Don't Bargain with the Devil (10 page)

Por Dios,
what gave you such a notion? If anything, you behave too properly for your true nature.”

 

“That’s what I mean!” she exclaimed. “You hardly know me, and already you’ve decided what my true nature is, which is apparently that of a…a—”

 

“You are passionate,” he said. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

 

“That is what
you
would think, of course.”

 

The contempt in her voice grated. His eyes narrowed. “Ah, you mean I am not like your insipid Englishman. I am a devil by nature, so I think everyone else should behave the same.”

 

She met his gaze with a stubborn look. “Well, you must admit that gentlemen like you are fond of certain vices, so of course you expect women to…to…”

 

“Cavort with abandon in my presence?” His temper gaining the better of him, he advanced on her. “Behave like animals to satisfy my lecherous desires?”

 

Color rising in her cheeks, she backed away. “I only meant—”

 

“I know exactly what you meant.” His head filled with memories of that horrible night in Villafranca when he had lost so much to her countrymen, who
had
behaved like animals. Who had also apparently drummed into her their contempt for anyone but their own.

 

Dropping her sketch pad into the leaves, he stalked her. “Foreigners like me are only fit for shooting with your English rifles. Foreigners like me have no feelings, no morals, no rights.”

 

“Foreigners? No, I was speaking of—”

 

“Foreigners like me devour young ladies for sport.” When she came up against an oak, he lunged, trapping her against it by bracing his hands on the trunk on either side of her. “If I am to be painted that way for no reason, then I might as well enjoy the benefits of such a reputation.”

 

“B-benefits?” she squeaked.

 

“You said I’m the devil.” He bent his head, goaded by hot temper…and hotter desire. “And the devil always gets his due.”

 

Then he seized her mouth with his.

 

 

 

ďťż

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

 

 

Dear Cousin,

 

Seńor Montalvo has asked that we let him observe the school so he can make a more informed decision about his pleasure garden. I agreed to Miss Seton’s proposal that she escort him, since she is a fine representative of the sort of woman who benefits most from our classes. And unlike other ladies whom he cast under his spell, his charm and legerdemain do not seem to fool her.

 

Your harried relation,

 

Charlotte

 

 

I
t was every bit as luscious as Lucy had imagined, God rot him. There was none of Peter’s playfulness or the damp ardor of the two men who’d stolen kisses from her at balls. This was hot and impassioned and bold, a kiss to dream on.

 

He tasted of coffee and smoke, a flavor so distinctly male that it sent her head reeling. So did the forceful way his mouth took hers. His kiss was hard but not hurtful, demanding but not bullying.

 

It was also far too brief.

 

He drew back, his eyes glittering, a hint of his anger still
in their fathomless depths. “You kiss too innocently for a hoyden.”

 

“You kiss too briefly for a devil,” she shot back. Oh, why couldn’t she hold her tongue? She might as well have thrown down a gauntlet.

 

And he picked it right up. Smoldering need flared in his face as he caught her head in one hand and said, “That can be remedied,
carińo.
”

 

This time when he slanted his mouth over hers, he coaxed it open for his tongue.

 

She’d heard of such kisses from the other girls, but she’d never dreamed that having a man slide his tongue into one’s mouth could feel so pleasurable. So thoroughly sinful.

 

Her hands seemed to grab naturally for his waist and her body to sway naturally into his embrace. It all felt perfectly…natural. Which probably explained why his tongue dove so naturally into her mouth.

 

Then again. And again, until her heart thundered like a timpani, and her very skin came alive to his touch, to the caress of his fingers against the nape of her neck and the slope of her jaw. His thumb stroked the pulse that beat madly in her throat, and she arched her head back for more.

 

His kisses began to wander from her mouth, to her cheek, to her ear. “Ah,
querida,”
he rasped, enthralling her with his husky endearments, “your mouth would tempt any devil.” He nipped at her earlobe, sending little shocks of delight to her senses. “Did it tempt your friend Peter? Did he ever kiss you?”

 

“When I was fourteen…and once later.” But not like this. Never like this.

 

Diego dropped his lips to her throat, plundering it with open-mouthed kisses that turned her bones to mush. “I take it he was older than you.”

 

“By…three years.”

 

“For that he calls you hoyden? Because
he
took advantage of you?” He leaned into her, hard muscle against soft flesh. “I do not understand you English.”

 

“I thought you claimed I was Spanish,” she taunted him, though she could hardly think with his hand roaming down her shoulder and arm, onto her waist, down to her hips, up to her ribs.

 

“I do not know what you are anymore.” His mouth now hovered a breath away from hers. “Except the most maddening woman I have ever met.”

 

This time his kiss was deep and warm and leisurely, as if he meant to linger with her the rest of the afternoon, driving her to distraction.

 

She liked “maddening.” It was vastly superior to “hot-blooded.” She shouldn’t believe him, but she liked the idea that she might entice a man as worldly and sophisticated as he, that she might tempt him to behave as he shouldn’t, to kiss her so lusciously.

 

She hooked her arms about his neck, and he groaned somewhere low in his throat.

 

Then he slid his hand from her ribs to cup her breast.

 

She felt the shock of it to her toes, and when he kneaded her flesh through her gown, the thrill that shot through her held her motionless.

 

Until Peter’s humiliating words came back to her.

 

“No,” she said firmly, shoving him away. “You mustn’t do such things!”

 

She slid from between him and the tree, poised to fight. Until she saw his dazed expression.

 

He stared at her a long moment. “
Dios mio
…forgive me…I did not intend…” His fingers raked through his hair, disordering it. Then he glanced about them and groaned. “I have lost my mind.”

 

She hugged herself, trying not to remember the moment of bliss when his hand stroked her through her gown. “What were you thinking?”

 

“Thinking! Do you really believe thought was involved?” Backing away from her, he swore a string of Spanish words. “My temper got the better of me, and I…made a mistake.”

 

She was a mistake? Why was she
always
a mistake? Anger and hurt roared through her as she bent to pick up her sketch pad. “You’re as bad as Peter. You both think I’m only good for a dalliance.”

 

When she headed for the path, he darted in front of her, eyes blazing. “I do not think any such thing. My behavior had nothing to do with you.”

 

A harsh laugh escaped her. “Oh, I see. Any woman would have served your purposes.”

 

“No, I did not mean—” He gritted his teeth. “I only meant that my loss of control was not your fault.”

 

“I should say not.” Never mind that her own loss of control had urged him on. It was probably unwise to delve too deeply into that. Her gaze locked with his. “So you weren’t just dallying with me? You meant something more by it?”

 

“Something more?” He briefly looked perplexed until her meaning apparently sank in. Then he let out another Spanish curse.

 

Lucy went cold. “Of course not. What was I thinking?” Desperate to escape, she tried to go around him.

 

He caught her by the shoulders to prevent it. “Listen to me,
carińo
—”

 

“Don’t call me that!” Tears welled, and she fought them ruthlessly. She refused to let a man do this to her twice in one week. “Don’t you dare use your meaningless endearments on me as if I’m some…doxy you can tumble without a thought. Just because you found me in an orchard behaving—”

 

“Like any other young woman enjoying a spring afternoon?”

 

She blinked at him.

 

“I do not think you a doxy or hoyden or any other silly names.” Releasing her shoulders, he stepped back, as if touching her taxed his control. “I never did.
You
are the one who clings to English propriety, not I.”

 

“Then why did you threaten to tell Mrs.—”

 

“To get what I wanted, of course. A chance to see the school with an amiable guide so I could decide how to act.”

 

An awful thought occurred to her. “Is that why you kissed me, too? To stop me from plaguing you about your pleasure garden?”

 

“My pleasure garden!” He let out a choked laugh. “Of course. I always settle my business affairs by kissing the nearest female into submission.” When she glared at him, he added, “You cannot really think I worry about you and your ladies. If I decide to build it, you cannot stop me. But I am trying to make the right decision. That has nothing to do with my kissing you.”

 

Now she was confused. “Then why did you do it?”

 

“I told you: you made me angry. When you started talking as if I were some unconscionable scoundrel just because I am foreign—”

 

“Not because you’re foreign,” she broke in. “Because you’re bent on ruining the school! For pity’s sake, I’m foreign myself.”

 

The interest that sparked in his dark eyes gave her pause.

 

“Because you’re Scottish?” he said.

 

“Actually, I-I’m not Scottish. Colonel Seton adopted me. My mother was Spanish. Like you.”

 

“Was she?” he said hollowly. He looked rather displeased to hear it.

 

“My real father was English. He died at La Coruńa.” Unnerved by his intent stare, she babbled on. “My mother died during their retreat to the coast.”

 

“You were present when your parents died?” He looked oddly perplexed and seemed inordinately interested in her answer.

 

She would sound like a ninny if she admitted that she scarcely remembered her own parents. “My point is, I have no quarrel with foreigners. Why should I? I spent half my girlhood in Spain and Portugal and other foreign countries.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Yet you clearly have a quarrel with me.”

 

“Because of the school—”

 

“Not only because of your precious school,” he countered. “There is more to it than that. You said gentlemen like me are fond of certain vices. And I doubt that you meant men of business, no matter how ruthless you consider them.”

 

“I meant performers, magicians. You’re a famous, smooth-tongued conjurer with a courtly manner, who, according to one of our ladies, left a string of brokenhearted princesses behind you in Russia. Who knows how many other women you have discarded in the course of your career?”

 

When he winced, she knew she’d hit close to the truth. “Admit it: you only kissed me because you assumed I’d let you.”

 

“And why would I assume that?” he asked irritably.

 

This time, when she headed for the path, he followed right alongside.

 

“Because I’m the kind of woman a man dallies with, not the kind he marries. I must give off this air or something. Peter says it’s my wild Spanish blood.”

 

He snorted. “Your Peter is an idiot.”

 

She conceded that with a shrug. “All the same,
you
dallied with me.” Her voice grew bitter. “And clearly not because you had any notion of courting me.”

 

“It’s not that I…
Por Dios,
you have to understand, I am not free to—” With an oath, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “My situation does not presently permit me to court anyone.”

 

“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me.” She clung desperately to her propriety to keep from railing at him and bursting into tears like a silly fool.

 

“No, I should not have,” he said grimly. “That much is true.”

 

She swallowed, hurt by how readily he agreed with her. “You won’t do it again, I hope.”

 

“Why? Was it so dreadful you do not wish to repeat the experience?” he clipped out with what sounded like wounded pride.

 

That was just ridiculous. He had women drooling after him wherever he went. Why would he regret the loss of her? “Whether I enjoyed it is immaterial. But if someone happened to see—”

 

“You would lose your position as a teacher.”

 

“Oh, I don’t care about that. I’m just filling in temporarily.” She thrust out her chin. “But people do talk. And
that
I care about.”

 

“You mean,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “you do not want your Peter to find out you have been letting me kiss you in the woods.”

 

“I don’t want
anyone
to find out. It would ruin me.”

 

He muttered some oath but did not try to dispute that.

 

“Surely you can see why I’m not eager to have my name dragged through the mud over some foolish indiscretion. I may not be a great heiress, but my dowry is decent. As soon as Mrs. Harris fills this position, I’ll join Papa and my stepmother in London for the Season, and some respectable gentleman will offer for me…eventually.”

 

“I am sure he will,” he bit out as he strode along beside her.

 

She glanced over to find him glaring at the path ahead. Could he actually be bothered by the thought of her marrying someone else?

 

No, not likely. He was merely irritated that in a short while, she would be beyond his seductions. “Now you understand why you must not kiss me again.”

 

“Certainly,” he said flatly.

 

Annoyance spiraled in her chest. He could have put up more of a fight than