Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (14 page)

Tears of rage and hurt sparkling on her lashes, Micaela spun on her heels, intent upon putting as much distance as possible between herself and the infuriating creature behind her. She froze, and her breath caught in her throat as her gaze fell upon Alain Husson; François was standing just behind him.

"What is going on here?" Alain asked tightly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "What have you done to her?"

"Oui,"
François chimed in. "What have you done to my sister to distress her so?"

It was obvious that they had not heard or seen all of the exchange, perhaps none of it, but it was also clear that they had picked up on the tension between Micaela and Hugh. The air was suddenly thick and full of dangerous currents, and Micaela's heart pounded with fear. Recognizing that Alain was spoiling for a fight and that she must act swiftly to prevent a tragedy, Micaela forced a smile onto her stiff features.
"Ma foi!"
she said lightly. "It is nothing. I have the headache and am going to the house." Stopping in front of Alain's rigid body, she touched the lapel of his jacket. Softly, she added, "Truly, Alain,
Monsieur
Lancaster has done nothing to make you look at him in that manner. Come, you may escort me to the house."

Alain paid her no heed, his gaze locked on Hugh's taut features. Almost absently he put Micaela away from him, and, stalking up to Hugh's silent figure, he said, "Well,
monsieur,
what do you have to say for yourself?"

One of Hugh's brows rose. "I do not," he said levelly, "feel that I owe you an explanation."

"Do you not," Alain said with relish, an ugly expression glittering in his dark eyes. "I am afraid that I must take a different view,
monsieur."

"I repeat, it is not any of your business," Hugh said slowly, aware that he was treading on treacherous ground.

Her eyes wide with alarm, Micaela grasped François's arm. "Do something!" she hissed. "Stop them before this goes any further."

"I think," François said, "that you should leave. You have done your part."

She stared at him as if she had never seen him before in her life. "You want this to happen," she breathed. "You want them to duel."

François tore his gaze away from the two principals. "You are mistaken. I did not arrange this situation—you did. And now you must live with the consequences of your own folly. Go away, Caela, there is nothing that you can do."

With a stricken look at Hugh's hard face, she picked up her skirts and fled. Racing down the pathway, she searched for Jasper De Marco. Hugh would need him.

Alain gasped at Hugh's cool reply, his face twisting with fury. "I find you insulting,
monsieur"
he choked out.

Hugh shrugged. He was aware that he might have been able to defuse this situation if he had wanted, but he discovered that he had no intention of turning away from the dangerous predicament in which he found himself. In fact, he thought with fierce satisfaction, facing Husson on the dueling field had definite allure.

"It is unfortunate that you feel that way," Hugh murmured, aware that Alain was trying to incite a challenge from him, "but I think that it is your problem. Not mine."

"Mon Dieu!
Are you stupid,
Monsieur
Lancaster?" When Hugh smiled, Alain's tenuous hold on his temper was lost, and, reaching across the space which separated them, he furiously slapped Hugh on the cheek. "I challenge you,
monsieur,
to the duel! Name your seconds!"

A breathless Jasper, having been found by Micaela, who had frantically whispered the dangerousness of the situation into his ear, suddenly ran up. He was closely followed by Rene and Bellamy. Arriving to hear Alain's words, Jasper winced. Coolly he said, "Of course, I shall act as
Monsieur
Lancaster's second."

"And I shall be honored to be Husson's second," muttered François. Rene joined Jasper as Hugh's second and Bellamy found himself aligned with Alain and François.

The most immediate formalities out of the way, François asked Jasper, "When do you want to meet to discuss the conditions?"

Hugh spoke up. "There is no need for such refinements." His eyes fixed on Alain's angry face, he said slowly, "I believe that choice of weapons and place are mine." At Alain's curt nod and despite Jasper's protestations, Hugh said grimly, "Then there is no need of further discussion. Pistols at thirty paces, at dawn tomorrow." He bowed to Alain. "You may have the choosing of the site."

It was only when Hugh, Jasper, and Rene were in Hugh's room that Jasper let his agitation show. "
Mon Dieu!
Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?"

Worriedly Rene added, "Alain is reputed to be very good with the pistol."

Hugh shrugged. "I am not exactly a novice myself."

"That is not the point!" Jasper bit out. "The point is that in a matter of hours, you are going to be standing and facing a man who will be aiming a pistol at you. And firing that pistol right at your breast, hoping to kill you!"

Hugh smiled lazily. "You are forgetting something."

"What?" Jasper snapped.

Hugh's smile deepened. "I get to fire back."

Chapter 7

Full of fear as she had raced away from Alain and Hugh, Micaela had nearly wept with joy when she immediately found Jasper talking to Rene and Bellamy on the pathway. Everyone else had gone inside and Jasper had joined the other two men. One look at Micaela's features had warned him of trouble, and her urgently whispered account of the situation confirmed it.

Indecisively Micaela had watched the three men disappear down the path. Every instinct urged her to follow them, but she knew that such action would accomplish little. The gentlemen would only close ranks in front of her, and she would learn nothing from them. She considered going in search of her uncle, but quickly discounted that idea. If, as she suspected, Alain was determined to demand satisfaction from Hugh on the dueling field, Jasper would be able to handle the situation as well as Jean. She could only pray that Jasper would arrive in time to prevent the fatal words from being spoken. And if he didn't... Her heart squeezed painfully.

Hugh Lancaster was undoubtedly the most infuriating, overbearing, utterly conceited man she had ever met in her life—but she didn't want him to die in a duel. Especially a duel that she had inadvertently caused.

It didn't matter that it had been Hugh's own words and that unforgettable kiss that had made her react as she had, or that it had been bad luck that Alain and François had come upon them before she'd had a chance to compose herself. All that mattered was that Hugh not be harmed. It was enormously important to her that nothing happen to Hugh, and she didn't care to speculate about why she was so concerned about his well-being. He had certainly, she thought with a brief flare of anger, made his contempt of her obvious. And as for that kiss! How dare he!

But she was too worried to sustain much anger for very long. Tense and unhappy, she paced back and forth along the pathway, waiting anxiously for the return of the men. She knew Alain's reputation—he was a ruthless duelist, and whenever she pictured Alain and Hugh facing each other on the dueling field, the pain in the region of her heart was nearly unbearable.

It seemed to Micaela that she had walked back and forth along this same strip of pathway for hours before François came strolling into view. She flew to her brother, and, hands clutching his arm, she demanded, "What happened? Is everything all right?"

François lifted his brows. "Of course, everything is all right. Why should it not be?"

She searched his features, trying to ascertain if he was telling the truth. "Alain did not challenge
Monsieur
Lancaster?"

"Should he have?" François shot back.

Micaela stamped her foot in vexation. "Naturally not! But Alain looked so... so
angry
that I feared..."

"There was nothing to fear. Alain
was
angry. He wants to marry you, after all, and he was not pleased to find you looking so distressed and alone with a man he does not like." His gaze sharpened. "What really happened between the two of you?"

"Nothing! I tell you nothing."

François shrugged. "And I am telling you that you have nothing to worry about—the matter is settled."

Instead of calming Micaela, François's words deepened her anxiety. Was he lying? Men did. Particularly about duels.

Despite her efforts to discover more, François proved unresponsive to her queries, and Micaela was forced to retire to her bed, knowing little more than she did already. She wanted to believe her brother, but she didn't trust him. François could be a little beast when he wanted.

But even if she didn't have the possibility of a duel to worry over, Hugh's wounding statements, not to mention his kiss, would have kept her sleepless most of the night. Tossing restlessly on her bed, she stared up at the netting overhead.

Nothing had
ever
hurt her—or enraged her as much as his words. How dare he, she thought again with anger. Who did he think he was, speaking like that to her? And where, she wondered with growing resentment, had he gotten the ridiculous idea that she wanted to marry him? And as for trapping him! She was a Dupree—they did not have to
trap
their spouses. Bah! He was a vain fool, and she would rather marry anyone other than Hugh Lancaster. By concentrating on his words and telling herself what an overbearing beast he was, Micaela was able to keep the searing memory of his kiss from her thoughts, but not the fear that Hugh might be facing Alain on the dueling field.

* * *

The spot Alain had selected for the duel was a small, secluded meadow in sight of the river a few miles from the Dupree plantation. Dismounting from his horse in the murky half-light of predawn, Hugh marveled at his actions. He had fought several duels as a youth—in fact, it was how he had met Jasper—but as he had grown older, dueling was not a sport that found favor with him. Duels could be deadly and were more often than not fought for ridiculous reasons, especially amongst the quick-tempered Creoles. An imagined slight. An ill-judged comment. Even the accidental stepping on the gown of one's partner at a ball could be reason enough for a member of the woman's family to call out the erring gentleman. Duels, in Hugh's opinion, were, for the most part, the province of young hotheaded fools. Something he was no longer. And yet, he thought wryly, he had allowed himself to be embroiled in one. A smile crooked his mouth. The kiss was worth it.

There was little talking as the six men set about arranging the site to their satisfaction. It was Jasper who supplied the pistols—and Jasper, too, who rounded up a physician to be in attendance. The physician, a rotund little man,
Monsieur
Tessier, rode up just a few minutes later, his small black satchel clutched in his hand. As the others laid out the course and went over the terms,
Monsieur
Tessier stood on the sidelines.

All was in readiness. Misty tendrils of fog drifted ghostlike through the area; the gray-green Spanish moss seemed to float mysteriously from the massive oaks scattered here and there and added to the eerie atmosphere.

The sun had barely turned the sky pink and gold above the swirling mist when Alain and Hugh faced each other. Both were garbed in drab clothing; neither wore anything that would give the other a target at which to aim—no shiny buttons, nothing white at the throat.

Hugh didn't doubt that Alain meant to kill him. Alain's reputation alone warned him of that fact, as did the cold glitter in the other man's eyes. Hugh did not expect to die this morning, but he would have been foolhardy indeed if he had not considered the possibility. In his room at the Dupree house, he had left a letter for his stepfather and had enclosed instructions for the dispersal of his estate if the worst were to happen. It was a letter that Hugh was hopeful John would never receive.

Observing the formalities of the duel took longer than the actual act. It was several minutes later before the two men were ready to fire. The seconds and the physician hovered nearby. Jasper called out the paces. A second later, the sharp crack of pistol fire rent the air, and the scent of black powder assailed the nostrils. Blue smoke floated lazily upward to mingle with the rising fog.

"Mon Dieu!"
exclaimed François in horrified accents. "The
Américain
has shot Alain!"