Page 22 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

If Hugh and Micaela thought that they had been happy before, that afternoon showed them the error of their thinking. Micaela discovered for the first time, truly discovered, the joys that could be found in the marriage bed with a loving, virile husband. And Hugh? To his ever-expanding delight, Hugh discovered again the passionate, sensual creature he had only glimpsed the day that he had been shot.

It was late afternoon before they finally rose from Hugh's bed and Hugh proceeded to scandalize Micaela—but not to any great degree—by joining her in a freshly prepared tub. Bathing with her husband, she discovered, could be most invigorating. With more than a little regret, they finally dressed and descended the staircase to see how their guests had fared.

Of Francois and Alain there was no sign, but they found Lisette, John, and Jean sitting on the shady side of the house in several comfortable rocking chairs which, at Micaela's request, had been rescued from the pile of old furnishings left stacked in one of the barns and newly repainted a gleaming dark green. From the expressions on the three faces, it was apparent that they had been discussing something serious, but at the sight of their hosts, they began to smile and talk animatedly about the coming wedding. Hugh eyed them. If he did not know better, he would think that there was a plot of some sort under way, at the very least a secret between the suspiciously bright and suddenly voluble trio.

But as the evening passed, Hugh forgot about his earlier observations and set himself out to be an exemplary host, considering that he had abandoned his guests all afternoon to dally in bed with his wife—something he planned to do again at the first possible moment. Down the long expanse of the table, he glanced at her, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. The sultry look she returned and the promise in that dark-eyed gaze almost made him choke on his wine. Had he, he wondered with a pleasurable ache in his loins, created an insatiable wanton? He certainly hoped so.

Too preoccupied with thoughts of what he would like to do with Micaela as soon as they could decently bid their guests good evening, Hugh only noticed in passing that Alain's presence had not seemed to have lightened Francois's mood. If anything Francois seemed more tense and somber. But having other things on his mind, Hugh promptly pushed further speculation away. There was only one person who held his attention, and if she did not stop throwing him those come-hither glances, he was going to shock everyone by acting the part of the libertine with his very own wife.

After dinner, Alain and Francois had made plans to visit with some friends who lived on the next plantation over. Their absence was welcomed by everyone—Hugh and Micaela because it meant that they could escape upstairs earlier and the other three because it gave them an opportunity to have a particularly sensitive conversation with their hosts.

The five of them, escaping the heat of the house, were sitting out under a pair of magnolia trees, the sweet scent of the blossoms lingering in the warm air. To keep the mosquitoes at bay, several small pots of brimstone had been lit, and it seemed to be an effective deterrent against the swarming pests. A lantern had been hung in each tree and they shed flickering circles of light in the darkness. There was a welcome breeze from the river's direction, and the croak of frogs and the occasional roar of a bull alligator drifted through the night.

The conversation was desultory at first as they sat in the dancing shadows, watching the lightning bugs flit in the distance. But as the minutes passed Hugh became aware of a note of strain in Lisette's voice. John glanced at her. Covering her hand with his, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Lisette shook her head vehemently.

Jean was also looking at her with an encouraging expression on his face. Hugh's eyes narrowed. What the devil?

Her mother's growing strain had not gone unnoticed by Micaela, who asked, "Maman, are you all right? Do you have the headache?"

Lisette looked across the brief shadowy expanse which separated them, Micaela's face a pale, sweet cameo in the faint light from the lanterns. "No," she said slowly. "I feel fine." She glanced uneasily between John and Jean, and, at some unspoken signal between them, she took a deep breath and declared solemnly, "I have something to tell you—something that will shock you. It is a secret I've held for over twenty years."

John's hand tightened on Lisette's. Staring at them, Hugh suddenly had an inkling of what Lisette was going to say—something he should have suspected the minute he had heard the tale of the long-ago love affair between the pair of them and saw that elusive dimple of Micaela's. Rising to his feet, he went to stand near Micaela's chair, his hand lying protectively on her shoulder.

Unaware of the tension invading the others, Micaela glanced up at Hugh and smiled. Affectionately she rubbed her soft cheek against Hugh's warm hand before looking back at her mother and asking, "What is it, Maman ? What could you possibly tell me that would shock me?" She laughed. "Especially something that happened before I was born." The instant the words left her mouth, Micaela felt a stab of unease. Lisette's affair with John Lancaster had happened before she was born... and it had ended an indecently short time before her mother had married Renault.... Her eyes suddenly fixed on the couple across from her, she demanded, "What? Tell me!"

Baldly, Lisette said, "Renault Dupree is not your father. I was pregnant when I married him. John Lancaster is your father."

Micaela gasped, and Hugh's hand closed around her shoulder. Unconsciously, her hand joined his, and she clung to him as if he were the only stable thing in her universe.

The silence which followed Lisette's confession was deafening as Micaela stared first at her mother and then at John Lancaster. With pain in her gaze, she finally looked at Jean. "You knew?" she asked.

Jean nodded, his face grave.

She swallowed with difficulty as the real meaning of Lisette's words pounded in her brain. She had lived a lie her whole life. Papa was not Papa. Jean was not her uncle. The Dupree blood, the ancestors that she had thought were hers, were not. Had never been. She was a bastard child, only Lisette's providential marriage having saved her from disgrace and shame. Too stunned even to cry, Micaela sat there, staring dazedly into the darkness.

It was John Lancaster who broke the uncomfortable silence. "We do not intend for this to become public knowledge," he said gently. When Micaela stiffened and looked at him incredulously, he said hastily, "Not because I would not be proud and honored for everyone to know that I have such a lovely daughter, but because I do not want you to suffer the humiliation and pain that would arise if everyone knew the truth."

"It is no one's business," Jean murmured quickly, "but ours. We five are the only people who know the truth and will be the only ones who ever know the truth." When Micaela's features remained frozen, he added quietly, "We meant you no harm, petite, by telling you—we felt it was only fair for you and Hugh to know the identity of your real father." He smiled fondly at Micaela. "This really changes nothing, ma chérie. I trust that you will still consider me your uncle—I know that I will always think of you as my niece."

Micaela nodded numbly in his direction, her thoughts and emotions spiraling dizzily through her brain. Some of the first shock was leaving, and there was curiosity in her gaze when she looked at John Lancaster. He was her father, she thought stunned. This tall, likable Américain with the whimsical smile was her father.

"How long have you known about me?" she asked in a small voice.

A tender, eager smile crossed John's face. "Not as long as I would have wished." He flashed a warm glance at Lisette's taut face. "Your mother, for obvious reasons, did not tell me until this afternoon. It was," he said softly, "the most wonderful news I could ever have received, next to your mother agreeing to marry me." He sighed. "I just wish that I had known sooner—we missed a great deal, you and I. But I am hoping that you will allow me privately to take up the duties and delights of fatherhood and that perhaps eventually you will look at me with affection." Their eyes met. "I do not intend to force myself upon you. We shall move slowly into our new relationship, you may set the pace. The last thing that I want is to make you uncomfortable or miserable. I, we, all want only your happiness."

Micaela smiled. He was charming, this father of hers, she admitted with a funny little spurt of pleasure. She felt so strange, not exactly excited, not precisely sad, certainly confused and perplexed, but not in a painful way any longer. With every passing moment, her initial dismay and hurt was fading. John Lancaster was her father! Somehow that knowledge did not displease her. The more she considered it, the more she liked the idea. Her father was not dead—he was sitting right across from her. And he was going to marry her maman in just a few weeks.

"Are you very angry with me?" Lisette asked, her eyes filled with anxiety. "I-I-I never meant to lie to you—it was just that it seemed best for you, for all of us, if you believed Renault was your father." A tiny sob came from Lisette. "Oh, petite, please do not hate me! I did not mean to harm you."

Micaela's heart melted at her mother's distress. Slipping across the short distance that separated them, she sank to her knees by Lisette's chair. Smiling up at Lisette, she said simply, "Maman! How could I hate you or condemn what you did? It did not harm me. You did what you thought was right at the time." She looked over at John Lancaster and sent him a dazzling smile. "It is a good thing that you are marrying my maman —when I call you 'Papa' no one will wonder at it!"

"Oh, ma chérie!" Lisette cried, hugging Micaela. "I have been so afraid. It has been a terrible burden."

"But one you no longer have to carry by yourself," Micaela murmured. "We will all share it now, oui?"

Misty-eyed, Lisette nodded, John's hand held tightly in one hand, Micaela's in the other.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Hugh walked over to the trio. Helping his wife to stand, he glanced at John. "I seem to remember," he said lightly, "saying something to the effect that I was glad you had not married Lisette, that if you had, my adorable wife would not have been born. It seems that I must rephrase that statement and thank you most sincerely for having had the foresight to have created the woman I love more than I can say."

Micaela beamed up at him. "What a handsome thing to say, mon amour."

Hugh grinned at her. "I am a very handsome fellow, remember?"

"Bon!" Jean said with a note of relief. "It seems that we have managed to cover the rough ground lightly enough, and I, for one, think some brandy would not come amiss right now." He smiled. "A celebratory partaking, of course."

* * *

Later that night, as they lay in bed together, Micaela asked softly, "You do not mind that your stepfather is my papa?"

Hugh chuckled and pulled her closer. "Mind? Sweetheart, when are you going to learn that I think you are perfect. That it doesn't matter a damn to me who your parents are. All I care about is that I have you. You are my wife and I love you and you love me. Nothing else matters."

Pleased and extremely gratified, Micaela kissed him. She started to speak and then, as if deciding against something, snuggled down next him. But Hugh had seen her expression, and, nudging her slightly, he murmured, "What? Is there something else on your mind?"

Micaela sat up and stared down into his beloved features. "We talk about many things," she began carefully, "and there are now few secrets between us, but the one thing you never talk about to me, is the very thing that brought us together—the troubles at our company."

Hugh looked uncomfortable. "I did not want to worry you," he offered lamely.

Micaela snorted. "You forget that it is my company, too, mon cher. That whatever happens to it affects me greatly. Should I not know what is going on—what you have found out, or have not? And how serious the problem is? Or how you intend to correct it? You tell me nothing, yet my future, our future, is linked to the affairs of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. Do you not think that now that we have resolved our personal problems, it is time that we resolve the difficulties of the company?"

Hugh was quiet for a long time, turning her words over in his head. What Micaela had said was true. Everything. She was right—there should be no secrets between them... not if their marriage was to become a true partnership.

"Trust you to put your finger directly on the delicate issue," he said ruefully. Having conceded the wisdom of her words, he proceeded to tell her everything that he had discovered; the method that had been used systematically to rob the company, and his suspicions that one of the owners might be behind it all.

"Even my oncle or Francois?" Micaela asked, shocked at such a thought.

Hugh shrugged. "It is possible. I no longer think your uncle is involved, although I did in the beginning. And as for Jasper—I never did suspect him."

"But you still suspect Francois?"

"Unless I am mistaken, he still owes Husson a large sum of money. And one way to pay off his debts would be to help himself to the company's goods. It is not implausible."

"But unlikely!" Micaela said stoutly, unwilling to believe that Francois would stoop to stealing from his family.

"Not really. He probably would not even consider it stealing—merely taking what is already his."

"You believe this?"

"I hope that I am wrong. I would like," he answered grimly, "for Husson to turn out to be our thief. It would make things so much tidier."

Micaela looked troubled. "I do not want to believe that Francois would do such a thing, but I cannot deny that there might be some truth in what you say. Francois is very spoiled—his wishes have been seldom thwarted—and unfortunately, I could see him justifying his actions. But I cannot see him committing cold-blooded murder, nor," she added frankly, "being brazen enough to steal the vast amounts that have been stolen lately. A little pilfering, oui, but not—" She glanced at Hugh. "Do you really think that Alain could be behind everything—the thefts and"—she shuddered—"poor Etienne's murder?"

"You know him better than I—what do you think?"

Micaela's face became thoughtful. Uneasily, she remembered the look in Alain's eyes the night he had forced himself upon her. It had been a most unpleasant look, and there had been something, something extremely ugly and brutal about his actions that night. Slowly she nodded. "I think that in the right circumstances, Alain would make a bad enemy, that he might very well be capable of committing murder."

"So what do we do? Cast him out of our house? Accuse him?"

Micaela sent him a look. "Casting him out of our house or accusing him of being a thief and a murderer without proof would only provoke another duel, and I will not have you risking your life so foolishly." She kissed him soundly. "I do not intend to become a young widow."

"Such a lack of faith in my prowess on the dueling field. I think I shall be offended," Hugh murmured, grinning at her.

"You may be as offended as you like—at least you will be alive!"

"And that matters to you?" Hugh asked, confident of her answer.

"Oh, perhaps, a trifle," she replied airily, then ruined the effect by giggling. "You know that I adore you, you arrogant creature," she murmured as she slid down beside him, her arms around his neck. "And I shall not bolster your conceit by telling you how very much."

"Since we are not to talk about that particular fascinating subject, what do you think we should do about Alain?"

"We shall watch him," Micaela said sleepily. "He shall not make a move that we do not see. While he is visiting us that will be simple enough, one of us can keep an eye on him—and when he leaves, you will hire someone to shadow his every step."

"That is a very good idea," Hugh said slowly. "A very good idea."

"I know," she muttered drowsily. "I thought of it."

Hugh lay awake a long time after Micaela had gone to sleep, thinking on the odd twists and turns of fate. It seemed, he thought with a smile, that he owed a great deal to Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. If John had not come south with the notion of starting up an import-export company and if he had not met with Christophe Galland and fallen in love with his beautiful daughter, Lisette... Even the cruel deceit practiced by Christophe and Renault had played a necessary part—without it, John would never have become his stepfather. And if someone had not been stealing from the company, he, himself might not have decided to relocate in New Orleans—might never have had the opportunity to fall in love with the bewitching little creature asleep at his side. Unthinkable!

Hugh was just about to follow Micaela into the arms of Morpheus when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Despite the thickness of the walls, he heard the low undertone of two men talking and recognized the half-raised voices of Alain and Francois. He frowned, wishing to hell that Francois had had better taste in boon companions. Alain Husson was a born troublemaker, and the sooner he left for New Orleans, the sooner Hugh would like it. Actually, he thought with a decidedly carnal smile, the sooner everybody left him alone with his wife, the better he would like it.

Francois would have been more than happy to oblige Hugh as guilt and fear made it increasingly uncomfortable for him to impose on Hugh's hospitality. But until Alain departed for the city, Francois was forced to remain at Amour. He did not trust his onetime friend, despite Alain's vow not to harm Hugh. He wanted Alain under his eye, where he could watch the other man for any moves against Hugh.

The two young men had spent a pleasant evening visiting with their friends and even during the ride back to the plantation, their conversation had been amiable. It was only after they had turned their horses over to the sleepy-eyed stableboy and begun to walk toward the main house and up the steps at the front of the house that the friendly state of affairs between them began to deteriorate.

Uneasy with Alain's presence at Amour, Francois asked him bluntly, "How long do you intend to remain here?"

Alain cocked a brow. "In such a hurry to get rid of me, mon ami?"

Francois's jaw clenched, but his voice was even. "Let us be frank. You did not come to see me—you came for another reason, and since that reason no longer exists—"

"Did I say it no longer existed?"

"You swore that you would not harm him. And I repeat, there is no longer any reason for you to remain here."

"Ah, but suppose I am enjoying myself? Suppose I do not wish to leave just yet?"

"But I want you to leave," Francois replied, his voice rising as they walked down the hall toward their rooms.

Alain looked at him, something ugly in his dark eyes. "Do you know that I find your company offensive just now? Do not push me, little man. I might be forced to deal with you, and trust me, you will not like my methods."

"Threats?" Francois asked dryly. "I should warn you—do not push me too hard. I might yet gather my pride and courage and tell Hugh everything."

They had reached Alain's door. Alain gave him a cool glance and said, "I see that there is no dealing with you in this mood. Bonne nuit! Perhaps tomorrow you will have recovered your senses."

Francois's state of mind did not change during the night and he spent another sleepless eternity in his bed before the soft light of dawn finally crept into his room. He continued to toss for another hour or two, before finally forcing himself to rise. Several minutes later, staring at the hollow-eyed apparition that stared back at him in his shaving mirror, he knew that he could not go on this way. His conscience lashed him like a steel-tipped whip, and his pride would not let him forget that he was a coward and a thief.

But I do not have to remain a coward... To end this odious situation, all I have to do is confess all to Hugh. He stared for several endless minutes at his face in the mirror, feeling a powerful resolve build within him. Telling Hugh, he realized, was the only option before him. The truth was going to come out sooner or later. It would be far better if he were to speak first, rather than to wait like a craven coward for the blow to fall. And then there was the matter of Alain. Hugh would be warned. Hugh would know where the danger lurked.

Feeling better than he had in a very long time, Francois dressed swiftly. Not giving himself time to think, to crawl back into the black hole of despair where he had lingered these past days, he went in search of his brother-in-law.

There was a new purpose in his step, and a firm resolve dominated his young face as he walked down the stairs.

Knowing Hugh was an early riser, Francois headed directly to the sunny morning room, where they all habitually gathered first thing in the morning. To his relief, only John and Hugh were seated at the round table, enjoying a cup of coffee.

If either of the other men were surprised to see Francois this early, neither revealed it. They greeted him warmly, and Hugh indicated the pot of coffee on the long buffet, and said, "Sampson just brought that in—it's fresh and hot."

Francois shook his head, saying, "Forgive me for my intrusion, but may I have a private word with you... now?" He glanced apologetically at John. "I hope that you will forgive me for interrupting your own conversation."

Hugh and John exchanged looks. Hugh shrugged and rose to his feet. "Certainly, it is no imposition. I was going to examine that new mare I bought last week from Jasper—you may accompany me to the stable." A smile crossed Hugh's face, and he said to John, "Micaela should be down shortly. When she comes, tell her where we have gone and that I would not object, after her coffee, if she joined me there." He glanced over at Francois. "You do not mind?"

Francois shook his head and muttered, "What I have to say will not take long."

A second later they set off, unaware that from the upper floor, Alain watched them go, his eyes hard, his lips curled in fury. It seemed that his hand was being forced. He would have to act swiftly.

Having gotten this far, Francois suddenly found that he was speechless. He did not know how to begin and for several minutes they walked in silence. They were almost to the stables before Francois said desperately, "Could we walk a bit farther? I do not want anyone to overhear what I have to say."

Hugh's brow rose, but he indicated a path that led eventually to the river. The stables disappeared and the green, half-tamed wilderness had closed in on them before Francois, stumbling at first, and then finally in a rush, disclosed all. That he was consumed with guilt and deeply ashamed of what he had done was apparent, from not only the anguish in his voice, but the deep lines of pain on his face. He did not spare himself. He took the blame, his eyes fixed unflinchingly on Hugh's face as he told of the reckless gambling, the initial pilfering , and then the burgeoning network of thievery with Alain which had led ultimately to Etienne's murder. Lastly, he admitted his suspicion that Alain still meant to kill Hugh.

Hugh's expression did not change as Francois spoke, but his brain was working furiously. Alain he could handle, but what the devil was he going to do with Francois? Revealing his part in the thefts would destroy Lisette, not to mention how Micaela would feel. And then, he thought slowly, his gaze moving over Francois, there was this suffering young fool in front of him. The boy had obviously already punished himself a great deal, and the fact that Francois had come to him and confessed everything; was distinctly promising. Francois, Hugh had decided sometime ago, was not inherently bad, just young, full of foolish pride, and spoiled. Youth would pass, the spoiling could be corrected, and as for the foolish pride? Hugh smiled. Pride was not a bad thing; they would just have to work on the foolish part.

One thing was certain, however. Francois could not get away without enduring some sort of punishment. He had stolen. And he had gone along with Alain, whatever the reasons behind that decision. Hugh looked thoughtful. It was possible that they could keep this between themselves. Micaela and John would have to know, and no doubt Jean, but there was no reason to distress Lisette. Francois would suffer enough just knowing that the men knew of his crimes. But what sort of punishment? Prison was not an answer. Banishment? Banishment, perhaps, to the offices of one of their English importers? Remove him from all that he had known and make him actually work for his living for a few years? It could even, Hugh thought, liking the notion, be given out that the decision to leave New Orleans was Francois's own, that he wanted to learn more of the business, strike out on his own for a while. That would create a reason for his departure. Perhaps.

Looking at Francois's hangdog expression, Hugh almost grinned. The poor young fool! It was time to put him out of his misery.

"I appreciate the fact that you came forward on your own," Hugh said quietly, his eyes fixed keenly on Francois's woebegone face. "It shows that beneath all that posturing and bluster, you have a strength of character that will give you good service in the future."

"What sort of future do I have?" Francois exclaimed despairingly. "I have shown myself to be a liar, a thief, and someone without any honor. My life is ruined.'"

"You are also young. You made mistakes, deplorable mistakes that you must pay for, but all the blame does not lie on your shoulders alone. Had you been left to your own devices, I am quite certain you would have stopped the petty thieving once your debts were paid. I would like to believe that you would have found a way eventually to repay what you had stolen. That is something we will never know, but you have made a good start by coming to me and admitting what you have done. I am relieved, I will confess, to learn that you had nothing to do with Etienne's death and did not know about it until too late. Murder is not something that can be overlooked." Hugh grimaced. "No doubt, in time, we shall be able to put this behind us. It is not," Hugh said softly, "the end of the world. In fact, it might just be a new beginning for you."

A spark of hope lit Francois's dark eyes. "A new beginning? You would trust me? You would give me another chance?"

Hugh nodded. "In time. After you have proven yourself—in England. I have decided that you should go away for a while. See another part of the world. And in particular be a safe distance away from the influence of Alain."

Francois looked aghast. "England?" he said in faltering tones. "I am to be banished to England?"

"Yes. It will be good for you, build that strength of character a little more," Hugh said dryly.

Francois swallowed, dismayed, but it was clear that he was willing to do whatever Hugh decreed to redeem himself. "And Alain? What about him?"

Hugh's face grew grim. "You may safely leave Alain to me."

There was a crackle in the brush behind them as Alain stepped forward, a nasty smile on his lips, a pistol held in his hand. "And what precisely," he asked jeeringly, "do you intend to do about me, Monsieur Lancaster?"

Hugh stared at Alain and then at the pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed directly at his heart. "Do you plan on killing both of us?" Hugh inquired with only polite interest evident in his voice.

"Originally, no," Alain admitted candidly. "You were the only one I wanted dead." He speared a venomous glance at Francois. "But that situation has changed since my onetime friend decided to come whining and crying to you. I am afraid that I will have to kill you both now."

"Hmm, and how do you propose to do that?" Hugh asked. He wore an expression of boredom on his handsome face as he calculated his chances of getting the pistol away from Alain—and not getting killed in the process.

Alain smiled. "Why, I think that Francois will kill you and then the poor misguided boy will turn the pistol on himself. The explanation for this tragedy will be obvious when his systematic robbing of his family's own company is discovered. Of course," Alain added modestly, "I shall have to make arrangement that certain—ah—damning evidence against him is found. But that should not be difficult for a man of my talents. It will be clear that you had found him out and that, in despair, he shot you, then killed himself." Alain's smile widened. "A rather tidy solution to a complicated business, oui?"

Startling all of them, Francois leaped in front of Hugh. " Non !" he shouted, shielding Hugh's broader form with his own body. "You will not kill him! You will have to kill me first!"

"Very well, if you wish," Alain said coldly, and took aim at Francois's forehead.

What happened next astonished all of them, the attack coming out of nowhere. One minute Alain was on the point of firing and the next a stout tree limb came crashing down viciously on his pistol arm. Micaela, looking like a fiery young Amazon with the tree branch clutched in her hand, stepped out of the concealing brush and snarled, " Non ! You dirty beast! You will not kill my husband or my brother!" Her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing, she was a magnificent sight. Her expression was so fierce that for a second even Hugh was taken aback.

Micaela's intervention had given them precious seconds, but Alain recovered instantaneously. His face contorted with fury, he swiftly swung the pistol up and fired in the direction of the other men. Hugh and Francois were already in motion as the pistol went off. The sound of the shot and Francois's scream were almost simultaneous; then Hugh was on Alain.

Oblivious to Francois's slumped form on the ground, Hugh fought for possession of the pistol, knowing that there was one more shot left in the weapon. Together he and Alain swayed, their hands grasping for a firm hold on the pistol, each man trying to turn it on the other.

Micaela spared an anguished glance at Francois's crumpled body, but her husband was her first concern. Holding the tree branch menacingly, she watched intently as the two men fought. Fearful of striking and inadvertently hitting Hugh, she held back, waiting impatiently for an opening to help her husband.

Alain and Hugh were locked together, the pistol between their two bodies, each man straining with all his might. They swayed almost like dancers, their faces contorted, their muscles bulging as they fought, and then, shockingly, the pistol went off. Micaela's heart stopped, only to begin to beat again when she saw

Alain fall to the ground, dead, a scarlet bloom on his breast.

Her club fell from her fingers, and she flew into Hugh's arms. " Mon amour," she crooned. "I was so frightened. I did not know what to do when I heard him say he was going to kill you."

Hugh kissed her. "You did exactly the right thing," he said huskily. "How did you find us?"

"John told me you had gone to the stables, but you were not there—one of the stableboys had seen you and Francois go this way." She shuddered. "He did not mention Alain, but I caught a glimpse of him creeping up on you and after all you told me I was suspicious. When Alain pulled out his pistol, I knew he was up to no good, and I looked around for something to use as a weapon."

"Good for you," Hugh said. Smiling down into her face, he murmured, "Have I told you how much I love you?"

She dimpled and started to reply when there was a sound behind them. Together they turned to look at Francois. He was sitting up, his hand held to his head, blood seeping slowly through his fingers. He glanced dazedly at them. "I am still alive," he said in a voice of wonder. His eyes fell on Alain's still form. "Is he dead?"

"Very," Hugh said dryly. "How badly are you hurt?"

Hugh and Micaela helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, but gave them a ragged smile. "I shall live—perhaps with an interesting scar, but alive nonetheless."

* * *

"Do you think the story will hold together?" John asked thoughtfully, as he and Hugh and Jean were sitting in the study late that evening. Francois, weak from loss of blood but in no danger, was upstairs being fussed over by his mother and sister.

Hugh shrugged. "As far as we are concerned, Mr. Husson ordered his carriage and horses and left very early this morning for New Orleans. We were careful that no one saw me leave driving his vehicle. It was several miles from here before I left the carriage with his body in it and scattered his belongings along the road. When he is found, his death will, no doubt, be put down to bandits. We will be extremely shocked and saddened when we hear the news of his death, which should be sometime tomorrow. We know nothing, but that he left us in good health. As for Francois, he is under orders not to stir from Amour until his wound is completely healed." Hugh took a sip of his brandy. "And as for the shots anyone may have heard here this morning," he said quietly, "I was merely shooting at a water moccasin when Francois and I went on our walk." Hugh grinned. "It was unfortunate that Francois had to fall and cut his head, but it was not serious."

Jean nodded. "It sounds plausible enough to me. But what about the thefts from the business?" His expression grew heavy. "And Francois's part in it?"

Hugh finished off his brandy. Rising to his feel, he walked across the room to replenish his snifter from the decanter on the table. After pouring the other two men additional brandy, he reseated himself and murmured, "What thefts? Our fall in profits lately was only one of the usual cycles in business. We shall, I guarantee you, see a notable increase in revenue in the coming months. As for Francois's part?" Hugh glanced steadily at Jean. "What are you talking about?"

Jean opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. "Of course. You are right. It is the only way. It is best for everyone."

Hugh sent each man a long look. "Only we three and Micaela and Francois know the truth about the thefts and Etienne's death. Lisette has been told that Alain must have gone mad when he attempted to kill Francois and me—that is all she knows about the whole ugly affair and that is all that she needs to know. There is no reason to burden her with the details of Francois's brief foray into crime. I think Francois has learned a hard lesson and that he will be a better man for it." Hugh's face grew somber. "I cannot forget that he risked his life for me this morning—that says much of his character. He is entitled to another chance, and I think the trip to England will give him time to face up to what he has done and give him a chance to grow up—without having to look over his shoulder all the time, to see if we are watching him, waiting for him to fall from grace. I have confidence that by the time he returns in a few years, he will have dealt with the situation and put it behind him—as we will have."

The two older men agreed. "It was a nasty business," John said. "I am glad that we can keep it amongst ourselves."

Jean shuddered. "The scandal would have been ruinous. It would have been terrible for the Husson family to have had Alain's crimes paraded before everyone. They would never have been able to hold up their heads again. It is better this way—for everyone."

* * *

Feeling satisfied with himself, a short while later Hugh entered his rooms and discovered his half-naked wife sitting in a decidedly seductive pose in the middle of his bed, her hair tumbling in a dark cloud around her shoulders. All thoughts of the day's events vanished from Hugh's mind as he approached her with a delighted smile on his handsome face. "I see that you have taken my words to heart," he teased.

Micaela looked demure. "Why, monsieur, whatever do you mean?"

Hugh laughed. Scrambling out of his clothes, he joined her in the bed. "I mean," he said, as he dropped a kiss on one tempting breast, "that you obviously are not ashamed or reluctant to let me know your intentions."

"Is that what I am doing?" she asked, a sultry smile on her mouth.

"Oh, I sincerely hope so...."

* * *

It was quite some time later before coherent thought returned to either one of them. Nestled next to each other, desire momentarily slaked, they talked about Alain's death. Toying with the mat of hair on his chest, Micaela said admiringly, "I think it is a clever story that you so hastily concocted to explain everything."

"And I think it was rather clever of you, my sweet, to follow Alain and save my life and your brother's."

Micaela stretched like a cat, looking rather pleased with herself. "It was brave of me, was it not?" She glanced lovingly at him. "I told you I did not intend to become a young widow—I could hardly stand idly by while Alain murdered you, could I?" Her expression grew soft. "I love you, mon amour. Without you, my life would be nothing."

"Do you know," Hugh said thickly, "that I absolutely adore you?"

She kissed him warmly. Rubbing her nose against his, she murmured, "But not more than I adore you."

Contentedly they lay there together, their arms around each other. "It is strange, is it not," Micaela said after a while, "how things have ended. There were so many lies, so much deception and yet in the end, there is only love. When everything is taken into account, all the obstacles, all the pain and heartbreak and double-dealing, only love remains—ours for each other; Maman' s and John's for one another."

Hugh pulled her closer. "And that, sweetheart," he said fervently, "is just the way it should be and will always be for us...."

The End