Page 12 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

The constraint which had risen between them the day they visited the Justine property did not dissipate during the following week. Like an untreated wound, it festered and throbbed, and the distance and chilliness between them grew, until they each stood on opposite sides of an ever-widening, ever-deepening chasm.

Micaela retreated behind an icily polite barrier. So hurt by his defection from her bed, and by the bitter knowledge that he seemed thoroughly content to banish her to the country, she couldn't do anything but act as if it was a matter of supreme indifference to her. Briefly she considered discussing the situation with Lisette, but in the end she decided against it. Micaela had a great deal of pride, and things would have to get much worse before she ran to Lisette like a child with her difficulties. Certainly her mother could not change the fact that she had been fool enough to fall in love with him—which only made her more sensitive and wounded by the situation and unwilling to discuss it with anyone. Determined never to let him know how very much he had come to mean to her, vowing never to let him know how deeply he had hurt her, she kept a cool smile firmly planted on her lips and treated him with a scrupulously polite manner. Seeing the serene expression on her lovely face, no one would have ever guessed that she felt as if she were dying inside.

For Hugh the situation was not much better. If anything it was worse, because it had been his decision to abandon her bed and his decision not to accompany her to the Justine property, and he was bitterly aware of it. But having carved out a position, he found himself with no way of retreating—not without sinking his pride, and God knew his wife gave him no indication that she would care if he did sink his pride and ingratiate himself into her bed. After allowing his anger to dictate he sleep alone that first night, Hugh found himself unable to stride into her room the next night and resume his place in her bed, though he wanted to badly. There was too much unsaid between them, and he was damned if he was going to apologize for deciding to remain in the city. With righteous indignation, he told himself that he had business to attend to, and Micaela was just going to have to learn to accept it. His decision was a logical and necessary one, and yet he would concede that he would have given much to change the situation. But in the face of her indifference, he found the conciliatory words dying on his lips. He cursed himself for a weak-willed creature, but every day it became harder and harder to reestablish the rapport of their first weeks of marriage.

The time had passed swiftly, however, and both had been busy. Frustrated and angry at the increasing distance between them, yet unable to breach it, Hugh had buried himself in work at the firm. It was very late most nights when he returned home. Micaela, hiding the ache in her heart, had spent several mornings, with Lisette at her side, picking out furnishings and whatnots for the new house. There had been packing to oversee and the partial closing of the house in the city to manage. Hugh, never realizing that each word was more salt rubbed into Micaela's already wounded sensibilities, had stated that he did not intend to spend a great deal of time at the house, that he would be occupied with business the majority of the time and that he only needed a few rooms for his own use. The rest of the house could be closed, the rugs rolled up; the furniture stacked and protected by dustcovers until Micaela's return in the fall. Except for a few servants necessary for Hugh's comfort, the remainder would be put to work on the Justine property.

Since everything needed from the town house had been sent ahead, that last morning in New Orleans, there was nothing to be done except for Hugh to escort his wife and mother-in-law to the plantation. The three of them would not have fit comfortably in Hugh's gig and Lisette had sensibly suggested that they use the Dupree family carriage. Hugh readily agreed and made a mental note about seeing to the purchase of a carriage for future use, and perhaps a well-sprung cart for his wife's use. A wry grin crossed his face. It was a good thing, the way he had been spending money lately, he admitted to himself, that his purse was a rather full one.

The departure from the city went smoothly, Lisette's chatter covering any silence between the newlyweds. If Lisette had noticed the coolness between Hugh and Micaela, she had not commented on it.

Micaela was grateful for her mother's company. It would have been agony to be alone with Hugh, knowing that these few, precious hours might be the last she would share with him for some time. Without her mother's presence, she might have thrown herself into his arms and begged him not to leave her. She shuddered at the thought. How could she be so weak? And when had she turned into such a mewling, clinging creature?

Reminding herself about the importance of maintaining the facade which she had erected this past week, she straightened in the seat, and said, "I am so pleased that you are going to be staying with me, Maman. I shall be glad of your advice on some of the furnishings and their placement in the house on the Justine property."

"Are you always going to call your new home the 'Justine property'?" Lisette asked. "I believe when Madame Justine's husband built the new house for her, he named the place Par Amour. I have always thought it a most romantic name. Will you keep the name, do you think?"

A sardonic expression crossed Hugh's face. Par Amour! For Love! He nearly laughed aloud. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He and his bride were not in a state of armed war, but they were not far from it.

"It has a nice ring to it," he said carelessly. His eyes on Micaela's averted features, he asked politely, "What do you think, my dear?"

For a brief second their eyes met. Then glancing away from the steady gray gaze, Micaela murmured, "It sounds fine. Whatever you think is best."

"Well then," Hugh said with false heartiness, "our new home is no longer the Justine property, but Par Amour."

The trip passed swiftly, the day pleasant despite the increasing heat and humidity. Any awkwardness between Hugh and Micaela was covered by Lisette's enthusiasm for the journey and her excitement to see the house. A rapt expression on her face when the main building came into view, she exclaimed, "Ah, petite, it is everything I could have wished for you. It is beautiful! And you say that there is a lake, too? We shall have a wonderful summer here, oui?"

Micaela forced a gay note into her voice. "Oh, oui, Maman! There will be much for us to do and explore."

Hugh felt a stab of envy. He would have, he realized, given much to be the one to discover the delights of the property with his wife. It was obvious, however, that his wife could hardly wait to see the last of him. He scowled.

Having seen Micaela and Lisette settled into the house, and having been treated to more of Micaela's indifference, Hugh decided that there was no reason to continue to inflict his unwanted presence upon her. After a light repast, Hugh rose from the table, which was situated on the charming, flower-ringed terrace at the side of the house and said abruptly, "I think I should start back to the city now." He sent Micaela a long look. "There is no reason for me to remain any longer."

Micaela's face froze. Concealing the knife blade of agony that had gone through her at his words, she said calmly, "Naturally, you wish to be back in the city." She flashed him a blinding smile, and added, "We shall not keep you." Only she knew how much it cost her to act so careless.

Hugh's jaw tightened. "Will you walk with me to the carriageway?" He glanced at Lisette's serene face. "Do you mind if I take your daughter away for a few minutes, madame?"'

Lisette smiled at him. "I would have been surprised if you did not seek a private moment in which to say good-bye. Go."

Micaela schooled herself to remain outwardly sedate, a polite smile firmly plastered on her lips, but inwardly... ah, inwardly, she was fighting the urge to clasp his arm, his hand, and plead with him that he not leave her like this. That he stay and they attempt to heal this horrible, stupid rift that had grown up so suddenly between them.

When they reached the front of the house where the coach and horses were waiting for him, Hugh stopped and stared down at Micaela, his face unreadable. "If you need anything..."

"If I need anything," she said calmly, her heart aching and bleeding inside of her, "I shall write to you and let you know." Her fingernails were biting into the palms of her clasped hands to keep them from touching him, and her throat was tight with unshed tears. Ah, Dieu, but this was killing her!

A silence fell between them and Micaela was horrified to hear herself asking, "When shall we expect your return?"

"Does it matter?" Hugh inquired coolly, smarting from her nonchalant attitude. They would not see each other for several weeks. Couldn't she at least act as if she would miss him a little? Harshly, he said, "I think you and your mother will do just fine without me, and I intend to be very busy."

"Of course, I do not doubt it for a moment," she retorted, her fingernails almost drawing blood at the effort not to touch him.

"Then I suppose we have nothing; else to say, do we?"

"Non!"

His mouth grim, Hugh started for the coach, then abruptly he swung around. "The hell with this!" he snarled, and dragged Micaela into his arms.

He kissed her a long time, his mouth plundering and pleasuring at the same time. Her lips parted for him and without volition her arms crept around his neck and her body swayed into his. They remained locked together for endless minutes, then, with a muttered oath, Hugh thrust her from him. His eyes glittering with tightly controlled emotion, he muttered, "Something to remind you of me while I am gone!"

Without another word, he leaped into the coach and barked out the command to leave.

Her mouth swollen from his kiss, Micaela stood staring until the coach disappeared from sight, unaware of the tears leaking from her eyes. She was so lost in her own misery that she didn't hear Lisette softly call her name or hear her mother's approach. It wasn't until she felt her mother's arms around her shoulders that she became aware of her presence.

"Oh, Maman!" she sobbed. "I just want to die! Everything is so awful, and I do not think it can ever be fixed!"

"Shh, ma mie. Nothing is ever that bad, I can tell you, though you may not think so at this very moment. In time we will either fix it or you will learn to live, if not contentedly, at least not unhappily, with it. Come, let us go inside and you will tell me everything, oui?"

Micaela would not have been human if she had not let Lisette comfort her, but by the time they reached the house she had control over her emotions. Embarrassed that her mother had found her sobbing over an arrogant creature that did not deserve her tears, Micaela sought to disabuse Lisette that anything was wrong with her marriage.

They seated themselves at the table on the terrace, and, sipping her lemonade, Micaela said quietly, "You must think me a goose to carry on in such a fashion!" She attempted a misty smile. "I was just being silly—I have grown spoiled at having him around all the time, and I did not know that parting from him would be so painful."

Lisette did not say anything for several moments, her eyes on Micaela's face. "Is that all it is, petite! Just sadness at parting?"

"Mais oui!" Micaela said airily. "What else could it be?"

Lisette stared at her glass. "I thought that I had noticed coolness between the pair of you, and I wondered if there had been a misunderstanding."

It was as close to asking for Micaela to confide in her that Lisette could come. She had told herself when Micaela married that she would not be a meddling maman- in-law. But, Dieu! It was impossible not to say something when one's child was sobbing as if her heart were breaking!

Micaela sighed. "A little one, perhaps," she finally admitted. And having confessed that much, she burst out, "We have only been married a short time... and he is happy to abandon me here in the country while he remains in New Orleans!" A blush stained her cheeks. "He has left my bed, too. He is already tired of me!" She could not bring herself to mention her fears of another woman.

Lisette laughed. "Ah, petite, is that what this is all about? You think Hugh is tired of you?"

Micaela nodded, thinking that there was nothing amusing about the situation.

Lisette smiled at her expression and asked gently, "And have you done anything to make him realize that being away from him makes you unhappy? Or that his absence from your bed troubles you, hmm? It seems to me that lately you have treated your husband with an aloofness and indifference that I find rather astonishing in view of the way you cried when he left."

"I only acted as a proper Creole wife should," Micaela returned stiffly, remembering uncomfortably the icily polite exterior she had shown Hugh these past days.

Lisette made a face. "And what is a 'proper Creole wife,' pray tell me?"

"Like you. You were always serene and unruffled, even when Papa was sometimes difficult. Papa never made you cry. He always treated you with kindness and respect and you were always cordial to him." Her words sounded silly to her and she ended lamely, "I know that Papa was away a lot of the time, but he never abandoned you for weeks on end in the country!"

This time it was Lisette who sighed. Her finger running around the rim of her glass, she murmured, "I did not know that I was such a good actress." At Micaela's astonished expression, she added with stunning bluntness, "You are old enough to know the truth—I despised Renault Dupree. And I hated your grand-pere for forcing me to marry him."

"B-b-but, but you—!"

"Presented the world with a pleasant facade? Oui, indeed I did! What else could I do once the marriage was fact? Weep and beat my breast? Shame myself before our friends and neighbors?" Her voice hardened. " Non! I did what other women have done before me—I forced myself to be a 'proper Creole wife'! I compelled myself to accept the caresses of a man who made my flesh crawl with revulsion. I made no complaint or mention of the women he kept, nor of the thousand slights I endured while he was alive. To you, the family, the servants, I acted the role that fate had assigned to me. I was a good, understanding, proper Creole wife—and I can think of no worse fate than that for you, ma chérie." She leaned across the table and took one of Micaela's hands in hers. Staring into Micaela's dark eyes, she said earnestly, "You have the chance that I never did—you have married an honorable, generous man. It is my dearest wish that you shall have what was denied me—a happy, loving marriage. And I think that if you will put your pride and hurt feelings aside and be honest about what you feel for him, you shall have it with Hugh." She smiled gently. "Hugh is a fine young man, petite. He has been very thoughtful and kind—the fact that I am staying with you this summer is an indication of his concern for your well-being." Lisette gave Micaela's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know you were coerced into this marriage, ma chérie, but I would never have allowed the wedding if I had not been certain that he would do much to make you happy. I knew that he would make you, not only a good husband—Renault was, in Creole terms, a good husband—but with Hugh you have the chance of having a loyal, honest, loving husband!"

"You did not l-l-like Papa?" Micaela asked aghast, as she grappled with what her mother had revealed.

Lisette sat back. " Non . I did not like him. It is true that at one time there was talk of a marriage between us and that I was not indifferent to the idea, but that was before... She stopped, her inward gaze seeing something that Micaela could not. Lisette's face softened and a dreamy expression entered her dark eyes. "But that was before I met someone else...." She looked at Micaela, and her face grew more tender. "Someone who taught me what love could be like...."

Fascinated and intrigued by this glimpse into her mother's life, Micaela asked breathlessly, "But why did you not marry him? If you loved each other...?"

Lisette gave herself a shake. A bitter note entered her voice. "He loved me, I always believed that even after..." She took a steadying breath. "He loved me," she went on briskly, "but not enough to stand up to Papa. Papa was against a marriage between us. He wanted me to marry Renault. It was unthinkable that I marry—!" She hesitated, Micaela's riveted stare and rapt expression reminding her of just what she was revealing. Vexed with herself, Lisette smiled ruefully, and muttered, "It does not matter anymore. It all happened a long time ago. I married Renault, and I cannot complain of the life we led. Renault was not a cruel man, just a selfish one, and, most of the time, he was very good to me."

"But the man you loved? What happened to him?"

A sad smile on her face, Lisette said simply, "Oh, he went away and never came back...."

Micaela gasped, everything her mother had just told her suddenly coming together. The most outrageous thought occurred to her. Her eyes wide and startled, she breathed, "You were in love with Hugh's stepfather, John Lancaster!"

Lisette stared at her for a long time, and then she said simply, "Oui. Very much so."

* * *

Hugh rode back to New Orleans, staring moodily at the passing countryside. His heart felt like lead in his chest, and he was conscious of a strong inclination to get drunk and get into a brawl in some rank den of vice. The only ray of light in his black gloom, and it was faint at that, was Micaela's generous response to his frantic embrace. He grimaced. But then what else had he expected? She was a good Creole wife, he thought sarcastically.

She could despise him utterly, but her upbringing would not allow her to repulse him or, God forbid, cause a scene. He almost wished she had slapped his face and screamed at him than to have melted against him and made him aware of all that sweet warmth and silky delight he was denying himself.

Once the coach reached New Orleans and he had been set down in front of his home, he dismissed the driver and vehicle. His temper and strong sense of ill use had not abated, and, cursing Micaela and his own unruly emotions, he entered the house. The place felt empty and uninviting as he wandered through the premises, and he cursed himself again for not damning the consequences and remaining at Par Amour, and in his wife's bed. It didn't help his temper any to admit that he could have stayed in the country. Staying at Amour might have meant frequent trips into the city, but he wouldn't have exiled himself from the very thing that he wanted with a painful intensity—his wife, in his arms and in his bed.

He spent a restless night, tossing and wrestling with his bedclothes, the knowledge that he had sent his wife away eating at him like acid. If he hadn't been so full of stiff-necked pride, he could have been at Par Amour, taking his pleasure of his wife, instead of sleeping, alone in his very big, very empty, bed.

His mood was not greatly improved when he rose the next morning. But stubbornly telling himself that he had made the right decision, he dressed. After a lonely breakfast, without much enthusiasm, he walked to his office.

And of course, there was little there to occupy his time or thoughts. He would give Jean credit for having competent men working for them—men who knew their jobs and made, for the most part, the owners' presence superfluous. Besides, he was sick of looking at cargo lists, and he had already discovered what he needed to know. Until something new was added to the current state of affairs, there was nothing for him to do but sit and wait... and brood. Not a happy prospect.

Seated at his desk, he stared grimly at the litter of papers which marred its smooth gleaming surface, his thoughts straying to his wife. What was she doing now? Had she slept well last night? His lips tightened. No doubt! He wasn't around to distress her with his presence.

Impatiently he rose from his chair. Stepping from his office, he walked over to where Etienne was working. Hugh glanced around. Seeing that no one was nearby or paying any attention to them, he asked softly, "Did you find any discrepancies in the invoice I asked you to go over?"

Etienne started and flushed. "N-n-non, Monsieur Lancaster. Everything was in order."

Hugh stared at him. "Do you remember what we talked about at the warehouse?"

Etienne nodded and swallowed. " Oui, monsieur, I have not forgotten your words."

"The offer is still open, but I would suggest that for anyone who wishes to take advantage of it, they not delay."

His voice barely above a whisper, Etienne muttered, "I understand."

Having done what he could to move things along, Hugh returned to his office. Seated once more behind his desk, he glared at the papers scattered across the surface. He had remained in town for this? To sit here and stare?

Inevitably his mind wandered to Micaela, and he wondered again what she was doing at this very moment. Enjoying a leisurely breakfast with her mother on the terrace? Strolling near the lake? Sleeping late? A tight ache in the region of his groin at the thought of Micaela lying in bed provoked something very near a growl from him.

Furious at the way she dominated his thoughts and not liking his own company very much, he stood up. He would go to one of the coffeehouses. Perhaps Jasper had not left the city yet and he could find some congenial company.

He started across the room when there was a knock on the door. "Yes? What is it?" he snapped as he flung open the door.

A tall, distinguished gentleman stood there before him, a faint smile on his darkly handsome face, a dimple lurking in his cheek. The gentleman was nearing fifty but wore his age lightly, his shoulders broad, his body still lean and well muscled, and though the majority of his hair was still thick and black, there were striking silver wings at his temples. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

"Papa! It is damned good to see you, sir!" Hugh exclaimed delightedly, a wide smile crossing his face, his bad mood vanishing as if it had never been. Impulsively locking his stepfather in a powerful hug, he added, "When did you arrive? I have been half-expecting you, but I thought I would have advance word of your arrival."

Putting his elegant curly-brimmed hat on one of the chairs Hugh indicated, John Lancaster seated himself in another, and murmured, "It has been rather lonesome since you left, my boy, and when I received your letter telling me of your sudden marriage, why nothing would do but that I immediately order my bags packed and take the first ship leaving Natchez for New Orleans." The twinkle became more pronounced. "You are not the only one who can make swift, decisive plans, you know."

Hugh laughed. "I never doubted it, sir." Taking another chair near his stepfather's, he leaned forward eagerly. "How long will you stay? I hope for a long time. Now that you are here, mayhap, I can convince you to move to New Orleans."

"Perhaps," John said. "I have put most of our affairs in the capable hands of Mr. Norton, our esteemed business agent in Natchez, and have told him to expect me when he sees me. I am sure that he will continue to do the same admirable job he has always done for us, so I am here for as long as you wish."

"Excellent!" The gray eyes warm with deep affection, Hugh said, "I have missed you, sir—I did not realize how much until this very moment. It is good to see you."

John nodded. His face reflecting the same affectionate expression on Hugh's, he said quietly, "I missed you, too, my boy—more than I thought possible. I decided that it was foolish to let an old vow keep me from being with the one person who means the most to me in the world." A smile lit his features. "And so here I am, in a place I swore over twenty years ago that I would never set foot in again!"

"Is that why you never came back to New Orleans? Because you swore not to?" Hugh asked with a frown.

"Indeed, yes. I left this place, swearing never to return, with what I thought was a broken heart and my pride in tatters. But that was in the past and does not matter now. All that matters is that you are here—and married! Now tell me about this bride of yours. All that ridiculously brief note of yours stated was that by the time I read your words you would be a married man. Who is she? The Summerfield chit? You never even mentioned a name." John grinned at him. "You really must improve on your writing skills, my boy. I have been in a fever of impatience to learn more about this paragon who swept you so willy-nilly to the altar. Who is she?"

Hugh made a rueful face. "Not Alice Summerfield. She is a young lady from a prominent Creole family."

John looked astounded. "A Creole? Good God! How did that come about?"

It was on the tip of Hugh's tongue to tell his stepfather the true circumstances surrounding his marriage, but discretion held him back. He did not like lying to John—they had few secrets between them. But there seemed no point in telling him how Micaela had trapped him into marriage. For some reason, and it eluded him, he wanted his stepfather to think well of his bride. He wanted John to like Micaela.

So instead of a recital of the unpleasant facts, Hugh smiled and muttered, "She is very beautiful, Papa. I took one look at her and..." His voice thickened. "And I fell in love with her." With all the power and speed of a thunderbolt, Hugh realized that it was true. He did love Micaela! And she hated him.

He took a deep breath, his thoughts spinning. Forcing himself to act casually, despite the turmoil in his brain, he continued, "There did not seem any reason to wait, although if it could have been arranged, I would have wanted you there beside me the day I married."

"Ah, you young bucks, you are always so impatient," John said with a roguish smile. "And as I was young once and thought myself wildly in love, I understand. I am just surprised that one of those proud-as-sin Creole families was willing to let one of their daughters marry an American!" With a bitter cast to his face, he added, "Believe me, it was not always so!"

Hugh shot him a keen look, his own troubles forgotten for the moment. "Is that why you swore never to set foot in New Orleans again?"

John shrugged. "It may have had something to do with it. But it no longer matters. Let us not talk about me. It is you and your bride who are the more interesting topic."

"There is not much more to tell. I saw her and I had to have her. The family was not averse to the suit, and so you see before you a married man."

"I find it hard to believe that there were no objections to your suit. My memory of the Creoles is that they would sooner have a slave married into the family than an American!"

"There were, uh, good reasons why the family accepted me so readily," Hugh said carefully. "You might say it was as much a merger of interests as a marriage."

John's arrogant black brows met in a frown above his eyes. "A merger of interests? Who is this girl?"

"Micaela Dupree. Old Christophe Galland's granddaughter. It consolidated some of the shares in the business. In addition," Hugh added hastily, "to giving me a most charming wife."

John stiffened. "Christophe's granddaughter?" At Hugh's nod, he asked grimly, "And her parents?"

"Lisette and Renault Dupree—although as you know, Renault has been dead for a number of years. His widow, Madame Dupree, was Galland's only daughter. I believe you may have met her when you were here setting up the business. She has been extremely welcoming to me. In fact, if it had not been for her warmth and charm, I would have gotten a very cold reception from the remainder of the business partners." Hugh grinned. "With the exception of Jasper, of course. But then you know Jasper."

"Yes, I know Jasper. I seem to remember several harrowing visits from him when the two of you attempted in various hair-raising manners to get yourselves killed," John replied easily, seeming to lose interest in Hugh's bride and her family. "As a matter of fact," he went on, "I had my bags sent to his house, since I did not have your direction."

Hugh stood up again. "I was on the point of leaving when you arrived. Shall we go find your baggage and get you settled in at my house?"

Smiling and nodding, John rose to his feet, and the two men departed a few minutes later, after Hugh had introduced him to several of the employees in the office. It did not take long to get John's baggage sorted out. Luckily Jasper was still in residence, and, finding that he was leaving for his country estate on the morrow and would be out of the city for several weeks, Hugh pressed him to join them for dinner and renew his acquaintance with John. Jasper accepted.

As Hugh and John walked the short distance between Jasper's house and Hugh's, Hugh mentioned that Micaela was not, at the moment, in New Orleans. If John was disappointed or surprised to discover that Hugh's wife of barely six weeks was living in the country apart from her new husband, he kept his reactions to himself.

Instead, he exclaimed with pleasure at the house and stated that he was looking forward to the evening and reacquainting himself with Jasper.

Jasper arrived early, and the three gentlemen enjoyed a long, leisurely meal, reminiscing and discussing the latest events at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. After dinner, they moved into Hugh's study, enjoying a snifter of brandy as they continued their conversation.

A tap on the door broke the relaxed mood. Sampson, one of Hugh's servants, announced that there were visitors who had come to call on John Lancaster. After he had sent Sampson to bring the guests to the study, Hugh turned to his stepfather and murmured, "One of the Duprees must have gone to the office this afternoon and learned of your arrival. It seems Jean and Francois have come to call... as well as Alain Husson."

John frowned. "Husson? I do not recall that name."

"Like me, he won his shares from Christophe shortly before the old man's death," Jasper said. "The Husson family is well-known and respected in the city, although your stepson and I have had our disagreements with Alain."

"Disagreements?" John asked with a raised brow:

"We do not know if he is behind the troubles at the firm, but we suspect he may have a hand in it," Hugh said. "And of course, there is the fact that I fought a duel with him several weeks ago." Hugh grinned at his stepfather. "I won."

There was no time for further conversation. Sampson opened the door, and the three guests entered the room. Everyone was on his most polite behavior, but there was tension in the air. Hugh and Alain had not met privately since the duel, and, of course, John had not spoken with Jean Dupree for over twenty years. Everyone was standing as introductions were made and greetings exchanged.

Jasper's presence helped to smooth over any awkward moments and Francis was impressed at meeting the legendary John Lancaster.

In the French manner, Francois kissed John on both cheeks and declared, " Monsieur Lancaster! I am most delighted to finally meet you. I have heard of you all my life, and it is a pleasure to see you face-to-face. Welcome to New Orleans!"

John smiled at Francois's enthusiasm, but his eyes were on Jean's face, as he said dryly, "I wonder if all you have heard of me is good."

Jean grimaced. Standing in front of John, he muttered, "The past is the past, John. Shall we start anew?" And astonishing everyone, he stuck out his hand in the American manner.

John hesitated only a second before he clasped Jean's outstretched hand and shook it vigorously. "I will not say that it is good to see you again," John murmured, a sardonic smile curving his long mouth, "but I will say that the years have treated you kindly."

Jean bowed. "And you. You have not changed a great deal, except, perhaps, for the silver at your temples."

Aware of Alain Husson standing quietly in the background, observing the meeting, John turned to him and gave him an encouraging smile. "I understand that you, like Jasper here, also owe your membership in the family business to Christophe's penchant for deep gambling."

Alain bowed. "Indeed that is true, monsieur. I trust you do not object?"

John shook his head. "No, of course not."

Hugh indicated several chairs. "Please," he said, "be seated." Once everyone had been settled and had been served brandy, Hugh looked across at Jean and asked, "How did you know that my stepfather had arrived in the city?"

"Oh, that was because of me," Francis said. "I went by the office this afternoon to see you, and everyone was full of the news of Monsieur Lancaster's visit. I told Jean and Alain, and we decided to come to call this evening, since there was every chance that tomorrow you would be taking your step -papa to your new home in the country."

"You wanted to see me?" Hugh asked with a frown. "Why?"

Francis looked embarrassed. "I wanted," he said with a winning smile, "to convince you to let me come and visit with Micaela and Maman. They have hardly been gone for forty-eight hours, but I find that I miss them." He grinned at Hugh and admitted with charming candor, "And of course, I am quite curious about your new property. Will you mind if I stay with them for several weeks?"

Hugh shrugged. "Why not? We are, after all," he said dryly, "family." He glanced at Jean. "Of course that extends to you also."

Jean nodded. "Perhaps I will take you up on that," he declared. "It might prove interesting."

The conversation became general, all six gentlemen conversing, as if there were no undercurrents, no hidden rifts to mar the polite discourse among them. Alain was still wearing his sling, but it was obvious his wound was almost healed. No reference to the duel was made, nor was any other unpleasant subject introduced. On the surface, everything was most proper and polite. Just six gentlemen sitting around, enjoying a snifter or two of fine brandy with congenial acquaintances.

When Sampson tapped on the door again sometime later and announced that there was another visitor, Hugh looked surprised. The hour was late, after midnight. His stepfather's arrival today, as well as the visit from the Duprees and Husson, had pushed other thoughts from his mind.

"Who is it?" he asked with a frown.

"The gentleman would not give his name," replied Sampson. "He did say that it was a business matter—one you had discussed with him previously."

"Ah," Hugh murmured, suddenly knowing that it could be only one person—Etienne Gras! "Show him into the front salon and offer him some refreshments, will you? Tell him I shall be with him shortly."

"Business at this hour?" Jean drawled, his eyes full of speculation.

Hugh shrugged. "A minor affair."

"It does not sound so minor to me," Alain murmured, "if it must be conducted at this time of night."

Hugh hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to reveal Etienne's name. Yet if he kept silent, it would only further arouse the suspicions of the others and give his unexplained visitor more importance. Hoping he sounded indifferent, he said, "It is no doubt just Etienne Gras—I asked him today to look over some papers and deliver them to me tonight." Hugh smiled. "I think the young man attached more importance to my request than it needed. Tomorrow would have been just fine to give me the information, but, as you probably already know, Etienne is extremely conscientious."

An icy stillness entered the room, but Hugh was unable to place its source amongst the men seated around him.

The unpleasant sensation lasted only a second, before someone laughed and conversation began again, but Hugh had a premonition that he had just put Etienne Gras in danger.