Page 20 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

Micaela paced the gleaming yellow-pine floor of her room, eager for Hugh's arrival, yet a little anxious, hardly daring to believe that the problems which existed between them could be resolved so easily. Again and again, she reminded herself of her mother's advice. She must not let hasty, hot-tempered words ruin what could be a new beginning between them. A beginning based on truth and not mere speculation and other people's opinions. She and Hugh had both made mistakes, made assumptions about each other that were incorrect. She realized that if she was to save her marriage, she had to put away her hurt, her anger, and, yes, her pride. She had to listen to her heart, and she had to stop being a coward! She must speak of her deepest feelings to him, no matter what the cost.

She was wearing a modest, pale yellow nightgown of finest cambric trimmed with lavender ribbons and a filmy, flounce-hemmed wrapper in a shade of soft spring green. With her hair falling in black, lustrous waves around her shoulders, she looked very young and vulnerable as she paced her room. Tonight would be between just the two of them, and if she were brave enough to bare her heart, to speak honestly of their differences, by the morning, she was either going to be the happiest woman alive or the most miserable. Nervously she clasped her hands together, wishing that it was already morning. This would, she admitted wryly, be all behind her. She would know the truth of his feelings for her.

At the sound of a door opening behind her, Micaela stiffened. Her eyes wide, she swung in that direction. Hugh leaned in the doorway between their two rooms, his shoulders propped against the doorjamb. He was wearing a robe of richly embroidered silk; jewel-toned dragons and other mythical beasts rioted across the black background. To Micaela's fascinated gaze, the flickering candlelight gave life to the creatures on his robe, a golden eye here, an emerald tail there.

He appeared tall and forbidding as he lounged there, his face in shadows, the thick black hair falling carelessly across his brow. His arms were folded on his chest, and, as he continued to stare at her, Micaela was aware of a sudden trepidation. Reminding herself that this was her husband, that she had nothing to fear from him, she gave herself a shake.

Forcing a welcoming smile, she murmured, "Good evening."

Hugh grinned, his forbidding air falling away like magic. Approaching her, he lifted her chin with one finger. "Being formal tonight, are we, my love?"

Micaela swallowed, her eyes locked on his. Was she his love? she wondered. Or was he teasing her? Aware that she had been staring at him for several seconds, she found her tongue and stammered, "N-n-non ." And taking refuge in honesty, she muttered, "I could think of nothing else to say to you."

"Now I find that hard to believe," Hugh said, his gray eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Considering the number of times I have been on the receiving end of that tart little tongue of yours."

Micaela jerked her chin away. Not looking at him, she said miserably, "Do not tease! I do not want to fight with you."

"And the last thing I want to do, sweetheart, is fight with you," Hugh admitted, pulling her unresisting body close to his. Resting his chin on her dark hair, her cheek pressed to his chest, he murmured, "I do not know how we got in the tangle we are in, but I do know that I want it to end. We cannot, if we are to have any sort of happiness, continue as we are. You are my wife. I am your husband. Surely, sweetheart, we can do better than we have done so far?"

Micaela nodded, rubbing her cheek against his warm, hard chest. "It is mostly my fault—I am too quick to take offense," she said earnestly. "And I believed Francois when he said that you only married me because of the company." She felt Hugh stiffen and she added hastily, "Francois is very young and silly—I should not have listened to him."

Hugh sighed and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I would not be so eager to take all the blame for our situation—I have done my part also to bring us to this point." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and added, "I think it is time that we had a long talk, and if we are going to be confessing our sins, I suggest that we get comfortable." He swung Micaela up in his arms and started toward the bed, but realizing how little talking would get done the moment he laid her on the mattress, he grimaced regretfully and swerved in the direction of a big, overstuffed chair covered in faded ruby damask. The chair had been pressed into service until the new furniture arrived, but settling into its worn comfort, Micaela resting on his lap, Hugh suddenly discovered a surprising fondness for the object.

Neither one of them quite knew how to start, but both were painfully aware of the importance of tonight. Nervously Micaela's fingers crumpled the heavy silk lapel of Hugh's robe, her thoughts darting like fireflies through her mind. The warmth and feel of Hugh's hard body beneath her legs was distracting, the knowledge that he was probably naked underneath the robe making an aching pulse spring to life between her thighs. Wrenching her thoughts away from his physical attributes was difficult, but she was determined to have her say before her courage failed her.

Hugh was just as aware of Micaela as she was of him, and just as determined that they thrash things out between them before he allowed himself the delight of making love to his wife again. It was not easy. He was already hard and eager, the heavy weight of his member making its presence felt against his leg. The fact that her tempting little bottom was pressing against his thighs, her breasts were nestled snugly against his chest, and her mouth was mere inches below his did not help matters. She glanced up at him just then and his eyes locked compulsively on her lips, his hunger to kiss her almost overwhelming him.

Suppressing a groan and his baser instincts, he pressed her head against his neck and muttered, "We must talk! And if you look at me like that, I am afraid that I will forget everything but how very much I want to make love to you."

Micaela smiled against his warm neck, suddenly feeling more confident. Softly she asked, "Did you really think that I had trapped you into marriage—that you were the person Francois was badgering me to marry? You truly believed that Francois wanted me to marry you?"

The incredulity in her voice made Hugh wince and realize just how badly he had misunderstood the conversation he had overheard. Above her head, he made a wry face. "Indeed, I am sorry to say that I did, sweetheart. I was positive. And you have to admit, that while it was conceited of me, my assumption was not entirely without basis. What Francois said of Alain could, I think you will agree, have also applied to me—and then when we were found alone in such a compromising situation such a short time later, I was convinced that you had planned it all." He tipped her head back so that he could look into her face. "I was even half-convinced that Francois found us so easily because you had told him where we would be."

Micaela's eyes widened indignantly. "Dieu! And I suppose I caused the storm and made your horse act up, too?" Stiffly she added, "You do not hold a very high opinion of me, do you?"

Hugh shook his head. "I did not," he admitted. "But even believing you had trapped me, you may have noticed that I married you anyway—and in my own clumsy way have tried to make you a good husband."

"Why?" she demanded, ignoring the rush of tenderness his words engendered.

He brushed a kiss across her mouth that made her lips tingle. "Because," he said huskily, "I discovered, much to my astonishment, that I wanted you—at any cost. And because I found you utterly enchanting and that having you in my arms and as my wife seemed the most important thing in the world to me."

Her expression rapt, Micaela stared up at his dark face. Gently she caressed one lean cheek. "Truly?" she breathed. "It was not because of the business?"

Hugh smothered a curse. "That blasted company has caused me no end of trouble. There are times that I have considered selling out, just to be rid of that particular entanglement." He glared down at her. "You adorable little fool! Of course, the company had nothing to do with our marriage. It was a side issue." His face softened. "The company brought us together, I cannot deny that or that it gave me an excuse to be around you." Hugh hesitated, before saying, "Micaela, you have to know that I love you. A man does not act as I have, with out being driven by some very strong emotions. I do not know when I fell in love with you—it is a feeling that has been with me for so long now that I do not know when it began. I love you! And I want to keep you happy and safe, and in my arms, always."

Micaela flung her arms around him and pressed urgent, joyous kisses over his face. "Oh, Hugh—I have been so afraid! So afraid that you married me only because of the business and that you left me here while you stayed in New Orleans because you had grown tired of me. I was even afraid you had gone to Alice." A blush stained her cheek. "You did not even seek out my bed anymore," she said in a low, embarrassed tone. "I was miserable when you left. Maman will tell you how unhappy I was. I wanted only to be with you and I feared"—she gave a shaken little laugh—"I feared that you had left my bed because I bored you."

Hugh strangled back something between a groan and a laugh. "Bored? My sweet, if you only knew how much I have missed having you in my bed, how much it pained me to leave you here while I went back to New Orleans. And as for Alice—forget her! She lied about everything. Besides, I was too busy missing you to think of any other woman. The house in town was an empty cavern without your sweet presence in it. Even if we were sleeping apart, I had at least been able to see you and talk to you." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Even if it was only the sharp side of your tongue that I received." His voice deepened. "The last thing I wanted was to be parted from you, but I could see no other solution. Together we were certainly not solving our differences, and I thought that perhaps a little time apart would—"

"And then I would act the part of a silly goose!" Micaela interrupted disgustedly. "I should have trusted you. I should have told you, or shown you, what was in my heart."

His face tender, he stared down at her as she lay cradled in his' arms. His lips tantalizingly near hers, he asked softly, "And what, my dearest little love, is in your heart?"

Her eyes glowed. "Why, only love for you, monsieur." Hugh's eyes darkened, and caressing his face with her fingers, she said, "My heart is full of love for one man and one man only—my stubborn, arrogant, infuriating and oh so wonderful husband, Hugh Lancaster."

He kissed her then, his mouth hard and tender, passionate and worshiping. Micaela's arms clung to his neck, and she returned his embrace, her lush body straining against his as if she could not get close enough, as if she wanted to crawl right inside of him and become melded forever to him. It was a glorious moment, a moment to be cherished and remembered always. He loved her! She loved him! Nothing else mattered.

Soft, incoherent murmurs came from each of them, and, amazingly, the other seemed to know exactly what was being said. Sitting in that old, shabby chair, flickering candlelight bathing them in a golden glow, their arms around each other, their lips nearly touching, they exchanged the sweet vows and promises that all true lovers have since the beginning of time.

There was a new and different tingling awareness of each other, the knowledge that love brought them together, that it was love which made their bodies yearn and ache for each other, making the moment even sweeter, the anticipation of their joining so much more intense. When Hugh finally lifted Micaela in his arms and walked toward the bed, it was an unhurried and sensuous journey they took together, with many long, decidedly erotic stops along the way, as they tasted and explored and shared the wonder of their love. By the time he lowered her to the waiting bed, their clothes were gone, left scattered in a telling trail on the floor behind them. Their hunger for each other was an incandescent demand that pleaded for succor. And as their bodies slowly, sweetly merged, it was like the first time and every time they had ever made love; and it was love that they made all through the night on that large, welcoming bed.

* * *

Alain Husson wasted little time in responding to Francois's invitation. It was not yet eleven o'clock on Saturday morning when he drove up to the main doors of Amour in a stylish phaeton pulled by a pair of high-strung grays. His trunks rode in the small baggage rack at the rear of the vehicle.

Watching as Alain descended from his vehicle and was greeted by a surprisingly less-than-jolly Francois, Hugh smiled to himself. To think that such a short while ago he had been dreading this man's arrival! Knowing that Micaela loved him made all the difference in the world, Hugh thought with excusable smugness. Confident of his wife's love, he strolled down the steps and greeted Husson with something almost approaching genuine welcome.

If Alain seemed a bit taken aback by Hugh's warm greeting and Francois's noticeably cool one, he kept it to himself. Smiling and displaying the charm for which he was noted, he allowed himself to be escorted to the gazebo near the lake, where everyone else was enjoying the tranquil morning.

When Alain approached the group in the gazebo, there were more greetings, and the conversation did not become general until after he had been served a cup of coffee and had settled in a sturdy cypress chair like the rest of them. The two women looked cool and charming in their simple garb, Micaela glowing in a pale pink muslin gown; Lisette, in a soft shade of green, had an unmistakable radiance surrounding her. The gentlemen, also casually dressed, were all wearing breeches and boots, Hugh and Francois having foregone their jackets, their crisp white linen shirts not yet showing the effects of the debilitating humidity. There was a relaxed, carefree air about them all—except, though he did his best to hide it, for the faint moodiness of Francois.

Sipping his coffee, Alain studied the group before him. He could not fail to notice the air of intimacy between John and Lisette. They were discreet but they made no attempt to conceal their affection. Sitting side by side on a wooden settee, their glances meeting often as they exchanged small, private little smiles, their closeness was obvious. Alain's eyes narrowed. He shot a furtive glance around the group. The fact that no one else seemed surprised by their behavior gave him pause.

From where he stood, behind Micaela's chair, one hand lying on her shoulder, Hugh watched Alain's reaction with amusement. "You have arrived at a very happy time for all of us, Alain." Hugh said. "My very lovely maman-in-law agreed only yesterday to become my stepmother." He grinned at the older couple. "Lisette is to marry my stepfather in a matter of weeks. We are all pleased by the news."

Alain was shocked, anger instantly coiling in his belly, and he shot a swift glance at Francois to gauge his reaction to this astonishing news. Francois seemed not the least perturbed by the knowledge that his mother was about to marry one of those despised Américains —and a damned Lancaster at that! Were none of their women safe from these encroaching vandals? Alain thought furiously. And Francois! Mon Dieu! What was he thinking of, to condone such a thing?

Recovering himself, Alain smiled politely, giving no hint of just how infuriating he had found the news of the coming nuptials. "Congratulations to both of you," he said, his voice as smooth and melodious as ever, not even the faintest sign of his anger in his tone. He was even able to bring a warm gleam to his dark eyes as he murmured, "I am honored to be one of the first to hear of your good news."

There was talk of the wedding and of John's plans to settle in the Louisiana Territory. Looking over at Lisette, John declared, "While I know that my bride would gladly follow me to Natchez, I think that she, and consequently I, will be far happier living near our children. I intend on Monday to write my business agent in Natchez to sell all my holdings, and I shall immediately begin looking for a suitable property for us." He picked up Lisette's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "If we cannot find something with a house already on it that pleases my bride then we shall build ourselves a new home which will please her."

"Ah—how very nice," Alain said mendaciously. "I shall look forward to visiting you in your new home."

"It is very exciting, oui?" Micaela asked."To think that my maman and Hugh's step -papa are getting married! We have all been a little giddy this morning." Her gaze slid to her husband, and she smiled into Hugh's eyes. "We have," she added softly, "much to celebrate today."

The warmly intimate look that passed between Hugh and Micaela, as well as the caressing note in her voice, enraged Alain anew and for the first time he became aware of the changes in the younger couple. Watching narrow-eyed as Hugh ran a caressing finger down the side of Micaela's cheek and she turned her lips to kiss it, Alain's own fingers clenched around his fragile china cup. A second later it shattered in his hand.

Exclaiming and apologizing, Alain sprang to his feet. Fortunately he had drunk all his coffee, and nothing had been spilt on his clothes. But he used the disruption as an excuse to leave the happy group. A stiff smile on his lips, he murmured, "I find that my early start from the city has tired me. Do you mind if I rest in my rooms for a short while?"

A chorus of assent met his request, and escorted by Francois—who had only accompanied him after Alain had sent him a speaking look—the two men departed for the house. It was Jean who stated the general impression of everyone else. "Is it my imagination," he asked, after the two young men had strolled away, "or does Francois seem less than pleased at the arrival of his friend?"

"I was wondering the same thing," John replied. "He did not seem particularly happy at Alain's presence."

"Well, I for one will be glad if my son has finally come to his senses and realizes that Alain Husson is not a young man after whom to model himself!" Lisette said tartly. "I have always been of the opinion that young Husson thinks far too highly of himself and has been outrageously indulged by his maman and sisters."

"And Francois has not?" Micaela inquired, a twinkle very like her mother's in her dark eyes.

Lisette flushed, but she said gamely, "It is true that I have—er—"

"Spoiled him?" Jean inquired with a teasing note.

Lisette laughed. "Oh, very well, I have spoiled him, but he is basically a good boy."

"He is not a boy," Hugh said, the smile on his face taking any sting from the words. "He is a man. And perhaps, he is discovering that one's first friends are not always one's best friends."

Francois would have agreed emphatically with Hugh's assessment of the situation. For as long as he could remember he had admired and aspired to be like the dashing heir to the Husson fortune, but he had discovered during the course of the last several days that he no longer viewed Alain as the epitome of Creole verve and manliness. More and more, he found himself drawn to Hugh, and more and more he had become ashamed of his own actions—not only his part in the robbing of the company, but also his surliness and rudeness toward the Américains , Hugh in particular. Thinking of some of the things he had said, he cringed.

Francois knew himself to be at fault, and he would not pretend otherwise, but he also knew that his youthful admiration of Husson and his willingness to follow blindly where the older man led were at least partly to blame for his present predicament. As he walked with Husson up the staircase and showed him the suite of rooms which had been assigned for his use during his visit, Francois suddenly realized that he did not like Husson very much. In fact, it was clear to him that there was little to admire in the other man. What was he after all, Francois wondered, but a wellborn, wealthy thug? A man who needed to dominate and wield power over others in order to feed his overweening pride; a man who hid behind others and hired brutal underlings to carry out his commands. He was, Francois admitted with a guilty pang, a man who could order the murder of a longtime acquaintance and have no qualms about it. And I wanted to be like him? Francois thought incredulously. How could I have been so mad?

It didn't help Francois's frame of mind that Alain took one scornful look at the sparse furnishings and faded window and bed hangings in his rooms, and said sarcastically, "If this is a sample of the Américain's wealth, I am afraid that your sister has made a very bad bargain."

Instead of firing up as he would have not a week ago, or eagerly agreeing with him, Francois said mildly, "Hugh and Micaela were not yet expecting company. The house is being entirely redone, but it will be some time before all the new furnishings arrive and all the changes are made." Coolly he added, "The only reason you are here now is because you forced yourself upon us. If the surroundings displease you, you may leave."

Alain whirled around, his black eyes narrowed and dangerous. "Feeling brave, are we?" he asked silkily. "Have you forgotten that we are in this together?"

"No, I have not forgotten, but you have forgotten a great deal if you think that I ever agreed to murder," Francois stated grimly.

"Do not tell me that you have developed a conscience?" Alain sneered. "Do you think to throw yourself on your brother-in-law's mercy? Do you think he will overlook what you have done because he is married to your sister?"

"No, I do not," Francois replied, his face suddenly looking older, almost haggard. "But I have sworn to myself that no matter what happens to me, I will not stand by and let you kill him."

"You think to stop me?" Alain hissed, his hands clenching into fists. "You would dare?"

Francois nodded.

Alain's ugly expression cleared, and, smiling, an open, sunny smile that had always charmed Francois previously, he threw an arm around Francois's stiff shoulders and murmured, "Come now, mon ami, what are we fighting about? You know that the Américain has to die. It is necessary if I am to marry your sister—have you forgotten that I have always wanted her for my wife?"

Francois stepped away from Alain's clasp. "Have you forgotten that she did not want to marry you?" An ashamed expression flitted across his features. "And I was wrong to attempt to force her into a situation where she would have had no choice in the matter but to marry you. It is fitting that our plans to compromise her turned out as they did. Some might say that it was poetic justice for her to end up forced to marry Hugh Lancaster." His eyes bored into Alain's. "And perhaps," he said quietly, "I no longer want you to marry Micaela."

"Then perhaps," Alain snapped, "you had better make plans to see that the rather large sum you owe me is deposited in my bank on Monday morning."

Francois bowed with exaggerated politeness. "Of course. I intend to discuss the matter with my uncle within the next day or two." Proudly, he added, "You do not have to worry about your money. A Dupree always pays his debts, but not in the blood of other men. You will have your money—leave Hugh alone."

"And if I do not?" Alain asked his handsome features mottled with fury. "Do you really think that you can stop my plans for him?"

Short of confessing all to Hugh, Francois saw no way out of his dilemma. Realizing that falling out with Alain was going to gain him nothing, and might actually pose more of a danger to Hugh, he dropped his antagonistic stance and asked reasonably, "Why is it so important that you kill Hugh? I have promised to pay you what I owe you; our plans for your marriage to Micaela did not come to pass, and it is too dangerous to continue embezzling from the company. You already have a large fortune so you do not need the money. Why persist in this unlawful endeavor? Could you not stop what you are doing before anyone else gets hurt?"

Alain studied Francois's face for several minutes, his mouth tight and grim. Then he relaxed and, throwing himself down in a worn black leather chair, said easily, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have thought so long about killing Lancaster that it has become fixed in my mind."

"You will reconsider?" Francois asked eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he had stood up to Alain and had convinced the other man to change his mind.

Alain's eyes dropped, hiding the fury in their depths. "I will certainly think about it." He glanced up and smiled with apparent ruefulness at Francois's anxious features. "I would dislike losing your friendship over this matter—after all, I had hoped to be your brother-in-law, and now that I consider it, much of what you have said has merit," he drawled. "You are my dearest friend. I would not want to offend you." Alain stood up, clapped Francois on the back, and said, "Take that worried look off your face, mon ami ; you have won. To please you, I shall rethink my plans—Hugh Lancaster will not die by my hand—I swear it to you."

Francois wanted to believe that he had really changed Alain's mind, and though he nodded and exclaimed his relief at having the matter settled, he did not quite trust Alain. Husson was capable of great villainy and deceit as Etienne's death had shown. Still, when Francois left Alain's room a few minutes later, he felt that he had given Alain food for thought and that Alain might have spoken honestly—and, more important to Francois, Alain had given his word that he would not kill Hugh. Now, he thought glumly, if I can only bring myself to face up to what I have done, and tell Hugh and Jean.

Francois was not the only one with a secret weighing heavily on his mind. The previous night's conversation between Lisette and Jean was never very far from Lisette's thoughts, and, a dozen times during the day, she had almost brought herself to the point of speaking privately with John. Every time she thought she had fired up her courage enough, she would look at him and imagine the anger and hurt she would see in his eyes, and her heart would sink. Had they been kept apart all these years by other people's lies, only to stumble on the biggest lie of all? One that was entirely of her own making?

A bleak expression on her face, Lisette wandered through the flower-lined walkways of the grounds at Amour late that afternoon, her thoughts heavy and unhappy. John deserved to know, she told herself repeatedly. She could not begin their life together with the knowledge that Micaela was his daughter kept secret. But what if he turns from me? she wondered, anguished. What if he despises me for not having told him before now?

Common sense told her that he could not blame her for not having spoken earlier—until just a day ago they had both believed they had each been cruelly deserted by the other. But I should have told him yesterday, she admitted. And every hour, every minute I delay makes it more difficult.

She was standing in the shade of a towering magnolia tree, the huge creamy blossoms perfuming the cooling air as she stared at the small man-made lake near the gazebo. Intent upon her own thoughts, she had not heard John's approach and she started dramatically when he touched her lightly on the arm.

"I am sorry, my dear," he said. "I did not mean to frighten you." He grinned at her. "If I did not know better, I would think that you were either planning some dark, dastardly crime or that you had a terrible secret to hide."

Lisette stared up at his beloved features. How could she bear to lose him again? And yet, his very words had given her the opening she needed.

A quick glance around confirmed that they were all alone, and, taking a deep breath, not allowing herself time to consider what she was saying or to change her mind, she said starkly, "I do have a secret. I did not know it at the time, but I was pregnant when we were parted. That was main the reason I agreed to marry Renault so soon after you left." Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "Micaela is not Renault's child. She is yours—ours."