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  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

  Lucy 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 Señor 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, Señor 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, Señor 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.

  “Señor 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, th
en 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, cariño,” 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 send you? Why not just come himself?”

  “He is ill, and his doctors said he could not manage the voyage. I agreed to look for you in his place.”

  And for that, Diego had manufactured this entire scheme of the pleasure garden? For that, he had engineered everything that had happened in the past week?

  Pain knotted in her throat. “So you’ve been lying to me all this time.”

  His expression turned fierce. “I had to be sure you were the person I sought. I did not want to upset your life unless I was sure.”

  “That’s why you’ve been coaxing me into talking about things?” With a groan, she remembered his questions about La Coruña, about her parents’ deaths.

  She shook her head, unable to take it all in. “But the papers said you’re here to buy Rockhurst. Mr. Pritchard still believes you’re here to buy Rockhurst!”

  “It was a ruse, cariño. That’s all.”

  “You looked at other sites up north! Mrs. Harris said—”

  “Gaspar and I have traveled throughout England, tracking down daughters of officers serving in Gibraltar who were the right age to be Doña Catalina’s. I needed a reason for being in the country, and a pleasure garden seemed as plausible as any. I dared not raise the authorities’ suspicions.”

  A sudden chill swept over her as everything he’d said sank in. “How did you know my mother’s name was Catalina? I never told you that.”

  “For the same reason I know that you are the one we seek.”

  Family. She had family other than Papa. Could that really be?

  “Why is the marqués looking for me after so many years? What does he want with me? Why didn’t my parents ever tell Papa I had family? I don’t understand.”

  “I know. And I cannot answer your questions now.” His voice dropped low. “I must speak to you more privately. There are other things you need to hear. I have documents to show you. And information about Colonel Seton.”

  Fear gripped her. “What do you mean? What has this to do with Papa?”

  “I cannot speak of it here; these walls have ears. And I do not trust your guardians.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it? They arranged this meeting. They deemed saving their school more important than keeping you from me—a man you did not trust.”

  “No! I did that!”

  “You should never have been given the choice. In Spain, you would have been kept from me, not sacrificed for the good of Mrs. Harris’s school.”

  “This is not Spain. Besides, aren’t you glad of that? You wouldn’t even be talking to me now if we English were as strict as you Spanish.”

  “You are not English,” he said with surprising virulence. “You are Spanish.”

  She tipped up her chin. “Half Spanish.” When he didn’t answer, she narrowed her eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

  “A great deal. If you wish to hear it all, you must meet me tonight at Rockhurst. Alone. Without your untrustworthy guardians.”

  A frown knit her brow. “Diego, you know very well I cannot go to an unmarried man’s house alone at night.”

  “Would you prefer to come this afternoon, when every eye is upon you?”

  “No, of course not, but—”

  “Do not be concerned about your virtue. Had I wanted to take it, mi dulzura, I would have done so when I had the chance three days ago.”

  A blush heated her cheeks. He had a point. She’d practically thrown herself at him in the duke’s library.

  “You need only worry about preserving your reputation,” he went on, “which can be done if you slip away tonight after everyone is asleep. Pay me a visit at Rockhurst. Gaspar will be there, too. We will be discreet, I assure you. But I must have more time and privacy for this discussion.”

  “How can you even be sure I’m the person you’re looking for? Catalina is a common Spanish name. All you have is a few bits of information.”

  “And your birthmark. It is the confirmation of who you are.” He drew out a piece of parchment inscribed with the signature of Don Carlos, Marqués de Parama, along with an elaborate wax seal that bore the imprint of an ornately decorated P. On the parchment was drawn a butterfly figure exactly like the one on her thigh.

  The marqués knew of her birthmark? Her hands began to shake. That, more than anything, lent truth to Diego’s tale. Only Papa knew of it . . . and her parents, of course.

  It also explained why Diego had reacted so strongly when he’d seen it.

  A fresh torrent of betrayal swept through her. Good Lord. That was why he had spent the past week kissing her and caressing her and—

&n
bsp; “Why, you despicable, vile . . . unfeeling . . .” She burst into tears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Charlotte,

  And another thing. Sometimes we must weigh the good of the many against the good of the few. But do not worry—if I hear anything to imply Miss Seton is in danger from Señor Montalvo, I will send him packing. Richmond’s businessmen will not be so eager to see his pleasure garden established in their environs at the risk of his preying upon their innocent daughters.

  Your protective relation,

  Michael

  D iego watched in horror as Lucy began to sob. What the devil? “Cariño, please,” he said, reaching for her.

  She swatted his hand. “Don’t you dare! And don’t you ever call me cariño again either! Everything you said to me was a lie!”

  “Not everything,” he said hoarsely. “I avoided lying as much as I could. But I could not tell you the truth until I was sure.”

  “So you kissed me . . . and c-caressed me until you . . . could g-get a chance t-to see my . . . b-birthmark.”

  “No!” Dios mio, he should have realized she would think he had dallied with her only as part of his mission.

  Backing away from him, she cast him an accusing gaze. “How could you? All you had to do was ask to see it. Instead, you let me think you desired me.”

  “Dios Santo, Lucy, I do desire you. How could you believe otherwise?” With panic rising in his chest, he stalked her. “It was desire that made me do what I did, not any need to see your birthmark. You have to believe me!”

  “How much of a fool do you think I am?” she whimpered, her pretty eyes clouded by tears.

  “What happened between us in Foxmoor’s library had nothing to do with this, I swear,” he murmured, conscious of Mrs. Harris outside the door. “Surely you recall that I wanted to stop it. I was the one who said it was unwise.”

  “But you didn’t stop, did you? Not until you had your cursed confirmation.”

  She whirled toward the door, but he snagged her about the waist from behind, yanking her up close to him. At once, she began to fight him.

  “Yes, I got my confirmation,” he bit out as he struggled to subdue her. “And in the process, I broke my promise to the marqués.”