Don't Bargain with the Devil by Sabrina Jeffries

point. What if they ran him off only to have someone worse come in?
     
But what could they do?
     
The idea hit her like a rifle shot. Yes! It was brilliant! But why hadn’t Mrs. Harris thought of it herself? Perhaps because it couldn’t be done? She would have to ask.
     
And she would have to keep him busy and out of the way so the idea could be explored.
     
But there would be no more private moments. With luck, Diego Montalvo would be gone and out of her life soon. And she refused to let him take her reputation with him when he left.
     
     
     
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    Chapter Seven
     
     
     
     
Dear Charlotte,
     
I am working on a solution to your dilemma, but I need more time. Meanwhile, Miss Seton’s association with the magician can surely do no harm, assuming it is properly chaperoned. And if it actually softens him toward the school, it can only help.
     
Your concerned cousin,
     
Michael
     
     
T wo days after kissing Lucy in the woods, Diego watched from the orchard as a succession of carriages headed down the drive shortly after dawn.
     
He cursed under his breath. Yesterday, Lucy had told him she needed to go over accounts with Mrs. Harris today, so she would not be able to see him. And on Sunday they would attend church, so she could not see him then either.
     
He had spent enough time in her company to recognize when she lied, so he had risen at this ungodly hour to see if he was right. It appeared that he was. Because he would wager every peseta he had saved through the years that the woman enveloped in a cloak who had hurried into the firstcoach was Lucy herself. And that the woman joining her moments later was her employer.
     
They were up to something, along with several teachers and pupils, judging from the number of carriages. It must be something they did not want him to discover. No doubt Lucy had assumed he would sleep past their leavetaking—but then, she always underestimated him.
     
Gaspar hurried up, having come the back way from the school’s kitchens, where Diego had sent him after seeing the carriages gather at dawn.
     
“Did you learn anything from that cook you are sweet on?” Diego demanded.
     
Gaspar glared at him. “She has a name, you know. Sally. And do you think you’re the only one who can turn a pretty woman’s head?”
     
Diego fought mightily not to laugh. He had seen the woman in the kitchen gardens once. She was no beauty. But Gaspar loved large-breasted women. And anyone who fed him well. Sally was probably Gaspar’s idea of a goddess.
     
“I am well aware of your prowess with women,” Diego said. “Whom do you think I learned it from?”
     
“You’re damned right, you did,” Gaspar shot back, only slightly mollified. “What is it to you, anyway, if I am sweet on her? Unlike you, I don’t hate the English, and I deserve—”
     
“Gaspar!” Diego chided. “What did you learn from Sally?”
     
Gaspar blinked. “Oh. Not much. They’re headed off to a charity breakfast.”
     
“Ah, that explains the early hour.”
     
“Actually, no. It seems that English society holds breakfasts in the afternoon.”
     
“So where the devil is this breakfast—Bath?” Diego said irritably.
     
“It’s at the Duchess of Foxmoor’s mansion, but they go early to help set it up. Apparently this is a regular affair. At the beginning of every term, one of the married ladies hosts what is called a Venetian breakfast. They invite the wealthiest members of society to raise money for various causes—a ladies’ association that helps women in prison, an orphanage, political parties, whatever interests them. Sally did say the ladies were leaving earlier than usual.”
     
“And we both know why,” Diego bit out.
     
“You think they’re up to something?”
     
Diego started for the house. “Why else did Lucy keep it secret from me?”
     
With a dry laugh, Gaspar hurried after him. “She’s a woman. They love secrets. Perhaps she’s nervous because she’s already told you so