Diego had easily agreed to the stipulation. But that was before their quarry had turned out to be a lovely creature capable of rousing his desire. Even knowing it was madness, the very idea of lifting Lucys skirts, either stealthily or with her permission, fired his blood unbearably.
He gritted his teeth. I will do whatever I must to make sure that the
marqués
gets his granddaughter exactly as planned.
And it does not trouble you that he means to find her a titled husband to bear him his heir, now that his son is dead? Gaspars tone grew skeptical. That some other man will be plowing her field?
He steeled himself against the image of Lucy in another mans bed. Why should it? It has naught to do with me. I do not qualify as a husband for her.
Your father was
Nobody, compared to the
marqués.
Don Carlos would never agree to let her marry me. His aspirations are higher. He would cut her off firstand refuse to give me
back Arboleda as he promised, too. If I relinquish my estate, it will be back to performing and endless travelno Arboleda, no nothing. I will not risk that just to bed some female.
He strode up the Rockhurst steps and headed for the brandy. This perplexing attraction to Lucy would pass if he kept a tight rein on it. He had weathered hard times before; he could do it again.
Even if it meant relinquishing his chance at the lovely Lucinda Seton.
ďťż
Chapter Five
Dear Charlotte,
I am surprised you tolerate anyone else being as opinionated as you. We both know you dont take well to having your ideas contradicted. And I would not pin your hopes on such a petition. The licensing magistrates are notoriously fickle about their choices, not to mention susceptible to bribery.
Your cousin,
Michael
E
arly the next afternoon, Lucy herded several twelve-year-olds down the path through the oaks behind the school. With the weather still unseasonably warm, it was far too lovely to sit inside and draw.
Bearing their smocks, sketch pads, and charcoals, they quickly reached the old river landing, which had four spectacular views. Before them was the Thames with the countryside beyond, behind them lay the oak copse, to the left was the schools boathouse, and to the right was the cherry orchard.
That cursed cherry orchard. As the girls donned their smocks, she strolled over to gaze at it. Was Diego Montalvo out there now, or was he still abed?
The idea sent an unwelcome warmth flooding her belly. Would he wear a nightshirt? Or sleep in his drawers, like some men in the regiment?
She didnt want to know. Because the thought of him bare-chested, wearing only drawers, set her pulse pounding, and she was going to see him later today. How was she supposed to react after yesterdays kisses?
Her fingers curled automatically into her palm, and a groan escaped her. The first had been bad enough, but the second and third
No man had ever kissed her palm or her wrist, not even Peter. It had nearly turned her to ash right there. How strange that such kisses felt so much more intimate, so much more sinful, than one to the back of the hand.
Or was it just the way hed stared at her while doing it?
She shivered. His eyes, warm and coffee-brown, had met hers in a look that held more than mere admiration, something wild and wanton and very, very wicked.
That licentious look, those unwise kisses, had fed last nights dreams in the most shocking manner. Shed spent half the night imagining that dark gaze poring over her naked body, those possessive lips burning a path down her chin and upper chest and
and breasts
Miss Seton? asked a pupil, jerking her from her thoughts.
She whirled to find the girls seated on the aging plank bench that circled the landing, with their charcoals and sketch pads at hand and their faces expectant.
She struggled to regain her composure. Ah, I see youre ready. Very good. This was her first drawing class. What in the dickens was she doing allowing thoughts of that wretched magician to intrude? If she werent careful, she would forget why she was here in the first place.
And why
he
had come to Richmond, too. That was probably why hed kissed her hand so scandalously: to make her forget about his devious plans.
With matter-of-fact efficiency, she donned her smock and set out her sketch pad and charcoals. Now then, ladies, according to your previous teachers notes, you left off with landscapes. Is that correct?
Yes, Miss Seton, the girls said in unison. Then Tessas hand shot up.
Miss Dalton? Lucy asked.
She told us we would start on figures next.
Lucy bit back a smile. The girls were always eager to go right to figures, so they could sketch their parents and beaus and friends. But it wasnt wise to rush them beyond the limits of their competence too quickly, no matter how eager they were for it. It would merely frustrate them.
Lets leave the figures until a day when the weather is not so fine.
Another girl raised her hand, followed by two others.
Suppressing a sigh, she called on the first. Yes, Miss Pierce.
Our teacher
promised
that if we practiced drawing hands enough last term, we could go on to figures this term, she protested. And weve been drawing our left hands for weeks and weeks!
And youll be drawing them for weeks more if you keep complaining, Lucy said with a teacherly scowl.
The other two girls hands went down.
Now then, she said firmly, today you will draw one of the views surrounding usthere are plenty to choose from.
Eleven heads bent quickly to their sketch pads.
That went rather well,
she thought as she settled herself on one end of the landing, where she could observe all of her pupils.
Fortunately, only Tessa knew her as a friend. The others were too young to have attended here when she had, which would make it easier to maintain the proper distance. But for tomorrows class with the older girls, shed have to make it clear that she was Miss Seton, drawing teacher, and not Lucy, the colonels daughter famous for never holding her tongue.
She flipped through her own sketch pad, hurrying past the sketch of Peter to find an empty page. After her shameless response to yesterdays hand kisses, she needed no more reminders of her flawed character.
Today she would do better.
What a fine picture you ladies make, said a male voice.
Startled, she looked up to see Seńor Montalvo striding up to the landing. Just the sight of him in a chocolate-hued riding coat, tight buckskin riding breeches, and well-polished Hessians sent her pulse racing. And a racing pulse didnt augur well for good behavior.
What are
you
doing here? she snapped.
He laughed, the throaty sound making her go all shivery. Such a welcome! You told me I might come, remember?
I said
later!
She rose to her feet. After our lessons are done.
I wanted to see you teaching your class, he said smoothly.
But Mrs. Harris
I spoke to her when I entered. Thats how I knew where to find you. She thought my joining you a fine idea. A devilish smile curved his mouth.
A likely story. When Lucy had broached the possibility of taking Diego around the school yesterday, shed had to twist Mrs. Harriss arm to get her to agree. But apparently, even though Mrs. Harris wasnt entirely sure that Seńor Montalvo could be trusted, she did trust Lucy. Of course, that was only because she didnt know about their previous encounter.
Very well, sir, she said, determined not to let him intimidate her. Feel free to watch, but Im afraid youll be bored. The young ladies and I will merely draw for a bit, and then Ill stroll around to observe and make comments.
May I ask what youre drawing?
We were
supposed
to draw figures, Tessa grumbled.
Miss Dalton Lucy warned.
I suppose you cant draw figures without a model, he jumped in, eyes twinkling. Why not let me be your model? I might as well make myself useful.
Eleven pairs of hopeful eyes swung her way. She would have refused, except for one thing: being a model required utter stillness. He couldnt distract her with magic tricks or flirtation, so shed have a chance to extol the schools virtues. And hed have to listen.
Besides, she could also ask
him
questions. She still felt that he was even more a Master of Mystery than he seemed, and this would give her the chance to unveil his secrets. It was crucial in any war to know the enemy well. Surely the man had
some
vulnerability.
All right, Seńor Montalvo. Wed be delighted to have you as a model.
As the girls cheered, he flashed her an arrogant smile and strode to the bench at the other end of the landing.
Enjoy yourself while you can, sir,
Lucy thought smugly.
Those planks will get uncomfortable very quickly.
Even half an hour of holding the same position was sure to wipe that self-satisfied expression from his handsome face.
When she resumed her seat, he called out, How shall I pose?
However you wish. She picked up her charcoal, annoyingly eager to sketch him.
Hows this? He stretched out on the bench on his back, crossing his ankles and tucking his hands under his head.
When the girls giggled, she scowled. He thought he was so clever. Planning to take a nap while we sketch you, sir?
You did say I would be bored.
Ah, but youre not allowed to move, even in sleep. I would prefer that you choose a pose that allows you more control.
He sat up to cast her a cheeky grin. Youre a harsh taskmaster, Miss Seton.
I do try, she said. The way youre sitting now is fine.
More than fine. He was leaning forward, with his hands planted at his sides and his legs splayed wide, like a man on the verge of rising. It not only lent the pose energy and action, but it flexed the muscles of his thighs beneath his tight breeches.
Perhaps this hadnt been such a good idea.
She should focus on a part of him that didnt tempt her. Not his broad shoulders straining against his coat. Not the well-shaped calves encased in fine leather. Certainly not those amazing hands that had haunted her dreams
With a groan, she jerked her gaze to his facewhere his sensuous mouth reminded her of how hed kissed her hand yesterday. Nothing was safe with him.
Determined to resist his attractions, she forced herself to think of him as an objecta statue, perhaps, like the stuffy ones adorning town halls.
For a while, only the scratch of charcoals on paper pierced the silence.
Then he cleared his throat. Am I allowed to talk?
As long as you move only your lips. She seized on the opening. Im sure the young ladies would enjoy hearing about your home in Spain.
What makes you think Im Spanish?
You speak Spanish.
And English, Portuguese, and French.
Fine. She tried not to be impressed that he spoke four languages. Tell us about wherever your home is.
Im from León.
Her gaze shot up from the sketch pad. That
is
a province in Spain, isnt it?
You know of it? He didnt sound entirely surprised.
She knew of it better than she wished. Her mother had died in its frozen mountain passes. As a girl, I traveled through Spain with my parents.
Why were you in Spain, Miss Seton? Tessa asked.
My father served in the army. Both of her fathers had. Her real father, a British soldier named Tom Crawford, had died at the Battle of La Coruńa, heartsick and weakened by the recent loss of his wife. But not before begging his superior officer, Hugh Seton, to take her in. According to the colonel, neither of her parents had possessed any other family.
So you were on the retreat to La Coruńa, Diego said, his tone oddly gentle.
Tears stung her eyes. Yes, though I was too young to remember anything except being always cold. And hungry.
Years later, shed pored over every document relating to that disastrous retreat, looking for information about Sergeant Thomas Crawford or his Spanish wife, Catalina, whod died beside the road. There was none. But she now knew the horrors theyd faced in the British armys mad dash to reach the coast ahead of the French.
The mountains of Ancares get very cold in January. The snow lay thick that year. An edge had entered his voice, but when she glanced at him, his expression was bland. Or so I heard.
And the dead had littered the road. If youre from León, you
are
Spanish, she said, eager to change the subject. Why did you imply otherwise?
Because Im Galician. Were an entirely different people, though Spain has
appropriated us, shall we say.
How can there be snow in Spain? Miss Pierce put in. Isnt it hot there?
It depends on what part youre in. Where I come from, its hot in summer, cold in winter. On one side are the mountains, on the other high plains. Its green but dry. A palpable yearning for home filtered into his voice. At present its spring. The cherries are in bloom there as well, and the grapevines are flourishing. The skies are clear and blue, and the days warm enough to doze in the courtyard.