Sins Of A Duke Part 28

"Um, perhaps I should wait out in the hallway," John Rice-Able muttered, starting to his feet.

Sebastian lifted a hand, motioning him hack to his seat. "Since I am asking for your help as well, I don't intend to keep any of this matter from you."

"If this 'fraud' of yours succeeds," Eleanor said stiffly, clearly not appreciating that he'd had their audience remain, "will it absolve you of your obligation to wed Princess-or whatever she actually is-Josefina?"

"No, it won't. I should say, in fact, that I intend to marry Josefina regardless of whatever else may happen."

"Isn't that taking your sense of duty too far?" Shay suggested.

Sebastian clenched his jaw. Discussing his feelings-he hadn't made a habit of that ever, and especially not over the past four years. And articulating something so...delicate-seeming felt careless. "Suffice it to say that my intentions regarding Josefina have little to do with obligation or duty."

"Oh." Eleanor sat forward. "Oh."

"You mean to say that after all this time the chit you finally choose is-"

"Watch your next words very carefully, Zachary," Sebastian murmured, "or you and I will have a serious disagreement."

"Enough of this." Valentine rose and fetched himself a gla.s.s of claret. "Rice-Able?"

"No, thank you."

"I'll ignore that, because you look as though you could use it." The marquis filled a second gla.s.s with the red liquid and handed it to the professor before he reseated himself. "I want to know what the fraud is. A baby is well and good, but she's fairly easy to trick. I need a challenge."

"Very well. It occurred to me today. Though Josefina is willing to do whatever is necessary to stop the settlers from leaving England, even if it means seeing herself arrested along with her father, that is not an option I will pursue. So we have three goals: Stop the settlement of Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela, get the investors and buyers their money back, and keep Josefina from serious trouble."

"Without going to Prinny or to Bow Street." Shay's angry expression grew more thoughtful; he had never been able to resist a good puzzle. "And by using John, here."

"It can't be announcing that Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela doesn't exist," Sarala contributed, "because that would involve arrests and injury to Josefina's character."

"You're going to flood Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela with Spanish soldiers, aren't you?" Valentine tipped his gla.s.s in a toast. "Rather ambitious, but I'm not certain it qualifies as fraudulent."

"Actually, you're quite close, Deverill. I am going to flood Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela, but not with soldiers. With water. A hundred-year flood that wipes out San Saturus and sends any surviving residents fleeing to Belize. All of the good pastureland will be washed into the Atlantic Ocean, the pristine harbor, destroyed."

Valentine laughed. "You are b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant, Melbourne. You've wasted your skills being benevolent."

"But there is no pastureland," Rice-Able noted, between gulps of claret.

"I absolutely believe your description of the Mosquito Coast, Master Rice-Able. In order to stop a disaster, I will ask you to say that any pastureland is gone. It's not an untruth."

"No, I suppose it's not. Having been there, I understand why it's important to prevent an influx of settlers arriving with the expectation of finding paradise. G.o.d, what a tragedy that would be. But inventing inclement weather-the idea does not make me comfortable."

"If Prinny-Prince George-learns that Stephen Embry has both presumed on his friends.h.i.+p and made him look foolish-to be blunt, with the war on the Peninsula, England can't afford to have its monarch look poorly. In addition, Embry will be imprisoned, and he'll have no incentive to reveal where his ill-gotten funds are." And his family would be blamed for any misdeeds, though Sebastian didn't include that in his argument; John Rice-Able didn't care for Embry's daughter.

"You'll be helping to set things right," Sarala said with a sweet smile. "The conditions you describe will be true. The only real falsehood will be the statement that the territory became unliveable recently, rather than informing anyone that it's been that way all along."

"How will I convey this information? I'm the author of a poorly received book. This Embry purports to be the rey of a country."

This would be the tricky part. "You're going to receive a letter from a friend who witnesses the disaster," Sebastian said, "a friend who forwards his correspondence to the London Times. I will see that it's printed."

John Rice-Able actually gave a short chuckle. "I thought I'd lived all my adventures. London in the company of the celebrated Griffin family is the last place I would have expected to find another. Your cause is definitely a worthy one, Your Grace. I am at your service."

Sebastian clapped his hands together as keen relief flooded through him. "Excellent. Shay, Sarala, might I convince you to concoct the letter?"

Charlemagne nodded curtly. "Of course."

That didn't sound very enthusiastic. "Do we have a problem?"

"No, we do not." With a pointed glance at Rice-Able, his brother stood, offering a hand to his wife.

Later, then. "Make the damage apocalyptic."

"Angels will fear to tread on the ground of Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela by the time we're finished."

Rice-Able stood, as well. "Perhaps I might be able to lend a hand."

"Shay, come by for breakfast with whatever you've composed," Sebastian called as the trio left the room.

"I'll check my calendar."

"That was a bit chilly," Valentine observed as the front door opened and closed.

"Nell, I need you and Caro to have invitations made for an engagement ball to be held here three nights from now."

"Three nights? That's barely enough time to get the invitations finished, much less distributed," Eleanor protested.

"Hire sufficient people to get it done."

"No."

Sebastian glared at her. "I'm not going to debate this. I need a crowded gathering under my control where we can discover the news about Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela. That is-"

"You control every gathering you attend, Sebastian. And I will not-not-allow you to tell yourself that being engaged and getting married is just part of your plan to stop Embry." A tear ran down her face, and she angrily brushed it away.

"Do you think you can keep me from marrying?" he asked, fury clipping his words.

"I only want you to do it for the right blasted reasons," she retorted, her voice shaking with emotion. "So no, I will not help you rush through an engagement ball. Choose another event."

He folded his arms over his chest. Had that been his plan? To make the entire engagement and wedding part of the plot to stop Embry? Josefina would certainly be more likely to go along with it that way. "Zachary, Caro, can we get Anne to pretend that she's being courted by John Rice-Able?"

"Yes," Caroline answered without hesitation.

"Good. That will give him a reason to attend the Tuffley soiree night after next." He faced his sister again. "Does that meet with your approval?"

She lifted her chin. "Does that mean there'll be no engagement ball?"

"There will be," he said, "once I convince Josefina to say yes."

"She turned you down?" Zachary asked skeptically.

"She kicked me, actually. My timing did leave something to be desired."

"Josefina kicked you," Eleanor repeated. At his nod, she pursed her lips. "Perhaps I do like her after all."

"What do we do for the next day and a half?" Valentine finished off his claret and stood. "Are we happy about the match, do we have reservations about the Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela settlement, or should I stay indoors and work on increasing the size of my brood with my wife?"

"Valentine," Nell muttered, shaking her head at him.

"Bringing up the chancy weather in Central America might be a good idea. But don't be too obvious."

"Please. I am a master of subtlety. Come, my dear."

"I'll keep you abreast of events," Sebastian said, handing Caroline to her feet and following the quartet to the door. "And Nell?"

The youngest Griffin sibling faced him, her expression wary. "Yes?"

"Josefina makes me happy."

Eleanor leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Then we'd best make your fraud a successful one."

As Josefina finished sewing the green cross on the sleeve of her newest gown, an emerald wonder in silk and lace, she could hear her father and Halloway in his office across the hallway. Both men were laughing, making alternating remarks about the stupid arrogance of the Duke of Melbourne and the rich scent of the ten thousand quid he'd handed over when he'd signed the marriage agreement.

To her father the money meant he'd won-not only had he managed to avoid parting company with any funds, but he'd also added more to his coffer from the very same fool trying to stop him. To her, though, the money meant that Sebastian was serious when he said he wanted to marry her.

"Is something troubling you, hija?" her mother asked from the neighboring chair.

"Isn't something troubling you?" she retorted, dropping her st.i.tching onto her lap. "He's gone too far this time. People could die."

Maria Embry lifted a delicately arched eyebrow. "Have you ever lacked for food, or comfort, or an education?"

"No. Of course not." She frowned. "But this is different."

"Your father is a n.o.bleman trapped in a commoner's body. He's only trying to be what he is. A king must have subjects."

"Dead ones?"

"They will have supplies. And you've never been to the Mosquito Coast. Don't be so sure this endeavor is doomed."

"But this..." Josefina lowered her voice even though she doubted her father could overhear her in the midst of all his self-congratulations. "He's not just taking money from a bank any longer; he's taking the life savings of families who have less than he began with. Supplies or not, what do you truly think will happen when they arrive at Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela?"

"My point is that we can't know," her mother returned in the same cool tone she used for dinner conversation. "And it is your father's business, and none of mine." She looked down at her sewing again. "If you have questions, you should ask him."

"I have. I'm beginning to think he believes all the tales he's been telling. This must stop, Mama."

The older woman glanced toward the half open door. "I don't know how to stop it without destroying him utterly," she murmured. "It's not that I have no compa.s.sion for those pobres desgraciados; it's just that I have more compa.s.sion for my husband." Her fingers paused in their task. "Would you care to tell Melbourne the entire truth? He would look at you differently, and he would certainly find a way to avoid marrying you."

Melbourne knew, and he still looked at her the same way. He still wanted to marry her. While her mother had been wrong about him, however, she certainly spoke the truth where the rest of Society was concerned. They would all loathe her father, be disgusted at the idea that they'd willingly a.s.sociated with him. Melbourne could keep some of it from touching her, but in return it would touch him.

"I'm going to bed," she said, gathering up her sewing kit and then ringing for Conchita. "And I still wish you would at least suggest that he buy back the land he's sold. No one needs to suffer or die because of his dreams. That is not anything I can be proud of."

She arrived at her bedchamber before Conchita, and deliberately walked over to unlatched the window and push it open. She could ask herself questions about her reasons for wanting to marry Sebastian, but she knew they'd never had much to do with his ability to protect her.

It was more troubling to consider whether she had the same illness as her father, that need to be more lofty than she was. Because she liked the way Sebastian made her feel-precious, valued, exalted.

"No," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed. With Harek she'd had much the same opportunity for a t.i.tle and legitimate social elevation. She might have taken it, too, before Sebastian had surprised her in this very room. But the way she felt when she imagined a life with Harek-it was nothing close to the s.h.i.+vers of dread and delight just setting eyes on Sebastian gave her.

And he needed her, which left her not as uncomfortable as it had initially, but rather humbled. He found her necessary not because she was a princess or a great heiress or good at convincing people to part with their money, but for something she couldn't quite put words to. When they'd first met she'd seen his aloneness, heard it in his aloof, cool voice. Over the past days that loneliness seemed to have left him, and she thought she was the reason for it. It was a heady, powerful, joyous feeling-one she'd never thought to have in her life, and one she didn't want to give up. Ever.

She looked toward the window again, her heart twisting. She didn't want him to have to climb through windows and leave before dawn; she wanted him to be there, and to know that he was there forever. Not because of what she claimed to be, but because of who she was. And because in his company she liked who she was better than she ever had before.

A few more days. Just a few more days and she would know whether she had earned the life she wanted with Sebastian, or whether she needed to flee into the night, alone.

Chapter 21.

"G ood morning, Your Grace," Stanton said, as Sebastian came downstairs.

"Good morning. Is my daughter awake?"

"She is in the breakfast room."

"Thank you. I'm only in for family and the Costa Hab.i.+.c.huela party." He turned down the hallway.

"Very good, Your Grace. Lord Charlemagne arrived five minutes ago. He is in with Lady Peep."

Ah, Shay. Sebastian took a breath. He hadn't wanted a fight this morning, feeling more inclined to smile idiotically for no reason at all, but he wouldn't back away from a quarrel, either. For a man of four-and-thirty who'd spent half his life governing the most powerful country in the world, the way he craved being around Josefina was just...pitiful. "We'll need some privacy."

"I shall see to it."

Sebastian pushed open the breakfast room door. "Good morning."

Peep ran forward, grabbing his hands to drag him toward his seat at the head of the table. "You need to talk to Uncle Shay," she said, releasing him to pull out his heavy chair.

Charlemagne sat in his old place just on the right, while Penelope's half-consumed breakfast lay across from that. "Yes, I know I do," Sebastian answered. "I thought he and I might take a walk in the garden while you finish your break-"

"It can't wait that long," his daughter interrupted. "Uncle Shay, tell Papa what you told me."

Shay's dour expression tightened. "Peep, I wasn't-"

She held out her hand, gesturing for him to stop. "I will tell you. Uncle Shay says I can be a princess." The seven-year-old put a hand over her heart.

Sebastian lifted an eyebrow. "He does, does he?"