“No.”
“Sebastian, you can’t meld reality to fit your preferred fiction any more than my father can. And you know what his plan will be—invent some plausible reason he has to delay in giving you any funds until he’s forced us to marry. And then your fortune, literally and figuratively, will be tied to his.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t believe in losing,” he finally ground out.
“Neither does my father. I know when we discussed this last night I thought the chance of a quick, profitable return on his so-called investment would be more than he could resist. But what I didn’t tell you was that I spent two hours before you…joined me, rereading his letters. All of them.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And I think he’s always…I’m not certain how to say it.” She took a breath. “He’s always wanted to be someone important. First to be a valuable member of Wellington’s staff, and when that failed, to be a valuable part of Bolivar’s struggle against Spain. But he was a foreigner in South America, and he wasn’t ever really accepted by Bolivar and his generals. The little schemes of ours provided him with blunt, but not with power. So then he came up with Costa Habichuela, where he could be a king. There’s nothing greater than that, I suppose. Not where he’s concerned. I went along with it, like I’ve always done, because I enjoy living comfortably.”
“I understand his reasoning. And yours.”
“No, I don’t think you can. You were born to be the Duke of Melbourne. You’ve never stood at one side of the room and envied the power and privilege of someone else.” She cleared her throat, willing her voice to remain steady and the tears pushing behind her eyes to go away. She certainly didn’t need them now. “When you strip your dreams away, you’re still Melbourne. Without his dreams, my father is a failed military officer who wouldn’t serve in his own country’s army when he didn’t get his way. And I’m his daughter.”
There. She’d said it as plainly as she could. Her father was common, and she was common.
“So to clarify,” he said in his low, cultured voice, “you’re not worthy of my protection or of my affection.”
Josefina closed her eyes, hoping he couldn’t see how much it hurt to hear him agree with her assessment of the circumstances. “Precisely,” she whispered.
“Do I strike you as being cruel or deceitful?” he asked abruptly.
As she opened her eyes again he rose, stepping forward to kneel in front of her, his hands covering her clenched ones. “No, you do not,” she returned.
“That’s interesting, as on occasion my siblings have accused me of being both.” He scowled briefly. “There’s been a Griffin—or a Grifanus, rather—in England since the time of the Romans. My ancestors were among the first to be elevated to the nobility, and one of my forbears was, legend has it, the reason that the title of duke came into existence here. My point being, I suppose, that my family has a knack for doing the right thing at the right time, and for profiting from that bit of good fortune.”
It was the most cynical she’d heard him be about his own family, and himself. Distracting as it was having him at her feet and touching her, the admission surprised her. “Sebastian, you don’t have to make an excuse for doing the right thing. You’re a good man; that is what good men do.”
“You misunderstand me, Josefina. I know what I want to do, and that is what I intend to do. If it’s the wrong thing, then so be it; I find that I’m willing to trade on the pristine reputation of my forefathers on this one occasion.”
“But you can’t let my father order those ships to sail,” she protested.
His lips curved upward. “That’s not exactly what I was referring to, but you’re correct.”
“Then what were you referring to?” She frowned down at him. “For heaven’s sake, I’m surrounded by people who talk circles around the truth. Don’t be an—”
“I want to marry you.”
Chapter 20
Josefina stared at him, her exquisite brown eyes wide and stunned. If he’d needed any proof that she hadn’t manipulated circumstances to trick or trap him into a wedding, the expression on her face provided it clearly enough.
Sebastian waited another half minute, reluctant amusement warring with growing annoyance. For God’s sake, every other female in London would be in raptures if he proposed to them. “You did hear me, I assume,” he finally muttered, lifting an eyebrow.
“I heard you. I just don’t know what to say.”
“Ah.” Releasing her hands, he pushed to his feet. “If you’re looking for the greatest advantage to yourself, it lies in saying yes. If you’re looking for a trap or a condition, there is none.”
As he walked to the window, determined not to let her see that he felt far less composed than he pretended, he heard her rise. He half-expected her to slip out the door, and jumped when her hand touched his arm. He turned around.
“So you’ve made up your—”
Josefina kicked him in the shin. Hard.
“Ow, damn it all,” he snapped, refusing to bend down and rub his injured limb. He didn’t want her to aim a follow-up blow to his head.
“I did not come here to be proposed to,” she said, folding her arms over her pert breasts.
“If you’re attempting to shield your bosom from me, I’ve already tasted its delights,” he countered. “Why the devil are you angry with me? Even if you don’t care for me, I did just essentially offer to save your life.”
“It took me a long time to decide to take a stand against my father,” she retorted, her color rising further as his gaze dropped again to her chest, “when all he’s ever wanted is what’s best for me.”
“Deciding you should be a princess of a make-believe country was not the wisest way to go about that.” He knew he sounded cynical, but she had just cracked him in the knee.
“No, it wasn’t. But regardless of his methods, my coming here means that I’ve betrayed him. And then you say you want to marry me, and now it feels as though I’m being…rewarded for siding against my father.”
Rewarded. That sounded more promising than a kick in the leg. Sebastian allowed himself a second to dwell on that. “You are an uncommon woman, Josefina,” he said, choosing his words deliberately. “And you’re correct; I should have kept my attention on the larger issue. I withdraw my proposal.”
“You—” She snapped her mouth closed. “Very well.”
He hid the abrupt urge to smile. “Our task is to keep those ships from leaving. Since I won’t be able to withhold his stolen money to convince him to do so, our options are limited.”
“You need to have us arrested,” she stated, her voice shaking.
“That is my very last choice.”
“Well, unless you can alter the winds and blow the ships back to England when they sail, I don’t see any other choice.”
Alter the winds. She’d done so in the prospectus. But something in the way she said it this time gave him the inkling of an idea. Alter the winds.
“I need to get back to the others,” she said into the silence. “What are we going to do?”
He looked at her. “This afternoon I’m going to sign all of the agreements, and be frustrated when your father won’t hand over any funds for investment.”
“But the agreements obligate you to marry me. And to give him ten thousand pounds. Annually.”
“I know you rejected my proposal, my dear, but—”
“I did not,” she countered indignantly. “I rejected having you propose when we have more pressing matters to deal with.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, then.” She did want to marry him. His heart sped. “When you announced to the world that we were to be married, you essentially made it so. Signing a piece of paper is a mere formality.” Taking her chin in his fingers, he tilted her face up and kissed her softly. “As for the rest,” he murmured, “you’ll have to trust me until I can speak with my family and put a few details into the equation.”
“I’m not accustomed to trusting people, Sebastian.” She kissed him back, sighing against his mouth in a way that threatened to steal not just his breath, but his soul. “But I trust you.”
He took her arm and walked her to the library door.
“I mean to propose to you again, Josefina,” he whispered. “And the next time you’d best not kick me.”
“I’ve recently stopped making promises,” she said unsteadily. “At least ones I can’t keep.”
“You did what?” Shay demanded, rising to his feet and anger obscuring the weariness in his face.
“I signed the agreements,” Sebastian said again, filling his glass with port and resuming his seat by the Griffin House drawing room hearth. “If you’re going to have me repeat everything I say, this is going to be a very long night. And Mr. Rice-Able looks as though he could use some sleep.”
The explorer-cum-professor actually looked more stunned than tired, but Sebastian could certainly understand why. From what Shay had said, he’d practically dragged the poor man out of his classroom at Eton.
“Forgive us if we’re lagging behind,” Eleanor put in, “but I thought the goal was to separate yourself from the Embrys, not to become further entangled with them.”
“I have to agree, Melbourne,” Valentine added. “When you go to Prinny with this, telling him you’ve signed up to marry the chit stabs you a bit in your own foot, don’t you think?”
“P…Prinny?” Rice-Able squeaked.
“I’m not going to Prinny,” Sebastian countered, hoping the professor would refrain from fainting.
“You’ll need to inform him before you call in Bow Street.”
“I’m not calling in Bow Street either, Zach.”
“What’s up your sleeve then, Melbourne?” Valentine put an arm across his wife’s shoulders when it looked as though Eleanor wanted to jump off the settee and strangle her oldest brother.
“I’m going to perpetrate a fraud of my own,” Sebastian said, taking a breath. “And I would appreciate if you would help me do it. All of you.”
“Count me in,” Valentine said immediately.
The others, though, his siblings especially, didn’t look nearly as amenable. He couldn’t fault them for hesitating, either. Since he’d been seventeen and inherited the dukedom and the responsibility for raising his sister and two brothers, he’d been handing down proclamations about the proper way to behave and what Griffins did and did not do.
“You?” Shay muttered. “You are going to go against…You’re Melbourne. You can’t.”
“I have to do this because I’m Melbourne. But more because I’m also Sebastian Griffin. I need to do it this way.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve all said you hoped that someday my…methods would come back to haunt me. Perhaps they have. Now please let me know whether you’ll assist me or not.”
“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 glass 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 glass 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 Habichuela, 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 Habichuela doesn’t exist,” Sarala contributed, “because that would involve arrests and injury to Josefina’s character.”
“You’re going to flood Costa Habichuela with Spanish soldiers, aren’t you?” Valentine tipped his glass 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 Habichuela, 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 bloody 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. God, 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 friendship 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 Habichuela 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 Habichuela. 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?”
Sins of a Duke Page 25
