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  The minute he had seen her birthmark, he had known he was done for. Until then, he had prayed she would prove not to be the marqués’s granddaughter. Then she could be his, and he could still gain Arboleda.

  That birthmark had mocked him. He could have Lucy, or he could have Arboleda. Not both.

  Gaspar went to warm his hands by the low fire. “What happened at the breakfast between you and Lucy?”

  “Nothing,” Diego said tersely.

  “You’ve said that for three days, but something must have happened. When last I saw her, she was smiling fondly at you. Now she won’t even let you near.”

  He groaned. It was time he told Gaspar what he had discovered. He had been hoping that once Mrs. Harris learned that the money he had donated was genuine, Lucy would realize she had no cause to be wary; then he need not reveal to Gaspar that he had overstepped his bounds. And that he had lost her trust through a trick of Fate.

  Diego had recognized disaster the moment he had seen Lucy’s stricken expression as she heard about his past. She would not understand how a Spanish count could come to be a thief. She would assume he had lied about his upbringing, then wonder what other lies there were. And his not applying for a license for his pleasure garden or offering for the property made him look even more suspicious.

  That was the trouble: he and Lucy had spent just enough time together for him to learn how she thought and what things troubled her. The thieving would most certainly trouble her, especially since that damned Godwin had not bothered to clarify that it had happened when Diego was barely thirteen.

  Now she felt confused and wary of him. God only knew if she would ever let him near her again. Meanwhile, the days were passing, and Arboleda slipped farther from his grasp with every one.

  Hostias, had she learned nothing of his character by now? How could she still think him dishonorable, especially given his restraint in the library?

  She probably saw that as another way he had tried to manipulate her.

  With a curse, he crumpled the note and tossed it to the floor.

  “Perhaps we should give up,” Gaspar said.

  “I am not giving up,” Diego muttered.

  “Did you read what the papers said about your performance?” Gaspar asked. “They extolled your cleverness, pronounced you to be vastly entertaining, even hoped that you would consider performing here again.”

  Diego glared at Gaspar. “I am not touring England, if that is what you plan.”

  Bending to pick up the crumpled note, Gaspar shoved it into his pocket. “Actually, I . . . er . . . went to see Philip Astley in town yesterday.”

  Astley owned a London amphitheater used for public amusement, with daily shows of equestrian mastery, conjuring, and juggling. Gaspar and Diego had met him while touring. He was the one who had shown Diego how to perform the bullet catch.

  Gaspar continued. “You know he always admired my work, and he was very impressed with what he has heard of yours. He said he could find a place for me with his staff. He needs someone to book the acts. And you—”

  “I am not going to work for Philip Astley just because some big-bosomed English female is leading you about by your cock, convincing you that we could have a life here,” Diego growled. “I would rather slit my throat than live in England.”

  “We cannot keep beating our heads against the wall. We still cannot confirm that Miss Seton is the marqués’s granddaughter, and even if we do—”

  “She is his granddaughter,” Diego snapped.

  “I know you think so, but—”

  “Lucy is Doña Lucinda,” Diego repeated. “I confirmed it. For a certainty.”

  It took a moment for the truth to hit the man. Then Gaspar groaned. “Por Dios, please say that you told her about her grandfather, which prompted her to show you the birthmark of her own free will.”

  The hopeful note in Gaspar’s voice made Diego wince.

  As soon as Gaspar saw that, a string of foul Spanish left his lips. “And I’m being led about by my cock? No wonder she won’t speak to you. I told you that you should tumble a whore, but did you listen?” Gaspar paced the study as he ranted. “Oh, no, not the proud count.” He jerked one gnarled hand in Diego’s direction. “Now that the grandee of Villafranca thinks he’s about to regain his estate, he’s too good for whores. No, he must have the granddaughter of a marqués in his bed—”

  “I did not take her to bed, you old fool. You know I would never deflower an innocent.”

  Gaspar eyed him skeptically. “But you saw the birthmark. And not because she showed it to you.”

  “That is not why she is angry with me.” Diego refused to elaborate on what he had done with Lucy. Bad enough he had to reveal the part about the birthmark. But those moments between him and her had been too precious to sully by relating them to anyone, even Gaspar. “She is angry because she heard about my early days in the regiment, when I used to be a cardsharp.”

  “And a thief,” Gaspar reminded him, never one to mince words.

  After all, they had first met when Diego was lifting Gaspar’s purse. He had never known why Gaspar had taken pity on him, why he had decided to reward Diego’s dexterity rather than punish it. But Gaspar had offered Diego a choice: be handed over to the local authorities or become his assistant.

  For that, Diego would always be grateful. If his thieving had gone on much longer, he would surely have ended up on the gallows. Desperate for money for his ailing mother, and relieved to have another way of gaining it, Diego had agreed to Gaspar’s proposal.

  He had gritted his teeth when Gaspar assigned him such humiliating women’s work as cleaning chamber pots and sewing pockets in handkerchiefs. He had practiced the Chinese rings until his fingertips bled. He had endured painful chemical applications to harden his hands so he could carry fire for their candle act.

  And he had learned every bit of knowledge he could from the master, until Gaspar could no longer conjure, and the master became the assistant.

  Although Gaspar was crotchety, with a penchant for expensive wine and exotic food, the man had earned his retirement, and Diego meant to see that he got it.

  “I can think of only one good solution to this dilemma,” Diego said, having spent the entire night developing a plan.

  “You sneak into the school and carry her off?” Gaspar quipped.

  “That is the not-so-good solution. And it would be very difficult to sneak into a house full of women without raising an alarm.”

  A cloud descended on Gaspar’s brow. “I was not serious. Kidnapping is not a choice. The marqués said nothing of kidnapping.”

  Diego gave him a hard stare. “He wanted her returned, whatever it took.”

  Gaspar stiffened. “If you kidnap an Englishwoman, the authorities will hunt you down and have you hanged.”

  “I doubt the colonel would risk involving the authorities, given the criminal nature of his own actions. Even if he did not steal her, he covered up the fact that someone else had.”

  When Gaspar looked confused, Diego realized he had not yet told the man everything he had learned from Lucy and Hunforth. He quickly explained his theories about how Doña Lucinda had come to be adopted by the colonel.

  “But even so, I would rather not carry her off against her will,” Diego went on. “Too messy. We need to persuade her to go willingly, and that means we must bring her to us. Fear for her precious school just might do it. Here is what I propose: I make an offer to buy Rockhurst.”

  “Have you gone mad? Don Carlos barely approved enough funds to cover expenses. How will you pay for this property, with alchemist’s gold?”

  “I am not planning to pay. Just verbally offer. While Pritchard’s attorneys draw up papers, I will consult with the licensing magistrates about how much a license would cost. We will make sure everyone in Richmond hears of our actions. It will send the school into a frenzy.”

  “And you think it will send Lucy rushing over here to talk you out of it.”

 
“After she and her employer exhaust other options. At the very least, it will acquit me of concocting a scheme to defraud.”

  Gaspar frowned. “Meanwhile, when you don’t complete the offer, Pritchard will accuse you of fraud. Except that he can have you tossed into gaol.”

  “It is a risk,” Diego said with a shrug. “But we can keep him running around in circles to meet our requirements for some time, and Lucy is too impetuous to hold out long. She will want to speak to me, if only to lecture me.” A grim smile touched his lips. “She does enjoy lecturing me.”

  Gaspar still looked skeptical. “Now that we know she is heir to the fortune, why not just send her a letter informing her? She’ll be begging to go to Spain.”

  Diego rolled his eyes. “Did you not hear me say she refuses my letters? Besides, when I reveal the truth, she will involve the colonel, and he will move heaven and earth to keep us from either taking her home or revealing his perfidy to the press.”

  “Why would Lucy jeopardize her fortune by telling him?”

  “She does not care about money.”

  “Everyone cares about money,” Gaspar scoffed, “even you.”

  “Not Lucy.”

  Mrs. Harris has taught us time and again that money can be a curse, she had said. At least I know that anyone who marries me will marry for love.

  As if love were the most important thing in the world. That was as foreign an idea to him as English propriety. A man married for land, fortune, or family honor, sometimes all three. And if he gained an amiable partner in the bargain, that was icing on the cake.

  But love? That was an illusion, nothing more. Attraction he understood, but no sane man married for attraction alone. Especially when the object of the attraction was a vexing Englishwoman with a deplorable habit of thinking the worst of a man, even when he had been on his best behavior.

  He scowled. Not that he could marry Lucy. That was impossible.

  She would not have him, anyway. She had decided he was the devil, and she was not about to change her opinion for anything so inconsequential as the facts.

  Diego headed for the door. “I am going to see Pritchard. You head for town. Gossip about our impending purchase of Rockhurst wherever you dare. But one way or the other, coax our canary out of her cage. She has kept us staring through the bars long enough.”

  • • •

  Two days later, Diego stood in an office foyer after sundown, trying not to look bored. He had been summoned by a ghoulish-looking solicitor named Baines, on behalf of a mysterious client who wished to invest in the pleasure garden.

  Diego did not care about that, of course, and since Gaspar’s inquiries had not revealed any connection between Baines and Pritchard, this had nothing to do with the supposed purchase. So it was a waste of his time.

  Nonetheless, it would add to his show of purchasing the property. Since Lucy had not yet come around, that could be useful.

  Still, it was odd that Baines insisted upon meeting at night. And when a clerk ushered Diego into a dark room, Diego went instantly on his guard.

  Either the solicitor’s white pallor came from a loathing of light, or something else was going on. Only one candle burned, at the very front of Baines’s desk. The man’s client sat back in the dark, and Diego could barely make out his figure.

  He scowled. Like any magician, he had a healthy respect for what light and shadow could conceal. And he did not like having such tricks used against him.

  “Sit down, sir.” Baines gestured to the chair directly in front of the candle.

  Diego gauged the lines of sight. When seated, he would be unable to see either the man in the shadows or Baines. His years with the regiments had taught him that a wise man kept any potential enemy in sight. “I prefer to stand.”

  A panicky look spread over Baines’s face, until his companion leaned forward to whisper something that made the solicitor relax. “My client says he understands your caution, but he must keep his identity private. If you wish to hear his proposal, you will have to take a seat.”

  Diego weighed his options, wishing he had thought to bring a pistol. But he had expected a straightforward discussion, where he pretended to be interested in the investor until he could make an excuse to leave.

  Still, he understood some men’s need for privacy. “Very well.” He sat down. “I take it that your client wants to keep secret his investment in my project?”

  “Actually, he does not wish to invest,” Baines said. “He wishes to purchase the property after you have bought it from Mr. Pritchard.”

  Diego blinked. This grew more curious by the moment. “Why not just purchase it from Pritchard himself?”

  “Mr. Pritchard will not sell to him. There is . . . bad blood between them.”

  Not terribly surprising, given that Pritchard was a loathsome worm, but still interesting.

  “And why should I consider such a thing?” Diego asked.

  “Because my client will pay you substantially more than you pay Pritchard.”

  Diego couldn’t contain a laugh. “Does he know what Pritchard is asking?”

  “Yes. And he knows that the property isn’t worth near that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yet he is willing to pay me even more.”

  “My client has his reasons.”

  “And he will have to tell me what they are before I take his preposterous proposal seriously.”

  A long silence ensued, followed by more whispering. “He prefers to keep his reasons private.”

  “Very well.” Diego rose. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  “Wait!” Baines rose, too. “You must at least hear us out. My client is willing to offer you several incentives just to consider his proposal.”

  Diego paused near the door. “I am not interested in changing my plans at this late date, gentlemen, but thank you for the offer.”

  “So you’re determined to ruin Mrs. Harris’s School for Young Ladies for the purposes of your project?”

  The whispered question came from the man in the shadows, and the mention of the school stopped Diego in his tracks. Why would some anonymous investor care so much about what happened to a ladies’ academy that he would be willing to lay out a fortune—

  The answer hit him. Ah, yes, the secret benefactor. Gaspar had told Diego about Mrs. Harris’s anonymous “Cousin Michael,” who saw himself as champion of the school. Diego could use that, after determining the lay of the land.

  Retracing his steps, he took his seat once more. “So, you are a friend to the school, are you, sir?”

  The man in the shadows leaned back, and Baines resumed his role as intermediary. “My client is concerned about what effect your project might have on the whole of Richmond.”

  Diego sat back, tucking his thumbs in his waistband. “And just how concerned is he? I believe you mentioned incentives.”

  More whispering ensued. “He is willing to go as high as double the price that Pritchard requires.”

  “I am not interested in money.”

  “My client has another piece of property that you might find an acceptable trade, if that is what you prefer.”

  “I have found the property I want. Its location makes it worth its weight in gold to me. So your property does not interest me, either.”

  “Then what the bloody hell does, sir?” hissed the man in the shadows.

  Diego hid a smile. “Only one thing. If you arrange it, I will gladly sell you the property when I buy it. And at Pritchard’s price, too.” He could easily keep that promise. “All I want is a private meeting with a teacher at the school.”

  Baines blinked. “What?”

  “I want an hour alone with Lucinda Seton, unchaperoned. Nothing else.”

  As another furious bout of whispering ensued, he held his breath. He was taking a huge risk by laying his cards on the table. If “Cousin Michael” was as good a friend to the school as he had heard, the man might balk at involving Lucy, and Diego would merely have put everyone on guard.


  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.

  Chapter Thirteen