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  She was certainly not in the parlor now.

  No, it was a bedchamber, but smaller than what she’d expect at Rockhurst. And she could smell something. The sea? Yes, she was almost sure of it. Struggling to sit up, she looked for Diego, but he was distracted by a man dressed as a sailor carrying in a canvas bag. She glanced to her right, startled to see that the windows looked like portholes, and the room was swaying . . .

  Good Lord. “Diego Montalvo, you scoundrel!” she cried as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. “We are on a ship!”

  Motioning the sailor out the door, he turned toward her, his eyes wary. “Yes. We’re on our way to Spain.”

  She gaped at him. “You . . . you took me? Without asking? Without being sure that I—” She broke off as the fullness of his perfidy dawned on her. Ships did not come so far up the Thames as the school, and it would have taken hours to reach the Surrey docks.

  “You drugged me, you wretched devil! You must have put something in my wine!”

  His face was like stone. “A little laudanum, that’s all. I had no choice.”

  “No choice!” She leaped from the bed, then nearly fell from dizziness.

  With a stricken expression, he rushed over and urged her to sit back on the bed. “Stay where you are, cariño. You must rest until the drug leaves your blood.”

  Batting his hands away in panic, she struggled to rise again, but the ship lurched, tossing her back onto the bed.

  In an instant, she realized what that meant—the ship had set sail! “I am not going to rest, you . . . you kidnapper!”

  She leaped up again, but this time Diego swept her up in his arms and sat down on the bed with her. “Por Dios! Calm down before you hurt yourself.”

  “Let go of me!” She struggled against the arms that wrapped her like steel bands. “I must speak to the captain before we get under way!”

  “You cannot.” Diego struggled to subdue her. “He is busy sailing the ship.”

  “I know! That’s why I must see him now, curse you!” She elbowed him hard enough to make him release her.

  But before she got more than a foot away, Diego yanked her back and threw her down onto the bed, then covered her body with the full weight of his. “Stop this madness!” He caught her wrists and pinioned them to the bed. “There is no point to it!”

  “If I could just speak to the captain,” she cried, fighting futilely against the large body weighing her down, “I know he would turn the ship around!”

  Remorse flashed briefly over Diego’s face, leaving only determination in its wake. “The captain is fully aware of the situation, and he is not stopping, for you or anyone else. So save your breath and your energy, mi dulzura.”

  “I am not your sweetness!” she spat, tears welling in her eyes. “I am not your anything!” He had drugged her, for pity’s sake! And now he was dragging her to Spain against her will? “You have no right to do this!”

  “Lucy, listen to me,” he said in a voice of maddening calm. “I know you want to meet your family, and I mean to make sure that you do.”

  She stopped struggling and glared at him. “Get off me, you devil,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “This will be easier for all of us if you just relax, enjoy the voyage, and prepare yourself to meet—”

  “Enjoy the voy—” With rage surging through her, she bucked against him, trying to throw him off.

  But he held fast.

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Get. Off. Me. Or I swear that when I do meet my grandfather—if I meet my grandfather—I shall tell him that you held me down on a bed to have your wicked way with me.”

  Diego paled. “You would not lie.”

  “Try me.”

  “Fine,” he growled. “I will let you up. But only if you promise not to run on deck to bother the captain.”

  “Do you promise to bring him down here to talk to me?” she shot back. “So I can see if you’re telling the truth about his part in this . . . this madness?”

  Diego actually had the audacity to look offended. “I do not lie.”

  That enraged her further. “Oh, no? All that nonsense about the birth announcement? About abiding by my wishes? That was the truth?”

  Diego flinched, then abruptly rolled off her. “Very well,” he said, his face taut with anger. “I will bring the captain here. As soon as he can leave his post.”

  A woman who looked about eight years older than Lucy suddenly appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray and glancing anxiously from Diego to Lucy. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milord, but I brought food and some tea for the little miss.”

  Aware of what she must look like sprawled on the bed, Lucy shot up to stare at the female with the flaming hair, wearing a low-cut gown and with lips so highly rouged Lucy was surprised they weren’t on fire. “Who are you?”

  “Your lady’s maid,” Diego bit out. “As I told you, you have a chaperone.”

  Lucy was completely taken aback. The woman looked as if she’d just emerged fresh from a tumble in the hay. Good Lord, this got worse by the moment!

  This time, when Lucy stood to face Diego, she managed to stay on her feet. “You . . . you hired a . . . a ladybird to chaperone me?” She broke into hysterical laughter. “Oh, that’s rich!”

  Diego winced, but before he could open his mouth, the woman spoke.

  “Now see here, miss,” she said with a sniff as she hurried to the table to set down the tray, “I’m a respectable woman, I am. I worked at the Anchor Inn before that fellow Gaspar hired me, and I did a right proper job of dressing the ladies’ hair.” She paused. “When we had ladies, that is, which weren’t that often. Mostly we got sailors, and a gentleman or two. And one time—”

  “Perhaps you should tell Miss Seton your name,” Diego cut in with a grimace that showed exactly what he thought of Gaspar’s choice of lady’s maid.

  “Aye, you’re right, sir.” With an exaggerated curtsy, the woman shot Lucy a winsome smile. “Name’s Janet, Miss Seton, but most people call me Nettie.”

  Lucy blinked. “You’re Scottish?” Nettie was a common Scottish nickname.

  Nettie beamed and thrust out her chin. “I am indeed. That’s why the other fellow hired me. Said it might make you more comfortable to have one of your countrywomen about.”

  Remembering the rumors she’d heard about Gaspar sweet-talking the school’s buxom cook, she arched an eyebrow. “That’s why he hired you?”

  Her sarcasm was lost on the woman. “Well, that and the fact that there ain’t a true lady’s maid to be had for miles ’round, and he was in a tearing hurry to find someone to attend you on this trip.”

  Nettie poured a cup of tea and brought it to Lucy, who refused it. With a shrug, Nettie drank it herself. “But I can do what they do—wash linens and iron yer clothes and take the spots out of muslin neat as you please. And I brought my paints, too, seeing as how you’re a lady and you might want some fixing up.” She edged nearer to examine Lucy’s face. “You could do with a bit of rouge, duckie, you’re that pale.”

  “If I’m pale, it’s because of him!” Lucy stabbed one finger at Diego. She strode up to him, hands on her hips. “Where’s your fellow kidnapper? I’d like to thank him for providing me with such an able servant.” She could well imagine the extra duties Gaspar expected the tavern wench to perform for him on the voyage.

  “Gaspar stayed behind.”

  Lucy eyed him skeptically. “Why?”

  He looked surprisingly discomfited. “To make sure no one follows us.”

  That set her back on her feet. She hadn’t even thought of how this might be seen at the school. Her stomach roiled so badly she had to sit down to quell her nausea. She was ruined. Ruined! And all because Diego wanted to . . . to . . . to what? Why on earth would he go to such lengths for the marqués?

  Oh, she could well guess.

  “How much is he paying you?” she whispered.

  A flush rose in Diego’s cheeks. “What do you mean?”


  “My grandfather must have paid you to do this. Otherwise, why would you risk it? They’ve got to be looking for me now, and it won’t take them long to guess who abducted me. And if they catch up to you, you’ll hang.”

  “Actually, they think we eloped.” Diego looked decidedly guilty as he threaded his fingers through his hair. “You left a note, courtesy of Gaspar’s forgery skills. He stayed behind to make sure that anyone who considers pursuing you continues to think we eloped.”

  As a powerful wave of fury swept through her, she jumped to her feet, her fists clenched. “So not only have you ruined me, but you made it look as if I leaped willingly into my own ruination! And when I return to England without you, they’ll say that’s what I get for running off with a Spanish magician who clearly only wanted my virtue. Who tossed me aside when he was done with me!”

  “No!” he cried. “Once you’re in Spain—”

  “I don’t want to go to Spain!” She snatched the teacup from Nettie’s hand and threw it at his head. He ducked, and the cup smashed harmlessly against the wall, but he wasn’t so lucky when he straightened just in time to get a meat pie in the face.

  If she hadn’t been so furious, she would have laughed at the picture he made, with bits of pastry and beef and little green peas dripping from his brow and mouth and cheeks.

  Her anger intensified when he merely took out a handkerchief and began to wipe off the mess with an expression of wounded dignity. “We will continue this discussion when you can be rational,” he announced in that oh-so-haughty tone he used when he was being an idiot.

  Ooh, if he thought she could ever be rational about this . . . With a cry of rage, she threw the plate at him. Unfortunately, it only hit the door as he slipped through.

  When he had shut the door behind him, she threw herself at it, crying, “Come back here, you scoundrel! We are not done!” She grabbed the door handle and yanked it in a frenzy, but he’d locked it.

  She beat on the door, tears finally rolling down her cheeks in a torrent of anger and betrayal and hurt. Diego had given her no choice. He’d wrenched her from her life forever! How could he?

  For the next few moments, she was insensible of anything but her fury. She raged at Diego, then Gaspar, then the grandfather she hadn’t yet met.

  Once her anger played out, she collapsed in a heap of tears on the floor. Would she ever see Papa again? Or Mrs. Harris? Or Lady Kerr? Oh, how she wished that she hadn’t carped at her stepmother the last time she’d seen her. She would give anything to have her here now, chiding her for anything she pleased.

  That brought on more sobbing, until she was weeping so hard it made her ill. Wrapped in her misery, she jumped when a gentle hand touched her arm.

  It was only Nettie. “There, there, miss. It can’t be so bad as all that, can it?”

  “You d-don’t understand,” she cried between sobs. “That . . . that devil k-kidnapped me!”

  “Aye, I gathered that much. But you’ll make yourself sick if you keep going on this way.” Nettie drew her into her arms and rocked her, patting her back, murmuring soothing words, until Lucy’s crying subsided at last.

  After Lucy had gained control of herself, Nettie pulled out a surprisingly clean handkerchief and dabbed at Lucy’s eyes and nose. “There now, all done, are we?”

  Lucy gazed at her, desperation making her grab at anyone who might prove a friend. Despite the rouge and powder caking her face, Nettie had kindly features and a warm smile. Perhaps she might prove an ally.

  Clasping the woman’s hand, she fixed her with a pleading gaze. “I have to get off this ship before we leave En-gland.” She knew from experience that the journey down the Thames could take some time, and then the ship would skirt the coast of England for another few days. If she could just reach the banks of the river . . . “You have to help me get off the ship!”

  Nettie’s face fell. “I’m sorry, duckie—”

  “If it’s a matter of money, I promise my papa will pay you whatever you ask. He can give you three times what Diego is offering.”

  “It ain’t a matter of money. We’re too far away. What will you do, swim?”

  Lucy swallowed. She didn’t know how to swim. Nor did she fancy leaping into the dark, swirling waters of the Thames.

  Pushing herself up off the floor, she hurried to the porthole, her stomach sinking to see that Nettie was right. The river was far wider than she remembered. “If we could get a boat . . . or perhaps someone to row us—”

  Nettie came over to stand beside her at the porthole. “It won’t work, miss. None of the sailors speaks English, ’cepting the captain, and he looks to be a good friend of Señor Montalvo. What will you do, lower the boat yerself? Row it to the bank? In that current? It can’t be done, even if you had a mind to do it. And to be honest, I don’t fancy drowning in the river.”

  Lucy gazed out at the bank that taunted her by being so far away. She might as well be in Spain already.

  Pulling her from the porthole, Nettie led her to a chair and poured tea into another cup. “Besides, Señor Montalvo is just bringing you home to your rich grandfather, right? That Gaspar fellow said you’re heiress to millions.”

  “I don’t want the millions,” she said petulantly, cringing as she realized she sounded like a spoiled child.

  “Only them that already has money ever says a fool thing like that.” Nettie added milk and sugar to the tea, then handed the cup to Lucy. “Drink some of this now. You’ll feel better if you do. I always say a cup o’ tea is all a body needs to feel right with the world.”

  To her surprise, Lucy found that between the tea and her good cry and Nettie’s kindness, she did feel a little better. She was still furious with Diego, but the situation didn’t seem quite so hopeless.

  Nettie smiled her approval and dropped into the other chair. “I say you should meet this rich grandfather of yours. Let him spend his money on you. Them Spanish ain’t so bad, you know. We gets a few of ’em at the inn from time to time, and some of ’em are right handsome. That Cap’n Rafael, for example . . . now he’s a fine specimen of mankind, he is. And your Señor Montalvo—”

  “He’s not my Señor Montalvo,” Lucy snapped. “I’ll throttle him before I let him near me again.”

  That was what hurt most—that after Diego’s sweet words and attentions and the way he’d seemed to understand her better than almost anyone, he could do something as awful as this. She would never forgive him for it. Never!

  “Throttling might seem a good idea right now, with your temper up and all,” Nettie said, “but there’s better ways to get what you want from a man. Give him a little of this . . .” She tossed her hair. “And a lot of this . . .” She thrust out her chest. “And you’d be surprised what concessions you can weasel out of him.”

  Lucy didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or burst into tears again. “Nettie, I thought you said you were a respectable woman.”

  “I am. Most of the time.” Seeing Lucy’s expression, she thrust out her chin. “I ain’t no whore or nothing. I’m just . . . practical. If a man wants to buy me sumpthin’, well, I might be inclined to be a bit nicer to him, if you know what I mean.”

  “If you think I will cozy up to Diego—”

  “No, no, you’re too respectable for that, as well you should be. But I saw how he looked at you. He ain’t happy about rousing your temper, and you can use that. If you really want him to turn the ship around, ask him nicely. Flirt a little. Won’t do you no harm.”

  Lucy sighed. If Diego had gone so far as to drug her and have notes forged, he wasn’t going to change his mind because of a few smiles.

  First, she had to find out why he was so bent on reuniting her with her grandfather. Then she’d know better what to do. If it was money he wanted, she might convince him that Papa would pay him more to take her back to En-gland. If she returned soon enough, she might even escape ruination. Mrs. Harris would surely keep it quiet as long as she could.

  Nettie walked ove
r to open the canvas bag the sailor had carried in earlier. “They told me they brought clothes for you.” To Lucy’s shock, Nettie drew out one of her evening gowns and held it up with a sound of delight. “See here, duckie, this is right pretty, it is.”

  “How in the dickens did they get my clothes?” Lucy went to look inside the bag. Day gown, shift, drawers, petticoats. No nightgown, but she could always sleep in her shift. There was even a pair of slippers. And down at the very bottom . . .

  She dug deep and came up with her sketch pad. She sighed. It did her little good with no charcoals, inks, or pencils.

  Nettie thrust the day gown at her. “You should put this one on.”

  Lucy peered into the bag, but it was empty now. “I can’t. It’s missing the chemisette that goes inside it, and without that I’d be indecent.”

  “Exactly,” Nettie said with a gleam in her eye. “A man’ll do much for a woman wearing a gown like this.”

  Her eyes narrowing thoughtfully, Lucy took it. Diego had been quite susceptible to her in her low-cut evening gown. And if she wanted to get information from him . . .

  It might work on the captain, as well. If Nettie was right, outrage would do her no good, since the man was a friend of Diego’s. But if she could turn his head with flirtation, she might persuade him to turn the ship around.

  It was worth a try. She had to do something. Because she wasn’t about to be led off to Spain like a calf to the slaughter simply because the almighty Diego Montalvo had decided it.

  • • •

  It was nearly noon by the time Charlotte Harris rushed into the Duke of Foxmoor’s house, praying he was home. She’d already sent Terence, her personal footman, to Charles Godwin’s house, only to have him discover that Charles was in Bath for the week. Then she’d gone to Cousin Michael’s solicitor, who had only promised to pass on the message, refusing even then to reveal her cousin’s identity. Without the help of Michael or other friends of the school, she didn’t know what she’d do about Lucy.

  Charlotte cursed herself again for her own stupidity. How could she have let that blasted magician meet with the young woman alone yesterday? She would never forgive Cousin Michael for talking her into that foolishness. She was almost certain Señor Montalvo had taken the opportunity to persuade Lucy to run away with him. That would explain Lucy’s quiet demeanor at dinner, her refusal to reveal what she’d discussed with the handsome conjurer.