Page 16 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

Lisette almost ignored Micaela's plea to entertain John Lancaster while she tended her husband. She had been shocked to learn of Hugh's wounding, but she was more dismayed to learn that it would be up to her to act as hostess for a few hours. She considered ignoring the message, but then she put on her most polite expression and strode determinedly from the kitchen where Michel, with Micaela's request, had found her.

John Lancaster meant nothing to her, she told herself firmly. She was not a young girl, easily enthralled by a dark, exciting stranger. She was a grown woman. A widow. She had borne two children. John Lancaster did not intimidate her!

Which was all very well and good as far as it went, she thought uneasily, as she walked the short distance between the house and the kitchen. But considering the way her heart had pounded when she had seen him! Dieu! It did not bear thinking about! And when they had gazed into each other's eyes...

She snorted. This was ridiculous. After the way he had abandoned her, she should feel nothing but scorn and contempt for him. And she did, she reminded herself fiercely. She really did, except... except that it was very hard to remember what she should feel when she was only aware of what she did feel, especially when her wayward heart was telling her something far different than her brain.

There was no sign of her inner turmoil when she reentered the small salon. Briskly she said, "Ah, here you are Monsieur Lancaster. Since my daughter will be busy for a while with her husband, it will be my... pleasure to show you about their new home. Would you care for some refreshments first?"

John shook his head. A winsome smile curving his chiseled mouth, he asked, "Could you not call me 'John'? I remember a time when my name came easily to your lips."

Lisette stiffened. "That," she said coolly, "was many years ago. I was a foolish young girl in those days." She met his eyes steadily. "You can be sure, Monsieur Lancaster, that I shall not make the same mistakes I made then."

John's face tightened and a muscle bunched in his jaw. "You were not the only one who was foolish. I was foolish enough to believe you when you said you loved me—foolish enough to believe that you would marry me."

Her eyes flashed. "You dare to say such things to me?" Lisette demanded furiously. She was so outraged that she had to fight the impulse to cross the room and strike his dark face. This was her daughter's father-in-law, she reminded herself. Micaela was married to his stepson. For the sake of the younger ones, they would have to learn to rub shoulders together. She took in a deep, calming breath, forcing the knot of rage in her chest to dissipate.

Her head held proudly, she said, "There is no use for us to discuss what happened a long time ago—it is over and done with. And I suggest that we would both be wise if we agreed that we were both fools and let it go at that."

John nodded curtly, an acid taste in his mouth. How many nights had he lain awake savoring the angry accusations he would hurl at her if he ever saw her again? How many times had he alternately cursed her and yearned to hold her again? He sighed. What good had all his private suffering and rage ever done him? Perhaps she was right. Perhaps, they should just let the past go.

"Very well, since we are not to discuss what happened between us, what do you suggest we do?" He smiled sardonically. "Pretend we are strangers? Pretend we have just met?"

"We have just met! I am not the young girl that you knew—I have been married, and I have borne and raised two children. You are no longer the man I thought I had fallen in love with—you also married—Hugh is your stepson. We are not the same people we were."

John moved restlessly around the room. He finally stopped a few feet from her. "It will not be easy. Memory has a way of tripping one up when least expected."

"I know," Lisette said softly, wishing he was not standing quite so close to her, wishing that his dearly remembered scent was not in her nostrils, wishing painfully that she did not feel the powerful tug of attraction between them. So it had been, she thought, the first moment they had laid eyes on each other.

Determined to follow her own advice, she picked up her skirts and said briskly, "If you will follow me, I shall show you the main rooms on this floor. They are, as you may have noticed, scantily furnished, and many of the things are somewhat shabby, but it will not be so for long." An impish smile curved her mouth. "Micaela and I composed a very long and very expensive list of items we needed and sent it off to New Orleans. It is good that your stepson has a deep purse."

To their astonishment, the time they spent together wandering through the various rooms of the house passed pleasurably. John was interested in the house, and Lisette happily explained its history and the various changes Micaela intended to make.

"Are you going to be living with them?" John asked at one point.

Lisette smiled and shook her head. " Non! At the moment they seem happy to have me around. I intend for them to continue to do so. Not having me underfoot all the time will make us all enjoy the time we spend together so much more, oui?"

"Very astute of you," John replied, nodding his head. "Hugh would like me to leave Natchez and join him down here, but I have not yet made up my mind."

She regarded him for a long moment. "Living near them, as I do," she said, "is not quite the same thing as one living in Natchez. I am only hours away from Micaela, but for you it is a long, arduous journey between New Orleans and Natchez."

His gaze fixed on her face, he asked slowly, "And how would you feel if I were to move down here, if I were to buy myself a home that was only 'hours' away from them? Our paths would be bound to cross frequently."

Lisette shrugged. "For my child," she said tartly, "I would endure even your presence!"

A spark lit John's eyes, and he threw back his head and laughed. "You still," he murmured a moment later, "have a damnably sharp tongue."

Lisette tossed her head. "And now, monsieur," she said determinedly, "if you please, I should like to show you the terrace at the side of the house."

Meekly John followed her, realizing regretfully, that for the moment at least, Lisette was once again committed to her role of polite hostess.

* * *

There was no polite hostess, however, to greet Francois when he called that same afternoon at Alain Husson's town house in New Orleans. He was expected, and the Husson butler immediately showed him to the small salon and indicated that Master Husson would join him shortly.

His attractive features strained, Francois wandered around the elegant room, wondering uneasily why Alain had wanted to see him. He hoped it wasn't about his debts.

Alain entered the room a moment later, an affable smile on his face. Straightening the cuff of his shirt where it showed beneath the sleeve of his plum-colored jacket, Alain asked, "Have you been waiting long? I had an errand to take care of, and have just returned to the city."

Francois shrugged. " Non . I only arrived a few minutes ago.

"Bon! Would you care for some refreshments? Some cafe au lait? With some pastries, perhaps?"

"Just coffee will be fine," Francis said, seating himself in a chair covered in oxblood-colored leather.

After ringing for a servant, Alain chose an identical chair across from Francois and settled into it. He cocked a brow and said, "I suppose you want to know why I wanted to see you today?"

Francois nodded, bracing himself for Alain's demand for payment of the monies owed him. Monies he had no way of paying.

Almost as if Alain had read Francois's thoughts, he murmured, "Do not be so tense, mon ami. I have no intention of asking for payment. I am very well aware of your means, and I know that raising the amount you owe me is beyond your power at this time."

"I will pay you, I assure you," Francois said stiffly.

Alain smiled. "Oh, of that I have little doubt, mon ami."

The butler arrived with their coffee, and for several minutes there was no further conversation. It was only when the butler left that Alain sank back into his chair and, stirring his coffee, said, "I had intended this meeting to be a bit of a private celebration between the two of us, but I am afraid that I—er—miscalculated."

"A celebration?" Francois repeated. "What would we have to celebrate? I still owe you a great deal of money. If things had gone as we had planned, you would now be my brother-in-law and my debt to you would have been paid. As it is, I have no idea how I am to pay you—but I shall—honor demands it." Francois sighed. "And then there is Etienne's murder."

Alain took a sip of his coffee. "Does that bother you? Etienne's death?"

" Mon Dieu! Of course, it does!" Francois burst out, rising from his chair in his agitation. He glanced back at Alain. "We were friends! I have known him and his family since I was a child—all my life."

Alain looked amused. "I had not realized that you were so close to him."

"Damn you! We were not close, and you know it! But we were friends and to have—" Francois stopped, his fists opening and closing impotently at his sides.

"Sit down," Alain said, "and listen to me. Etienne is dead, and there is nothing you can do about it now. He had to die. Once it was known he was in Hugh's hands, there was no choice. It was necessary. Just as the Américain's death is necessary."

Francois blanched. " Nom de Dieu, you are serious—you mean to kill him."

Alain nodded. "Of course. If luck had been with me a few hours earlier, he would be dead already. The, er, unhappy victim of a murderous bandit."

"You tried to kill him? Today?" Francois demanded, aghast.

"Naturally." His eyes hard, Alain added, "I have every intention of marrying your sister. I cannot do that if Hugh Lancaster remains alive. You agreed with me. Do not forget, mon ami, you are in this as deeply as I am."

"B-b-but murder! I never agreed to murder! It is horrible enough that Etienne is dead, but now you tell me you plan the murder of my own brother-in-law—it is despicable."

"Such a tender conscience you have developed, mon ami. You were not so high-principled when we first began our profitable enterprise." Malice evident, Alain added, "If memory serves me, it was your idea."

Francois swallowed. "I cannot deny it, but I never expected... it was only to have been..." He stopped, distressed. Taking a deep breath, he went on bitterly, "Once you learned how I meant to pay you, you were the one who expanded upon my idea, the one who volunteered to help me and the one who wanted us to steal more and more. I had meant only to pay my debts to you and then cease the pilfering." Francis looked thoroughly miserable. "In the beginning with you demanding immediate payment and me with no way to pay you, it did not seem so very bad. I was only taking a little extra from my own company." He flashed Alain a glance of dislike. "When you offered to help me steal, you said that after a shipment or two, I would have paid my debt to you." Francois's jaw clenched. "But then when you saw how easy it was, you grew greedy."

"And you," Alain said softly, his eyes cold and unblinking, "could not stay away from the gaming tables. I was not the one who continued to lose money I did not have."

Francois looked away. "You are right," he said unhappily. "I was a fool! I kept thinking..."

"You wanted," Alain drawled, "to show everyone how adult and sophisticated and clever you were. Worse, you kept thinking you could best me and impress everyone. You were indeed a fool if you thought that I would allow that to happen. I do not lose. And I do not intend to lose now." Almost pityingly, Alain continued, "You are in far too deep to escape, mon ami."

"Do not call me that! I am not your friend! You have used me and maneuvered me and forced me upon a path I never intended, just as I suspect you did to Etienne!"

"Ah, I see that perhaps I was mistaken in you. I thought you were your own man, answerable to no one." His voice cruel, Alain continued, "You boasted of it often, if I recall correctly. All that righteous anger you so frequently and vocally expressed against the Américains was just for show, oui! You like the Américain lording it over you? You are pleased that your sister is married to that mongrel? An Américain, who has practically thrown you out of your own company?"

"I did not like the Américains it is true—"

"Did not like? Do my ears deceive me? Has the so staid and stolid Monsieur Hugh Lancaster won you over to his side? Was it not just a few days ago that you were outraged at his decision to pay Etienne's family a generous settlement from company funds? I do not remember you thinking so kindly of him then—or of your feeling such remorse over Etienne's death."

"Damn your eyes! Can a man not have second thoughts? I had not had time to think about it when Hugh sprang it on us! To my shame I must admit that I was angry at his actions—I viewed it as another example of his high-handedness—but after I thought about it for a while, I realized that he was right and I was wrong. We should have done something for Etienne's family—it was our responsibility. Even more so," he ended bitterly, "since I contributed to his death...."

Alain set down his cup and saucer with a clatter. "Do you know that you are growing boring, mon am —. Ah, forgive me, I am not to call you that anymore, am I?"

Francois drew himself up. "Non ," he snapped, "you are not to call me 'friend' anymore. I am not your friend. But I am a fool. I have acted unwisely, and I have let my temper, my pride and, yes, my prejudices blind me to reality. It is you I should have vented my rage against, not the Américains. Because of you and my own reckless foolishness, I allowed myself to become involved in something that is dishonest and dishonorable. I have ruined myself. And all because I wanted to show everyone— Maman, mon once, Micaela, you and all my friends that I was a grown man, capable of running my own affairs. All I have done," he said heavily, "is show the world, what a spoiled, immature, and arrogant fool I am."

"Oh my," drawled Alain, spite gleaming in his black eyes, "do I see before me a reformed sinner? A penitent ready to flay himself raw in the name of redemption? Are you wearing a hair shirt beneath your fine clothes today? Do you intend to devote yourself to good works now? Embrace the Américains ? Work diligently in the family firm? Perhaps you will even lick your brother-in-law's boots, too?"

"Non." Francois answered tiredly, sinking down into his chair once more, ignoring Alain's insults. "I regret, bitterly and deeply, what has transpired, and I hope fervently that I can find a way to redeem myself, if only in my own eyes. I have been a fool, but I do not have to continue to be a fool."

Alain yawned delicately. "As I said, you have become a bore. I liked you much better when you were spitting fury and venom at the Américains and railing at the unfairness of fate."

"I blamed everyone, but myself," Francois said, with a note of astonishment, "when no one was at fault but myself—"

"Oh, please! Do spare me this drivel! Once Hugh is dead and I am married to your sister, you can join a monastery if you like and spend the rest of your life making amends for your sins, but for now..." Alain's eyes narrowed and grew hard. "For now you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do."

"And if I do not?"

"If you do not, you will regret it for the rest of your life," Alain threatened. "Remember, I can arrange it so that your part in the systematic robbing of your own family's company is made public. I think," Alain went on, "that I can even arrange it so that you are implicated in Etienne's murder."

"And what about your part in all of this?" Francois asked grimly. "If you expose me, you expose yourself."

"I think not. If you will remember, I have been careful to remain in the background." He smiled at Francois. "Granted it was my hand behind much of what was done, but it was you who first came to me with the idea. Few people, and none that count, I might add, know that I was involved. Certainly the people who work for me will not speak in your defense." His smile broadened at Francois's expression of dismayed, dawning comprehension. "If you are foolish enough to attempt to lay the blame at my feet, why, I think most people would see it for what it was—an unscrupulous, spoiled boy's attempt to escape punishment. The fact that you owe me a large sum of money could even be viewed as the reason you were trying to involve me in your schemes. Yes, I think it can be arranged so that I appear an innocent victim of your shocking manipulations—you do not want to pay me what is rightfully mine, so you try to lay the blame for your own misdeeds at my door. I do believe that it can be done." He smiled at Francois. "Would you like to make a wager on it?"

Francois shook his head. What Alain said was all too true. Worse, the thought of his mother, of his family having to bear the shame of his disgrace—even if he could expose Alain as the devious devil that he was and bring him to justice—was too painful to contemplate. His mother would be devastated and blame herself for his misdeeds. His uncle would despise him. His sister would scorn him, and as for Hugh... He shuddered, imagining the contempt he would find in his brother-in-law's face. He had been a fool. A stubborn, proud, arrogant young fool! With dignity, he said, "Non, I will not make a wager with you. I have learned that a wise man does not gamble with you."

"It is too bad that you did not learn it earlier!" Alain retorted viciously, enraged by Francois's remorse. "You were such an easy pigeon to pluck that I enjoyed watching you fall deeper into debt to me."

"What do you want me to do?" Francois asked, ignoring the jibe.

More furious than he had thought possible by Francois's defection, Alain regarded him silently for a moment, fighting to bring his temper under control. The fool! How had he thought this would end? And how dare he discover his conscience at this late date! Alain smiled in grim amusement. His own conscience allowed nothing to stand in the way of what he wanted. He had thought that Francois was of the same mold and he felt betrayed by Francois's unexpected attack of conscience. Once Hugh was dead and Micaela was his, he might just have to do something about Francois.

Francois shifted in his seat. "You have not answered me, Alain. What is it you want me to do?"

Cheered by thoughts of the future, Alain laughed. "Oh, come now, mon ami —and I am your friend, even if you do not believe it—things are not so bad. What I want you to do for me is very simple. I want you to invite me to come with you when you go to visit Par Amour."

"Why?"

Alain's jaw clenched. "Because I asked you to!"

Francois regarded him for a long time. "And if I do not?"

"If you do not," Alain said with cold menace, "I shall see to it that your schemes to rob your own company, your stealing from your own family are common knowledge." He smiled. "By the time I am finished with you, just the mention of the name 'Francois Dupree' will bring a scandalous gasp to the lips of any respectable person who hears it."

Francois did not doubt him. For weeks now, he had been becoming more and more aware that Alain was not what he appeared to be, that behind his smile and polite manners lay something vicious and unprincipled. Alain knew people: not people Francois would ever introduce to his family: people who made Francis distinctly nervous. Alain seemed to have tentacles everywhere in the city, from the homes of the most rigid society matrons to the proprietors of the most despicable dens of sin, and Francois knew from things that he had learned in the heady days when he had been flattered by Alain's friendship that Alain arranged for unpleasant and shocking things to happen to anyone who displeased him.

Wearily Francois rested his dark head on the high back of the chair, his eyes closed. There seemed to be no way out. "I go to Amour on Thursday. Jean and I are traveling down together in the morning," he said. He opened his eyes and glanced at Alain. "I cannot simply bring you with me, I would have to ask Micaela if she minded if I invited you to visit with me a few days while I am there. She may not comply with my request, you know, and I cannot insist that you be allowed to come."

"Then it will be up to you," Alain said, "to ensure that your sister does agree to my presence, will it not?"

Francois nodded. "Oui. And not only Micaela—Hugh also must be convinced to allow you to stay. He is not going to be happy about your inclusion."

* * *

At that moment, Hugh was very happy. Micaela had given herself to him with a delightful abandon that had not been present in their previous lovemaking, and for the first time in their marriage he had the sweet and complete satisfaction of knowing that their lovemaking had given her pleasure. The signs and sounds of her enjoyment had been unmistakable, and he felt inordinately pleased with himself. Any doubts he had harbored about his skills in bed or his ability to bring his wife physical satisfaction had fled. And if he'd had to be shot and wounded to accomplish this, it seemed like a more than fair trade to him.

With Micaela's soft form lying next to his, her head nestled on his shoulder, his own body feeling as sated and replete as it had ever felt, Hugh did not want to think about the problems that still lay between them, but he was aware that he still had much to accomplish—such as making his wife fall in love with him. He also, despite the fact that he would admit that he was deeply and irrevocably in love with her, had not forgotten the events surrounding their marriage, nor that it was his fortune which held the greatest allure for her. That damning conversation he had overheard between her and Francois was still an acidic trickle running through his happiness and Alice's words were additional drops of poison.

He frowned. He didn't want to think about the reasons for their marriage, not right now, but like persistent, irritating mosquitoes, they kept buzzing around in his head.

Micaela's thoughts were equally unpleasant. She was ashamed of her lascivious behavior in her husband's arms, and she was braced for him to express his disapproval of her wanton ways. That he did not worried her. Was he too disgusted to speak of it? Had she repelled him? Was Hugh going to, as that long-ago Creole gentleman had, request a divorce because his wife had so boldly responded to him?

And then there was the unresolved situation between them. Nothing had been settled. The problems that had confronted them before they had made love still confronted them. Micaela would have been a fool, however, if she had thought after the afternoon they had just spent in each other's arms that she could retreat behind the polite facade she had shown him these past weeks. Only a fool would try to pretend this afternoon had never happened. And she did not think she was a fool.

Lying beside him on the bed, listening to the even beating of his heart beneath her ear, she admitted that this was precisely where she wanted to be. She did not want the coolness between them to continue. But neither did she want to go back to the admittedly pleasant weeks they had enjoyed in the early days of their marriage. She and perhaps, Hugh, too, had been pretending that all was well in their marriage and ignoring reality. They had, she realized with embarrassment, been too busy enjoying each other's bodies and the novelty of being married and setting up their own household to think deeply about the true state of their marriage.

But what was the true state of their marriage? Was their situation so very different from the majority of Creole unions? Many were straight business arrangements; the bride acquired a husband who took care of providing her basic needs—shelter, food, status and respectability—and the husband acquired a charming hostess who ran his household efficiently and with astonishing regularity presented him with handsome sons and lovely daughters. She knew of several marriages that had been arranged because it was prudent for the families to join forces, whether to consolidate fortunes, save plantations, or expand others. Or businesses, she thought with a grimace.

Unable to sleep, Micaela sat up cautiously. When Hugh gave no sign of being disturbed, she slid from the bed and searched for her clothing. With a wary eye on her napping husband, she dressed hastily.

Staring at him as he lay there on the bed, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead, his long lashes shadowing the cheekbones of his face, her heart clutched in her breast. He was so dear. She loved him so much. She could not imagine life without him. Her gaze fell on his wound. And someone, she thought sickly, had tried to murder him. The terrifying knowledge of how easily, how swiftly he could have been taken from her, made her realize that it was petty to hold against him the manner in which he had brought about their marriage. Her gaze softened. No matter why he had married her, he had proven himself to be a kind and generous husband, and for that she would give him the respect and esteem he deserved. She would learn not to harbor doubts. He was much too precious to her to waste time wondering about his motives. She loved him, and that was all there was to it. She loved him.

Hugh's eyes suddenly opened, meeting hers. He quirked a brow at the tender expression on her face. "What?" he asked. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

She smiled, an achingly lovely smile. "I was just thinking that I am very fortunate to have you as my husband."

Hugh's breath stopped at the sight of that dazzling smile, pleasure at her words spreading warmly through him. Then he scowled, suspicion sliding like a serpent through his mind. What was she up to? What did she want? She'd been treating him like a pariah up until a few hours ago, and while he had not expected her to instantly retreat behind the indifference she had shown him lately, he was not prepared to accept either her words or her damnably enchanting smile. There had to be a reason, other than the gloriously satisfying time they had just spent in each other's arms, to bring about such a change in her manner toward him.

He was immediately appalled at his suspicions. Aghast at how swiftly he had gone from contentment to being full of doubts and mistrust. In that split second, it became blindingly clear to him that until there was some plain speaking between them, until they were both honest with each other, that there would be no lasting happiness for them. Ugly suspicion and mistrust would be their constant companions, and he was determined that such was not going to be the case.

He started to rise up, but his wounded arm reminded him forcibly, painfully, of the reason he was in bed in the first place. With a smothered curse, he fell back against the pillows.

When Micaela rushed forward and would have helped him, he held up a restraining hand. "No. We need to talk, and I will be the first to admit that when you are near me, talking is the last thing on my mind!"

Micaela blushed at the implication, her heart melting with love for him. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked shyly.

Hugh shot her an irritated glance, fighting against the powerful urge to forget the whole thing. Did she have to look so appealing, just when he was ready to have a very uncomfortable conversation with her? Did she have to speak to him in that beguiling tone, making his sudden determination waver?

Having struggled up into a sitting position, he eyed her grimly. "You may drop the facade, my dear," he said bluntly, before he could change his mind about the wisdom of what he was doing. "I overheard your revealing conversation that day at the gazebo. And I know precisely why you went to such lengths to marry me."