Page 5 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)
Feeling pleased with himself for having clearly left Micaela speechless, Hugh continued his stroll home. The stunned expression on her pretty face crossed his mind several times that afternoon and evening. As a matter of fact, thoughts of Micaela nearly cost him his life.
He had gone to a gaming establishment with Jasper that evening. The Dupree men were there as was Alain Husson and Hugh was not surprised that the three of them greeted him coolly. It was obvious that Alain had learned of his refusal to sell and was firmly in the Dupree camp.
Some hours later, increasingly restless, Hugh had finally left Jasper at the faro table to walk the several blocks to Jasper's house. Despite the light from the oil lamps which hung from chains at every street corner, there were deep pockets of blackness, and as he approached one of these danger struck. His thoughts dwelling pleasurably on the meeting with Micaela this afternoon, he was not aware of the peril which stalked him until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the vicious movement of a cudgel.
Hugh whirled away, the cudgel barely missing his head as his hand went to the sword cane he carried at his side—as did most fashionable gentlemen in New Orleans. The small sword sang free and he swung to face his attacker.
There were three of them; each carried a cudgel, and as they fanned out around him in the shadowy darkness, like wolves circling their prey, Hugh's confidence wavered. One or two he could defeat, but three?
Despite their strength, they did not seem eager to join battle, contenting themselves with threatening gestures and the occasional, halfhearted feint. But as the seconds passed they grew bolder, pressing closer, staying just out of the range of his sword.
The middle one, apparently the leader, spat on the ground and muttered, " Allons, mes amis! We do not get paid unless we beat him soundly. At him!"
As one, the three surged toward Hugh; desperately he thrust with his sword. Dancing deftly backward from their approach, he slashed at first one and then another, hearing with fierce satisfaction the man on his left cry out with pain. But Hugh paid for it as one of the cudgels struck his shoulder with terrible power.
Hugh groaned, his sword arm feeling as if it were numb, but he recovered almost immediately, lunging violently after his attacker. He took another blow, a glancing one on the head, which left his ears ringing. Outnumbered, he retreated until he felt the wall of one of the buildings which lined the dark, narrow street against his back.
With labored breathing he faced his attackers, waiting for their next advance. Fortunately, it did not come.
There was the sound of footsteps on the wooden banquette and a second later, in the murky light, Hugh recognized Jasper. "A l'aider," Hugh shouted as he fended off a brutal blow from one of his tormentors. "Au secours!"
It took Jasper but an instant to read the situation, and his sword was immediately in view. There was a violent oath from one of the men and then, almost as one, they took to their heels, disappearing into the darkness.
Jasper hurried to Hugh's side. "Are you hurt, mon ami?" He took a deep breath. "Diantre! But those were bold robbers."
Hugh shook his head and winced. "Perhaps a trifle." His eyes met Jasper's. "But they were no robbers—they were hired to attack me."
"Mon Dieu! But this is beyond belief. Are you certain?"
Hugh nodded. "Yes. In rallying the others, one said as much."
The remainder of the journey to the house was made in grim silence by the two men. Only after he had assured himself that Hugh had not been badly injured did Jasper's tense features relax. Handing Hugh a glass of port as they made themselves comfortable in his study, Jasper observed, "You are very fortunate—it could have been much worse."
"I know—if you had not happened along..." Hugh smiled crookedly and raised his glass. "To you, my friend. You may have saved my life. Certainly you saved me from a vicious beating."
Jasper shrugged. "It was nothing—I am your friend—you would have done the same for me."
Hugh nodded. A dangerous gleam suddenly lit his gray eyes. "But," he said softly, "someone else is definitely not my friend. And I intend to find out who."
* * *
Hugh found himself tossing sleeplessly in his bed that night, thoughts of Micaela drifting tantalizingly through his mind—when he was not considering the implications of the attack on him earlier this evening. Staring at the canopy over his head, he finally admitted that events were not following any path he had ever considered.
When he had left Natchez such a short time ago, he'd had his entire future mapped out. He would settle in New Orleans, resolve the trouble at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree and, after a suitable courtship, marry Alice Summerfield and set up his nursery. He would be a loving father and a kind husband, and he would settle sedately into the life he had chosen for himself. It was a future that he had looked forward to and had been confident would be his.
But after seeing Micaela this afternoon and realizing with the suddenness of a lightning bolt that he would gladly, no eagerly, give up a great deal to possess her, he felt badly shaken. And the knowledge that someone hated him or feared him enough to arrange what would have been a brutal beating infuriated him as much as it mystified him. Was it simply the Duprees venting their spleen at his refusal to sell out to them? Or something more sinister that he had not yet considered?
Sleep was impossible. Swearing in two languages, he got out of bed and yanked on a black-silk robe. Entering the adjoining sitting room, he walked over to the sideboard and from a crystal decanter of brandy poured a half snifter of the amber-colored liquor.
His features grim, he wandered about the dark sitting room, absently swirling his untasted brandy. Since he was in no mood just yet to dwell on the attack, he let his thoughts drift to Micaela—as if he could stop them.
Perhaps, he thought reluctantly, even if he forgot about the wild notion of trading his shares for her hand in marriage, marrying Micaela Dupree was not quite the insane idea it had first appeared. There would be, he admitted wryly, several advantages. He would have aligned himself with one of the most respected and aristocratic families in New Orleans. Jasper would certainly be ecstatic, he conceded ruefully. But looking at it pragmatically, it would keep the business totally within the control of the current partners... and allow him to have Micaela in his bed—a notion which crept with increasing frequency through his dreams of late.
On the other hand, he reminded himself coolly, it would create a whole host of new problems—especially if his suspicions proved correct and it turned out to be either Jean or Francois, or both, who were stealing from the company. With Micaela as his wife, he would find it awkward to accuse her brother or her uncle of thievery—or of hiring someone to beat him soundly. Certainly prosecuting them would be out of the question. A tempting vision of Micaela suddenly floated before him. But there would be, he admitted to himself as he took a sip of his brandy, advantages....
Hugh shook his head disgustedly. He wasn't seriously considering marrying Micaela Dupree, was he? She made her opinion of him clear, and he wasn't fool enough to marry a woman who disliked him. Such a union would bring nothing but trouble, and he wasn't one who went looking for trouble.
He would concede, however, that Micaela aroused some elemental emotion within him. A night or two, he thought wryly, spent in the arms of a clever courtesan would no doubt cure him of his damnable preoccupation with Mademoiselle Dupree! In a few weeks, a month, he would look back on this time and wonder how he had allowed himself to be so befuddled by her. She was undeniably a seductive armful, and if she had been of a certain class of woman, he would not have hesitated a moment before setting her up as his mistress. But wife? He shook his head. Ridiculous!
And as for whoever had set those ruffians on him... Hugh smiled like a lazy tiger. He was going to enjoy exposing his enemy—and teaching him a lesson, a lesson that would not soon be forgotten.
Feeling better about the situation, Hugh finished his brandy and returned to his bed. To sleep. And to dream of flashing dark eyes and soft, tempting cherry red lips.
Certain that he had been suffering from an aberration, during the following days Hugh banished any thoughts of Micaela from his mind and concentrated on affairs at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. There were no further attacks on him, and he wondered if he had been mistaken in what he had overheard. Perhaps.
March faded into April, and Hugh was no closer to discovering his thief—or his attackers—or their reasons. On the twenty-ninth of March, he had written to the firm which handled their affairs in Europe and had requested a complete copy of several of the suspicious invoices. He had offered no reasons, but he had asked that they be sent privately to him at Jasper's town residence. There was no point in alarming anyone at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree... yet.
He had also delved more deeply into the tasks of each person employed by the firm. There were only so many people who had access to the invoices, and he was eliminating them from his list of suspects. He had considered that the order for the attack on him could have originated from someone in the company other than the Duprees, but he had found nothing to support that theory. And as for the person who might have altered the invoices—originally he had been suspicious of everyone, but as the weeks had passed he had narrowed down his list.
Hugh had not been inclined to consider Husson on his list of suspects in the beginning, but the more he learned of the man and his connection to Francois, the more he wondered. The losses had not really started until after Husson had won his shares from Christophe. Of course, the same could be said of Jasper, but the notion of Jasper stealing from the firm was absurd. Husson was a different story though.
The Creole was certainly wealthy, but Hugh had learned through discreet inquiry that Husson was also a great gambler. As was Francois, Hugh thought grimly. However, Husson seemed to win more than he lost, and there were rumors that a wise man did not often wager against him. Husson was, according to several American friends, nearly unbeatable. More interesting to Hugh, however, was the information that while Husson graciously accepted any man's vowels, only a fool did not repay the debt... promptly. A whisper here and there had come to Hugh's ears that men unwise enough not to redeem their vowels, were not only dishonored, but things happened to them... unpleasant things. Noses and legs were broken. Houses and crops burned. Loans were denied. Livestock disappeared. All of which made Hugh wonder if Husson could have been behind the attack on him. It didn't seem likely, but it certainly had been the sort of thing often connected with Husson's name.
It was clear that Alain Husson was not a man to be trifled with. And Francois, Hugh had discovered, owed Husson a very large debt. It was murmured that the debt had been growing for some time and that Husson had finally demanded his money but Francois was having trouble meeting that demand. It was possible, Hugh considered, that Husson had put pressure on Francois to repay his gambling debts and Francois had been compelled to do so the only way he could—steal from his own company. Then again, Husson and Francois could be in collusion with each other and whether the idea to steal from Galland, Lancaster and Dupree had come from Francois or Husson made little difference. They also could have conspired to have him beaten, thinking to drive him out.
Because he had nothing definite to go on, Hugh was forced into a waiting game. Until the next large shipment arrived from Europe, or the copies of the invoices he had sent for were finally in his hands, he could do nothing.
At a standstill in his quest to find the thief or the person who had ordered the attack on him, and strangely reluctant to proceed with his courtship of Alice Summerfield, Hugh found himself irritated and frustrated. With an eye toward purchase, he had looked at several prospective town houses and had even seen a few larger estates in the country. He would need both eventually, but viewing the various houses and lands did not give him the pleasure he had thought it would. Some spark, he acknowledged, was missing.
As April melted into May and the days lengthened and grew warmer and more humid, he found himself oddly restless and unsettled, nothing holding his attention for very long. Even Jasper's lively company did not soothe the impatient, ceaseless stirrings within him, and his temper grew short.
The invitation to stay several days at Riverbend came as a total surprise, and Hugh was doubly irritated by the flush of anticipation and pleasure which had rushed through him when he had read Lisette's note. His bad temper vanished, and for the first time in weeks he found himself looking forward to an event with eager expectancy. It was, he told himself firmly, the prospect of getting away from the city and seeing more of the lush Louisiana countryside that had raised his spirits. It had nothing to do with the fact that he would see Micaela. Nothing.
Some of Hugh's anticipation lessened when he learned that it was a large house party that he had been invited to attend. He was pleased and not surprised that Jasper had been invited, but the news that Alice Summerfield and her parents had also received an invitation brought a faint frown to his face. The connection had to be Francois, but what in Hades was that young puppy trying to do? Cut him out? Hugh snorted. The way he felt right now, Francois had his blessing.
The Husson family had also been invited, but would not be staying at Riverbend. Like the other neighbors who would be attending the various entertainments scheduled for the Dupree guests, they would be riding and driving over each day and returning to their own home afterward. Why this pleased Hugh when Jasper mentioned it, he did not care to speculate.
* * *
Micaela had been startled when Jean first proposed the house party to Lisette one evening at dinner. She had stared at his unreadable features and had wondered what was behind this sudden decision. The news that Jean intended for Hugh Lancaster to be amongst the invited guests made her eyes widen. Ma foi! Had her oncle had a change of heart about the Américains? It seemed so, especially when Jean went on to mention that he also intended for the Summerfield family to attend the house party.
Micaela looked across the table at Francois's suspiciously bland face. It had been Francois, she recalled, who had introduced her and Lisette to the Summerfields when they had come into the city in March, and she had wondered then what had prompted her brother's interest in the Américains. Of course, Mademoiselle Summerfield was very lovely, but surely Francois was not...
Her gaze narrowed as she studied her brother. Was he thinking of marriage? To an Américain! Bah! That was unlikely... as unlikely as her becoming Hugh's mistress. Or her marrying Alain Husson.
Later that evening as she prepared for bed, Micaela frowned when she thought of Alain Husson. He had paid several visits to the plantation since she and Lisette had returned from their last trip to New Orleans and his determined pursuit of her had become so persistent and so unrelenting that she was feeling decidedly harassed. Despite her previous strong hints and increased coolness to him, Alain seemed oblivious to the fact that she was not enamored with him and that she had no intention of marrying him—if he should be so foolish as to ask her!
* * *
During the days that followed Jean's announcement of his plans for the house party, Alain's pursuit of Micaela continued and her manner toward him became increasingly sharp, sometimes bordering on rudeness. Her less-than-welcoming manner did not seem to faze him, and there appeared no escaping his attentions—not when Francois was always inviting him to visit or stay for dinner.
This evening was no exception. Alain had come to dine. Once the meal was finished, Alain asked, as he usually did, if he could escort her for a stroll around the gardens before he departed for his own home. Micaela accepted with ill-disguised reluctance. No one else seemed inclined to join them, so they were alone as they left the dining room and stepped out into the warm night air.
Determined to make it as short a walk as possible, Micaela set off at a brisk pace down the winding path which ambled through the extensive gardens at the side of the house. They had not gone far before Alain asked, "Why are you in such a hurry, ma coeur? It is a beautiful night—almost as beautiful as you...."
Micaela snorted and cast him an exasperated look. "And I have told you repeatedly that I do not find your compliments welcome—nor, I might add, speaking plainly, your continued pursuit. I have asked, no, pleaded with you to turn your attentions elsewhere, but you refuse to listen to me."
Alain smiled. "Ah, ma belle, you do not really mean that. You know that I adore you... that both our families are waiting in momentary expectation of our announcement that we shall be married." A complacent expression on his handsome face, he reached for her hand. "Perhaps," he purred, "I have been too discreet and sedate in my courtship... perhaps you have been waiting for me to show you how much I desire you."
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth crushing down on hers as he held her tightly against him. Her first reaction was astonishment, then as his hand moved boldly to her breasts, sheer fury erupted through her. She fought him, twisting and squirming violently in her efforts to escape his hot, seeking mouth and equally bold hands.
Managing finally to break free of him, her bosom heaving with temper and exertion, she glared at him in the moonlight. Without thinking, she soundly boxed his ears as he stood before her with that superior smile on his face.
"I would never," she hissed in a shaken, furious tone, "consent to marry a man who acts so boorishly! How dare you force yourself upon me."
Alain's eyes glittered with an emotion that made her distinctly uneasy, and she stepped away from him. "Come one step nearer to me, and I shall scream," she warned him.
"And you think that your uncle or brother will come to help you?" Alain asked coolly. "You are a pretty little fool, chérie, and I wonder if it is not your hesitation to marry me which holds my interest."
"Hesitation?" Micaela spat. "Just so you have no illusions, let me explain my position to you—I will not marry you— under any circumstances!"
Alain almost smirked. "Will you not? Shall we make a wager on it?"
"Bah! It is useless to talk to you," she said disgustedly. "Go home, Alain. For the sake of the long friendship between our families, I will try to pretend that tonight did not happen. I hope that the next time we meet you will have recovered your senses."
His confidence not the least battered, Alain bowed and left.
Greatly disturbed by the incident, Micaela had gone immediately in search of her uncle. She found him looking over some papers in his office, which was in a separate building behind the main house.
The words tumbling out of her mouth, she poured out her story in bald detail. To her growing unease, Jean did not seem concerned. Deciding that he had not understood just how far Alain had gone beyond the bounds of acceptable behavior, a blush staining her cheeks, she muttered, "He kissed me, oncle, and t-t-touched me in a much too familiar manner."
His dark eyes shuttered, Jean glanced at her and remarked, "I think you make too much of his behavior. He is a young man in love. An extremely eligible young man. A young man who would make an excellent addition to our family."
Micaela flushed with anger. "I told you that I was not going to marry him! It is unfair of you and Francois to encourage his visits. And I do not appreciate having him always lurking about and... and pawing at me whenever we are out of sight of others."
Jean shrugged. "As I said, he is in love. A hot-blooded Creole in pursuit of his bride. You are cruel to keep him at a distance."
Micaela's eyes narrowed. "You do not intend to do anything about him, do you? You are trying to force me to marry him."
Jean looked away, unable to meet her accusing gaze. "Force you, chérie? I think you are becoming hysterical."
Micaela snorted. "And I think that you have become hard-of-hearing."
Jean shook his head. "You know how important it is for the family, especially your brother, for you to marry Husson. I suggest you rethink your position." A coaxing note entered his voice. "Becoming a spinster aunt to Francois's children is no future for you, petite. You are far too lovely to remain unmarried. By refusing Alain, you are being foolish and stubborn."
Micaela's hands clenched into fists. "And you will do nothing to stop Alain from continuing to persist in his unwanted attentions to me?"
Jean forced a smile. "As I said earlier, petite, I think you are making too much of his behavior. He is impetuous, and I will admit that perhaps he has let his desire for your hand in marriage go to his head.... You have been gently reared—it is natural that you should resist him, but I am afraid that in Alain's case, your reluctance only adds spice to the chase." His smile gone, a shadow on his face, he added with sudden weariness, "You might be wise to accept him, while it is still your choice."
"What do you mean?"
Jean sighed and, picking his words with great care, said, "Sometimes... events... happen which take away one's choices. You would do well to remember that the next time Alain comes to call."
Micaela was so incensed, so angry at Jean's lack of support that his words and the implied threat in them went right over her head. Her lovely face flushed with temper, her dark eyes flashing, she snapped, "And you would do well to remember that I will not be forced into a marriage I find repugnant!" Having said the last word, she stalked from the room.
Dissatisfied with Jean's reaction, she considered talking to Francois. Alain was, after all, Francois's friend. Perhaps if she made it clear to her brother...? But talking to Francois, she realized bitterly, would do no good—he, or at least his gambling, was the reason why the match with Alain was viewed with such favor.
Knowing there was at least one sympathetic ear into which she could pour out her troubles, Micaela stormed up the stairs, intending to tell her mother all that had transpired. Maman would support her. Maman would make the males of the family listen to reason. Halfway to Lisette's room she stopped. She was not a child, she chided herself, to run to Maman at the first sign of difficulty. She was an adult. And her situation was not so very precarious—unpleasant, perhaps, but not serious. And the solution was simple—all she had to do was avoid Alain and keep saying no—vehemently! She would take great care that she did not find herself in the same position that she had tonight. A smile curved her mouth. Eventually even the most ardent suitor would lose heart if he was continually met with an icy shoulder and a frozen stare.
* * *
The date of the house party approached swiftly. To Micaela's relief there were no further incidents with Alain, and she wondered if Jean had, after all, had a word with him. Perhaps Alain had finally realized that she was serious about her refusal to marry him? Whatever the reason for Alain's absence, Micaela was grateful for it.
Sitting alone on Tuesday morning in the gazebo which overlooked the river, she snatched a few minutes respite from the frantic preparations which had consumed the household in preparation of the party.
The house would be full of guests in a few hours and several pleasurable activities had been planned for their amusements. Tomorrow there would be a tour of the plantation and dinner al fresco in the gardens; Thursday afternoon, a riverboat trip had been arranged; on Friday they were all going for an extended ride in the country; a midday interlude had been arranged. At a favorite family stopping point, a pleasant area littered with moss-draped live oaks and with a commanding view of the Mississippi River, a luncheon would be served by the servants, who would have ridden ahead to have everything ready to serve the riders when they arrived. On Saturday night, Lisette had planned a grand ball to which everyone for miles around had been invited. Other amusements were planned and, of course, the gentlemen would be able to hunt and ride as the mood took them; the ladies would be able to explore the extensive and beautiful gardens and grounds adjacent to the house.
Knowing that Hugh Lancaster had been invited, Micaela was both looking forward to and dreading the coming party. She could not understand her antagonistic attitude toward him—even if he was an Américain! She had, she admitted uneasily, met several Americains, the Summerfield family for instance, and not once had she been prompted to make a hostile comment while in their company. Normally a warm, congenial person, she was appalled at the aggravating things that came out of her mouth whenever she was around Hugh Lancaster. It was embarrassing and, she confessed with guilty pleasure, very exciting. Every stinging barb she aimed at him filled her with that odd mixture of guilt and excitement. Rather, she thought ruefully as she rose and began to walk toward the house, like pulling the whiskers of a sleek, sleeping tiger.
* * *
Hugh's appearance that afternoon when he arrived at the Dupree plantation was as far from the description of a sleeping tiger as one could get. After he had swung off his horse, a big, restive bay, she greeted him as she stood beside her mother and Jean on the wide steps of the plantation house. Micaela confessed to herself that she had never met such a virile and exciting man. One lazy glance from his surprisingly long-lashed gray eyes and she was aware of herself in a way she had never experienced. She felt... female, and something inside of her responded irresistibly to his very maleness. It was unsettling. So when it was her turn to welcome him, she said coolly, " Monsieur Lancaster, how... ah, nice that you could bring yourself to leave behind the pressing affairs of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree and accept my uncle's humble invitation to join us for a few days."
Still holding her hand in his, Hugh grinned. Little vixen! If they were alone, he'd teach her to watch that impudent tongue. In fact, he thought with a sweet stab in his loins, he'd enjoy teaching her some pleasurable uses for that sharp little tongue.
A glitter in his gray eyes, Hugh murmured, "But mademoiselle, surely you know that the promise of your charming company holds far more allure for me than mere business."
Micaela blinked at the compliment, and she looked very young and vulnerable. Adorably so, Hugh thought.
Flustered, she managed to stammer, "H-h-how, very g-g-gallant, monsieur."
Jean's gaze narrowed. The interplay made him uneasy, and he was frowning as he watched Hugh, escorted by the two women, disappear into the house. Between Lancaster's meddling at the firm, Husson's pressing for payment of Francois's debt, and Micaela's stubborn refusal to marry Husson—he needed no further complications at this date. Worriedly Jean played back the exchange between Micaela and Hugh. Lancaster's interest in Micaela had better not go beyond polite flirtation.
Later that afternoon, after all the guests had arrived and everyone had been shown to their rooms and were dressing for dinner, Jean had a word with Francois. A troubled frown between his eyes, Jean asked Francois, "Have you noticed, er, anything unusual between your sister and the Américain?"
Francois, who was reclining comfortably in a chair in Jean's office, looked astonished. "Micaela and Lancaster? Are you jesting?"
Jean shrugged. "Just an idle question. When they met this afternoon, I thought that there was something."
Francois snorted. "You are imagining things. Lancaster's interest is well-known to lie with a certain blond, very lovely Américaine."
"Which is why the Summerfields were invited—and why you have been paying much attention to this same young lady, non?"
Francois laughed, his dark eyes dancing. "She is very lovely, even you must admit— Américaine though she is. And if I can tweak the tiger's nose by flirting with his intended bride, why would you deny me my pleasure."
"Is that all it is—tweaking Hugh's nose?"
"Of course, what other interest would I have in an Américaine female?" Francois asked, surprised.
Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, Jean muttered, "We need no complications, remember that."
It was Francois's turn to shrug. "But we will have none after Friday night, will we? My debt to Husson will be paid, you will have the capital you need for the plantation, and Husson will have what he wants—Micaela."
"Everything is arranged?"
Francois nodded. "Everything. Husson knows what he has to do, and he is most eager. With my help, it will be easy enough for him to separate her from the others—I shall be blind and deaf—except to the comfort of the rest of our guests, of course. And I shall swiftly lead them away. The fact that two of our party disappear on the ride will not be noticed until after we return home, and by then it will be dusk. Far too late to go looking for the two missing members. It will be Saturday morning before we can institute a search for them." Reluctantly, he added, "And by then, it will be much, much too late for Micaela. Honor will demand that she and Husson marry." Francois could not meet Jean's gaze, a nagging feeling of guilt rushing through him, especially when he realized that it was his debts that had brought them to this point—his debts and unrelenting pressure from Husson.
Unhappily, Jean muttered, "If only there were some other way." He grimaced, knowing there was not, and said bleakly, "It is unfortunate that circumstances have driven us to this dishonorable, desperate plan. We, who should protect her, are willing to sacrifice her for our own gain."