Page 18 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

Torn between laughter and a strong desire to swear, Hugh stared back at her. Lifting his wineglass in a private toast to her, he murmured, "Of course I have no objections to Alain's presence in my home, if that is your wish, my love." He smiled like a tiger. "Any friend of yours, my dear, is naturally a friend of mine. I shall look forward to his visit." He glanced at Francois. "And when," he asked with nothing more apparent than courteous interest, "would Monsieur Husson be arriving?"

Francois looked from Micaela to Hugh. "I—uh—thought that if it was agreeable I would write him a note tomorrow and have a servant deliver it to his home in the afternoon. It would probably be at least Saturday or Sunday before he arrived."

"Good!" Hugh said. "We shall look forward to his visit." He sent his wife a bland look. "Will we not, my dear?"

Nonplussed, Micaela stared back at him. She had not expected him to create a scene, but she had not been prepared for him to just accept Alain's intrusion into what was a family gathering. She had been positive that he would attempt, even if only briefly, to wiggle politely out of inviting Alain to stay with them. Instead he had turned the tables on her and had graciously acceded to Francois's request. Feeling deflated and losing all interest in Alain Husson's proposed visit, she shrugged and muttered, "Oui. It will be most pleasant."

The conversation passed on to other topics, but Micaela only paid half a mind to what was being said. Watching her husband's dark face as he laughed at some comment made by Jean, she was aware of despair. She loved him—the handsome, unfeeling wretch! And he did not love her—during the past two days he had made no real attempt to heal the breach between them and had calmly accepted her cool rebuffs to the few overtures he had made. If he cared anything at all for her, he would not have let the situation between them continue. Nor, she admitted miserably, would he have allowed them to sleep apart. It was clear to her from the way he was acting that he felt only the most tepid of emotions where she was concerned. Why else would he have agreed so easily to have as a guest in their home a man he knew had been a rival for her hand? Bah! She did not understand him at all!

There was one glimpse of light on her dark horizon—Hugh's denial of Alice Summerfield's assertions. The American woman's words had long haunted Micaela, and his statement that there had only been friendship between them rang true. Besides, Micaela desperately wanted to believe him. If she took his words as fact, at least she would be able to banish the specter of being married to a man who loved another. Of course, she admitted gloomily, he could be lying, but in this instance, she did not think that he was. She realized now, with the aid of hindsight, that Alice had been spewing venom hoping to cause problems between them—which was precisely what had happened. Alice's words alone would not have been enough, but, coupled with the circumstances, they had certainly added their own share of misery.

But why, she wondered, had he agreed to Alain's inclusion in what was a family gathering? Perhaps, she mused with an ache in her heart, she meant so little to him that Alain's presence meant nothing to him?

With her imagination conjuring up a bleak future, she was relieved when she rose from the table at the end of the meal. Leaving the gentlemen to their Madeira and sherry, she escaped into the sitting room with her mother. While Lisette sank gracefully onto a delicate rosewood chair covered in pale green damask, Micaela moved restlessly about the room.

After watching her pacings for several moments, Lisette asked, "What did you hope to accomplish by staging that scene tonight, petite ? Inviting Alain Husson to come and stay here was not a wise thing to do. It was foolish of Francois to make such a request of you in the first place, but you were twice as foolish to challenge your husband in that manner." She hesitated, then went on, "I trust that you have not come to regret that you did not accept Alain's offer when you had the chance?"

Micaela made a face. "Non. I do not care a fig for Alain Husson. I love my husband—but he is such a dolt!"

Lisette smiled, her worried frown vanishing. "Ah. I understand. Men can be so, so, stupid sometimes, can they not?"

Micaela eyed her mother speculatively, her own troubles forgotten. "Oh? Is any particular male proving to be annoyingly stupid these days, besides my husband, of course?"

It was Lisette's turn to make a face. "It shames me to admit it, but even knowing that he abandoned me all those years before, I still find John Lancaster far too attractive for my own good. For my peace of mind I wish he had been bald and fat!" She sighed. "When he smiles at me, when he looks at me, I forget everything and remember only that I loved him once. I have tried keeping him at arm's length, but he is persistent." An angry sparkle lit her fine eyes. "Perhaps," she muttered, "if he had been as persistent years ago as he is now, things might have been different. But too much has happened. He betrayed me and hurt me immeasurably. I cannot forgive him, nor could I ever trust him again. But he still has the power to charm me, and it frightens me. I am afraid that if he decides to make a long visit with you, I may go home early." She glanced at Micaela. "Will you mind?"

Considering her own troubles, Micaela understood perfectly how her mother felt. She shook her head, and said gently, "I will miss you, but we shall have other visits when there are no annoyingly stupid males around, oui?"

"Or at least," Lisette replied with a twinkle, "you shall have ceased feuding with your husband and decided that he is not quite so annoyingly stupid?"

Micaela looked wretched. "I do not think that he cares anything for me, Maman." Too ashamed to admit that Hugh had thought her the greatest conniver alive, she stared out the windows, furiously blinking back an embarrassing rush of tears.

Lisette smiled. " Petite , you do not see the way he looks at you. I cannot say whether he loves you or not, but he cares a very great deal for you. As I mentioned previously, it is obvious to anyone who is in the same room with you both."

"Oh, Maman, are you sure?"

Lisette's smile became tender as Micaela swung around to face her. "As sure as I can be of anything, ma chérie." She looked down at her hands folded in her lap and said slowly, "Micaela, I have warned myself against being a meddling maman , but I would give you some words of advice. Do not let pride and little misunderstandings destroy what you and Hugh already have. Talk honestly to your husband, let him know how you feel about him, tell him that he has made you unhappy and why. If after that, he still continues in the same manner, then you will know that his actions are deliberate and not just unthinking or unknowing."

Micaela bit her lip. "But suppose you are wrong? Suppose he does not care as deeply for me as you seem to think? I will have humiliated myself—and for nothing!"

Lisette sent her a long look. "Pride is a cold companion. Do you wish to share your bed for the rest of your life with only your pride to keep away the night's chill? Or do you want a warm and loving husband by your side? It is true that I might be wrong. Hugh might not love you; he might have simply married you because of the business. Do you not want to find out the truth?"

Her eyes huge in her face, Micaela stared at her mother. "I am frightened, Maman," she admitted. "I think I almost prefer not knowing how he feels, if it means learning that he really did marry me just for business reasons."

"Listen to me, petite!" Lisette said urgently. "Your marriage came about as it did because of an unfortunate set of circumstances. Hugh was as trapped as you were. But that does not mean that if you had been given time, he would not have courted you and married you in a more traditional fashion. It is only because you feel you were forced to marry him that you are so uncertain about him. And as for Francois's opinion that Hugh deliberately arranged events to his own advantage—it is all nonsense! Only the wild conjectures of a hotheaded, foolish, and impetuous boy. Francois does not really believe it himself, though he would rather choke than admit it to anyone. You know your brother, he is always full of fits and starts." The twinkle returned to Lisette's eyes. "And since when has your brother's opinion mattered so much to you anyway? Are you not clinging to Francois's silly idea as a way to protect yourself from possible hurt?" When Micaela remained silent, she asked softly, "Do you really enjoy living in this netherworld you seem to have created? Neither lover, nor enemy?"

Micaela took a deep breath. "Non! But I do not feel very brave at the moment. I am angry and confused. And I would not be very sensible if I were to confront him right now."

"You do not have to face him right away, ma chérie. Think about it, if you wish. But Micaela," Lisette warned, "do not wait too long. You may miss a chance for real happiness and have only yourself to blame. The situation which currently exists could become a habit."

Micaela managed to get through the remainder of the evening, and she even found herself smiling at some of the quips thrown out by the gentlemen when they joined the ladies a short while later. She could not deny, however, that she was grateful when the evening ended and she was able to retreat to her own suite of rooms.

Lying alone in her big gauze-swathed bed, she played over and over again in her mind the evening's events, her mother's words echoing in her head. Her mother was right. Micaela knew that. And she had never considered herself a coward, but when she envisioned seeking out her husband and boldly revealing that she was in love with him and that she wanted his love in return, her courage failed. Even Lisette's reassurances that Hugh did care deeply for her did not revive her quailing spirits. Perhaps if they had not had that terrible argument on Monday afternoon....

* * *

She spent a restless night and the soft lemony rose glow of daylight found her still with no definite plan. But the situation could not go on, she decided, as she lay there staring at the spreading golden light. Maman was right—it could become a habit—a terrible one.

Micaela was not the only one to wake at dawn from a night of less than restful repose. John Lancaster had spent much of the night wrestling with his bedclothes and getting little sleep, the knowledge that he and Lisette might both have been duped revolving like a burning beacon in his brain. By dawn, he was determined to have a private word with her, even if he had to abduct her to do it.

Springing from his bed, he dressed, his brain formulating several different methods of accomplishing his goal. Having decided upon the most immediate needs for his scheme to work, he raced from his room and though daylight had just broken, instantly set his scheme in motion.

After having taken care of the practical matters, John went in search of Hugh. Fortunately Hugh was an early riser, and, finding his stepson sipping his first cup of coffee of the day, John asked for a private word with him. Hugh studied his stepfather's face for a second and, rising to his feet, suggested they retire to the study, where they were not likely to be interrupted.

Hardly waiting until Hugh had shut the door behind him, John said bluntly, "If the truth is to be discovered, I must speak privately with Lisette. Since she has thwarted my every attempt to do so, I have decided upon desperate measures." He took a deep breath and blurted out, "I intend to abduct her, and I need your help."

Hugh's brow rose. "Indeed. And how may I help you in this exceedingly—er—desperate endeavor."

John grinned at him, looking boyish. "You can make excuses for our absence, no matter how long it may be."

A glimmer of amusement lurking in the depths of his gray eyes, Hugh nodded. "Of course. You know that you may depend upon me. Do I dare ask how you hope to accomplish your task?"

The boyish looked increased. "I have already ordered two horses saddled and asked Cook to see to it that suitable food and drink is packed in the saddlebags. It is unlikely that anyone except ourselves and a few servants are awake at this hour. Since there is practically no one to see me, or to give her aid, should I be so foolish as to allow her to seek it, I intend to march up to Lisette's rooms and compel her to come with me."

"And how do you plan to compel her to come with you?" Hugh asked, trying not to laugh.

"By explaining what would happen should I be found in her bedroom at this hour of the morning—or any other morning, for that matter," John replied with a resolute gleam in his eyes. "Though she is a widow and allowed much license, the thought of a man, especially if I am the man, being discovered in her bedroom by a member of her family will, I am certain, make her agreeable to following my orders. And since I intend to make my threat to create a scandal, either this morning, or another of my choosing, real, I do not believe I will get much of an argument out of her." John suddenly sighed, looking not quite so cheerful. "I wish there was some other method to obtain a private conversation with her, but she has forced this situation upon me." He glanced almost pleadingly at Hugh. "All I am asking of her is that she accompany me to someplace private, where we can discuss without interruption what happened to destroy our plans to marry over twenty years ago. It is not too much to ask, is it?"

Hugh shook his dark head. "No," he said quietly. "Not too much at all."

* * *

Except for a dicey moment in Lisette's room, when to his dismay, he found that Lisette had already arisen and was seated at her dressing table arranging her hair, John's plan proceeded smoothly. It had been a shock even to find her awake, and, spying a cup of coffee and a half-eaten beignet sitting near the edge of the dressing table, he stifled a curse. He had counted on finding her half-drowsy and still abed, not fully awake and able to think quickly and clearly. He planned to get her well away from the house before she realized what was happening, but listening to her humming to herself as she finished braiding her lustrous hair and fashioning the two thick braids into a tidy coronet around the top of her head, he knew he would not be able to rely on her befuddled state to aid him.

He hesitated just inside the French doors in her room, which opened onto the upper gallery. Half-hidden by the printed green-and-white cotton draperies, which had been pulled back on either side of the doors, John considered his position. He decided grimly that boldness would just have to carry him through. So when Lisette rose from her dressing table and approached the carved armoire which was positioned against the far wall, he stepped out from his place of concealment.

Lisette caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye and uttered a startled gasp, whirling in his direction. In a flash he was across the room, his hand going to her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her and pulling her next to him.

"Hush!" he whispered. "I mean you no harm, but I must speak with you."

She made an attempt to escape him, but finding that she could not, she ceased her struggles and contented herself with glaring up at him, her dark eyes spitting fury. She looked, John thought idiotically, utterly enchanting.

"If I remove my hand from your mouth, have I your promise that you will not scream?" he asked.

Lisette nodded curtly. The moment his hand was removed, she demanded furiously, "Have you gone mad? What are you doing here? Dieu! If you were to be found here, there would be a terrible scandal. What were you thinking? What is so important that you could not wait to talk to me in more appropriate surroundings?" Determinedly she began to propel him toward the French doors. "You must leave immediately! No one must find you here."

John dug in his heels, refusing to budge, and when her efforts to remove him from her rooms proved futile, she stopped and hissed, "Did you not hear me? You cannot be found here. My children would be scandalized. And as for Jean! Dieu! I cannot even think of his reaction. You must leave this instant!"

John smiled down at her flushed, angry features. "Oh, I intend on leaving," he said slowly, "but not without you."

"What ? Are you mad? Zut! I will go nowhere with you."

"Very well," John replied equitably and, selecting a small cypress chair near the French doors, sat down. Still smiling, he crossed his arms comfortably over his chest and said amiably, "Since you feel unable to accompany me at this moment, I shall sit here and wait until you are ready."

Lisette's eyes narrowed. "Have you been drinking? Is that why you are acting like a fool?"

"No, I have not been drinking, and I am not acting like a fool." His voice hardened. "I am, however, acting like a man whose patience has run out. I want to talk to you—privately, and I am not leaving this room until you agree to give me what I want."

Lisette threw a harassed glance around. If anyone, even a servant, were to find him here! She looked down at her simple dimity wrapper, suddenly aware of her nakedness underneath it. Dieu! She had to think.

Resentfully she eyed him, deciding waspishly that he looked indecently attractive for this time of the morning, his brown eyes alert and lively, his cheeks freshly shaved, and the silver wings at his temples striking against the inky blackness of his hair. He was wearing a form-fitting russet jacket and buff breeches which emphasized his broad shoulders and lean legs. For a man of his age, she thought bitterly, he was far, far too handsome. And he was in her bedroom!

Recalled to her senses, she stifled the urge to throw something large and heavy at his head and instead stamped her foot in frustration. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she finally asked, "If I go with you—you swear that you will not bother me again?"

"If you go with me and agree to discuss what happened over twenty years ago."

"Zut! What happened was that you abandoned me!"

"Odd, that is exactly what I thought—only I was the one abandoned. You deserted me!"

Lisette looked taken aback. "I never deserted you," she said with a trifle less heat. She started to say more when the rattle of crockery on a tray in the hallway stopped her. "We cannot talk here—someone is going to interrupt us," she said distractedly.

"My point exactly—which is why you are going to put on your riding clothes and come with me."

She flashed him a furious glance, but from the jut of his chin, it was obvious that he was going nowhere unless she went with him. Muttering under her breath, she flew across the room to the armoire and extracted a riding costume. Mouth set, she disappeared behind a screen in one corner of the room.

Scrambling into her clothes, she reappeared only seconds later and, sitting down on the bed, yanked on her boots. Quivering with outrage and indignation, she said less than five minutes later, "I am ready. Shall we leave?"

John rose to his feet and smiled. Lisette's palm itched to slap his handsome face. Offering his arm, he said, "If Madame will allow me?"

Lisette snorted and hurried out the doors. She had to go with him, and she was not looking forward to the prospect.

They were silent as they left the upper gallery via the wide staircase at the rear of the house. The horses were tethered at the base of the stairs, and a moment later John had tossed Lisette into the saddle of a smallish bay mare and mounted his own horse.

It wasn't until several minutes later, when they had left behind the immediate grounds of the house, that John let himself believe that his plan had actually worked. He slanted a glance at Lisette's stony features. Getting her away from the house had been the easy part, he realized uneasily. The hard part was yet to come.

They rode for some time through the sun-dappled countryside—oaks, locust, hackberry, magnolias, and cottonwoods growing in profusion. Coral honeysuckle and Virginia creeper and other vines ran rampant through the undergrowth, and the vivid pink and purple splashes of the wild azaleas could be seen here and there. They crossed the occasional sluggishly moving bayou lined with spiky-fanned palmettos and once surprised a sleeping alligator on a muddy bank.

As time passed and they plunged deeper and deeper into the wilderness, the silence between them changed. The air was no longer charged with anger. The tenseness which had vibrated between them lessened, and they both began to relax. To her astonishment, Lisette discovered she was enjoying the ride. With a steady horse under her, the early-morning air soft and caressing, the myriad, mysterious scents of the bottomland forests wafting in her nostrils, and the sheer variety and number of plants, trees, and animals to catch her gaze, it was no wonder that she found it difficult to focus on her previous resentment and fury.

Yet she did not forget why she was here or the underhanded method John Lancaster had used to obtain her presence. But she was confused about his reasons for going to such great lengths simply to discuss the demise of their plans all those years before. Surely, it could not matter to him now? A frown marred her forehead. What had he meant by declaring that she abandoned him? She had loved him! She had longed with the very fiber of her soul to be his wife. If Papa had not come to her with the news that John had... She stiffened, her fingers clenching around the reins. If Papa had not come to her...

For the first time since that awful day her father and Renault had confronted her about the plan to run away with John Lancaster, she wondered about the sincerity and honesty of the men who had destroyed her dreams. Her mouth twisted. After she had married him, she had learned firsthand that Renault had not always told the truth—only when it suited him, and then only what he wanted anyone to know. There had been countless times during their marriage that she had caught him in lie after lie. And Papa. When it came to getting his own way, she admitted reluctantly, Papa would have lied to the Archangel Gabriel if he had thought it would gain him anything. John had claimed that she had abandoned him—had she? Unknowingly. Had her father and Renault confronted each of them with a pack of lies? And they, like fools, had believed them?

Ruthlessly tamping down the silly surge of hope which ran through her, she eyed John's broad back as he rode in front of her. She had loved him once. Passionately. Adoringly. He had been everything she had ever wanted in a man, a husband. For years he had haunted her dreams, and she would awaken with her arms aching to hold him just one more time and tears on her cheeks. Even now she had trouble believing that he had left her to face her family, alone and disgraced. But had he? Had he been told that she did not want to marry him? And had he left New Orleans believing that she had deserted him?

It was a tantalizing thought. She told herself she was ridiculous to think him innocent, to make excuses for his behavior. He had made no attempt to see her again. In fact, he had never, to her knowledge, set foot in New Orleans again.

Suddenly that fact began to take on enormous importance. Why had he not come back again? Too ashamed to face her? Or had there been another reason? Such as being so shattered by her betrayal that he could never return to New Orleans? Her heart began to beat swiftly, and she was annoyed at her reaction to the possibility that there was more to the sudden ending of their love affair than she had been led to believe. Ma foi! she told herself sternly, I am just being a silly old woman. Of course, he had not been shattered by her supposed defection. But the idea would not go away—suppose that he had been so hurt to think she would toss away their love that he could not...

Finding a small shady glade, John halted their horses, and, lifting Lisette down, he tied the horses at the edge of the clearing. A huge fallen log lay at the side of the glade, and, after checking around it for any unwelcome wildlife, John spread a blanket on the forest floor, using the log as a backrest. To Lisette's bemusement, he immediately unpacked a tasty picnic and proceeded to arrange the various packets of food and drink on the blanket to his satisfaction. Only after he had finished setting things to his liking did he turn and look at her.

An unreadable expression in his dark eyes, he held out a hand and said softly, " Will you join me for refreshments?"

Warily, Lisette put her hand in his and allowed him to help her to the ground near the log. The skirts of her riding habit tucked under her legs, she settled against the blanket-draped log, her eyes never leaving his dark, intent face.

John smiled at her. "Would you like something to drink? Cook sent along a jug of lemonade, and there is also some orange juice."

Lisette shook her head, her lovely features mirroring all the uncertainties, mistrustfulness, and half-acknowledged yearnings that were within her. "You said," she began quietly, "that you wanted to talk to me where we would be uninterrupted." She glanced around, a wry expression crossing her face. "I doubt that we shall be bothered here."

Seating himself across from her, John nervously plucked at a tuft of grass growing near the blanket. "It seemed so simple," he explained, his eyes fixed on hers, "when I planned this little outing. But now that the moment is upon me, I find myself at a loss for words."

"I do not remember that you were ever so in the past," Lisette murmured, wishing that her pulse was not acting erratically and that her heart was not behaving in the most peculiar fashion. But so many taunting and tempting thoughts were running through her brain that she could not control either them or her reaction to them. Had they been lied to? Had John loved her after all? She had certainly believed so. More importantly, if she had not believed him implicitly, she would never have given herself to him. Confused and yet hopeful, she did not know if she really wanted to find out the truth. Life had been so much simpler thinking him a cad and a liar all these years. Painful and lonely, but simpler. She did not know if she wanted to learn that her father and her husband had coldly rearranged her life to suit themselves.

John smiled crookedly at her. "Then I put on a very good act. Whenever I was with you, I felt as tongue-tied as a country bumpkin in the presence of a goddess."

Ignoring the painful thump in her chest, Lisette tossed her head. "You see, you claim not to have a facile tongue, and yet you easily spout charming nonsense."

John shook his head. "It is not nonsense—it is true." He suddenly reached for her hand and pressed an ardent kiss to her warm palm. Then he said, "Lisette, do you not know that I always thought of you as a goddess—that I wondered how I could have been so lucky, so damned fortunate to have gained your love?"

"Then why did you leave me?" she cried, her hand trembling violently in his grasp.

"I did not leave you." His mouth twisted. "At least not until your father and Renault had made it painfully obvious that you were not going to run away with me, that you were marrying Renault before the month was out and that I was just an embarrassment to you."

Her fingers tightened around his. "And you believed them?" she asked in a low shaken voice. "You believed them?"

"Their words alone, no, but, you see, they gave me a note you had written to me."

"What note?" Lisette demanded with a frown. John released her hand and, from the inside of his jacket, withdrew a much-folded piece of paper. It was obviously many years old and had obviously been much handled. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

For several long moments Lisette stared at the small, torn scrap of paper in her hands as she might a poisonous snake. Just when John thought he could stand the suspense no longer, she unfolded the note and read the contents. There was not a great deal written, just a few lines, but those few lines, John reflected bitterly, had destroyed him. Over the years since that terrible day, he had read and reread them, and each time he had read them he had felt as if each word had been etched in acid on his heart.

Please, I beg you, if you care for me at all, do not continue to importune me. I will not marry you. I love another.

Lisette