Page 4 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

The next weeks passed swiftly as Hugh settled into life in New Orleans. He spent long hours at the firm's offices, and by the end of March he was thoroughly familiar with all aspects of the workings of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. Jean and Francois remained touchy about the situation, but he had to give them credit for not interfering any more than they did. He also had to admit that Jean had assembled a competent and hardworking staff. Jean Dupree, he conceded, was not a complete fool. In fact, the man had a good business head—when he used it.

His dinner party at the hotel for the Duprees had not yet come about, primarily because the week following his invitation, the ladies and Jean had departed New Orleans for Riverbend. It was sugar-cane planting time, and Jean needed to be there to oversee the setting out of the young crop. Francois had remained in the city, and Jean had made periodic trips into New Orleans to keep a no-doubt-jealous eye on events at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree.

Hugh had been surprised at the wave of disappointment which had swept through him when he had learned that the Dupree ladies had left the city for the country. He told himself that it was because he would miss Lisette Dupree's leavening presence in dealing with Francois and Jean, but there was a part of him that knew he was lying to himself. To prove to himself that it really was Lisette's presence he missed, he spent time in the company of Alice Summerfield and her family—much to Jasper's obvious disapproval.

Meeting Hugh as he was on his way out the door to dine at the Summerfield home that evening, Jasper made a face. "The icy Miss Summerfield again, mon ami?" When Hugh nodded, he waved an admonishing finger under Hugh's nose. "I would be careful, if I were you—you may find yourself leg-shackled before you realize what has happened. You have been seen much in her company of late and tongues are beginning to wag—even amongst the Creoles."

Hugh smiled. "I told you I was looking for a wife."

"But amongst the wrong females! What about the so-sweet Cecile Husson? She appeared to be quite taken with you. You could not find a better-connected or wealthier match in the city."

"Too young for my taste," Hugh muttered, and hastily departed. He had hoped that Jasper's promotion of a Creole bride had been an aberration, but such had not been the case. At every opportunity, Jasper shamelessly touted the charms of every eligible Creole female within a twenty-mile radius of New Orleans. One name, Hugh had been irritatingly aware, had been noticeably absent. Which, of course, meant nothing to him. It was Alice Summerfield who currently held his attention, he told himself firmly.

Hugh was startled to find Francois among the guests at the Summerfields' home, but then he shrugged. It was perhaps a sign of things to come—Creole and American conversing amiably together. Dismissing Francois's presence, Hugh enjoyed himself that evening at the elegant house of Alice's parents. Alice's father was a genial man who had been a friend of John Lancaster's in Natchez, and his wife was a lavish hostess. Hugh was acquainted with several of the other American guests, and he discovered that he was relieved that it was not to be an intimate family dinner. Aware of several arch looks when he went up and engaged Alice in conversation after dinner, he wondered if perhaps Jasper wasn't right. Mayhap he should be a bit more circumspect for the time being.

Noticing the frown which marred his handsome face, Alice asked, "Is something amiss? You look very fierce."

Hugh's features softened as he gazed down at her appreciatively. She was a sight to gladden any man's heart, in a blue-satin gown which matched her lovely eyes and displayed to advantage her tall, slim, elegant figure. Her blond hair was arranged in ringlets around her chiseled features; her blue eyes were large and limpid, but even as he looked with sincere admiration at Alice, he was conscious that her cool beauty left him unmoved... even bored.

Rousing himself, he smiled at her. "Do I? I assure you that I do not mean to—not with such a charming sight as yourself before me."

"That was a very pretty compliment," she replied sedately, her gaze moving serenely over the other guests. She was confident that it was only a matter of time before Hugh asked her father for permission to solicit her hand in marriage. She would, she had decided calmly, say yes when Hugh asked her to marry him.

Fixing her lovely blue eyes on Hugh's, she said, "Father mentioned that you have bought a new pair of horses, matched chestnuts, I believe he said."

"Indeed I have—as sweet a pair of goers it has been my pleasure ever to drive." He smiled ruefully. "Though until the ground dries out, I doubt I will be able to drive them very much."

Alice gave a delicate shudder. "I know—aren't the roads simply terrible? More like quagmires."

"Well, the rainy season will not last much longer, and then we shall all be complaining about the dust," Hugh replied cheerfully.

Catching sight of Francois talking with a fellow Creole, Bernard Marigny, who was a member of General Wilkinson's staff, Hugh nodded in that direction. "I was surprised to see Francois Dupree here tonight. I did not know that your father was acquainted with him."

"I believe that Mr. Marigny introduced us to him." She glanced at Hugh. "He has come several times to call, and my mother is quite taken with his Gallic charms... I must confess that I, too, have found his company delightful. His command of English is very good—it is my understanding that his grandfather insisted that he and his sister learn not only English but Spanish as well."

Francois's fluency in English and Spanish came as no surprise to Hugh—old Christophe Galland had been no fool, and it made sense for anyone living in New Orleans to have at least a working vocabulary of the three languages heard most often. It was Francois's visits to the Summerfield home that surprised him. Why, Hugh wondered, is Francois making himself so agreeable to the Summerfield family? His gaze slid consideringly to the young woman at his side. Alice? Francois had no doubt heard the same gossip as Jasper. Was the younger man seeing for himself the woman whose name had been linked to his, or was Francois putting himself forward as a rival? It was an interesting thought.

Catching Hugh's eyes on him, Francois smiled sunnily and walked over to where Hugh and Alice were standing. After bowing over Alice's hand and exclaiming his enjoyment of the evening, Francois looked at Hugh and said, "My uncle has returned to the city. He arrived not a half hour before I had to leave to attend this evening's so-delightful entertainment." This last was said with another bow to Alice.

"What a pity," Alice said. "If only we had known that he was going to be in the city, we would have been happy to invite him to accompany you tonight."

Francois made a polite noise. "Do not distress yourself, mademoiselle. There will, no doubt, be other times. Besides, it was planned for our friend, Alain Husson, to come by this evening and visit with him. They have—ah—business to discuss."

Hugh flicked a brow upward. "Business? Galland, Lancaster and Dupree business, perhaps?"

"Non! Why, we would not dare to do such a thing without first asking your permission, monsieur," Francois said mockingly, a challenging gleam sparkling in his dark eyes.

Amused by Francois's thinly disguised hostility, Hugh merely smiled.

When Hugh did not rise to his baiting, Francois went on smoothly, "Actually, I think that my uncle does wish to discuss some business with you—he will no doubt see you tomorrow at the company offices."

Deciding that she had been ignored long enough, Alice asked, "Does your uncle plan to stay in the city long?"

"Ah, non. Not more than a day or two—this is a very busy time for him. There is much for him to oversee at the plantation this time of year."

Alice and Francois began to talk about the plantation, and, only half-listening to their conversation, Hugh stared meditatively at Francois. Now why does Jean want to meet with me? he wondered. The open resentment and displeasure of the Duprees at his arrival and active presence in the firm seemed to have faded, and Hugh had been growing hopeful that the worst was behind him. Was he wrong?

That question was answered at eleven o'clock the next morning, when Jean, with Francois at his heels, breezed into Hugh's office. Hugh was seated behind his desk, going over some of the invoices from the previous year when the Duprees arrived, and he glanced up when they entered without knocking.

A quizzical expression on his face, he looked up at them and said, "Good morning, gentlemen. What may I do for you?"

Nattily attired in a gray-striped jacket and an elegant waistcoat above his long, dark gray pantaloons, Jean seated himself in one of the chairs before Hugh's desk. Crossing one booted foot over the other, he said, "I trust that you will forgive the intrusion, but I, we, have a proposal to place before you."

Laying aside the invoice, Hugh leaned back in his chair. His features bland, he regarded the two men in front of him, his brain racing. What the devil were they planning?

Calmly he asked, "Yes? What is this proposal?"

"We have had a family meeting," Jean said, "and we would like to buy half of your shares in the business."

"Thereby gaining a controlling interest," Hugh replied slowly, his sleepy gray eyes unrevealing.

"Oui!" Francois said. "This current situation is intolerable, and we have decided that this is the only way to resolve it."

"And if I do not want to sell? Suppose I would prefer to buy your shares?" Hugh asked levelly.

Jean's face tightened. "We do not wish to sell, monsieur."

"Even if I do not want to sell either?"

"Mon Dieu!" Francois burst out angrily. "Why are you being so difficult? We are willing to pay you a good sum for your interest." His lips lifted in a sneer. "A good sum to get rid of your interference in a business begun by my father and grandfather."

"And my stepfather," Hugh said softly, his eyes on Francois's turbulent features.

Francois made a disgusted sound and sprang to his feet. "You talk to him," he muttered to Jean. "I cannot." Spinning on his heels, Francois stalked from the office, slamming the door behind him.

"He is very young," Jean said, his gaze meeting Hugh's. "He loses his temper easily."

"I have noticed it is a trait you seem to share."

Jean smiled ruefully. "You are correct—you must put it down to the excitability of the Creole temperament. We do not have the measured, placid nature of you Américains. And this is why we would like to buy a controlling interest in the business. We think that it will be much better for all of us, if you sell to us and..." Jean grimaced. "There is no polite way to say it—and remove yourself from New Orleans." Jean leaned forward, his expression intent. "Let us tend to our own affairs. We have done so for over twenty years, with little interference from your step-papa—we would like to continue to do so."

Hugh rubbed his chin. He had never considered selling part of his interest, and, in fact, his own sense of honor would not have let him. His stepfather had been generous to him, and he would not make any bargain with the Duprees without first writing to John Lancaster. When John had sold him a controlling interest, he had known that the business would be safe in Hugh's hands. He sighed. Something that could not be said about the Duprees, although he would admit that Jean was not entirely without a business head. But there was another reason which made him hesitate—he knew himself too well, and he was aware that he would never be able to step aside and give the Duprees full rein—not as long as he owned even one percent of the business.

This offer of the Duprees made one thing clear—they were far more unhappy with him at the helm than he had thought, and it was obvious that the past few weeks had been a temporary truce. If the Duprees were desperate enough to make this offer, perhaps he should accept it... with one slight change....

His mind suddenly made up, Hugh said, "I will not sell part of my interest—you may buy all of it—provided my stepfather approves. It is possible that John will even sell you his shares." A cynical smile crossed his face. "Then you will be completely rid of us."

There was a stunned silence. "All of it?" Jean asked at last.

Hugh nodded. "Pending John Lancaster's approval."

Jean made a face. "It is generous of you, but we cannot. I will be honest with you—to buy only half of your shares will nearly bring us to the brink of bankruptcy. There is simply no way that we would be able to buy it all."

"Then I am afraid that we are at an impasse."

"You will not consider selling us half?"

Hugh shook his head. "You have been honest with me—I shall be so with you... I fear that if Galland, Lancaster and Dupree is left in your hands, in less than two years, there will be no business."

"I beg your pardon?" Jean said stiffly, his features congealing into an expression of offended anger.

Hugh sighed. So much for their moment of honesty with each other. "For the past twenty-two months we have taken severe losses, and during that time you have continued to authorize expenditures at the same rate you have in the past. We cannot keep dipping into our capital in this manner."

"I told Micaela that it was useless to try to talk to you," Jean snarled, springing to his feet.

"This was Micaela's idea?" Hugh asked, startled.

Jean nodded curtly. "She knew that her brother and I were upset with the situation, and she suggested that we try to buy a controlling interest. She was even willing to risk every cent of her own small fortune which came to her from her grand-pere." An unfriendly smile curved his mouth. "She agreed to do anything that would get rid of you! My niece is very loyal to her family—she is willing to do whatever is necessary for her family's sake."

"I see," Hugh replied, with an odd sensation of disappointment knifing through him. It was ridiculous of course. Micaela Dupree's opinion meant nothing to him.

Rising to his own feet, Hugh said softly, "It seems that we have nothing else to say to each other."

"You think so," Jean snapped. "You are mistaken, monsieur, if you think that we shall give in so easily."

Jean left in the same manner as Francois, right down to the slamming of the door. Shaking his head, Hugh sat down. Unwilling to dwell on the unpleasant scene which had just taken place, even less willing to examine his emotions concerning Micaela's part in it, he buried himself in work.

It was several hours later that he noticed something odd. Starting shortly after Christophe's death, there were, interspersed throughout, invoices that were different. Close examination convinced him that there was nothing on the paper to arouse his curiosity, everything was there that should be, there were no suspicious smudges or indecipherable writing, nothing appeared to be altered, but there was something. It wasn't until he was idly rubbing his thumb across one of pages that it dawned on him—the quality of the paper was just slightly different... crisper, smoother...

His interest piqued, he found the other invoices which had troubled him and discovered the same thing. Buried in the middle of each extensive invoice were, sometimes just one, upon occasion two or three, pages whose quality felt different from all the rest.

Leaning back in his chair, Hugh stared at the dozen or so invoices before him. There could be a logical explanation for the substitution of paper. But it was interesting, he decided grimly, that these odd pages started showing up about the time the company started losing money and that only very large invoices, consisting of several pages, had the different paper. Another thing—the questionable pages were always in the middle... almost as if someone had buried them there knowing that normally they would never be noticed... it had taken him several weeks of searching to discover the differences.

His discovery didn't prove anything, but it gave him food for thought. He picked up one of the suspect invoices and leafed through it. There were a lot of reasonable explanations for the differences in the quality of paper, including manufacturer defects, but he didn't think that was the answer. No. A pattern of outright thievery was revealing itself to him, and it was as simple as it was ingenious.

The possible scenario played itself in his brain. A shipment, he mused slowly, would arrive from Europe and follow the usual routine of unloading and storage in the warehouses... but at some point after that, the thief or thieves, would help themselves to what they wanted from the warehouse. The invoice which accompanied the shipment would be altered, not individual amounts, but an entire counterfeit page would be substituted for the original. Clever. And it smacked of the culprit or culprits being closely aligned with the company.

Galland, Lancaster and Dupree had been paying for goods which they had indeed received, but a portion of which simply disappeared and, with it, their profit. Hugh rubbed his chin. The only way he could prove it was either secretly to institute a system of double record keeping here in New Orleans and wait for the thief to strike, or write and privately request that an original copy of one of the suspicious invoices be sent directly to him. He grimaced. If he wrote that day and the letter sailed with the next ship, it would be three months or more before he received his requested copy from Europe. Three long months before he would be able to compare it with the one in the office. All of which, he admitted glumly, would only confirm the way the thievery was happening, not who.

He sighed. Well, he had plenty of time—he'd moved to New Orleans, hadn't he? And he couldn't say that he was displeased with what he had discovered. At least now, he had some idea how the profits were disappearing. All he had to do was to find the thief—or thieves.

A rude growl from his stomach reminded him that it was late afternoon and that he had not eaten since early morning. Gathering up the invoices which interested him, he locked them in the bottom drawer of his desk and, after shrugging into his dark blue coat and putting on his curly-brimmed beaver hat, left his office, locking it behind him.

Telling Brisson that he was leaving for the day, Hugh stepped out into the soft sunlight. Heading toward Jasper's house, he hoped that he would find his host at home; no doubt, he thought with a grin, resting between amusements.

Hugh had almost reached Dumaine Street when he spied a trim form that he recognized immediately. Micaela Dupree. But what, he wondered, was she doing in the city?

Deciding to find out, he stopped and waited for her to approach him. Micaela appeared to be alone, except for a young maid and a black male servant.

Micaela had spotted him coming toward her almost at the same instant, and if she hadn't been raised to be a proper young lady, she would have stamped her foot and spun around and walked in the opposite direction. But she had been raised to be gracious, even, she told herself fiercely, to Américain gentlemen with mocking eyes and arrogant smiles.

Forcing a polite, albeit cool, expression on her face, she acknowledged Hugh's broad presence on the wooden banquette in front of her. " Monsieur Lancaster. How... nice to see you. Are you enjoying this fine weather we have had the past few days?"

Sweeping aside his hat, he took her hand and dropped a kiss on the soft skin. "Indeed I am, mademoiselle. It gives one hope that the rainy season will truly end soon, does it not?"

To her annoyance, Micaela felt the touch of his warm lips on her hand all the way down to her toes. With more haste than grace, she jerked her hand from his light grasp. "Oui ," she said stiffly, wishing she had taken another street.

The amusement lurking in his gray eyes did nothing to quell her annoyance, but before she could think of a polite way to end this meeting, Hugh said, "But what brings you to the city? I saw your uncle and brother this morning, and they did not mention that you were in the city. I assume that your mother came with you?"

Micaela gave a curt nod and began to edge away from him. "Oui, I accompanied Maman to the city. She was bored at the plantation and wanted to come in for a day or two to visit with some friends. We arrived last night with my uncle and plan to return to the plantation before the end of the week."

To her dismay, Hugh fell in step beside her.

He smiled down at her, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Which naturally made him all the more determined to attach himself to her side.

A thread of laughter in his voice, he asked, "And you? Were you bored in the country?"

Glad of the presence of her maid and manservant following discreetly behind them, Micaela replied honestly, "Oh, non!" An impish smile suddenly lit her taking features, that elusive and utterly charming dimple of hers coming into view. "I adore the country. If I had my way, I would stay there year-round."

Hugh's brow flew up. "Indeed?" he said, surprised. "I would have thought you more, er, at ease, in the city."

Reminding herself that she did not like him, Micaela's smile faded, and she said coolly, "But then you do not know me very well, do you, monsieur?"

"You have me there... but that fact can be easily remedied," he replied in a low tone. With rapt interest, he watched the delightful flush which stained her cheeks and the wary look which entered the wide dark eyes. "Perhaps," he went on softly, "if you knew me better, you would not be so willing to let your uncle use your fortune to try to buy a controlling interest in the firm from me, hmm?"

"H-h-he told you?"

Placing her hand on his arm, Hugh smiled down at her. "Yes, he did. Just one of the things he mentioned during his visit to me this morning."

Micaela bit her lip, not certain what to say. It was clear that he was waiting for an answer. But she couldn't very well tell him that the reason she had agreed to let Jean and Francois use her fortune from her grandfather had been because of a guilty conscience—a fact which had nothing to do with him. Both her uncle and brother were unhappy with her because of her continued determination not to marry Alain Husson. Knowing, too, how Hugh's interference galled them, in desperation, she had offered them her own tidy little fortune to use to buy out the Américain, thinking that if they were able to buy enough shares to give them a majority, they might be happier—and less inclined to berate her for her selfishness in refusing to marry Husson. She hadn't thought that either Jean or Francois would mention that it was her money which had enabled them to make the offer.

Taking the bold approach, she demanded, "And did you sell him what he wanted?"

"No, and I do not intend to. Unless, he wishes to buy all my shares."

Micaela's eyes opened very wide. "A-a-all your shares? You would do this?"

They stopped walking and inexplicably, oblivious to the servants behind them and the horses and carriages driving by only a few feet away, they stared intently into each other's faces. Hugh was lost in the deep, mysterious pools of her liquid black eyes, and he was aware of his heart thumping wildly in his chest, of his blood quickening, his body suddenly hard and aching. Micaela was conscious of nothing but the tall, dark-haired man looming before her, his icy gray eyes, not icy at all, but gleaming with a sudden heat that made her feel giddy and not at all like herself.

"Yes," he said dazedly, as if an astounding idea had just occurred to him. "Yes, I might be very willing indeed... if the price were right...." Almost against his will, he reached up and caressed her silken cheek. "If the price were right, I would be willing to do just about anything."

Micaela's throat felt tight and she was unbearably aware of how close he was standing to her, painfully aware of a shimmer of excitement racing through her. "And what p-p-price would that be, monsieur?"

Hugh smiled enigmatically, and, bending over, he lifted her hand once more to his lips. His eyes on her soft mouth, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss into her sensitive palm, and murmured. "Oh, I think you could guess, sweetheart. I think you could guess exactly what I would demand."

It took several moments after Hugh had departed for Micaela's heart to stop pounding so fiercely. A thrill, a curious mixture of elation and shock, had coursed through her at his words, and, despite telling herself sternly that he couldn't have meant what she thought he had meant, she couldn't forget the look in his eyes or the seductive quality of his voice. Ah bah! she thought disgustedly. She was acting no better than that silly goose Cecile! The American had been toying with her, teasing her like one would a naive child.

Satisfied that she had explained his behavior, Micaela continued on her errands—buying some thread for Maman, some tooth powder for herself; going to see if the modiste whom they patronized had received any new pattern books from France. It was nearly an hour later when she returned home, two newly arrived pattern books tucked securely under her arm. She and her mother could spend a cozy evening perusing the books, and they could place an order for any garment which caught their fancy before they left for Riverbend at the end of the week.

There was no sign of Jean or Francois at dinner that night, and the evening progressed just as Micaela had foreseen. The pattern books were full of sketches, of tempting gowns with high waists which Josephine, Napoleon's wife and soon-to-be-Empress, had brought into style. They were very flattering, and normally Micaela would have been excited at the prospect of a new gown. But as she slowly turned the pages later that evening, she found her thoughts straying back to the disturbing meeting with Hugh Lancaster.

A dreamy look in her eyes, Micaela stared blindly at a charming gown in apple green silk, Brussels lace at the low neckline and at the edges of the puffed sleeves. Had he meant what he had implied? Would he truly give up his shares in Galland, Lancaster and Dupree for her!

A queer feeling trembled deep within her as she considered the possibility that she had not mistaken his meaning at all. Had he meant marriage? Or had he been slyly insulting her, hinting at a less honorable situation? And if he had been, what difference did it make to her? she reminded herself sharply. Either would be equally unacceptable! Why, she'd be more likely to become his mistress than marry him—and becoming any man's kept woman was simply unthinkable. She was angry at herself for not being able to put his words out of her mind. Impatiently she flipped the page of the pattern book.

"Oh, did you not like that gown?" Lisette asked. She was sitting on the sofa beside Micaela, leafing through the other pattern book with the occasional glance over at her unusually quiet daughter. "I thought," she added, "it was particularly attractive and would look lovely on you, chérie."

Micaela started. Jerking her thoughts away from Hugh, she turned the page back. "It is a pretty gown," she admitted, really seeing it for the first time. Then she shrugged. "But I have an armoire full of gowns, I do not need another."

Lisette looked at her for a long moment. "I suppose that you are right," she said, a twinkle in her eyes, "but I thought that you might like something new to wear when we dine with Hugh Lancaster...."

"For him," Micaela muttered, "I shall wear the oldest, shabbiest garment I own!"

A little smile quivered at the corners of Lisette's mouth. "Ah, I see," she murmured.

"What do you mean by that?" Micaela demanded, a fierce look on her pretty face.

Innocently Lisette asked, "What, chérie?" Realizing that she was venting her own bad temper on her mother, Micaela glared at the apple green gown. "Never mind. It was not important." It was a lovely gown, however... and there was that dinner... Airily, she added, "But if you think I should have it made up, I shall be guided by your wishes."

Lisette smiled at her. She bent and kissed Micaela's cheek. "Do what you want, petite."

But that was the problem, Micaela thought unhappily. I do not know what I want! Not anymore....