Sins of a Duke (12 page)

“A few tribal leaders, I suppose. According to Spain it’s a fellow named Qental, but that’s probably just for ease of reference. It’s a fairly wide-open, rambling area. Boundaries change with every rainy season as the swamps overflow and the course of the rivers alter.”

“Is any of it liveable?”

“Certainly. The natives have managed a fair existence, living on fruits and fish and the occasional wild pig.”

“Is there any trade?”

“Not particularly. The native groups tend to avoid one another and be very suspicious of outsiders. If I hadn’t managed to secure a guide who spoke several of the local dialects, I doubt I would have survived to be chatting here with you.”

“Do any of the…tribes speak Spanish, or English?”

“Some of them know a smattering of Spanish, but Spain hasn’t made much of an effort to control the region. No profit to be made there. You can’t dig for gold in a swamp.”

“And English?”

“Belize is mostly English, but technically it’s several hundred miles north of the Mosquito Coast region. You’ll find a few tiny settlements of trappers and miners, but they’re not pleasant places.”

Sebastian realized he was clenching his hands so hard that his fingers were growing numb. He shook them out beneath the cover of the tabletop. “Why are they unpleasant?”

“Ah.” Rice-Able cleared his throat and drank half the tea in his cup. “My views on this tend to make me a bit unpopular.”

“I’m here because I wish to know your views.”

Quizzical hazel eyes met direct gray ones. “The English are masters of settling places that can be forced to resemble England. Large quantities of clean, running water, open fields, and a mild climate. In general, while I believe anyone
could
adapt to practically any conditions, most Englishmen seem to expect the conditions to adapt to them. Refusing to acknowledge that a place is humid and insect-ridden is a very sure way to become sickly and ulti
mately, dead.”

“You adapted,” Shay commented.

“I prefer to remain alive to tell my tales rather than to die by my pride. When the natives recommend covering one’s skin with putrid-smelling plant secretions to protect from insect bites, I do so.”

“Have you heard of a town called San Saturus there?”

The professor’s brow furrowed. “San Saturus. No. I don’t recall anything large enough to be considered a town at all.”

“Anything smaller than that with a similar name?”

“I drew up some maps. Just a moment, and I’ll fetch them.”

As the professor left the table to hunt through his papers, Sebastian took another drink of the awful tea. He knew what he hoped for—some indication that Josefina hadn’t been lying.
Please, God, let there be a San Saturus
. And let it be where she claimed.

“How stupid of me,” Rice-Able exclaimed, his gaze on a large, half-unrolled piece of parchment. “San Saturus. There it is.”

Thank God
. “Is it on the coast, between the Wawa and Grande de Matagalpa Rivers, by any chance?”

“That’s a large area, but yes.” The professor picked his way back to the table.

Sebastian and Shay cleared off the rest of the clutter to accommodate the map, placing their tea apparatus at the four corners to hold it open. The map was remarkable; far more detailed than any official document he’d ever seen for that region. “You should have been a cartographer,” Sebastian commented, running his gaze up the coast in search of the contours depicted in the Costa Habichuela prospectus.

“Half the fun is denoting the plant and animal life in each area, and the elevation variations.” Rice-Able placed
an ink-stained finger on the map. “There’s your San Saturus. I should have remembered. It certainly made an impression at the time.”

“Why is that?” Sebastian pursued, sternly resisting the urge to influence Rice-Able’s recollection by mentioning deep bays and white stone buildings. It had to be the absolute truth that he learned tonight, not the truth as he wanted it to be.

“It was the bodies. A trio of them. Laid out neat as you please, shirts, trousers, boots, hats all in place, but nothing inside them except for white-as-snow bones. I surmised at the time that they all must have been overcome by the sun, or more likely by swamp gas. Then ants devoured the flesh. I’ve seen ants reduce a full-grown boar to bones in twenty-four hours. That was a large colony, of course.”

“What makes you think three dead men equals a town called San Saturus?” Sebastian knew he sounded curt; both the story and its ramifications horrified him.

“Close by the bodies we found several huts and some mining equipment. On one of the planks someone had burned the letters ‘San Saturus’ into the wood. This is probably the only map on which it appears.” Rice-Able took another sip of tea. “I remember thinking the name was ironic, since Saint Saturus is the patron saint against poverty. I suppose the poor wretches were hopeful, anyway.”

His heart and his head pounding, Sebastian pushed to his feet.
Damnation. Bloody, bloody hell
. She said she’d seen the palace, said she’d spent two days there. Jaw clenched and aching, he faced the door. “Are there any other villages of any size in that immediate area?”

“Not along the coast. That part of the territory floods every year. As you can see, even San Saturus was a mile
or so inland.”

“Seb,” Shay said quietly. “You were right.”

But he hadn’t wanted to be. Not now. Not after this morning, when he’d taken Josefina naked in his arms. “Master Rice-Able, would you be willing to come to London and retell this story if required?”

“Yes, I suppose so. What precisely is going on?”

“A lie. A very large lie.”

“Do you have anything else,” Shay queried, “in addition to your map, that can be used to substantiate what you’ve told us?”

“My notes for two books. They are only as believable as I am, however.”

“You have no reason to lie,” Sebastian grunted. “You didn’t know what I was looking to find.”

“I still don’t, though I intend to begin reading the London newspapers in the morning.”

Sebastian could forbid that, he supposed, but there would be no way to enforce it. He reached for the door, then stilled. “Sir, have you ever heard of a country anywhere called Costa Habichuela?”

“No. Bean Coast? If you’re still referring to the Mosquito Coast, no one could possibly grow enough beans to name an area that, unless it’s meant as a jest.”

A jest. If only it were that simple. Sebastian wanted to slam his fist hard into something. No capital city, no fertile coast, no English-speaking natives, no country, and therefore no rey. And no Princess Josefina.

“Thank you, Master Rice-Able. We’ll send word to you if we require your presence in London.” Badly in need of fresh air, Sebastian pulled open the door. “In the meantime, I would appreciate your discretion.”

“Certainly. Good evening, Your Grace, my lord.”

Shay at his heels and holding their carriage lamp, Se
bastian strode back to the coach. So many thoughts roiled and pounded in his head that he couldn’t seize on any one, couldn’t make sense of anything. The only clear image in his mind was of Josefina clinging to him and gasping in pleasure.

“Home,” he barked at Timmons, and climbed inside the coach.

Shay had barely taken his own seat when the carriage lurched into motion. “Sebastian, I know you’re angry,” his brother said, his voice and his expression, his entire body, reeking of caution, “but we have to be careful.”

“Rice-Able was there three years ago,” he heard himself say unsteadily. “According to Embry, Costa Habichuela was granted him two years ago. There’s still a chance that—”

“Be serious,” Shay retorted. “I know you’re only rarely fooled, but it
can
happen. If it’s any comfort, Embry’s got Prinny wearing that absurd green cross everywhere, and he’s cheated the bank and bond investors out of a hundred thousand pounds. You’re the one who suspected him in the first place. Why did you, anyway?”

Sebastian drew a tight breath. Every inch of him wanted to explode into motion and anger and frustration and a thousand other things he didn’t care to put a name to. What was he supposed to tell Shay? That he’d suspected everyone, and Josefina especially, because he liked her? That for the first time in four years he’d desired a woman, wanted to be in her company, and that he’d made a choice so abysmally wrong that he’d endangered the standing of his family and of his country? And deepest down, of his heart?

“Melbourne?”

He shook himself. “No particular reason,” he lied. “And yes, I’ll proceed with caution. I know what’s at stake. No one else can know, Shay. No one. Not until I decide how
to proceed.”

“You don’t have to stand alone.”

“I appreciate that.”

Except that he was alone. Again. And he had only himself to blame for it. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Josefina Embry owed him some damned answers. And she would bloody well provide them, at the time and place of his choosing.

J
osefina hurried downstairs as the pair of muddy coaches stopped at the front of the house. Her parents had made good time. Her mother emerged first. “Josefina,
mi vida,
” she exclaimed with a wide smile, holding her arms open for a hug.

It felt good to be back in a safe, unquestioning embrace. So much had happened in ten days’ time that she could scarcely believe it. “Welcome back, Mama. I missed you.”

“We missed you as well, Josefina,” her father boomed, grinning as he hugged both her and her mother. “You’ll never guess the progress we’ve made. Another fifty thousand pounds for Costa Habichuela.”

“That’s fantastic! Did you receive my letter?” Josefina asked, trailing him into the house as the queen took charge of the unloading of what looked to be a considerable number of purchases.

“I did. Magnificent work. As we left Edinburgh the
bond sales there were even brisker than what you reported here. The Scots can always smell a good investment.”

He looked so pleased with himself that she hated to break his mood. But he needed to know that Melbourne had discovered the origins of the prospectus. Whatever the duke’s interest in her, she didn’t know how long he would remain silent.

“I arranged for a half dozen ships to be at our disposal in Edinburgh,” he went on, sending one of the maids for coffee and settling himself behind his borrowed desk. “They’ll be provisioned and ready to sail within the month.”

“A half dozen ships? What do we need with—”

“Settlers will need supplies when they arrive.” He pulled out a cigar and lit it on the desk lamp. “I want to meet the Duke of Harek,” he went on. “Have you sent for him?”

“He should be here within the hour.” A tremor of uneasiness ran through her as she took a seat opposite her father. “What settlers?”

“Your letter said people were practically begging to emigrate to Costa Habichuela. It’s the same in Scotland. I had Halloway print up some land sale forms.”

Josefina frowned. “Beg pardon?”

“With a million acres of fertile land at our disposal, why not give every Englishman the opportunity to own some of it, at three shillings an acre? In perpetuity, just like noblemen here.”

Her heart stopped. “What? But—”

“And with ships already hired, we can grant passage at a reasonable price, plus an additional amount per pound of their belongings. And of course some of them will want to transport livestock.” He scowled thoughtfully. “I’ll have Orrin make up a list with the individual expenses printed out, to go with the land sale certificates. Oh, and we’re selling hundred-acre lots, if anyone asks.”

“You aren’t—”

“If pressed, our land office can break some of the lots into ten-acre parcels.”

Josefina began to feel light-headed. “What land office?”

“I opened one in Edinburgh. And the one here opens tomorrow. Orrin hired a solicitor’s office to take care of the details while we were up north.” Finally he looked at her. “What are you frowning at?”

“Papa—father—there are things we’re never to speak about, even in private,” she said in a low voice, cautious despite the closed door. Colonel Branbury’s servants didn’t know anything more than the rest of London, and they meant to keep it that way.

“Then don’t speak of them. I’m also compiling a list of citizens we badly need to run the government and a rapidly expanding township. Bankers, blacksmiths, physicians, solicitors, map-makers, teachers—” He scooted a piece of paper over to her. “You probably know better than I. See if you can finish it in the next day or two, and we’ll post it in the
London Times
and at the land office.”

She looked from the long list of occupations back to her father as he sat at his ease, puffing on the cigar. “If this is a jest, it’s not amusing.”

“It’s not a jest.”

“But you can’t—”

He leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s unfair that we would come asking for money and then refuse to allow anyone to join us in sharing the bounty of our new paradise? They’ll come anyway, rest assured. It’s in our own best interest to keep the influx orderly. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, at a price far better than they’ll find elsewhere.” The rey grinned again. “And the Costa Habichuela natives are friendly, and speak English, unlike those savages in the United States.”

“I know it would look odd if we didn’t offer people
a chance to immigrate,” she hedged, fiddling with the corner of the paper he’d given her, “but isn’t that something we should do closer to the time of our departure?”

“Now is the time to strike. You should have seen the reception we received in Scotland. They covered the streets with rose petals. Interest in Costa Habichuela will never be greater than it is at this moment.”

Josefina took a shallow breath. “But settlers weren’t part of the plan.”

“They are now. Go put on your tiara before Harek arrives. I hope you’ve been wearing it to receive guests. We are royalty, and we need to act like it at all times.” He pushed to his feet, hands flat on the desk as he leaned forward to look down at her. “At
all
times.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” She stood, gave him a curtsy, and left the room.

Her throat constricted. Why had she never thought of this? Of course when people heard about a paradise some of them would wish a chance to reside there. Logically they had to be allowed to do so.
Damnation
. She had had such thoughts—worries—before, but now they felt…real. Mentally debating theories and letting her mind wander to pick apart cracks—if there were cracks—was one thing, but now it wasn’t a theory any longer. People would be sailing to Costa Habichuela.

She went to her bed chamber and found the tiara where Conchita kept it. As she sat at the dressing table and frowned into the mirror, her door opened.

“Here, let me,” her mother said with a smile, closing the door again and approaching to take the tiara from her.

“Did father tell you he opened a land office in Scotland, and that he’s opening another one here tomorrow?”

“Yes. I attended the first one, and we’re all to attend the second.” Carefully her mother set the crown into Josefina’s hair, then picked up the ivory comb to rearrange a
few straying locks.

“Did you try to talk him out of it?”

“He didn’t consult me,
mi ángel bonita
. You know how he is.”

“But he’s going to send people to Costa Habichuela.”

“With supplies. Even if San Saturus isn’t precisely what they expect, they can turn it into a beautiful capital city.”

“The money is one thing, but why press our luck?” Josefina countered at a whisper. Her father would be furious if he knew they were having this conversation, even just the two of them, and even in absolute privacy. “We’ve never seen Costa Habichuela, Mama.”

“You and your father have been working on this project for the past two years without rest. You know by now that he does nothing without good reason. Trust him, as he trusts you.” Her mother kissed Josefina’s cheek.

“I don’t doubt that he’ll be successful in finding settlers. It’s what happens afterward that…troubles me,” she returned.

“To others, we may exaggerate,” her mother said, straightening. “Among ourselves, we always speak the truth. If he says everything will be well, believe it.” She held out her hand. “Now tell me about the Duke of Harek. Is he as handsome as Lord Melbourne?”

Josefina followed her mother out the door. “He’s quite pleasant-looking.”

No man was as handsome as Melbourne. And her mother was wrong about one thing. Among themselves, they
did
lie. Because she knew that Sebastian Griffin knew the prospectus was fake, and that he suspected something more was afoot. And she’d told no one. And now abruptly she herself had a few questions about the wisdom of her father’s newest plans.

An hour later Josefina met Harek at the morning room
doorway. “Your Grace, may I introduce you to His Majesty, Stephen Embry, Rey of Costa Habichuela, and Her Majesty, Queen Maria? Mother, Father, His Grace the Duke of Harek.”

Harek smiled his most charming smile, the expression lighting his green eyes. “I have several times asked Her Highness to call me Charles, and I request the same of Your Majesties.” He bowed. “I am very pleased finally to meet you.”

Her father stood. “Likewise, Charles.” They shook hands. “Thank you for coming to our assistance on such short notice. I have to admit, I was rather taken aback at Melbourne’s desertion.”

The duke’s smile faltered a little. “Ah. I don’t know Melbourne well, but he has been helpful in easing the transition. He offered us seats at the theater the other evening, and has invited all of us to join him at Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night.”

“He said he simply had too many other duties to give us the amount of attention the liaison position required,” Josefina offered, somewhat surprised to hear herself lying yet again to her parents, and again on Melbourne’s behalf. In all likelihood
he
had some of the answers she wanted, though, and it wouldn’t do if she was forbidden to speak with him. Besides, she wanted to have sex with him again.

“Well, he handled his departure as a gentleman then, I suppose.” The rey put an arm across Harek’s shoulders. “Join me in the billiards room, Charles, and tell me about yourself.”

Harek glanced over his shoulder as he left the room. “My apologies, Queen Maria, Princess Josefina. Duty and billiards call.”

“He is pleasant to the eyes, Josefina,” her mother agreed as the two men headed up the stairs. “And on the ears. Well mannered, with a sense of humor, and a duke. Better
for you perhaps than stone-faced Melbourne.”

“Perhaps,” Josefina agreed, picking out the most noncommittal word she could.

“Do you like Charles?”

She shrugged. “Well enough. He’s already made mention that he has no qualms about foreign travel. He’s only just returned from Canada, in fact.”

“Your father will convince him to offer for you, you know, if our duke hasn’t already decided to do so.”

“I know.”

And if she’d met Harek first, and Melbourne not at all, she would be perfectly content. And the order and circumstances of acquaintance didn’t actually matter, anyway, because Melbourne would never leave England. Her father had made a mistake, encouraging Prinny to select Sebastian as his representative. And for the first time she began to wonder whether her father wasn’t making several mistakes, now.

Sebastian sat up. He felt thick and groggy, and as he looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel in his bedchamber, it took a moment for the time to register. Twenty-one minutes past five. That didn’t make any sense, because they hadn’t arrived home until past three, and he knew he hadn’t fallen asleep until well after that.

Which would make it nearly half past five in the evening.
Damnation
. “Bailey!” he yelled.

The door lurched open and his valet half-stumbled into the room. “I’m here, Your Grace.”

Sebastian flung the sheets aside and stood. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you wake me?”

“Your brother, Lord Shay, said not to.” Bailey hurried to the wardrobe and returned with a shirt and trousers.

“This is not Shay’s house. It is my house.”

A small fist banged on his door. “Papa, are you de
cent?”

Rarely, it seemed
. Stifling the thought, he finished buttoning his trousers. “Come in, Peep,” he called, pulling his shirt on over his head.

His daughter, in a lovely yellow silk gown that deepened the gray of her eyes, pranced into the room. “Did you sleep well?”

“Too well,” Sebastian replied, sending another glare in Bailey’s direction. “What have you done with yourself today, my angel?”

“I studied French, and I had to miss my pianoforte lessons because you were asleep, and Mrs. Beacham took me to the park, and Stanton asked if I knew the dinner menu because you were still asleep, and I didn’t, so I told him summer pease soup and rabbit fricassée because I like that, and so does Uncle Zachary.”

“Zachary likes any food that’s not moving,” Sebastian commented, allowing Bailey to help him with his waistcoat and cravat. “Is he eating with us?”

“Everyone is. Did you forget? You said it was because Aunt Caroline’s family is here, and if you got one dinner out of the way, perhaps they would leave you alone.”

“That’s not to be repeated, Penelope.”

“I know that,” she returned, disgust in her voice. “I have your confidence.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I have everyone’s confidence. I know so many things, it makes my head spin.”

And thankfully there were quite a few things she didn’t know. “I appreciate all of your efforts today as the lady of the house,” he said aloud, sitting at his dressing table to shave.

“I know you do. I’m going to make certain Cook has baked something chocolate for dessert.”

“A splendid idea. Will you send Stanton up here on
your way?”

“Certainly.”

It was probably a good thing that Peep had come in and interrupted what would have become a furious rampage at being coddled. He’d lost most of a day on Josefina and whatever she was up to. In addition, the so-called rey was due back from Scotland today, and God knew what he’d been up to there.

“Your Grace, shall I send down for tea, or coffee?” Bailey asked, holding the bowl of shaving soap.

“No. I’m—”

Stanton scratched at the door and pushed it open. “Your Grace?”

“Have Merlin saddled. I’m going out for a short time.”

“Your guests will be arriving shortly.”

“I won’t be long.”

The butler bowed, pulling the door closed as he left the room. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

As soon as he finished shaving he headed downstairs. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. At the moment, hunger was the least of his worries. In the foyer Stanton handed over his riding gloves and hat and offered a greatcoat, which he declined.

“I’ll be back within the hour,” he decided. That would give him enough time to confront her, and not enough time for her to spin his anger into lust and arousal, which, damn it all, he was already thinking about.