it in the hat, passed a handkerchief over it, and whisked away the handkerchief to reveal that the hat was empty. The trick seemed rather humdrum considering his earlier effects, but the audience clapped politely.

  “Let’s see if we can restore Miss Seton’s property.” Again, he covered the hat, but this time when he whisked the handkerchief away, he held the hat out to Lucy. “Miss Seton, your earbob.”

  She reached into the hat but instead of her jewelry found a handful of ten-pound notes. When she pulled them out in bewilderment, the audience clapped.

  Diego feigned deep concern. “Dios mio, I knew I
should not have bought one of your English hats. It lacks all magic.”

  Everyone laughed.

  He peered into the hat and knocked it on his thigh. “That should do it. If you will hold those notes, señorita, I will see if I can produce your earbob this time.”

  He tried again. And again, each time varying his patter and producing more bank notes to increased laughter and applause from the audience. After the fourth miraculous appearance of ten-pound notes, he gazed hard at the pile in her hand and said, “Ah, I see the problem. Your earbob is in hiding.”

  Plucking a note from her hand, he crumpled it up, then opened his hand to reveal her earbob. As the audience applauded wildly, he handed it to her.

  Then he gestured to the pile of notes in her hand. “Please accept these as my own donation to your cause,” he announced with a bow.

  She gaped at him, then stared down at the notes. “But sir, there must be more than two hundred pounds here.”

  He nodded. “For your fund.”

  She waited until the audience finished applauding, then said tartly, “But which fund?”

  Eyes gleaming, he said, “Whichever you feel is more worthy.” He turned to the audience. “And now it is your turn. You must not leave Miss Seton’s donation to languish alone. If you enjoyed the performance, do be generous!”

  The duchess swept onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, Diego Javier Montalvo, Master of Mystery!”

  Amid thunderous applause, he gave a bow, offered Lucy his arm, and led her off the stage. At the bottom, he released her arm and bent close to whisper, “Remember, Lucy. You owe me a waltz.”

  Then the press swamped him.

  For a moment, she watched, her heart thundering in her chest, as Diego handled the press with expert ease. A waltz? She owed him that and more. A quick glance at the donation bowls showed that each already contained more money than the total generally raised at these affairs. Though the two funds were filling equally, his two hundred pounds would probably tip the balance in favor of the one to buy Rockhurst. And the duke and duchess would match it.

  How astonishing. Why had he done this? Why risk his own plans for Rockhurst to come here and perform for them? Surely it wasn’t just because of her. She dared not believe that. No matter how clever and handsome and amazing he seemed, this was but an interlude to him.

  Or was it? After all, if he did buy Rockhurst, and he did settle next door to the school . . .

  Best not to dream such things. Besides, if he stayed, it meant the ruin of the school, and she didn’t want that, either.

  With a sigh, she headed for the back of the room, where the ladies were busy emptying the bowls while the guests headed out to dine at tables in the gardens. She helped tally the funds as the footmen cleared the chairs in the ballroom and Diego finished dealing with the press.

  Half an hour passed before she could get away, but when she exited onto a terrace on the side of the house away from the gardens, a man slunk out of the shadows, startling her.

  “Peter!” She glanced nervously around, not the least pleased to see that they were alone. “Why aren’t you eating with the other guests?”

  The ugly look on his face struck a chill to her bones. “Juliana and I are leaving. She’s waiting for me in the carriage with her maid.” He stalked toward her, his face a mottled red. “But I had to talk to you first, to tell you I will never forgive you for sending Montalvo to humiliate me before my fiancée.”

  “What? I did not—”

  “I knew you were angry about me and Juliana.” He approached so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. “You never did understand the requirements of rank, that a man has to do certain things because of his position.”

  “Odd how you forgot all that when you called me your ‘one true love.’ ”

  His face darkened. “Things may have changed between us, but I still care about you. If you think I’ll stand by while that bastard Montalvo tries to worm his way into your good graces by making fools of your old friends—”

  “Friends?” she spat, trying not to be alarmed by his drunken anger. “You haven’t been a friend to me in a year or more, Peter. You know nothing about me. I’m beginning to realize you never did. So go back to your fiancée.”

  She turned to walk off, but Peter grabbed her by the arm and jerked her up next to him. “I don’t love Juliana, you know,” he murmured in her ear. “But with this title came an estate I can ill afford, and she has the wherewithal to maintain it. You’re the one I love—the only one. You’re the one I want.”

  How long had she waited to hear those words again? And now that she had, all she wanted was to slap him. Bad enough to think he’d fallen out of love with her, but that he’d loved her and chosen someone else because of money? And then tried to make her think it was because of her own flaws?

  How had she never noticed that Peter had lost his honor and his character somewhere on the Grand Tour? Or that he seemed to think she should take his excuses as a reason for letting him do as he pleased with her?

  “Well, I don’t want you.” She swung at him with her ineffectual reticule as she struggled to free her arm from his grip.

  He shoved her against the wall so hard he knocked the breath from her. “You wanted me a week ago,” he growled as he trapped her with his body. “You wanted me well enough to ask my intentions, like the bold flirt that you are. What’s happened since then? Decided to taste a bit of the exotic? Does your father know you’re consorting with that dirty Spaniard?”

  “I’m doing no such thing!” She pushed against his shoulders in a panic. Peter was stronger than she remembered, especially with some liquid courage inside him.

  Pinning her hands against the wall, he flattened himself against her, making it impossible for her to move. “Do you really think a man like that has honorable intentions? A man who discards women when he’s done with them?”

  She writhed against him, now truly alarmed. “Get off of me, Peter!” she cried, praying someone would hear. But how could they, with all the noise?

  “Or what? You’ll tell your new friend to humiliate me? Don’t worry—he’ll never get that chance again. I’ll see him dead first. But not before I remind you how you feel about me.” He shoved his mouth against hers so hard she couldn’t breathe, and she feared he might actually try to violate her.

  Suddenly, he was yanked bodily from her and thrown to the floor of the terrace.

  As Peter scrambled to his feet, Diego faced him down, balling his hands into fists. “You maldito Inglés! How dare you assault a respectable woman! Have you no shame?”

  “I wasn’t assaulting her! She wanted me to kiss her, didn’t you, Lucy?”

  “Sí, sí, that’s why you had to hold her by force!” A string of Spanish curses left his lips. Then he cast her a concerned glance. “Are you all right?”

  She could only nod, still shaken.

  Without warning, Peter threw a punch at Diego, catching him so hard that he split Diego’s lip. As blood dripped down his chin onto his cravat, Diego struck back: one swift blow to the belly, then another to the jaw.

  It laid Peter out cold.

  Chapter Ten

  Dear Cousin,

  That is all you can tell me about Mr. Pritchard: Do not trust him? I know the man has a sly manner, but I would appreciate more concrete evidence of why I should not trust him. You are as impenetrable as our neighbor, the Master of Mystery. It is most frustrating.

  Your annoyed correspondent,

  Charlotte

  H is blood roaring in his ears, Diego stood over the prone Hunforth with fists clenched. Just the memory of the bastard pinning Lucy to the wall made a red haze fill his vision. “Get up, you damned English ass!” Diego kicked him in the ribs. “Let us see how well you do when you fight fair!”

  “Stop that!” Lucy grabbed him by the arm. “I will not have you two brawling at the duchess’s party like animals. He’s out cold, so leave him be.”

  “He deserves to
be thrashed—”

  “Yes, he does. But think what the press would make of that.” With troubled eyes, she drew a handkerchief from her reticule and pressed it to his bleeding lip. “Please, you’ve already got blood on your shirt. If you keep fighting, someone will surely see. And I don’t want my name plastered across the papers. Or yours.”

  That gave him pause. Especially since he could hear voices on the terrace. As he hesitated, Lucy stuffed her handkerchief into her reticule and yanked on his arm until he reluctantly let her drag him away. Diego heard Hunforth moaning behind them as he came out of it, but Lucy’s implacable expression kept him moving as she half pulled, half shoved him along the terrace. She tried door after door until she found one unlocked. It led into what looked like a library.

  “Wait for me in here,” she ordered. “I’ll take care of Peter.”

  He stiffened. “I am not leaving you alone with that ass.”

  “I won’t be alone. I’m going to fetch two footmen to remove the very drunk Lord Hunforth, who passed out on the terrace.” More voices could be heard. “Quick, before anyone sees you!” she commanded, giving him a little push. “If you don’t have a care for your own reputation, at least have a care for mine.”

  Hostias, how he wished she hadn’t said that. He itched to go back and beat Hunforth to a bloody pulp just for daring to touch her. But the press was still here, and if he was found brawling with Hunforth over Lucy, she would be ruined. If he was even found alone with her, with his lip busted and blood on his shirt—

  He walked into the library and let her shut the door behind him.

  But he could not stay still while awaiting her return. It was not in his nature to let a woman clean up his mess, and this mess was certainly his. If he had not stepped in earlier, or had not made a fool of Hunforth onstage . . .

  A grim smile touched his lips. No, he could not regret that. Hunforth had needed someone to prick his pompous pride, and it had given Diego a great deal of pleasure to do so. He only wished Lucy had not suffered for it.

  Pacing the room, he saw again the fear on her face at Hunforth’s assault. What if Diego had not gone looking for her in the duke’s study and then been sent in her direction? What if that drunken ass had really hurt her?