Page 8 of Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies #3)

Hugh woke with a groan, his hand going to his head. Blearily he glanced around, trying to remember where he was. A lamp spluttered on the mantel of the tiny room; the only other light came from the glowing coals on the hearth. The sound of rain and the occasional clap of thunder rent the air.

He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and groaned again as pain shafted through him. Dimly he remembered the storm and the fall from his horse... and Micaela looking like a lovely young witch.

Despite his aching head, he sat up and noticed the slim figure lying asleep on the floor in the shadows. Micaela!

Realizing what must have happened, Hugh surged to his feet. They could not remain here. Not if he didn't want to find himself tied to a vixen with the devil's own tongue.

The fact that it could already be too late occurred unpleasantly to him. He had no idea what time it was, nor how many hours they had already spent confined alone together in this little room. One thing was certain—if he didn't want to find himself facing her angry relatives demanding satisfaction, Mademoiselle Dupree and he had better get on their horses and ride like hell for Riverbend. His aching head and the storm raging outside be damned.

Stepping nearer to Micaela's slumbering form, Hugh stared down at her fine features, the golden glow of the coals gilding her sculpted little nose and caressing her cheeks and sweetly curved mouth. Her hair tumbled in wild disarray around her face, and the gentle rise and fall of her bosom beneath the delicate lawn blouse she wore fascinated him. Hugh swallowed. She was lovely. And he was appalled at how much, how very much, he wanted to sink down on the floor beside her and pull her into his arms and kiss her awake.

Cursing his own stupidity, he nudged her with his toe. "Micaela! Wake up! We have to leave—now!"

Micaela stirred. Not quite awake, she shrieked with fright at the sight of the tall, menacing figure looming above her. She scrambled to her feet, one hand held out protectively in front of her. "Do not touch me!" she commanded in a shaken voice.

"I have no intention of touching you," Hugh bit out, "except, perhaps, to strangle you!"

Fully awake now, she stared at him with widened eyes. "But why?" she demanded. "What have I done now to enrage you so?"

His hands on his hips, Hugh smiled nastily. "Very prettily done, my dear, but it does not fool me. And I did not think that even you would stoop so low as to try this sort of trick."

Was the man mad? Her temper rising, she snapped, "I do not know what you are talking about! I do not play tricks!"

They were both flushed with anger and so intent on each other that the sudden opening of the door made them both start. Hugh swung around, half-pushing Micaela behind him in an instinctive attempt to shield her from whatever danger they might face.

Jean and Francois stepped into the dimly lit room, looking grim and unhappy. Only they knew what a bitter moment this was for them. It should have been Alain who was with Micaela, and it would have been if not for the disastrous duel this morning. It was ironic that the concept of their original plan had certainly borne fruit, but it had gone terribly awry. Micaela was indeed compromised—but by the wrong man.

Something in their expressions made Micaela's heart feel as if it had dropped right down to her toes. Stepping from behind Hugh, heedless of her dishevelment, she asked, "What? What is it? Why do you look so?" Fear etched her features. "Maman! Nothing has happened to her? She arrived home safely?"

Jean took a deep breath. "It is not your Maman who is in trouble, ma fille, but you!"

Utter confusion on her face, Micaela stared back at them, not fully understanding. "What do you mean?"

Wearily Francois answered her. "Do you not know what time it is? Do you not know that we, nearly everyone, has been searching and searching for the pair of you since it was discovered that you were missing. Maman is frantic! She is certain that we will find you with your neck broken or drowned in the swamp. And I almost wish we had—anything would be better than this!"

Micaela looked miserably at her brother, one part of her dimly aware that her life had just changed forever, the other unwilling to accept it.

"Micaela!" Francois said in anguished accents, "It is well past midnight! You have been alone, alone and un-chaperoned, with the Américain for hours." He looked away from her suddenly white features. Dully he added, "We tried to be discreet, but most of our neighbors and friends had to be told that you were missing in order to help in the search. There is no way we can conceal your dishonor, and there is only one way in which our honor can be restored and your reputation repaired."

The sound of clapping shattered the bleak silence which met his words. "Excellent!" Hugh exclaimed. "I do not think I have seen so realistic a performance in my entire life."

Jean's brow drew together. "Explain yourself, monsieur!"

"I have no intention of doing so," Hugh said curtly. "Suffice to say that I will play my part in this charade and marry your niece."

"Non! " Micaela said desperately. "I will not marry this canaille!"

The three men looked at her, and what she read in their faces made her grit her teeth in frustration. "We have done nothing!" she cried. "It was the storm and Monsieur Lancaster's fall from Coquin which brought us here." When the three men remained unmoved by her words, she grasped the front of Francois's cloak and said urgently, "He has been asleep the entire time—he never touched me! Please, please, you must believe me! There is no need for this to go any further."

Jean sadly shook his head. "You are wrong, petite. Whether you and Monsieur Lancaster acted improperly or not does not matter—simply by being alone with him, here in this private place for several hours, you have ruined yourself and brought dishonor upon the Dupree name."

She glanced across to Hugh, the amused contempt on his handsome face telling her clearer than words that she would find no help from him. Glaring at him, she said accusingly, "You do not want to marry me—you said so!"

"What?" demanded Jean, his brow darkening. "You are refusing to do what is right and honorable, monsieur?"

Hugh smiled grimly. "Of course not. If you will recall, not a moment ago I offered to marry her."

Sneeringly Francois said, "I am sure that you did, monsieur. After all, it is no doubt what you planned."

"And what," Hugh asked in a dangerous tone, "do you mean by that?"

"Why only that marriage to my sister is a clever way in which to get your hands on the shares that she controls." Ignoring Micaela's gasp and Jean's startled exclamation, Francois continued hotly, "I do not believe that it was any accident what happened. You saw a chance to compromise my sister and you took it. We would not sell you our shares and so you found another way in which to get your hands on some of them." He glared at Hugh. "I wonder what other schemes you have concocted to wrest the remainder of our shares from us."

Hugh regarded him icily. "You are a damn young fool. But because of the unfortunate situation already facing us, I will not give you the response your ridiculous accusation deserves."

Francois only curled his lip and looked superior.

There was suspicion in Micaela's gaze as Francois's ugly words sank in and she wondered sickly if she hadn't misread Hugh's predicament entirely and instead of helping him had herself been maneuvered into an inalterable position.

Jean looked thoughtful. Had the American fooled them all? And yet even if he had, there was nothing to be done.

To save them from scandal, the marriage must take place. Grimly, he said, "Whatever the reason, do I have your word as a gentleman that you will marry Micaela?"

Hugh nodded. Bitterly he said, "You have nothing to worry about—on my honor, I swear that I will marry your blasted niece just as soon as it can be arranged."

Jean nodded coolly. "Francois and I already decided that if our worst fears were confirmed, your betrothal can be announced at tomorrow's ball." He smiled tightly. "We shall let it be known that, with the family's blessing, there was already an understanding between the pair of you and that the entire purpose of the ball was for the purpose of formally making the announcement of your coming nuptials."

"I do not want to many this beastly creature!" Micaela burst out, appalled at how easily they were disposing of her entire future. "I refuse to marry him! You cannot force me!"

Walking over to where Micaela stood glaring at them, Hugh said grimly, "You have won, Micaela. Cease this playacting and accept your victory. I have."

"Do you know," Micaela spat, her eyes glittering with fury, "that I think it is you, monsieur, who has won, and I absolutely loathe you for it!"

"Ah, well, I shall have to see what I can do about changing your mind." He smiled crookedly. "Come now! Enough of this! Our fate is sealed, and there is nothing that you can do about it."

Micaela knew that Hugh spoke the truth, but during the long, miserable journey back to Riverbend, she tried desperately to find a way out of the trap in which she found herself. It was all the more galling to realize that by doing an act of kindness for a fellow creature she had brought this on herself. I should have, she thought viciously, left him lying there in the rain. Zut! He is far too arrogant to have come to any real harm!

It was a somber foursome which rode through the falling rain, no one pleased at the outcome. Hugh was, however, feeling resigned to his fate. It had never occurred to him not to marry Micaela. He was, after all, an honorable man. Yet he had the uncomfortable suspicion that there was a part of him that was actually a little too resigned to his fate. He would have preferred a more traditional courtship, but he was not exactly dissatisfied by what had transpired. All of his previous reasons for considering a union between them came flooding back. Nothing had really changed—it was still a good business decision and he would get what he wanted—Micaela in his bed. His mouth hardened. At least now he knew her for what she was, a scheming, greedy little minx.

* * *

Lisette gave a choked cry when she was reunited with her daughter. Micaela's features were white and strained, and Lisette enfolded her into a warm, maternal embrace, scolding and petting at the same time. They were all gathered in the library, the other guests having gone to bed.

Having satisfied herself that her daughter had suffered no lasting damage, Lisette glanced at the three gentlemen, a question in her fine eyes. Hugh bowed, and said quietly, "Your daughter has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me. I hope this meets with your approval, madame."

Into her mother's shoulder, Micaela hissed, "I do not want to marry him, Maman! I did nothing wrong!"

Lisette sighed and rumpled Micaela's dark tousled hair. "Shh, petite. I know you did nothing wrong, but the circumstances are such..." She dropped a kiss on Micaela's cheek. "Too many people know what happened, bebe. There is no way that we can hide the fact that you were alone with a man not a member of your family for so many hours. You have to marry him."

Micaela realized that further talk was useless and disengaging Lisette's arms, she stood up. Sending her husband-to-be a most unloving glance, she muttered, "Since I seem to have no say in the matter, I shall leave you all to plan my future."

Ignoring Lisette's exclamation of protest, she stalked out of the room. In a daze she walked up the stairs to her room and stripped out of her wet and ruined riding habit, any thoughts of a long, hot bath vanished. Too much had happened and her brain felt fuzzy—she could not seem to think at all. Creeping between the sheets of her bed, she welcomed the blessed darkness which swept over her.

It was sometime later that Hugh was able to seek out his own bed, and he was aware of an odd sense of satisfaction as he entered his room and began to undress. Everything was settled. The betrothal would be announced at the ball tomorrow. The wedding would take place in three weeks, just long enough away to give an air of respectability to the whole affair. If he had any regrets about the hastiness of his wedding, it was that his stepfather would not be able to attend. Getting a message up-river to John Lancaster could take several weeks, and everyone was agreed that the sooner the marriage took place and people had other things to talk about, the better.

There had been a long silence after Hugh departed from the library, leaving each of the three Duprees busy with their own thoughts. It was Lisette who broke it, saying with forced cheerfulness, "Eh, bien! It may not be so very bad. He has agreed to marry her—and tonight's ball will be a most appropriate time to make the announcement."

"How can you accept it so easily, Maman?" demanded Francois. "She is marrying an Americain!"

Lisette shrugged eloquently.

Jean gave a hard laugh. "Your Maman has always had a soft spot for the Américains. Is that not so, ma soeurette?"'

Lisette flushed. Rising to her feet, and despite her pink cheeks, she said, "If you will excuse me, I think that I, too, shall go to bed. Bonne nuit!"

A frown on his face, Francois glanced at his uncle. "What did you mean by that?"

Jean made a face. "Put it from your mind—it was unimportant. And since we will have a busy day in front of us, I suggest that we try to get a few hours of sleep ourselves before we have to face our guests."

Francois's frown grew blacker. "Mon Dieu, but you seem to be taking all of this rather well," he said hotly. "What about Alain? And my vouchers?" An expression of unease crossed his face. "How will we face him with this news?" He swallowed. "He is going to be utterly furious!"

"I would not worry," Jean said. "Remember that whatever the reasons behind it, your sister is going to marry a very rich man, wealthier even than Alain Husson. Console yourself with the knowledge that in less than a month, your sister will be able to dip freely into a purse which is rumored to be nearly boundless!"

Much struck by this observation, Francois's features cleared magically. "Do you know," he said confidingly as the two men walked from the library, "this marriage to the Américain may not be such a bad thing!"

* * *

All during those swiftly passing hours before the formal announcement of the betrothal that Saturday evening, Micaela protested her innocence. But to no avail; her betrothal to the Américain was going to be announced as planned that night—the family was adamant. Jean and Francois had obviously had further conversation with Hugh, because her brother, somewhat amazed, told her that Hugh had refused a dowry. But, he reminded her just before they descended the stairs that night, Hugh's act wasn't as generous as it appeared—she did own ten percent in Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. In Francois's stated opinion, the American had gotten what he wanted.

The evening was a nightmare for Micaela. She kept hoping that something would change the outcome. It wasn't until Jean began to tap a crystal goblet for attention and she found Hugh suddenly at her side, that she accepted that her fate was sealed. Numbly she let Hugh escort her to where Jean stood, Lisette and Francois flanking him.

Hugh's hand was warm around hers as they joined the others in the center of the room and oddly enough the feel of that strong clasp gave her comfort. Uncertainly she gazed up at his unrevealing profile, wondering what he was thinking. Was he pleased at the outcome? Did he have any doubts about what he had done?

Jean played his part superbly. A smile on his lips, a twinkle in his dark eyes, he said gaily, "Mes amis, it has been a secret these past few days, but tonight it gives me great joy to tell you that my dear niece and the Américain, Hugh Lancaster, will be married. They are impatient, these two, and the wedding will take place in three weeks."

There was a collective gasp—Jean's words clearly having caught everyone by surprise. Then an excited babble arose, congratulations, exclamations of astonishment permeating the air. There were some disapproving faces in the crowd, a few of the older Creoles aghast at the match, but overall, most of the guests seemed to accept readily the idea of the marriage. That the Duprees were apparently happy with the match stilled even the most outspoken critic.

Micaela did not even have time to blink before she and Hugh were engulfed by the guests. The Creoles, voluble and excited as ever, rushed forward to press kisses and wishes for good fortune upon them. It all passed before her in a frenzy of motion and noise, Hugh's hand the only real thing in a sea of confusion.

She was aware of Alice Summerfield and her parents eventually coming forward to offer their felicitations. If they seemed stiff and cool after all the warmth and spontaneity of the other guests, Micaela put it down to their disappointment at Hugh's choice of a bride—she had heard the rumors about his marked attentions to the Américaine young woman. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did the older Summerfields give any clue to what they were feeling. Shaking Hugh's hand, Alice's father said, "John is going to be very pleased, my boy. Very pleased. Congratulations." Alice's mother added her own brief words, then it was Alice's turn.

Her face frozen, Alice murmured, "My congratulations to you both." Only the glimpse of rage and hurt in her eyes before she lowered her gaze from Hugh's face revealed her chagrin and disappointment.

Then as the others looked on, Micaela was stunned when Hugh gallantly presented her with a ring, a delicately wrought thing of gold and pearls. Brushing a kiss against her pale cheek, he murmured, "Did you think I would forget the most important symbol of our betrothal, sweetheart?"

"N-n-non. But when did you...?"

He bent near her ear and whispered, "I rose at dawn and rode to New Orleans. I returned with just enough time to bathe and dress." He sent her an enigmatic glance. "I did not want my betrothed to find me wanting."

Wordlessly she stared up at him, a part of her touched by his consideration, another suspicious of his motives. He was a stranger. Not only a stranger, but a man whose culture and ways were different from her own. And she was to marry him.... She sighed and decided with a streak of good Creole practicability that for the sake of her future happiness her wisest course was to view his actions in the best light possible.

A muted smile touched her lips. "Thank you. It was very kind and thoughtful of you."

Hugh cocked a brow. "What, no barbed reply? Now that we are betrothed does this mean that I will no longer be the target of that sharp tongue of yours?"

Before Micaela could reply, Jasper came up to them, and, slapping Hugh on the back, he cried, "Mon ami, I am so happy! Did I not tell you that only a Creole bride would do for you? I am elated that, for once, you actually followed my advice."

Green eyes sparkling with pleasure, Jasper extravagantly kissed Micaela on both cheeks. "You have me," he told her gaily, "Jasper De Marco, to thank for your good fortune, chérie." He winked, adding outrageously, "And I expect for you to name your firstborn son after me! I tell you now, I will be devastated if you do not name me godfather to him also."

Micaela blushed, and Hugh grinned. "And what if our children are all girls, my friend? What then?"

"Ah, non! Me, I am certain that before many years pass, there will be an entire litter of Lancaster sons to bedevil all our Creole maidens."

It was several minutes before Micaela could decently escape from the crowd, and at the first chance, she sidled outside to snatch a moment alone. In the pale moonlight she stared down dazedly at the ring on her finger. She was betrothed! It seemed incredible, part dream, part nightmare.

"You think that you have been rather clever, do you not?" Alice Summerfield said from behind her.

Micaela whirled to stare at the other woman. Alice's face was pinched and hard, her mouth held in a thin, tight line and her blue eyes blazed with dislike.

"Mademoiselle , I am sorry," Micaela began softly, "that you feel this way."

"Sorry!" Alice hissed. "I do not need your sympathy." Her hands opened and closed convulsively. "I do not know what sort of trick you used to force an offer from him, but I tell you—it is you who will be sorry." She gave an angry titter. "He loves me! We planned to marry—and you stole him from me!" Fury glittering in her eyes, she said bitterly, "You think you have won, but I do not envy you becoming the wife of a man who is only marrying you because he was forced into it."

A horrible suspicion took root in Micaela's mind. Had Hugh told Alice the circumstances surrounding their betrothal? Her voice tight, she asked, "And how do you know he was forced into it, mademoiselle?"

An expression of confusion crossed Alice's face, as if she could not conceive of any other reason for their betrothal. "Because he was going to marry me," she said stubbornly. She gave Micaela a scornful look. "And the only way you could have gotten a proposal out of him was if you tricked him."

The relief which swept through Micaela was nearly palpable—Hugh had not revealed the truth. But Alice's certainty that Hugh would have married her, that he loved her, sent a pang through Micaela, and an odd ache bloomed in her chest. Quietly she said, "Again, mademoiselle, I am sorry that you feel the way you do, but I can do nothing about it."

Behind Alice's fury, it was apparent that she was suffering, that the announcement of Hugh's betrothal had hurt. Micaela felt a stirring of pity. Her life was not the only one to have been changed so painfully. Impulsively she reached for Alice's hand, and said softly, "I am sorry for your pain. You must think of your future. You are young and very beautiful—someday there will be another who will touch your heart."

Alice jerked her hand away. "I do not want another man! I want Hugh!" she almost wailed, as if her wishes were the only ones that mattered.

Annoyed. Micaela snapped, " Zut! Hush, you foolish creature. Believe me, mademoiselle, if I could give him to you, I would!"

Alice's eyes went round. "You do not want him? How can you not? He is so handsome and very, very rich."

Wishing she had kept her tongue still, and conscious that with a few ill-chosen words she was in danger of exposing the careful facade erected by her family, Micaela muttered, "Of course I want him. As you said, he is rich and handsome."

But Alice's suspicions were aroused. Speculatively she eyed Micaela. "I know he does not love you... and you apparently do not love him...." She gasped as enlightenment dawned. "You are only marrying him because of the business!"

Micaela was not about to get into her reasons for marrying Hugh. Feeling that she had spent enough time with Miss Alice Summerfield, she said frostily, "You may believe what you like, mademoiselle. I do not wish to be rude, but I think that it is time we rejoined the party."

Uncaring if the other woman followed her or not, Micaela fled inside. Alice's words pierced her confused emotions like hot needles. She already knew that Hugh did not love her, but Alice's confirmation of that fact hurt in ways she had never expected. And the hurt did not abate one bit when she looked up a few minutes later and noticed that Alice had indeed followed her inside, but was now smiling enchantingly up at Hugh. Micaela's fingers bit into the flesh of her hand. I am not jealous, she told herself fiercely. I am not!

Jealousy would have been the least of her emotions if she had been privy to the conversation that was taking place between Alice and Hugh. And she would have been astonished at Alice's broad interpretation of their brief conversation.

Looking seductively at Hugh over the rim of her wine goblet, Alice said, "She is not in love with you, you know."

His expression shuttered, Hugh glanced at her. His first instinct was to ignore her, but that devil curiosity prompted him to ask, "Oh, and how do you know that?"

"Because I just had a very interesting conversation with her. And she told me so."

Hugh's eyes narrowed. "She told you so?"

"Ummhmm. That and the fact that your marriage will be purely a business arrangement. She was very honest about it." She shot him a considering look. Driven by the need to strike back, she added, "It is only because you own the largest single share of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree that she consented to the match. Your marriage will be a very good thing for her family." Alice smiled deprecatingly. "You know these Creoles—they will do anything, even sacrifice themselves, for their family. Such a pity you fell into her clutches."

Hugh's gaze found Micaela standing across the room from him. Intently he stared at her vivid features as she smiled at something her brother said. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "I did not fall... perhaps, I went quite, quite willingly. Did you ever think of that?"

"You are not serious! What about us?" Alice demanded, color burning in her cheeks.

"What about us?" Hugh asked, tearing his gaze away from Micaela.

Under her breath, Alice muttered, "Well, I thought, that is, your attentions led me to believe that—"

"I am a very good friend to you and your family," Hugh gently interspersed. "None of you knew anyone in New Orleans when you first arrived, and I did what I could to make things easier for you."

Their eyes met for a long time. "And that is all it was?" she asked painfully.

Hugh lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "That and my sincere admiration for your beauty."

Her lip trembled, and she looked away, blinking furiously. There was a small silence, and then she tossed her head and gave a tight little laugh, "There is young Monsieur L'Aramy. I seem to remember that I promised him the next dance."

A moment later she was gone, having amply fertilized, watered, and added a few of her own to the seeds of doubt which already lay between Hugh and Micaela.

* * *

As if in a nightmare, Micaela drifted through the days before the wedding. On the surface, she was furious at the trick fate, or perhaps the very man she was marrying, had played on her. Yet deep within herself, buried so deeply that she was hardly aware of it, was a tiny spark of excitement, a thrilling, insistent eagerness to begin her new life as Hugh's wife. She did not admit her emotions to herself, instead, she pushed them determinedly from her mind just as she did the memory of all those times a glance from Hugh's gray eyes would set her heart beating so fast she feared it would leap from her breast. She pretended to forget the way that gleaming smile of his had made her feel vibrantly alive. She definitely did not dwell on the memory his kiss. Bah! She would not remember those times. Rather she would remember his hateful words the night he had sworn not to marry her and Alice's assertions that she was the one he loved as well as Francois's opinion that Hugh's only reason for marrying her were cold-blooded, mercenary ones.

Their wedding was set for Monday, the twenty-first of May. They would be married in New Orleans, and as was custom, at the St. Louis Cathedral at four o'clock in the afternoon. And despite her wish to the contrary, at the appointed hour, Micaela found herself standing at the Américain's side before the priest, her family and friends seated solemnly in the pews behind them. Wearing a gown of rose silk decorated with pearls, her great-grandmother's wedding veil crowned with orange blossoms resting on her head, a bouquet of orange blossoms held in her hands, she heard herself exchange the vows which would make her Hugh Lancaster's wife. She watched numbly as he slipped on the two interlaced bands of gold which had been inscribed with both their initials and the date of their marriage. It was over. She was married.

The faces of the guests passed fuzzily before her, most were smiling and happy, but there were a few dour expressions amongst them—some of the most rigid Creoles, still not quite accepting the fact that a member of one of their finest families had aligned herself with a mongrel Américain. Alain Husson was among the latter.

His arm still in a sling, Alain forced himself to attend the wedding, as much to still any speculation about the state of his emotions as a penance for having not managed to kill the Américain. The rage, fury, and chagrin burning in his chest when Hugh slipped the rings on Micaela's finger were indescribable. Somehow he managed to keep his features composed, while every instinct urged him to surge to his feet, take his sword, and run the Américain through. Thinking of Hugh lying dead on the steps of the altar brought a genuine smile to his face. Anyone who saw it marveled at his generosity toward the man who had married the woman believed to be his own future bride.

As Hugh's best man, Jasper stood beaming at the A méricain's side. When the newlyweds left the church, Jasper was the first to congratulate them and remind them again of his desire to be named godfather to their firstborn son.

Following the wedding there was a grand banquet held at the Dupree town house, the atmosphere, the wine, the food, and the music superb enough to satisfy even the most exacting European taste. The meal passed in a blur for Micaela, and she hardly tasted any of the spicy gumbo, delicate turtle soup, roast veal, baked ham, and golden brown pastries which were served to her.

When the dancing began, Lisette and Tante Marie, acting as a surrogate grand-mere, discreetly hustled her away upstairs to the suite of rooms that she would share with her new husband. The older women helped her undress and put on a charming nightgown of finest lawn, lavishly trimmed with lace and emerald green ribbons. In minutes she was settled beneath the bedclothes.

Micaela had spoken little. With a faint frown on her face, Lisette murmured, "It will not be so very bad, ma petite. Hugh seems a nice young man." She bit her lip. Creole brides were notoriously innocent about the physical side of marriage, and Lisette was uncertain how to approach the subject. It was her duty as a loving mother to give her daughter some warning of what was to come. What happened in the marriage bed was not something they ever discussed, and though, unlike many of her contemporaries, Micaela was much older, she was still very innocent. Lisette cleared her throat and muttered, "You know that you will share this bed with your husband?"

Micaela glanced at her and nodded, a quiver, half fright, half excitement going through her.

Heightened color in her cheeks, Lisette asked, "Do you understand that you must allow him to do what he wants with you? He now has the right to"—her flush deepened—"touch you as he pleases and do 'things' to you." Her discomfort growing, she muttered, "No matter what your husband does to you tonight, you are not to cry out or fight him—it may be painful the first time and embarrassing, but you will grow used to it. You are to submit to him like a good Creole bride."

Tante Marie spoke up. "You must remember," she said sternly, "to always be modest, always—even in your most intimate moments." Proudly, she added, "In forty years of marriage, my husband never saw me indecently attired and never without my clothes. You must remember that a husband does not want a crude, wanton creature in his bed. No matter what he does to you, you must submit quietly. Remain still, do not thrash around and cry out. Let him have his way. Accept without comment whatever he does to you. You must never, never do anything he might find offensive—no matter what he demands of you." She looked severe. "A Creole wife never embarrasses her husband with an outward, indecorous show of emotion." She wagged a bony finger under Micaela's nose. "You do not want to be like one Creole wife—it is said that she took such lewd and lascivious delight in her marriage bed that her husband was disgusted and repulsed by her and sought to divorce her. You do not," she ended, "want that fate, do you?"

Her cheeks red, Micaela muttered, "I will not disgrace our family. I married him to keep the family's honor intact, I will do nothing to sully our name. I will be a good Creole wife."

Relieved that the uncomfortable subject was behind them and feeling that she had done her duty as a proper surrogate grand-mire, Tante Marie said gently, "I know that you are unhappy, but really, there was no other choice. If you had not married him, you would have been thoroughly ruined, ma chérie."

Nodding to Lisette, Tante Marie left the room, certain she had done her best to ensure a happy marriage.

Lisette watched her go and then looked back at Micaela. "Do not take her words too seriously, petite, although much of what she said is true. Her views are old-fashioned, but she is right about one thing—you would have been ruined." She sighed. "It was unfortunate that so many people knew of your indiscretion, no matter how innocent it was. But I think," she went on briskly, "that we have avoided a terrible scandal, and you should be very glad."

"Maman! How can you say so? I am married to him!" Micaela protested. "It is easy for you to say. You do not know what it is like to be married to a man you do not like."

A look crossed Lisette's face, and Micaela sat up abruptly. Her expression shocked, she whispered, "You did not like Papa! But it was a love match! Everyone said so! Grand-pere always laughed and talked about how romantic it was, the way the pair of you could not wait to be married and talked him into letting you get married before the banns could even be called."

"Eh bien! That was a long time ago," Lisette said stiffly. "And we are talking about your marriage, not mine." Her face softened. "Are you so very certain that you do not like Hugh, ma chérie?"

Confusion evident in her dark eyes, Micaela muttered, "I do not know. One moment I hate him and the next..." An odd expression crept into her eyes.

Her cheeks suddenly stained rosy by her thoughts, Micaela's lashes dropped, and she said stoutly, "But mostly, I think he is an arrogant, wickedly scheming beast!"

As the "arrogant, wickedly scheming beast" was entering the room just then, her remark was ill timed, and Hugh's mouth tightened as he heard her words. Micaela's actions and attitude had baffled him these past weeks. She had gotten what she wanted, marriage to him. So why did she continue to act as if he was doing her a great wrong? He was the one who had been cleverly snared and forced to many a young woman who found his fortune far more interesting than she did him.

Nothing, he thought grimly, would ever convince him that Micaela's "rescue" of him had not been a case of seeing an opportunity and instantly seizing upon it. She had been clever, he would grant her that. And her continued performance since their betrothal had been superb—like a great actress, she had portrayed her reluctance to perfection. If he hadn't known better, he would have believed that she was innocent of any plotting. But he did know, he reminded himself, the conversation in the gazebo never far from his mind.

The women were unaware of his presence. When he cleared his throat, they both jumped, Lisette swinging around sharply and Micaela clutching the bedclothes to her chin. His mouth twisted. Such a delightful welcome to his marriage bed.

Lisette recovered first. " Monsieur! You startled us! We did not know you were there." Turning back to Micaela, she dropped a kiss on her cheek and exited the room, leaving the newlyweds alone together.

Even knowing that she had trapped him into this marriage, Hugh couldn't help the surge of tenderness that went through him as he stared at Micaela. She looked lovely. Her black hair flowing around her shoulders like silk, her eyes dark and mysterious, her softly curved mouth a rosy lure. She also, he admitted uneasily, looked scared to death.

His gaze softened. Did she, he wondered, know what to expect from tonight? Hugh did not doubt for a moment that he was facing a virgin bride.

At least, he thought, he and Micaela had some knowledge of each other. He was not a total stranger to her as was often the case in Creole marriages, especially if the vigilant chaperons had done their work well. Watching with interest the fluctuation of color across Micaela's revealing face, Hugh sighed. The next few hours were going to be critical for the future of their life together. God knew that he had never made love to a virgin before, and he was suddenly nervous.

He knew how to please a woman—past experience had made him confident of that—but would he be able to please his bride? His resentful, innocent bride?

Spying several decanters sitting on the top of a long mahogany sideboard on the other side of the room, Hugh fell upon them with relief. After pouring himself a small snifter of brandy, he turned back to look at Micaela, wondering at his next move.

Micaela watched him, her heart thumping in her chest. He looked very handsome in his wedding attire, the black-silk coat expertly fitting his broad shoulders, the starched and pristine white cravat neatly arranged at his throat. He wore black-silk breeches and white-silk stockings, and as her gaze slid innocently along the long length of him, admiring him, a strange emotion unfurled low in her belly.

The silence grew more awkward by the moment, and Hugh said abruptly, "You made a lovely bride. Orange blossoms become you."

Feeling silly still clutching the bedclothes to her chin, Micaela slowly dropped them, and replied, "Merci beaucoup, monsieur. You made a handsome bridegroom."

Hugh laughed aloud, his uneasiness vanishing. Amusement dancing in his gray eyes, he asked, "Aren't we being very formal with each other? Considering we are now man and wife?"

"You forget, monsieur ," Micaela said stiffly, "the circumstances of our marriage."

Hugh's laughter faded. "Indeed I have not," he said, "but since we are married, I suggest that we start making the best of a bad bargain."

Micaela's eyes flashed. "I do not," she muttered, "like being called a 'bad bargain'!"

"My apologies, Madame Wife, I should have said a bargain not of my own choosing." His gaze crossed her face. "But it does not change the fact," he said softly, "that we are married."

Something in his tone of voice, the look in his eyes, made Micaela very aware of the fact that they were alone together, that only a thin garment covered her nakedness, and that no matter what happened, no one was going to interrupt them. He was her husband, and he could do with her what he wanted. The conversation with her mother flitted through her mind, and, to her horror, she found herself intensely curious about the "things" he would do to her.

Hugh took another sip of his brandy, noting the flush in her cheeks. His gaze dropped, traveling with appreciation over the soft curves mistily revealed by the delicate nightgown. Heat flooded his loins, and desire, swift and sure, spiraled through him. Micaela might have trapped him, but there was one thing that he could never deny—he wanted her. He always had. And now, he thought with a dizzying surge of anticipation, she was his wife.

"I do not," he said quietly, "believe that further conversation will accomplish much, do you? You have gained what you wanted." A frankly carnal expression leaped to his eyes, and he muttered, "And soon I shall have what I want...."

Her breathing constricted, Micaela watched as he set down his brandy snifter. His eyes on hers, he slowly undid his cravat and tossed it on a nearby chair. His jacket followed, and her mouth grew dry as she stared at the powerful muscles of his arms and chest which were revealed when he shrugged out of his linen shirt. His skin gleamed like polished bronze in the candlelight, the thick, curly black hair on his chest coming as a shock to Micaela, but she could not look away from him. Odd new sensations were flowing through her as she stared at his near nakedness. He was beautiful, tall and muscular. The thought of those strong arms closing around her caused a sharp cramp, half-painful, half-pleasurable, between her thighs.

Apparently undisturbed by Micaela's riveted stare, almost as if he had done it countless times previously, Hugh sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped off his footwear and silk stockings. It was only when he stood up, his hands going to the fastening of his breeches that Micaela's courage broke.

"Monsieur!" she cried in agitated accents.

Hugh crooked a brow at her.

Her color high, she choked out, "The candles? Could you not blow them out? Please?"

Wordlessly they looked at each other and to her great relief, a moment later, the room was in darkness. There was the rustle of clothing, then Hugh was beside her in bed. She jumped when his arms closed around her and he gently pulled her next to him. His mouth inches from her ear, he murmured, "Believe me, sweetheart, there is nothing at this moment, that I want to do more than please you."