Don't Bargain with the Devil Page 25

  That same determination had driven him to find her and steal her. That same determination would serve him well in his plan to restore his family’s estate, to redeem their name. She might be Spanish only by blood, but she knew enough of the people to know how much honor mattered.

  It certainly mattered more than some foolish Englishwoman’s hopeless love for a man who could not love her back.

  Tears stinging her eyes again, she hurried down to the cabin before she could run back on deck and beg him to marry her, no matter how little he wanted it. She had to get control of this mad need for him, before he guessed she wasn’t as immune to him as he thought. Before they ended up right back where they had started.

  As she hurried into the cabin, Nettie glanced up. “Are you all right?”

  She sighed, tired of examining the state of her heart. She’d have to learn to stay away from men. They were not good for a woman’s constitution.

  “I’m fine,” Lucy lied. “Nothing that a brisk game of piquet won’t cure.”

  But over the next week, after becoming insanely proficient at piquet, Lucy found herself far from cured. Apparently, playing piquet did absolutely nothing to assuage the pains of the lovesick.

  Diego was no help, either. At first, he spent his time on deck, smoking cigarillos and glaring at her whenever she entered his sight. Then one day, after she mentioned to Rafael that she wished to improve her Spanish, Diego brought her a Spanish dictionary.

  “Here,” he said without preamble, dropping it onto the table in the wardroom where she and Nettie were finishing supper. “Tomorrow morning, you and I begin lessons. Living in your grandfather’s household will be hard enough without the added difficulties of needing him to translate all the time.”

  She blinked at him. Diego meant to teach her himself? Because he worried about her alone in her grandfather’s household? That was enough to give a woman the wrong idea. And Lord knew she already had plenty of wrong ideas about Diego.

  “One more thing.” He glanced at Nettie. “Your maid needs suitable clothes.”

  Nettie blinked. “Here now, ain’t nothing wrong with my gown. This is what all the tavern maids wear.”

  When a pained expression crossed Diego’s face, Lucy bit back a smile. “That’s the problem, Nettie. Don Diego doesn’t want anyone guessing that he hired my ‘chaperone’ from a tavern. It might not sit well with my rich relations.”

  “Just make her something more appropriate, will you?” Diego snapped.

  Make her something? Lucy laughed. “Shall I weave it from seaweed, sir?” she said, unable to resist teasing him.

  “I thought you were taught to sew,” he shot back. “Or do they not include that instruction in your English schools, along with those lessons in propriety?”

  “We’re taught to do needlework, yes. But sewing of gowns is generally left to seamstresses.”

  “I can make a gown,” Nettie put in, surprising Lucy. “But I’ll need cloth.”

  “I will see that Rafael gives you some. He must have something among the goods in his hold.” He shot Lucy a furtive glance. “He might have something for you, too, although I imagine your grandfather will wish to provide you with gowns himself.”

  Lucy merely nodded as he stalked off. She didn’t intend to stay in San Roque long enough to make good use of those gowns. As soon as they landed, she’d have Nettie post a letter to Papa to tell him to come fetch her. Even if Diego was right about Papa’s role in taking her from her real parents, he deserved the chance to explain himself. She couldn’t have him worrying himself sick over her back in England.

  Of course, after Papa came for her, she’d have to return to England and face her ruin. That wasn’t an appealing prospect, even with her family standing by her. But neither was the idea of marrying a Spanish grandee of her grandfather’s choosing.

  That was why she would accept Diego’s Spanish lessons gladly. She didn’t know how long she might have to live in her grandfather’s household, and the thought of being helpless because she couldn’t speak the language worried her even more than the prospect of being in Diego’s company daily.

  In the days that followed, she was surprised to find more of her Spanish coming back to her. It helped that Diego only spoke to her in Spanish, though she took care to keep their topics of conversation innocuous.

  That proved easier than expected, since she had much to learn about Spain. She was discovering that living in the country as a foreigner would differ vastly from living there as a native. In the regiments, she’d been cocooned in En-glish habits and manners. That wouldn’t be the case now.

  Fortunately, Diego understood that even better than she. And since he seemed equally eager to avoid any subject that might tempt them into their former intimacy, her lessons proceeded without incident.

  Until one evening after they’d been traveling down the coast of Spain for several days. At dinner, Rafael informed them that the ship would pass through the Straits of Gibraltar during the night. He expected to weigh anchor in Algeciras Bay by the next morning.

  His announcement hit Lucy like a roaring typhoon. She’d grown accustomed to the lazy pattern of life at sea—morning lessons with Diego, afternoons spent drawing or sewing with Nettie, evening dinners listening to Diego and Rafael regale the company with tales of their exploits in the regimental camps. If not for the painful fact that she’d fallen more deeply in love with Diego each day, the time had been almost magical. Now it was coming to an end.

  As soon as dinner was over, she hurried to the bow, the only place on deck where she could be relatively private. She’d taken to coming here whenever she felt low, sitting sandwiched between the fo’c’sle wall and the capstan as she watched the ship plunge through the waves.

  She was so sunk in her misery that when Diego appeared suddenly before her, she uttered a cry.

  “What is it?” he asked as he dropped down beside her, his face tight with alarm. “What is wrong?”

  He could ask that? When tomorrow they would part forever? The thought was almost more than she could bear.

  But he was taking it in stride, so she must, too. She’d done well so far, never once hinting at what she knew of his past. Now she merely had to survive until she reached her grandfather’s.

  “You startled me, that’s all,” she said.

  “That is not what I meant. Why did you leave the wardroom in such a rush?”

  “No reason,” she choked out.

  “No?” he said skeptically, lifting his hand to rub a tear from her cheek.

  She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

  It was the first time he’d touched her since their night together, and it was all she could do not to lean into his caress. But that would be dangerous. Especially when he wore an expression of such grave concern.

  “Lucy,” he went on, “is it possible that you . . . is there a chance that you . . .”

  “That I what?” She held her breath, praying he would say what she wanted to hear. That he hoped she would change her mind and marry him. That he wanted her to love him. That he loved her.

  “Is there any chance that you are with child?”

  Her heart sank. What a fool she was. He didn’t believe in love, remember?

  “There’s no chance,” she assured him, putting the last nail into the coffin of her hopes for any future with Diego.

  If he’d given her a child, he would almost certainly have renewed his proposal of marriage, and she would have accepted it, too. It was one thing to release a man from his obligations out of love for him. It was quite another to punish a child for its parents’ mistakes by depriving it of a father.

  Oddly, Diego didn’t look as relieved to hear her answer as she’d expected. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She ducked her head, her face flaming. “My courses came and went last week.”

  He tipped up her chin, his hand infinitely gentle. “Then why are you crying?”

  With him touching her, her mind was a c
omplete blank. “It’s nothing.”

  A sudden gleam entered his eyes. “Perhaps you are in pain from having this in your ear.” He reached up and came back with an orange.

  She eyed him askance. “No, that is definitely not the problem.”

  “Then it’s the one in the other ear.” Dropping the first orange in her lap, he repeated the trick on the other side.

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  “I can do this all night, you know,” he teased.

  “You have that many oranges tucked inside your sleeves?” she said archly.

  “Oranges. Walnuts. We had quite a supply at dinner, if you recall, since Rafael broke out the rest of the stores now that we are nearly there.”

  That brought her misery back again. “Yes,” she said tightly.

  His smile faded. “Come, Lucy, tell me what is wrong,” he coaxed. “Or you will force me to turn you into a fruit basket until you do.”

  Diego could be so persistent, God rot him. She seized on the only reason she could think of. “I’m nervous about meeting my grandfather.”

  His face cleared. “Ah. Do not make yourself anxious over that. The man will be beside himself with joy to have you returned to him.”

  “At first, perhaps. But what if he hates me? Or is disappointed in me?”

  “You mean because you are no longer chaste?”

  She blinked at him. That hadn’t even occurred to her. “Actually, no. Besides, I’ve decided not to tell him until I see how things go. Now that I’ve found the family I lost, I should make an effort to get to know them before I do anything drastic, don’t you think?”

  Inexplicably, his face turned stony. “You understand what that means. He will begin introducing you to eligible men of his acquaintance.”

  “I realize that.” She opted for nonchalance. “Who knows? I might actually meet a fellow I wish to marry. Of course, I’ll have to pretend to be an innocent, since that’s the only way a decent man would have me now.”

  “That is not true,” he protested. “No man worth his salt would give you up for something as paltry as that.”

  His remark startled her. You did, she wanted to say.

  But it hadn’t been for that reason. Unfortunately, he’d done it for a more important one. She could still hear Rafael’s voice: The hope of regaining Arboleda has been the impetus behind his success. And how could a man with Diego’s pride break the solemn vow he’d made to his father? How could the woman who loved him let him?

  “All the same,” she murmured, “it would probably be best to maintain the illusion of my innocence as long as I can. After all, I don’t know my grandfather. He may prove a draconian sort.”

  “If he does,” Diego said fiercely, “then Rafael and I will pack you off on this ship and head back to London.”

  She shot him a surprised glance. “Don’t be silly. If you did such a thing, you’d have to give up your estate.”

  “I will not let him hurt you, Lucy.” He seized her hands, gripping them tightly. “I did not bring you all this way just to see you harmed. If anything about your situation alarms you in the weeks ahead, you must get word to me. I will come to you at once, I swear.”

  Her breath caught. The feel of his hands against hers sent fire through her veins, and the way he was looking at her, as if he meant to kiss her . . .

  Oh, no—that was exactly what he intended. He was lowering his head, his eyes smoldering in that way that made her heart flip over.

  She ought to stop him. Even if this spot on the deck was hidden from sight of the sailors, someone might go up in the rigging and might see them. And she just might very well lose her heart.

  Yet she lifted her mouth to meet his.

  The kiss began softly, as if he feared startling her into bolting. His lips played over hers, tasting, savoring. She leaned into him and placed her hand on his chest, reveling in the quickening beat of his heart.

  Then the kiss changed, became a hot, exhilarating seduction of her mouth. With a heartfelt groan, he slid his hand behind her neck while he ravished and plundered, like a pirate laying claim to a captive. His other hand drifted to her breast, and his wicked, glorious mouth burned wild and heady kisses down her throat.

  “Mi dulzura,” he murmured. “Spend tonight with me. Please. Let us be together just once more.”

  The words hit her like ice water, reminding her that for all his sweet words and sweeter caresses, he valued his duty more than her.

  She wriggled free of his arms, fighting to quell the thundering of her pulse. “We were fortunate enough not to conceive a child the last time we spent the night together. Do you really wish to tempt Fate twice?”

  A look of desperation came over his face. “There are ways to prevent—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She pushed herself to a stand, letting the oranges drop to the deck. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

  It took all her will to leave. But she knew if she gave in to the siren call tonight, she would be begging him in the morning to give everything up for her. And regretting it later.

  Diego watched her go with a pain as deep as the ocean that surrounded them. Somewhere in the recesses of his besotted brain, he knew he should not have asked her to share his bed tonight. He and Lucy had found a sort of friendship in these last weeks, and now he had wrecked it in one unguarded moment.

  Yet he could not seem to help himself. Without her, he felt ill, like a sailor deprived of lemons to stave off the scurvy. In the past two weeks, he had vacillated between relief that he would be able to go on with his plans and regret that he could not have her. The regret overtook the relief more every day.

  Their daily lessons had been bad enough, with him forced to sit beside her and ignore the sheen of sun on her hair or her soft smile of delight when she mastered a new conjugation. But tonight brought a double jolt of torment. First, the news that there was no chance of a child to force her back into his arms. Second, the unexpected agony of hearing her speak matter-of-factly about other men courting her.

  He smashed an orange beneath his hand. Dios mio, how could he bear that? Until now, he had consoled himself that at least she would not be marrying any other man. She would tell the marqués of her lost innocence, and Don Carlos would give up on trying to arrange a fine marriage for her.

  Diego had even toyed with dreams of coming after her once Arboleda was well established as a working vineyard. Thanks to the lovemaking that had ruined her, she would still be free, whether in England or Spain, and he would be able to offer marriage without breaking his vow to his father.

  What a selfish beast he was. He wanted her pining for him, waiting for him, while he did as he pleased. He had no right to that.

  It took him several moments to gain enough control over his willful body to be presentable, but he lingered above deck a while longer, smoking a cigarillo. This was not supposed to be so difficult. He had what he wanted, and she would soon have more than she had ever dreamed of.

  Who knows? I might actually meet a fellow I wish to marry.

  He scowled into the moonlight. She would belong to some other man. The very idea ate him up inside.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” Rafael said, coming up beside him. “Couldn’t resist running after her, could you?”

  Diego flicked some ash. “What do you want?”

  “Was Miss Seton all right?”

  “She was nervous about meeting her grandfather, that is all.”

  “She should be. He’s a powerful man used to getting what he wants. And if I am to understand the situation correctly, he wants an heir.”

  Ignoring the chill that chased down his spine, Diego dropped the cigarillo and ground it out with his boot. “I know the marqués, too, and I know his reputation for ruthlessness. But this is the granddaughter who was stolen from him. He will not force her into anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure.”

  But he was not sure at all. He was not sure of a
nything anymore.

  Except for one thing: he could no longer just take his property and leave town. Perhaps he was being overcautious, and almost certainly, he was a fool to prolong his torment.

  But he did not care. He would stay around as long as he must to be certain that Lucy was all right. Even if it tortured him to do so.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Dear Cousin,

  Though Lucy’s fate still weighs heavily on my mind, I have a new concern. Mr. Pritchard is actively seeking a tenant for Rockhurst, and some of his choices would make inappropriate neighbors for a girls’ school. Yesterday, a gentleman who wishes to convert it into a cricket ground surveyed Rockhurst. Today, Mr. Pritchard took around a man who runs a prison. Has the man no conscience? Does he not care what this will do to us?

  Your concerned relation,

  Charlotte

  A lthough Rafael’s ship weighed anchor in the pristine waters of Algeciras Bay the next morning, it took several hours for the passengers to be cleared for entry into Spain. While Diego arranged for a message to be sent to Lucy’s grandfather announcing their arrival, Lucy spent the time gazing over vistas that took her breath away.

  On one end of the bay lay the city of Algeciras, its whitewashed buildings glistening in the brilliant May sun. An impressive sweep of shore followed, dotted by villages with fishing boats crowded up to the docks. Next came a larger town that Rafael informed her was San Roque, their destination, built on a hill with a backdrop of mountains. After San Roque came other small villages, then the border between Spain and the English city of Gibraltar. The mighty rock itself perched at the very tip of the isthmus. It dominated the landscape as powerfully as the massive Salisbury Crags dominated Edinburgh, her home.

  Her home most recently, that was. Only after Papa had retired from the army had she even really had a home. The thought of how he must be worrying gnawed at her, but her worry was tempered with growing distrust. Could he have known the truth about her lineage from the start? And if so, how could he have kept it from her?