Page 11 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

With affairs at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree unresolved, Hugh was considering remaining in the city throughout the summer, despite its attendant dangers.

It was midmorning the next day, and Hugh was seated behind his desk at the company offices. He had been moodily flipping the pages of the inventory from Le Lys Bleu, his mind more on his baffling, beguiling wife than the problem in front of him. He supposed that he had no room for any complaint. On the surface, his marriage was everything he had expected it to be; he had a charming chatelaine for his home, a delightful social companion, a beautiful creature to share his bed, and he had no doubt that when children arrived Micaela would prove to be a superb mother. After all, he had known from the beginning that she did not care a jot for him. Their marriage, he admitted bleakly, was little more than a business arrangement. And like any good business associate, Micaela was willing to do her part to ensure a successful union between them.

She was nearly always courteous; seldom out of sorts; she saw to it that his household ran smoothly and allowed him the use of her body. What more did he want? His frown deepened. Allowed him to make love to her—that was the rub, the ugly canker that was eating away at him. Despite his best efforts to change things between them, Micaela remained a sweetly passive participant in their lovemaking, and it was driving him wild. He could not complain that she denied him his conjugal rights, for she did not. Nor could he complain that she lay stiff and unyielding in his arms, because she did not—she was always soft and accommodating.

He pushed the inventory away from him with a muttered curse. What the hell did he want from her? It rankled, and he could not deny it, that he had been forced into this marriage. But he admitted that if he had not been willing to have Micaela for his wife, he would never have allowed himself to be coerced into marrying her.

From their first meeting he had found Micaela to be a tempting, tantalizing little baggage. He had enjoyed her barbs, the lively intelligence in those dark eyes of hers and that dazzling, flashing smile of hers. And as for the rest... He sighed. Oh, very well, he would admit it—he had wanted her as he had never wanted another woman in his life. Before their marriage there had been many nights that he had lain awake, his body hard as he had envisioned making love to her, kissing that cherry red mouth; stroking those soft, lush breasts; cupping those firm buttocks and losing himself in her tight warm silkiness. Reality had been beyond even his sweetest imaginings. She had been everything he dreamed of, but something was missing, some vital spark was absent when they came together.

Hugh scowled. In many respects the marriage he had with Micaela was the marriage he had envisioned with Alice Summerfield, and he was startled to discover how very much his marriage resembled the one his stepfather and mother had shared. He should have been happy. Ecstatically so. Aside from gaining an enchanting creature for his bride, he had also strengthened his hold on the company and elevated his position in the city—at least, he thought wryly, amongst the Creoles. His problem was that he was not finding his marriage as pleasurable as he had hoped. It wasn't enough to have a lovely bed mate and a competent, utterly charming housekeeper. He wanted more, much more, from Micaela than mere acceptance. He wanted...

As if he had been stung, he jerked upright, appalled at the direction his thoughts were taking. Surely, he did not want her to love him?

He laughed mirthlessly. The jest was certainly on him, and a bitter one it was at that, if wanting Micaela's love was at the bottom of his dissatisfaction with his marriage. He might as well bay at the moon and expect an answer as expect Micaela to love him. Besides, what did it matter? It was not as if he had been fool enough to go and fall in love with his own wife.

The marriage had been hasty. Perhaps, a brief separation, a time for reflection, would not come amiss. He could settle Micaela, along with her mother, if she wished, at the Justine property for the summer, and come the fall, when she returned to the city, they could begin anew. Of course, he would visit her often. A tight smile crossed his face. She might not be as responsive to his lovemaking as he would have wished, but she had him mesmerized, fascinated and the thought of not making love to her for several weeks, months... well, it just didn't bear considering.

A surprisingly tender smile, one that would have worried him a great deal if he had been aware of it, curved his lips. During the summer, he thought slowly, he could court his wife. Woo her. And by the time the fall came...

Feeling cheerful, he glanced at the troubling inventory. In the meantime, he had much to occupy him. Turning to the problem at hand, he decided that he could do nothing except watch and wait until the next large shipment arrived. Even getting his hands on a copy of one of the originals he had requested was not going to help him a great deal. It would only prove his theory correct. But it would not allow him to trap the thieves and he was positive that more than one person was involved. To spring a trap he needed some bait, bait which Le Lys Bleu would have provided, but was useless to him now.

Hugh stared off into space, considering the situation. New Orleans, he was aware, was already being deserted by those who could afford to leave, and by next week most Creoles and anybody else with any sense would have left the city and would not be returning until October or November. Which did not mean his culprits would not strike if a tempting shipment arrived during the next few months. Which was another reason for him to remain in the city.

It would be difficult for him to strike swiftly if he were to remove himself from New Orleans. It was also likely that whoever was behind the thefts would not be in the city either. Someone would have to alert them to any prospective arrivals. And if Hugh were already in the city, not only would he be able to lay a trap to catch them in the act, he would also have a good idea who was supplying them with information.

Hugh grimaced. He was certain he already knew who was alerting the thieves—Etienne Gras. He liked the young man and hated to think of him involved in the situation, but it seemed evident. Etienne's position in the firm made him the obvious culprit, and, coupled with his gambling habits, the fact that he had been in debt to Alain Husson once made him even more suspect. Nor was Hugh forgetting the young man's nervousness when questioned about any early notice of the arrival of Le Lys Bleu.

Etienne could have been merely uneasy at being called before his employer, but Hugh did not think so. He had been a little too nervous under the circumstances. A grim smile crossed his face. Perhaps it might be revealing to spend more time in the company of young Gras?

Hugh rose to his feet and, with the inventory of Le Lys Bleu in one hand, left his office. He stopped long enough to request that Etienne accompany him to the firm's warehouses. It was a good walk to the warehouses on Tchoupitoulas Street, but the hour was early and the humid heat had not yet reached its zenith.

As they walked, Hugh made small talk. While wary to begin with, by the time the company warehouses came into sight, Etienne had relaxed and was animatedly telling Hugh about the latest cockfight he had attended. His face full of pleasure, Etienne exclaimed, "And the black cock, he was most ferocious, monsieur! The red fought very hard, but he was no match for the black cock. It was a very, very good fight and I am happy that I had put my money on the black. It was an exciting fight and to win... ah, that makes it even more thrilling."

"Indeed," Hugh returned. "Do you win often?"

Etienne's face fell. Reluctantly, he admitted, "Non. Sometimes I-I-I lose more than I should. I have tried to curb my gambling—it worries Maman, but it is something in the blood, oui! A man cannot help himself." Risking a quick look at Hugh's features, he added hastily, "But I have always paid my debts."

"Excellent!" Hugh answered, wondering if helping Husson steal from the company was one of the ways in which Etienne paid his debts. Having concluded that Etienne was the most likely person to be feeding information about shipments and arrivals to the thief, it was an easy step to name Husson as the receiver of that information. Hugh had no trouble picturing Husson as the person behind the thefts and probably behind the attack on him several months ago, too. It seemed the sort of spiteful act that would appeal to Alain.

Etienne took Hugh to the area in the sprawling building where the shipment from Le Lys Bleu had been placed. Glancing around at the murky interior of the warehouse, the concealing shadows and rabbitlike warrens which interspersed the piles and stacks of crates, barrels, bales and boxes scattered about, Hugh sighed. Who would notice if anything went missing?

Several brawny, half-naked men labored in the stifling heat inside the warehouse, laughing and talking, cursing and shouting, as they carted various bulky objects from one location to another. There seemed to be a constant flow of traffic inside the building, crates coming in; barrels and boxes leaving. The air was redolent with odors; the smell of the Mississippi River itself; the scent of spices and herbs. Cloves, ginger, cinnamon, and sandalwood mingled with the lingering odor of tobacco, indigo, and cotton, and that faint musty smell endemic to all buildings near the river. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of hot, yellow sunlight which poured in through the cavernous doors and from outside came the rattle and bang of horse-drawn vehicles and the cries of street vendors, hawking their wares—dewberries, strawberries, sweets, fish, and figs.

Shutting out the sights and sounds and smells which accosted him, Hugh turned his attention to the huge sprawling pile of crates and barrels which Etienne indicated had come from Le Lys Bleu. Observing it, Hugh asked, "And you compared what we received with the inventory which accompanied it?"

Etienne swallowed. "Oui, monsieur. That is the first thing I do once it has been unloaded."

"I see. And, to your knowledge, has anything been taken from this shipment since you completed the inventory? You mentioned, did you not, that you had just finished tallying it up yesterday?"

Etienne nodded. "Oui, monsieur, yesterday."

"And does it look the same? Nothing that at first glance appears missing?"

"N-n-non —nothing that I can see without further investigation. There are customers waiting for their orders, but it will be another few days before we start dispersing items."

Hugh's gray eyes suddenly met Etienne's. "Tell me, Etienne, are you happy with your position at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree?"

"H-h-happy, monsieur ?" he repeated uncertainly and at Hugh's nod, exclaimed, "Oh, oui! My maman is very proud of me, and many of my friends are envious."

"Then you would not wish to lose your position, would you?"

"Non, I would not," Etienne replied, appalled at the idea.

Hugh nodded again, and said, "Well, then you are going to have to help me, young man, because if something is not done and done swiftly, there may not be a Galland, Lancaster and Dupree to employ you much longer. We have a thief, a clever one, to be sure, but a thief nonetheless. I need you to help me catch him."

"A-a-a thief, monsieur ? How can you be certain?"

It was an interesting question, and not the one Hugh would have expected—from an innocent man. Etienne did not seem to be surprised by the revelation of thievery. His only interest was in how the thievery had been discovered.

"The inventory," Hugh said gently. "I am convinced that someone has altered it. I need you to tell me if you remember what was on the pages that have been changed."

With all the pleasure of reaching for a deadly viper, Etienne took the inventory Hugh held out to him. Clasping it gingerly, he looked at Hugh. "What do you want me to do, monsieur?"

"Go over the inventory again. See if it agrees with what is stacked here and try to remember if you notice anything missing."

Etienne nodded, his face pale in the murky light of the warehouse. "I will do it, monsieur."

"I am sure you will," Hugh said quietly. "Just as I am sure there is an easy explanation for what has been going on." Hugh's gaze rested on Etienne's unhappy features. "I am not a vindictive man, you know. If someone who had helped, or who had been forced to help, steal from the company were to come forward and confess, I would treat him generously. And if he were to assist in the capture of the thieves, there is much that I would be willing to overlook. I am a discreet man—no one who came to me with the information I need would ever need to fear reprisals. I would be quite, quite grateful to them. However, if no one comes forward..."

Hugh's gaze hardened. "Then I am afraid when the thieves are exposed—and they will be exposed—he will suffer right along with the others. Do you understand me?"

Etienne swallowed with difficulty. "Oui, monsieur— I understand."

Hugh looked at Etienne for a long moment. "Starting tomorrow," he said finally, "and for the next few days, I may be out of the city, but after Thursday I will be home most evenings, should someone care to speak privately with me."

Feeling he had done what he could for the moment, Hugh left Etienne to begin work on the inventory and walked from the warehouse. Revealing to young Gras that he knew of the theft and suspected how it was being done had been a gamble. Would Etienne break and try to save his own neck, or would he run straight to his cohorts and pour out all he had learned? Hugh hoped it was the former.

The day was growing oppressively hot and muggy, and Hugh was glad to reach the cool comfort of his own home. He joined his wife in the courtyard, where she was seated in the shade of an arched trellis covered with scarlet bougainvillea. It was pleasant in the courtyard and Hugh was beginning to understand the Creole love of their secluded courtyards. Palm and banana trees, attractively scattered about, gave the place a tropical air, and the relaxing sound of bubbling water came from a double-tiered fountain positioned in the center of the area. The courtyard was private and intimate, completely shut off from the rest of the world. Covered walkways, with balconies above, adjoined the house and formed two of the enclosing arms of the courtyard, festooned with vines and sweetly scented flowers. The perfume of yellow roses and white jasmine filled the air. Honeysuckle and purple bougainvillea draped the other two walls, softening their stark outlines; flagstones the color of faded charcoal paved the floor.

Micaela greeted him with a smile, her heart leaping as it always did when she caught sight of his tall form. Dropping her gaze to hide the pleasure she felt in his company, she offered him a tall glass of the ever-present lemonade. Seated across from her with a black wrought-iron table separating them, Hugh took a long swallow of the cool liquid.

Putting the half-empty glass down, he looked across at her and asked abruptly, "Have you thought any more about the Justine place?"

She nodded, and admitted, "I have thought of little else. May I see it before we move into the place?"

Hugh grinned at her. "I was planning on taking you there tomorrow if you were agreeable—we could leave early in the morning and probably be back in the city just after nightfall. It would be a swift trip, but it would give you time to make note of any supplies or furnishings you might want to have sent out from the city."

Micaela smiled ruefully. "I will be honest. We have barely settled into this house and now to face another... It is somewhat daunting, hein?"

"I suppose it is, but again we are fortunate in the fact that Madame Justine was willing to sell the house with many of its furnishings. At least you will not be presented with empty rooms and bare floors."

* * *

Despite her initial dismay at the news of the purchase of the Justine plantation, Micaela fell in love with it at first sight. They had left New Orleans just an hour after dawn that morning. Seated beside Hugh in a well-sprung gig pulled by a pair of spanking bays as they traveled along the River Road, Micaela had enjoyed the trip. Sunlight sparkled like splashes of pure silver off the waters of the wide Mississippi, and the vivid green of the swamp and forests and fields which meandered along the road provided an ever-changing scenery.

Micaela was almost sorry when, a few hours later, he finally slowed the horses and guided them away from the river, toward an impressive alley lined with magnificent live oaks. Shaded by the huge limbs of the trees which met overhead, Micaela sat up straighter, eager for the first glimpse of her new home. A quarter mile later the road curved and suddenly, there before her, was the Justine house.

It was not more than a decade old, having been built on the site of the original home, which had been destroyed by fire after having stood in this spot for over seventy-five years. The new house was a charming affair, built in the raised-cottage style, with wide covered galleries extending around three sides of the large structure. The turned wooden colonnades of the second story were supported by heavier brick and plaster pillars below, and delicate balustrades lined the upper gallery. In the sunlight the house gleamed whitely, and the narrow shutters which hung at the long windows were painted dark blue. The roof was slightly hipped and dormered, the cypress shingles a pleasing shade of silvery gray. A pair of octagonal garconnières flanked either side of the house, giving it an impressive air.

There was a broad expanse of lawn in front of the house. Live oaks and magnolia trees were scattered around and behind the house. Micaela caught sight of the outbuildings—the slave cabins; the barns and stables; kitchen and overseer's home. The driveway made a graceful curving swath through the grounds, and Hugh brought his horses to a stop in front of the wide steps at the front of the house.

A pair of young black boys appeared out of nowhere to hold the horses' heads, and, after dismounting, Hugh came around the other side of the gig and lifted Micaela down. Looking toward the boys, Hugh said, "See that they are cooled down before turning them out We won't need them until five o'clock this evening."

"Did the widow Justine sell you her servants, too?" Micaela asked tartly.

Hugh grinned. "Yes, those that I wanted, and the four thousand acres of land that goes with the house. Less than half is under cultivation—cotton, a little sugar and corn—the majority is swamp and forest."

It was a considerable plantation, even by Louisiana standards, although Micaela knew that there were several larger estates in the Territory, but she was impressed nonetheless. "Do you intend to become a planter, too?"

"My stepfather and I," Hugh said, "have always been planters. We raised cotton in Natchez, but I am considering trying my hand at growing sugar cane here in Louisiana."

A little frown wrinkled Micaela's forehead. "But what about the company? To become a sugar-cane planter will require much of your time. Will you abandon the company?"

"No, I have no intention of turning my back on it But once I have affairs there under control, it will not be necessary for me to keep such a tight rein on the day-to-day running of the business. I intend eventually to hire a competent manager to handle the company."

Micaela was aghast. Hardly aware of being escorted up the broad steps and across the wide gallery to the massive twin doors of the house, she exclaimed, "A manager! But that is preposterous! A member of the family has always managed the company."

"Yes, and look where it has gotten us," he replied, pushing open the doors and ushering her into the cool interior.

"You, monsieur, are insulting my family!"

Micaela might have argued more, but Hugh suddenly pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss on her half-open mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said huskily, "I do not want to talk about the blasted business right now. Right now, I want to show my bride her new home. May we, please, for the present forget about Galland, Lancaster and Dupree?"

Micaela's dark eyes met his. Something in the gray depths of his gaze stirred a powerful response within her, and for a long moment their gazes clung. Barely aware of what she was doing, too aware of his lean, warm body next to hers, Micaela nodded. "Oui. Let us forget the company for the time being."

The following hours were some of the most memorable and enjoyable they had spent in each other's company. Micaela was delighted with the house, and she was excited at the prospect of buying all the new furnishings that would be needed—rugs, curtains, linens, beds, and tables. A lazily contented smile on his face, Hugh followed her about from room to room, thinking his bride had never looked lovelier—her cheeks were as rosily flushed as her lips, and her magnificent dark eyes were glistening with pleasure.

They enjoyed a light repast in the gazebo overlooking the man-made lake, which had also been constructed about the same time as the house. It was a charming place. Cedars, chinaberry trees and magnolias dotted the area; shrubs and fragrant flowers and vines had been skillfully planted about the edge of the lake to enhance the effect of a natural setting.

Pushing aside her half-empty plate, Micaela stared dreamily out over the placid waters. The scent of magnolias, water lilies and honeysuckle gently perfumed the air. She was going to enjoy living here with her husband.

She glanced across at him. He was seated on the other side of the table, with a lock of thick, dark hair fallen across his forehead, his gaze on the water. There was so much about him that she did not understand. And while she wished that their marriage had come about in a normal fashion, she discovered that she did not regret their union. How could she? He had been everything that was kind and generous and she was a fool to wish for more. But the knowledge that Hugh had stated that he'd had no intention of marrying her and that he believed that she had trapped him into marriage kept her from feeling confident in her marriage. And she could not banish, though she tried, that unpleasant and painful exchange with Alice Summerfield. Telling herself that the other woman had been upset and hurt did not lessen the impact of what she had said. Alice's words still lay like a canker on her heart.

She glanced at her husband, wishing she knew him better, wishing she had the courage to speak her doubts aloud. But he was, in so many ways, a stranger to her, an alien being with ways very different from her own. They seemed to exist on two different levels—the exciting intimacy of the bedroom and the pleasant, domestic day-to-day living, but they never talked about the unacknowledged gulf that lay between them. They never, she realized unhappily, talked about the matters closest to their hearts. She knew she avoided subjects that might cause dissension between them—did he?

And if she found the courage to ask him about Alice, did she really want confirmation? Did she really want to hear that he had been in love with another woman and that he had planned to marry her? Did she really want to risk destroying the fragile facade of tranquility they had erected? Micaela tried to tell herself that none of it mattered now, but deep down inside she knew that it did matter, it mattered a great deal.

"What are you thinking about?" Hugh asked abruptly, startling her.

She looked across at him and was uneasy to find his eyes fixed on her face. It was apparent that he had been watching her for some time. "Why, nothing," she said quickly, her eyes averted from his searching gaze.

"You looked unhappy. Are you?"

She forced a smile. "Of course not! Why should I be?" With real pleasure in her voice she went on, "This is a wonderful place. We shall like living here very much, I think." A teasing gleam in her eyes, she added, "It is a good thing that you waited to show me the place until after Madame Justine had agreed to sell it to you—just as you suspected, I would have been devastated if I had seen it and then she refused to sell after all. You were wise to wait."

"I am glad you like it," he said slowly, aware that she had not told the complete truth. She had looked unhappy, and it troubled him. Was being married to him so very awful? And wasn't it what she had schemed for? She had no business, he thought with sudden irascibility, being unhappy. She had gotten what she wanted. What more did she want?

He stood up and, with an edge to his voice, said, "If we want to get back to the city before too late, I suggest we get ready to leave."

Confused by his manner, Micaela nodded, wondering why he was looking so sour. Thinking to ease the sudden tension between them, she asked, "How soon will it be before we remove from New Orleans for the summer?"

Taking her arm and walking beside her as they made their way to the main house, he said, "Next week. Tomorrow you may start ordering the things you need, and I shall see to it that they are delivered directly here." He slanted her a glance. "Are you going to invite your mother to stay with you?"

"Oh, oui, if you do not mind. I know Maman will enjoy helping me arrange the house."

"I do not mind. In fact, I shall be very glad of it. You will not get too lonely with your mother to keep you company, while I am in the city."

Something in his voice made her look up at him. "Do you intend to be in the city often?" she asked quietly.

Hugh hadn't meant to tell her now, but that unhappy look on her face had been goading him. If she was so damned miserable with him, he thought savagely, he would be doing them both a favor by staying in the city.

"It is not convenient for me to be away from the business for very long right now," he said in a cool voice. "There are things that require my attention, but I will see to it that you and your mother are situated here before I bury myself in work." He sent her a sardonic smile. "You shall not have to endure my company very often during the next months. I shall, of course, come to see you from time to time—as business permits."

Every word was a knife blade in her heart, and any doubts she might have had about his reasons for marrying her were banished. It was clear, having married her and gotten what he wanted, he was now prepared to exile her in the country, while he cavorted and no doubt lived a bachelor's existence in New Orleans. Would there be another woman? Alice Summerfield, perhaps? Was there already another woman? Had he and Alice become lovers? The ache in her heart became almost unbearable. How, she wondered sickly, had he come to mean so very much to her, so suddenly?

Her face shuttered and outwardly serene, she said slowly, "I see. Business would, of course, be a priority with you."

"It is why I came to New Orleans in the first place—or have you forgotten?" he asked curtly. Her apparent indifference to his decision to remain in the city was a lash on his already uncertain temper, and he was stunned at how angry he was at her reaction. He never got angry! And not over something so silly as a woman's tone of voice. Scowling, he quickened his pace. The separation couldn't come quickly enough for him. He wasn't going to push himself where he wasn't wanted.

It was a silent, tense, ride back to New Orleans, and Micaela longed for the easy companionship they had shared during their outward journey. She should not be hurt over his decision, she told herself repeatedly. She knew he had married her for business reasons, and she should be grateful that he had been as kind and considerate to her as he had been. The problem was, she didn't feel very grateful—she felt abandoned. Deserted. And very angry.

Dinner that evening was a stiff, stilted affair. Neither of them could wait for it to be over. It was with relief that they departed the dining room. For the first time since their marriage, Hugh went out, leaving Micaela home alone. More telling, it was also the first night that they slept in separate bedrooms.

Staring dry-eyed at the linen canopy over her bed, Micaela tried to tell herself she was glad that he was finally showing his true colors. Elated that there was no longer any pretense between them. Now she understood precisely where she stood. Their marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement to him. Oh, he was generous and had treated her considerately; he had done his duty by her and now, except for occasional visits to her bedroom when the mood struck him, she would simply be his social hostess. Despair crashed down on her, and her heart felt like ice in her chest. Even worse, she feared that these emotions would visit her often in the coming years, for she realized with a stab of anguish that she had committed the greatest folly of all and had fallen deeply in love with her husband.