Don't Bargain with the Devil Page 4
Apparently, the duke’s “disgusting pet” knew an insult when he heard it, for he promptly turned around and presented Lady Kirkwood with his naked bottom.
The other ladies burst into laughter.
“I believe Raji has just told you what he thinks of your opinion,” the duchess said, eyes twinkling.
Lady Kirkwood glared at her. “If that nasty animal doesn’t watch it, he’ll find himself dead at the bottom of a privy one day.” There was no mistaking who meant to put him there, either.
When the duchess’s face darkened, Lucy figured she’d best take matters in hand. “Your concern for Raji is admirable, Lady Kirkwood,” she put in. “But I’m sure he’s much too clever to fall into a privy.”
The silence in the room thickened.
Lucy gripped the edge of the podium. “Still, given his tendency to wander off, Raji might be safer if he spent the meeting in Mrs. Harris’s office.” She cast the duchess a pleading glance. “Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
Fortunately, the duchess was too astute not to notice Lucy’s consternation—and too kind to add to it. “I’m sure he would, Miss Seton,” she said graciously. “I’ll take him there myself.” Picking up her pet, the duchess left the room.
“Now then,” Lucy said, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. “I believe you’ve all heard about Mr. Pritchard’s new tenant.”
That shifted everyone’s attention to the proper subject. Swiftly, Lucy sketched out what they’d probably read in the papers. By the time the duchess returned, Lucy was explaining what else she and Mrs. Harris had learned. Señor Montalvo hadn’t yet applied to the city’s licensing magistrates.
“Our best course of attack is to sway public opinion to our side.” Lucy handed out the sheets of foolscap they’d prepared. “We are starting a petition to keep him from gaining a license, and we’re asking you to spend the next few days gathering names from the good people of Richmond. It shouldn’t be difficult to convince them that a pleasure garden in our midst can only lead to disaster.”
Lady Kirkwood snorted. “That’s rather overdramatic, Miss Seton, don’t you think? At least a pleasure garden would give people something to do in this dull town. The theater here is pathetic.”
“Pathetic it may be,” Lady Norcourt said tersely, “but it doesn’t draw roués and rakehells next door to the school, where they can prey on our girls.” As always, the former teacher’s main concern was for the students’ welfare.
“You’re exactly right, Lady Nor—” Lucy began.
“Perhaps Mrs. Harris should just speak to this Montalvo fellow,” the naive lord mayor’s wife spoke up. “I’m sure she could persuade him to ban unsavory men from his establishment. They do it at Almack’s.”
“Almack’s is not remotely like—” Lucy began.
“Speaking of that magician,” said another lady in an eager-to-gossip voice, “has anyone actually seen the man? I’m told that he left a string of brokenhearted princesses behind him on his Russian tour.”
Lucy found that vaguely annoying. She wasn’t sure why, since it was exactly what she would expect of Mr. Too Charming for Words.
“Oh, he’s very handsome,” said a banker’s wife with sly assurance. “And quite dashing. He made all the ladies swoon when I saw him perform in Italy.”
When that got everyone’s attention, she went on gleefully. “And his tricks are every bit as amazing as they say. He had someone choose a card without telling him what it was and then returned it to the deck, which he tied up with string. Then he tossed the bound deck up in the air. When it came back down, the chosen card was attached to the ceiling. It gave me shivers, I tell you. Even my husband couldn’t figure out how the man did it. And then Señor Montalvo—”
Lucy rapped her gavel. “While I’m sure the man excels at his profession, what he intends to build next door would ruin all that Mrs. Harris has worked for.”
For a moment, the ladies sat blinking at her, and she thought she’d regained control. Then they turned back to the banker’s wife.
“Is he married?” asked one.
“What other tricks did he perform?” asked another.
“Ladies, please,” Lucy cut in, but they paid her no mind.
“Do you know how old he is?” asked an unmarried lady.
“Is it true he can catch a bullet in his teeth?” asked the lord mayor’s wife.
“It doesn’t matter if he can catch a bullet in his nose!” Lucy cried. When everyone gaped at her, she realized she’d shrieked the words. But she didn’t care.
“Señor Montalvo is a menace to everything we hold precious,” she went on fervently. The drawing-room door opened behind her, but she was too caught up to pay it any heed. “And if you succumb to his tricks and physical attractions without a protest, you might as well consort with the devil himself!”
For a moment, the words echoed in the immense silence. Then it was punctured by a low male laugh that sent her stomach plummeting.
She whirled to find Mrs. Harris and the Spaniard himself standing there.
“ ‘Better the devil you know,’ ” said Señor Montalvo, his eyes glinting with fiendish amusement. “Or so I’m told.”
Lucy wanted to sink through the floor. Especially when everyone in the room laughed, as if it were all a grand joke. As if she were a grand joke. Bother it all, how was she to save the school if she couldn’t even hold her tongue?
Mrs. Harris wore a pained smile, but as always in situations when her charges made public fools of themselves, she pretended it hadn’t happened.
“Ladies,” Mrs. Harris said as she approached the podium. When Lucy moved aside, the schoolmistress grabbed her hand to stay her, then squeezed it reassuringly. “Mr. Pritchard was kind enough to come introduce our new neighbor, who has asked to address you. So please welcome to the school Mr. . . .” She glanced at the magician. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure exactly what to call you. Is it Señor or Mister?”
“Diego will be fine,” he said smoothly. “I am not one to worry overmuch about proprieties.” Looking over at Lucy, he had the audacity to wink.
That chilled her. There was nothing to stop him from telling everyone about finding her splayed on the ground like a doxy. Oh, she’d simply die if he did!
Could she claim he was lying? Anyone could see he was an unconscionable scoundrel.
She sighed. Not anyone, judging from how the women had gushed over him. And not when he looked like that. He was almost more spectacular fully dressed. Lord help her, how did such a dastardly fellow manage to cut such a fine figure?
It was more than the excellent tailoring of his dark blue Saxony coat or the fine sheen of his understated silk waistcoat. It was the tall, muscular body they contained. Like a sleek panther, he padded carelessly among the pigeons. His longish hair marked him instantly as being different from other men in society, with their elegant curls. So did his whisper of a dark mustache. Englishmen simply didn’t look like him. And he not only knew it but used it to captivate his audience.
Just as he used his tricks. Lucy scowled when he plucked a silk rose from thin air, then presented it to Mrs. Harris amid a smattering of applause.
“Thank you for the opportunity to speak with your lovely ladies,” he said in that husky tone designed to lull any woman into doing as he wished.
But although Mrs. Harris accepted the rose in one hand, she squeezed Lucy’s hand hard with the other. Could the woman have some plan in mind?
When he moved to the podium, Lucy turned her gaze to the audience to find the duchess and some others openly frowning. Perhaps all wasn’t lost.
Señor Montalvo offered the audience an amiable smile. “I should like to assuage your fears regarding my plans for Rockhurst. It is true that I mean to develop the property into a pleasure garden.” He ignored the low murmurs provoked by that comment. “But I assure you that I shall take your concerns into account. I have no desire to harm this admirable institution, if I can prevent it.”
“You insult our intelligence, sir.” The duchess shot to her feet. “We know that men generally ignore our wishes where business is concerned.”
“And you, madam, insult my honor,” he countered with quiet dignity. “Did I not just say I mean to take your concerns into account?”
The duchess’s lips thinned. “Have you considered that your establishment will draw men of every stamp, who will surely accost our young ladies?”
“While your students would undoubtedly tempt any man, you need not worry about the gentlemen who will visit my gardens,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Unlike other popular amusement places, mine will be open only in the evenings, when your pupils are ensconced in their beds.”
The quick burst of laughter in the room seemed to take him by surprise.
Lady Norcourt rose to stand next to the duchess. “This is no Continental convent school, where we pack our charges off to bed at dusk,” the former teacher chided. “Our girls have lessons on astronomy in the evenings in our garden. Some read aloud in the parlor; others perform music. And if you think that on a hot summer night, they’ll wish to keep the windows and doors locked up against your visitors, you’re quite mad.”
“Then I will build a wall. I can wall off the entire place if need be.”
“But surely you do not expect your visitors to limit themselves to approaching the park from the river,” the duchess said. “Many will use the road, so they’ll be forced to leave their carriages alongside it for miles. What is to keep the gentlemen—if such they can be termed—from strolling down our drive?”
“Perhaps I will build a wall around the school as well.” Exasperation showed in his handsome features. “Though it would seem to me that gently bred pupils should not be allowed to roam freely without a male escort, pleasure garden or no.”
“So now we’ll need male escorts on our own grounds out in the country?” Lady Norcourt shot back. “And where can we find the men to accommodate our young ladies? We can hardly find enough town lads to attend our assemblies as it is.”
“I think Señor Montalvo is saying that the school will require more footmen,” the duchess remarked slyly.
“But someone would have to pay these footmen,” Lady Norcourt pointed out. “And all to protect our girls from unsavory gentlemen who attend these gardens?”
“I did not mean that the school should hire additional servants,” Señor Montalvo protested.
He was ignored. “We have more than unsavory gentlemen to worry about,” the lord mayor’s wife remarked. “Ladies of ill repute inevitably flock to pleasure gardens, and we certainly do not want them about.”
A smile tugged at Lucy’s lips. Señor Montalvo’s expression grew more annoyed by the moment. She doubted that he found their observations quite to his liking. Apparently, Mrs. Harris had planned this outcome all along.
“There are other concerns as well—” the duchess began.
“Thank you,” he said with an air of finality, looking exactly like grandees Lucy had seen in Spain: arrogant, proud, and formidable. “I will carefully weigh your concerns.” He bowed to the ladies. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Rockhurst. You have given me a great deal to think on.”
“You have given us a great deal to think on as well,” Mrs. Harris said as she cast him a considering look. “It will help us know how to act.”
He nodded with an air of nonchalance that seemed at odds with his purpose. Didn’t he realize he’d just lost the first skirmish? Why wasn’t he more upset?
“Miss Seton will show you out.” Mrs. Harris winked at Lucy and added, “I’m sure she can answer any questions you might have. She knows more about the school than anyone.”
And Mrs. Harris was clearly counting on Lucy to voice her opinions.
Lucy would do so, too . . . after she made sure that Señor Montalvo wasn’t going to tell anyone about finding her in the orchard.
She didn’t trust him. Something in his manner made her wary, and it wasn’t only his charm and smooth compliments. Some instinct told her that he posed a threat to more than just the school, though she wasn’t sure what or how.
But she would find out. She would be calm, rational, and determined. She meant to uncover the nasty details of his plan, no matter what he pulled out of his sleeve.
Chapter Four
Dear Cousin,
We plan to thwart our new neighbor by petitioning the licensing magistrates to refuse him a license. It was Miss Seton’s idea—she has proved quite an asset. She has matured so much. Granted, she is still outspoken, but I do not find that nearly as annoying in a teacher as in a pupil. Teachers should be opinionated. And it will serve her well in navigating society’s treacherous waters.
Your harried relation,
Charlotte
Miss Seton? Diego stood frozen, trying to gather his wits. He could not have heard correctly. Señorita Schoolteacher was his quarry? Could he possibly be so fortunate?
When she hurried to the door, he struggled to mask his surprise as he followed her. But once they left the parlor, he could no longer restrain his need for information. “Your name is Seton?”
She nodded.
“Spelled S-e-t-o-n?” He had to be sure. The next soldier on their list was a Colonel Seton.
“Yes, that’s how I spell it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Do you know the name?”
“No,” he said hastily. Watch what you say, man. You must not give anything away until you are absolutely certain of the facts. Too much is at stake. “After you were so stingy with it two days ago, I merely want to be sure I have it right.”
As expected, that reference distracted her sufficiently. She slowed her steps and looked as if she meant to say something, but before she could, a young girl cleared the top of the stairs and stopped in front of them.
Miss Seton broke into a smile of genuine pleasure. “Why, Tessa, aren’t you looking all grown-up these days?” she said, and opened her arms.
“Lucy!” The girl rushed into her embrace. “My aunt said you were here!”
He stood back watching, his mind awhirl. Lucy. Her Christian name. That was short for Lucinda, wasn’t it? Lucinda Seton was the colonel’s daughter, according to their sources in Edinburgh.
Lucinda also just happened to be the name of Doña Catalina’s daughter. That had been one reason they had placed her so high on the list—on the chance that the nurse had not changed her name after stealing her.
So Señorita Schoolteacher was their quarry, and he had stumbled upon her almost immediately.
Take care, he cautioned himself. Remember what the marqués said. This is a delicate situation.
Even if she was the Lucinda Seton they sought, it merely meant she was next on their list. He must be sure of the facts before he revealed his purpose.
Besides, Lucy might be short for Lucia or Lucretia. He did not know enough about English names to be certain. And Miss Seton did not look remotely Spanish. Nor was she a student, as their sources had claimed.
While the girl named Tessa babbled on, he surveyed her teacher, searching for some hint of the woman’s foreign blood.
She lacked any olive tone to her skin, and her eyes were not dark. Her features did not resemble Doña Catalina’s, though both women were beautiful in their own ways. Where Doña Catalina’s image evoked the serenity of a Madonna, Miss Seton’s evoked the sensuality of a Mary Magdalene. Her features were rounder, softer, her nose less narrow. Her full lips tempted a man to taste and plunder.
God preserve his soul. He must not think of her in such terms. If she proved to be the marqués’s granddaughter . . .
But today the silken female witchery she wore showed off her lush hips and ripe breasts only too well. The slender span of her waist made him itch to put his hands on it and draw her close.
Then there was her hair—a rich chestnut brown, the tex
ture of rumpled velvet. When down, it had fallen in undulating waves about her slender shoulders, reaching to her hips. What he would give to see it like that again . . .
A pang of regret stung him that he ruthlessly shook off. It did not matter how pretty she was. It did not even matter if she roused his blood. She had a more important purpose: she could be the key to his escape from this dreary life of odorous hotels, tasteless inn meals, and cold theaters in icy climes. The key to home, to restoring his family honor. He would not jeopardize that.
“And who is this?” young Tessa asked as she turned to him. She had been shooting him curious glances. “A new teacher?”
“Hardly,” Miss Seton said. “This is Señor Diego Montalvo, our new neighbor. Señor Montalvo, this is Miss Tessa Dalton. She’s a student here.”
The girl sketched a pretty curtsy beneath the approving eye of Miss Seton.
“Delighted to meet you.” Diego reached out and pretended to pluck a sixpence from behind the girl’s ear.
When he presented it to her, she seized it with a laugh of delight. “That was amazing!” the girl exclaimed. “How did you do that?”
“It is nothing for a man like me,” he quipped. “Ask Miss Seton—she has already determined that I am the devil himself.”
He had the very great pleasure of seeing the teacher blush to the roots of her pretty hair. “I-I did not mean to call you the devil,” she stammered.
“I think you did.” He chuckled. “But do not worry. You would not be the first to call me such, nor the last. Conjurers often bring forth such responses.”
“You know perfectly well I was not referring to your profession.”
Tessa’s eyes went wide. “You must be that magician my aunt and uncle have been talking about! The one who wants to ruin the school!”
He gritted his teeth. “I have no desire to—”
“Tessa’s aunt is Lady Norcourt,” Miss Seton explained with a mischievous expression. “She was the woman who joined the Duchess of Foxmoor in criticizing your plans. Lady Norcourt taught here before she married a viscount.”