Page 19 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

"They tricked us! Oh, you dear, dear imbecile—I never wrote this to you!" Lisette exclaimed. "It is part of a note that I wrote to Renault when I knew that I loved you." Her eyes huge, dark pools in her white face, she said, "Renault wanted to marry me; Papa approved, and, before you appeared in New Orleans, I had been drifting into a betrothal with him." She hesitated and, even after all these years, a blush stained her cheeks. "But once I had met you..." Her eyes seemed to grow even more luminous, more mysterious, her expression indescribably tender. "Once I had met you, I knew that I could not marry him. I loved you. And only you."

John made an inarticulate sound and dragged her into his arms. "I have always loved you," he swore huskily against her lips. " Always! Even when I believed that you had lied to me, deserted me, and loved another."

"Oh, John!"

There were still many explanations to be aired, but for the moment, John and Lisette cared for nothing but the fact that they were in each other's arms once again. They kissed many times, kisses as passionate and loving as they had shared in their youth, but there were now two new elements in their embrace—an aching sadness for what they had lost and a sweet ecstasy that came from knowing that in spite of deceit and trickery and even marriage to other people, their love had never lessened, never faltered.

It was quiet in the glade, the only sounds the soft, tender murmurings of two lovers, cruelly, deceitfully parted for decades. Their arms entwined around each other, hands caressing, lips almost touching, they spoke for a long time of things shared only by lovers.

It was the startled snort of a buck which brought them back to the present. Together they stared as the sleek brown form disappeared into the forest once more, then they looked at each other and smiled.

John was leaning back against the log, Lisette's head resting in the crook of his arm. Toying with the button of his jacket, she muttered, "They deceived both of us! Lied to both of us. Dieu! It does not seem possible now that they managed to make us believe their lies."

"Your note was pretty convincing," John said dryly. "I was certain they were lying until your father handed it to me. Once I had read it, I was so hurt and stunned that it was easy for Renault to hustle me out of town, while your father hurried back to you with the news that I was nothing more than a black-hearted scoundrel who had taken base advantage of you."

Lisette squirmed around and sent him a severe look. "You should have tried to see me yourself."

John sent her a look. "I suggested that, my love, but your father informed me most sincerely that I would only embarrass and upset you. He said"—John's voice hardened—"that if I really loved you, I would not cause you any more pain. I followed his advice." He cocked a brow at her. "What exactly did they tell you?"

Lisette sighed and snuggled closer to him. "You put it rather succinctly a moment ago. Papa was very kind, but he made it clear that you did not love me and that you did not want to marry me, that I had mistaken your intentions. Papa said that you had only been toying with me, amusing yourself, and that I was a silly little goose if I really believed your declarations of undying love. I did not believe him at first." Her lips twisted. "I was very angry with him, and I accused him of lying. He said that if I did not believe him, he would take me to town himself and prove to me that you had no intention of meeting me as we had planned and that you had already left New Orleans for Natchez."

"Which, of course, I had, thanks to him!" John said bitterly.

Lisette nodded. "I did not really begin to believe Papa until we had gone to the hotel where you had been staying and the concierge informed us that Monsieur Lancaster had paid his bill and had left the hotel that morning for Natchez." Her voice grew very small. " Papa even took me to the docks and let me talk to a pair of dock-workers, who described you and swore that you had gotten on a keelboat heading for Natchez not two hours previously." Tears sparkling on her lashes, she confessed, "It was then that I truly believed that you had left me."

John took her into his arms. "In my heart, I never left you, Lisette. Never," he murmured as his mouth found hers. His lips were warm against hers as he kissed her with infinite tenderness, and Lisette trembled from the very sweetness of it. When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were full of stars, and a dreamy smile curved her mouth.

"I love you," he said simply. "I always have. Will you marry me? As soon as it can be arranged?"

Lisette's hand gently caressed his lean, sun-lined cheek. "Oui, monsieur, I shall be honored to be your wife."

After that there were no words between them for a very, very long time....

* * *

The news that John and Lisette were to be married came as no surprise to Hugh. Watching as John lifted Lisette down from her horse and seeing the glow on Lisette's face and the tender expression in John's eyes several hours later when they returned to Amour, one would have had to have been blind not to understand the situation between them, and Hugh was not blind—at least not where other people's emotions were concerned.

Smiling, he met them at the top of the broad steps, and, after glancing again from one face to the other, he murmured, "I take it that congratulations are in order?"

Two heads nodded simultaneously, bemused smiles meeting his words.

"We are to be married as soon it can be arranged," John said, his hand tightening on Lisette's.

Having heard the horses approach, Micaela came out onto the front gallery, and, like Hugh, she took one look at the other couple's faces and knew immediately what had occurred. An enchanting smile curving her mouth, she flew across the wide gallery and threw her arms around her mother.

"Oh, là !" she exclaimed gaily. "Things have been explained? He is not the villain you thought? And I am to have a step-papa?"

Lisette chuckled. "Indeed, you are—in a remarkably short time, too!"

The happiness of the older couple was infectious, and, for a little while, the constraint between Hugh and Micaela disappeared. They exchanged looks of amused satisfaction just as if they had planned the outcome. Hugh suggested that a toast was in order, and so, laughing and talking at the same time, the four of them went inside.

They had just entered the spacious hallway when they met Jean descending the main staircase. Like Hugh and Micaela, well aware of the past and what had occurred, he took one look at Lisette's and John's faces and realized what must have happened. A silence fell as the four in the hall stared up at Jean's unrevealing features.

"So," he said slowly, "you have discovered the truth."

John nodded curtly, his arm closing possessively around Lisette's slim shoulders. "Yes, we have. How much did you know?"

Continuing on down the staircase, Jean admitted, "Most of it. I knew that they used part of her letter to Renault to drive the final spike in your heart and the fact that you had left town to convince her that you had never meant to marry her."

John's jaw hardened. "It did not disturb you?"

Jean shrugged. "You forget that I was a youth, younger even than Lisette. In the beginning, I believed them when they said they were doing what was best for Lisette, our two families and the company. Besides, Renault was my brother, and he wanted to marry her—who was I to question his actions? It was my duty to support his endeavors."

His eyes slid to Lisette's face. Apologetically he said, "I know that I was not always fair to you—I blamed you for what happened. I felt for many years that you had betrayed my brother, and I resented you and what you had done. It did not sit well with me to know that Renault had married another man's leavings."

There was a gasp from the two women, color coming and going in Lisette's face and John surged forward, his features dark and dangerous, his intention plain. Hugh intervened, stepping between the two older men. "It all happened a long time ago," he said quietly, urgently, looking from one tense face to the other. "The two culprits who created the situation are dead. They are the ones to blame—not each other. There is no need to make a tragic ending now."

Jean took a deep breath. "I did not mean to be insulting," he said stiffly. "I was, in my clumsy fashion, attempting to explain to Lisette why I have acted as I have toward her." He stepped away from Hugh and bowed deeply in Lisette's direction. "I beg your pardon. I realize now, and have for some time, that what happened was not your fault." He gave a twisted smile. "Unfortunately, my resentment was even a longer time dying, and treating you as I have had become a habit."

His words smote Micaela like a blow between the eyes. She understood now the tenseness she had always sensed between Jean and Lisette, but Jean's mention of his behavior becoming a habit struck her hardest. She flashed a glance at her husband, her heart melting as she stared at his beloved features. Maman was right—pride was a cold bedmate. She must talk to him!

Jean crossed to stand in front of Lisette. Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss on the back of it. "Will you allow me to make amends? And allow me to offer you my most sincere congratulations?"

Lisette hesitated then her gentle smile appeared. "Oui! Thank you. And perhaps, now with no secrets between us, we can become the friends we should have been all the time."

Jean cocked a brow. "If there are no more secrets," he said softly and for her ears alone.

Lisette became flustered and said hastily, "Dieu! But we have all become very serious, have we not? Come let us partake of that toast my handsome son-in-law mentioned."

Hugh laughed, pleased that the sticky moment was behind them, and ushered the two ladies toward the sitting room. For a moment, Jean and John were left to face each other alone in the hall. Silently they regarded one another then John slowly extended his hand. "My stepson is right. The past is the past. There is no reason for us to continue to be at odds. Our families seemed determined to commingle. It will be difficult if you and I continue to hold grudges that were not of our own making."

Jean smiled, albeit ruefully. "I admit that I am torn—one's loyalty to one's family is very strong, but as you said, our families have become one. You and I are older now and, I hope, wiser. I find that at my age I prefer friends to enemies."

They shook hands and John clapped Jean on the back. "Come along, my friend," he said. "We shall drink several toasts this afternoon, not the least to the demise of an old deceit and a new and lasting friendship."

* * *

It wasn't to be expected that Francois would take the news of the coming nuptials between Lisette and John Lancaster as calmly as the others—his mother's and John's shared history was unknown to him, although he was aware that they had met years ago, when the company had first been formed. He had troubles of his own to occupy his unpleasant thoughts. The terrifying knowledge that Alain would be arriving at Amour sometime within the next forty-eight hours with the intention of killing Hugh was not conducive to an easy conscience.

He had, with a fervor which surprised him, prayed that the invitation for Alain to join them would be denied. And he had been sunk in black despair when the very thing he had asked for had been granted so easily. It was with little enthusiasm that he had penned the note inviting Alain to come to Amour and seen it sent off to New Orleans.

No one seemed to have noticed that Francois was unusually withdrawn since arriving at Amour, that his merry smile was not much in evidence. If anyone had noticed something amiss, it had no doubt been put down to his being bored in the country. Francois was not bored. In fact, now that his world was coming down around his ears, he was realizing just how very fortunate he had been before he had allowed himself to be sucked into Alain's iron grasp.

With his newfound sense of responsibility and sudden maturity, Francois no longer blamed everything and everyone else for his trouble. He did not even blame Alain for his present predicament. He knew that he had no one to blame except himself. Nor could he escape the ugly fact that the idea to pilfer small amounts from the company had originated with him. If only, he thought despairingly, he had not wanted to act the part of a sophisticated, wealthy man-about-town, friend and confidant of the dashing Alain Husson, eager and ready to show his nerve and verve by gambling on everything and anything. If only he had not wanted to prove to everyone just how adult he was, how very "knowing" he was, he would not have acted as he had. He squirmed with embarrassment and shame when he considered his actions. There was also the bitter awareness that he had simply parroted Alain's inflaming statements about the Américains and that he had blindly taken Alain's attitude toward Hugh as his own. With a sinking feeling he admitted that he had grown to like Hugh—or at least, he did not dislike him.

Alone in his suite of rooms upstairs at Amour, Francois had spent hours pacing and staring out the tall windows, desperately seeking a way out of the trap he had dug for himself. Confessing all to Jean was one way out. But while knowing it was what he should do, Francois could not bring himself to expose his own duplicity, his own foolishness and arrogance to his uncle. Telling his mother or sister was not to be considered. And then there was Hugh.... His young face bleak, he sighed and turned away from the windows.

How could he stand by and let Alain murder his brother-in-law? Etienne's death, though he had had nothing to do with it, stabbed at him every time he thought of it—which was almost constantly. He could not say that he was deeply fond of Hugh, but he was discovering that he would be pleased to have the opportunity to know him better and to strengthen the tenuous bonds between them. To have Hugh's death on his conscience, knowing he could have prevented it, was unbearable.

He wouldn't have been Francois if he had not been just a little bit sorry for himself, but he had come a long way since that last shattering interview with Alain, and, as he looked back at what he had done, he was appalled. How could he have been so blindly arrogant? How could he have so carelessly justified stealing from his own company, no matter what the reason? How could he have stolen from his own family that way?

His face twisted. He had been a weak fool! He could not undo what he had done, but he was aware that the truth was going to have to come out—all of it. He would be, he knew, deservedly punished for his part in what had happened, and he almost looked forward to the day his sins were revealed. But he was not yet ready to face that particular debacle, and at the moment his greatest concern was trying to come up with a plan to stop Hugh's murder. Something that at the moment seemed impossible. He sighed again. Deeply and heavily.

The tap on his door broke into his unhappy thoughts, and when his mother entered the room, he was surprised. Forcing a smile onto his lips, he said, "Maman! What is it? What brings you looking for me?"

Even as distracted as he was by his own troubles, Francois could not help but notice the glow of happiness which seemed to surround her. His smile becoming more natural, he approached her and asked, "What is it? Has Micaela told you that you are to be a grand-mere! Am I to be an oncle!"'

Lisette shook her head, uncertain how to start. She had left the others downstairs, still laughing and discussing wedding plans, and had come in search of her son. Everyone knew where she was and what she was doing. Francois's reaction had already been discussed, and it had been decided that he would take the news of the coming marriage better from his mother, privately. They had all agreed that it would not be wise to spring it on him without warning at dinner tonight.

It was considered an advantage that Francois appeared to like John Lancaster, and there was the hope that since he had seemed to have gotten over his resentment of Micaela's marriage to Hugh, the news that his mother was going to marry Hugh's stepfather might not set off the furious explosion they all feared would mar the happy event. But looking at him, seeing the shadows lurking in his dark eyes and the signs of strain on his young face, Lisette was not so sure of her ability to explain things to him as she had been a few minutes ago when she had slipped out of the sitting room and come in search of him. He looked, to her mother's eye, deeply troubled.

A little frown crinkled her forehead and touching him on the arm, she asked, "What is it, mon amour? You look very unhappy."

Francois shrugged and said, "Oh, it is nothing. I have had the headache today."

Her eyes searched his, and, seeing that he was not going to say more—if there was anything more to say—she gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and turned away. Wandering over to the windows, she said softly, "I do have some important news to tell you—I hope that you will be happy for me."

When she told him, at first he did not seem to understand what she was saying. His face the picture of confusion and incredulity, he stared at her. "M-m-married?" He finally got out. "You and John Lancaster?"

Lisette nodded, her hands clasped nervously together. "We were always attracted to each other," she began carefully, laying out the story that had been agreed upon. "But I was in love with your father and nothing came of it."

It had been Jean who suggested that there was no reason for Francois to know of the deceit practiced by his father and grandfather. Let him believe that a fleeting attraction years ago between John and Lisette had recently blossomed into full bloom.

If Francois's thoughts had not been taken up with his own worries, it is possible he would not have swallowed Lisette's story. But after his first disbelief and shock, he seemed genuinely pleased by the news.

"I am to have a step -Papa! John Lancaster will now have two stepsons, oui!" he asked, his dark eyes alight with pleasure.

Lisette nodded. "You do not mind, mon cher ?" she inquired anxiously. Nothing would stop her from marrying John, but she had feared that Francois would not be as thrilled and excited for her as Micaela had been.

Francois smiled and kissed her on the cheek. " Non! I have always thought that my sweet maman was too young and pretty to stay a widow for the rest of her life. He seems a fine man. And since," he said teasingly, "we already have one Américain in the family, what is one more?" Laughing he added, "Perhaps I, too, shall marry an Américaine some day!"

With Francois's approval, Lisette's last bar to complete happiness had been lifted and dinner that evening was merry and lighthearted, with toast after toast being offered to the happy couple. The wedding was set for two weeks hence, and it had been decided that it would be a quiet and private affair. Just the immediate family would be in attendance, and it would take place at Amour. Jean, in the spirit of putting the past behind them, offered to make the arrangements with the parish priest to perform the ceremony at the house and Francois, with a deference foreign to him, added quietly that he would be pleased and honored to give his very lovely maman away.

It was a pleasant evening, and, taking advantage of the goodwill which flowed so freely, Hugh decided it was as propitious a time as any to attempt to heal the breach with his wife. He had surreptitiously watched as she wandered over to help herself to another glass of the champagne punch which had been brought into the sitting room after dinner. Everyone else was gathered together on the far side of the room, and, under the guise of needing to refill his own glass, he walked up to her.

Smiling, he asked, "Allow me?" And at her nod he proceeded to ladle them both another glass, leaving his own sitting on the table as he handed her glass back to her.

Micaela did not immediately drift away as had been her wont lately, and, taking heart, Hugh inquired, "Are you happy about this?"

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass, her dark eyes unfathomable. A smile that made his heart catch in his chest curved her mouth. "Oh, oui! It is most romantic, non! To think that they have always loved each other and that now after all these years the way is clear for them finally to wed."

Hugh looked across the room, where John sat on the arm of Lisette's chair, their hands clasped. His stepfather appeared dazzled and delighted by what had happened, and the expression on Lisette's face was not much different. Hugh nodded. "It is too bad that they had to wait over twenty years though," he said carefully. His eyes flicked to hers, and holding her gaze, he asked huskily, "And what about us? Am I going to have to wait twenty years for you to forgive me for being so stupidly arrogant and conceited?"

Micaela swallowed, her pulse galloping in her veins, her eyes clinging to his, unable to break away from that steady gray look. They were almost touching, and, this close, she could smell the exciting masculine scent that was uniquely his and feel the warmth of his tall, solid body. Her mother's words rang in her ears again and, realizing that there was only one place in the world that she wanted to be—in his arms—she said softly, "There is nothing to forgive. We were both wrong."

The gray eyes darkened. "Does that mean what I think it does, sweetheart?"

A bubble of joy surged up through her at the hungry note in his voice, and smiling, her lids half-lowered, she murmured, "And what do you want it to mean, monsieur?"

Hugh took an impetuous step toward her. As his arms came swiftly around her, a blush stained her cheeks. Aware of the others in the room, she said hastily, "Hugh! Not right here, not now!"

Recalled to his senses, Hugh's arms lessened only fractionally. Grinning down into her face, a glitter in the gray eyes that made her feel weak in the knees, he demanded, "Tell me when and where, sweetheart, and then and only then, will I let you go."

Burningly aware of his arms around her, aware, too, of the sudden sweet ache of anticipation in her own body, she muttered, "My rooms—after we have all retired for the night."

He brushed a swift kiss across her mouth. "Do not," he warned, "even think of changing your mind."

"Perhaps it is you who will change his mind," she said saucily as she slipped from his embrace.

He caught her hand and pressed a warm, ardent kiss on it. "Never!" he swore softly, his eyes full of promises she dared not think about right now.

Her entire body tingling, a dreamy smile on her lips, Micaela rejoined the group at the other end of the room. Her thoughts were on the private moments she would soon spend with her husband. Perhaps that was why when they all parted to seek out their own beds she did not notice the exchange between Jean and Lisette.

All evening, the conversation had been on the future, but for one person, at least, the past had not been entirely forgotten and as they all bid each other good night and parted, Jean asked for a private word with Lisette. Lisette hesitated, her expression uneasy. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny his request, but there was something in his eyes that made her decide to meet him. What could it hurt? Seeing that John had not noticed them, she murmured, "Meet me on the gallery downstairs in half an hour." Jean nodded and left her.

Having shared a tender goodnight with John, Lisette waited several minutes before slipping out of her door and hurrying down the stairs. She breathed more easily once she had stepped outside onto the downstairs gallery. Jean was waiting for her. Placing her hand on his arm, they began to walk side by side in the magnolia-scented darkness.

They had barely taken a half a dozen steps before Jean said in a low tone, "He will have to be told, you know. You cannot let this secret lie between you."

Lisette looked at him, her face bleak. Stonily she said, "I do not know what you are talking about. And I must say I am annoyed at you for getting me down here where you waste my time by speaking in riddles. It is very late, and I would like to go to bed."

When she started to turn away, he gently held her captive.

"Lisette, we have to talk about this. You cannot pretend that it never happened."

Her eyes searched his desperately. "What do you know?" she demanded. "What is it you think you know?"

Jean smiled, more a grimace than a smile. "Very well, we shall do it your way," he said tiredly. He hesitated, and gazing out into the black night, said carefully, "I think that I can count on my fingers as well as the next man, ma chérie, and according to my calculations, Micaela was born almost seven months to the day after your marriage." He slanted Lisette an old-fashioned look. "Everyone else may have believed that she had been born early, but you forget I was there." He looked away from Lisette's stricken features. "I did not know all the details of your affair with John Lancaster, but I knew enough to figure things out for myself and there was one thing that I was very positive of—even at seventeen... my new-born niece was far too fat and lively an infant to have been born two months early. And then there was my brother's reaction to her—he did not ignore her, but I know there was more to it than simply the fact that he doted on his son and was indifferent to his daughter. There were times when he looked at Micaela, when he thought himself unobserved, that his face wore a most unpleasant expression."

"Which does not mean a thing!" Lisette said sharply.

His eyes full of pity, Jean said, "On the face of it, no, it does not mean anything. Many Creole fathers prefer their sons to their daughters. But knowing as I did that you had refused Renault several weeks before you ended up marrying him—rather hastily, I might add—and knowing, as everyone else did not, that you were in love with John Lancaster..."

Lisette opened her mouth, but Jean shook his head.

" Non . Do not try to tell me differently. Let there be no more lies between us." When Lisette would not meet his gaze, he added mildly, "There is one more thing, perhaps the most telling of all: your father's gift of nearly half his stock in the company to Renault on the day you married. Stock that was to be Renault's for his lifetime only and that upon his death was to go to your firstborn child and only your firstborn—no matter how many other children were born to the marriage. Rather curious do you not think? It always struck me, very much like a bribe..."

Lisette, her jaw set, tears glittering on her lashes, remained silent.

Jean sighed and asked gently, "So, when are you going to tell him that Micaela is his daughter? And how do you intend to explain to Micaela that her father is not Renault Dupree, as she has been led to believe all her life, but John Lancaster?"