Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (21 page)

His words fell on deaf ears. Micaela was already sound asleep, the strain of the day and evening having taken its toll. But for Hugh sleep did not come easily. To his astonishment, not many minutes had passed before the novelty of having Micaela lying naked beside him began to have a decided effect upon him. Feeling his body harden, he sighed. One might have supposed that having been dismissed as merely "nice" that a certain part of his anatomy would have had the decency to, er, hide its head in shame, but, no, it was upright and eager to join sweet battle again.

Ignoring the base promptings of his body, Hugh shifted, trying to get comfortable. Under different circumstances, he would have slaked his hunger with a renewed bout of lovemaking, but his unbridled confidence in his expertness as a lover had suffered a dent. He shook his head ruefully. After taking such care with her, to have his efforts dismissed as nice! was a smack to his masculine pride, and he was in no mood to risk being so carelessly discarded again.

In spite of his best intentions, however, just before dawn Hugh woke, and Micaela's warmly nestled body proved to be too great a temptation. He kissed and caressed her awake and took her urgently, his body thrusting desperately into hers. She gladly accepted him, eagerly received his caresses and his frantic invasion of her yielding flesh. But afterward he was aware that while he had known again that same sweet delirium, she had not. He had made certain that she had been aroused, moist and ready for him when he had taken her and yet... It was nothing she said—she fell back asleep almost immediately—but he was expert enough to realize that she had not attained that most-longed-for peak of glorious release.

He scowled in the faint light. It was as well, he thought dryly, that she did not yet know what she was missing. She would certainly have found her new husband a disappointment. It was utterly incredible to him, that now when it mattered most, he could not satisfy his wife. Oh, he doubted that she was totally unsatisfied. His mouth quirked. No doubt she had thought their latest joining had been nice, too.

Realizing that only time, and hopefully, his skill could change the situation, Hugh fell back asleep. When he woke again, sunlight was streaming into the pleasant room. He became instantly aware that the area beside him was empty, and he jerked upright, only to relax against the pillows when he spied Micaela seated at a small table beneath one of the windows, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. She had been looking at him and seeing that he was awake, she smiled uncertainly.

"Good morning,
M-m-mon,
er, Hugh," she said politely. "Did you sleep well?"

A sensuous smile curved his lips. "Except for one or two incidents, yes."

Micaela blushed. Just thinking of his hands on her body made her breasts tingle and her lower body clench with excitement. Ashamed of her reaction to his words, she said stiffly, "I am happy to hear it." Gesturing to the tray on the table, she asked, "Would you like some hot chocolate? There is also coffee, if you would like."

What he would like, Hugh thought frankly, was to take her back to bed and begin exploring ways to have her screaming and writhing in abandon beneath him. Instead, he flung aside the bedclothes and reached for the black-silk robe which had been laid on the bed for him. "Coffee will be fine."

Heedless of his nakedness, he stood up and shrugged into the robe. Crossing to the marble washstand in one corner, he made quick work of his morning ablutions. His hair damp and curling around his dark, handsome face, he turned and approached the table where Micaela sat.

Her fingers trembled as she poured his coffee, for the sight of that lean, magnificent body had shaken her. He was so tall, so virile and beautiful in an utterly masculine way that she could hardly believe that he was her husband and that last night she had lain in his arms. Something hot and aching unfurled in her belly.
Merci!
But this was disgraceful! She should not be thinking these indecent thoughts! The marriage bed was a necessary part of their life together, she told herself prosaically, but surely it should not intrude into her mind this way.
Tante
Marie would think her a shameless creature, and she was ashamed of herself—and her thoughts.

Putting on a cool smile to hide the tumult and confusion within her, she handed him the cup of coffee and murmured, "There are also some calas and fruit, if you would like them."

Seating himself in a chair across from her, he sipped his coffee. "Rice cakes? Are they still hot?"

Her eyes twinkled.
"Mais oui! Maman
would be insulted if we were to be served cold food!"

Biting into one of the golden brown rice cakes, Hugh closed his eyes in open enjoyment. "We shall have to make certain that our own cook fixes these often."

"Do we have a cook?" Micaela asked, startled. In the days before their marriage, her meetings with her husband had been few and then always in company of others. There had not been much discussion of household affairs. Everything had happened with such haste that such affairs as living quarters had been pushed aside. It suddenly occurred to Micaela that she didn't have any idea where they were going to live. Most of her married friends either continued to live under their parents' roof with their husbands or moved into their husband's family home. Somehow, from what little she did know of him, she did not think that Hugh was going to have them continue to live with her family. He would want, she realized slowly, his own home.

"Yes, we do have a cook—a very fine one, I am told. And a butler, several housemaids and some kitchen assistants for the cook, as well as sundry others." He glanced across at her. "I hope you do not mind, but I have been assembling a staff for us. Jasper and your
Tante
Marie helped and your
maman
, also."

Micaela smiled impishly. "And a house? Do we have one of those, too?"

Pushing aside his empty plate, Hugh grinned back at her. "Indeed we do,
Madame
Wife. Thanks to Jasper's intervention and the fact that I was marrying into a respectable Creole family, I was able to purchase a fine piece of property, a few houses down from Jasper's own house. Ownership changed hands not three days ago."

She considered this news for a moment. "Old
Monsieur
Follet's house?"

"You know it?" Hugh asked, surprised.

"Yes.
Maman
has taken me there to visit many times, and since
Monsieur
Follet is the last of his family, it is the only place I could imagine that you would have been able to buy." She grinned at him, looking mischievous, that kissable dimple coming into view. "You must know that Creole property is seldom for sale at any price—it usually passes from one generation to the next and few, if any, would sell to an
Américain
—but since
Monsieur
Follet is the last of his line and you have married me,
voila!
It arranges itself,
oui?"

"Yes, it does," Hugh replied, thinking that he liked the sparkle in her fine dark eyes and the mischievous grin on her pretty face. "You will, naturally, want to refurbish it. Since
Monsieur
Follet is planning to return to France, he left a great many pieces of furniture in the house, but it is by no means completely furnished." He smiled at her. "You may draw freely upon my purse for whatever you think we might need. And, of course, I shall be delighted to take you to our warehouses, for you to select anything there that catches your eye."

Micaela found herself both excited and intimidated at the notion of having her very own home.
Monsieur
Follet's house was very large and grand... Delight swelled within her. And Hugh had bought it for them. The look she bent upon him was glowing and warm. "You are very kind."

Hugh cocked a brow. "And you, sweetheart, are being very formal with your husband."

She made a face. "It is all very strange,
hein?
We hardly know each other, and yet we are married."

Micaela could have bitten her tongue off as his face closed down. He rose to his feet and walked over to a tall mahogany wardrobe where a change of clothes for him had been placed yesterday. "Not so very strange," he said coolly, "when one considers the bold scheme which brought it about."

Her fists clenched and all of the kind thoughts she had had of him vanished. "You are insulting!"

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Am I? I feel it is more of a case of speaking bluntly." He smiled crookedly at her. "A trait you Creoles find appalling in Americans, among other things."

Her quick temper rising, she jumped up and snapped,
"Oui,
this is true. We also find you rude, overbearing, and arrogant!"

"Ah, but necessary to marry, yes?"

"Bah!" Micaela spat, her eyes flashing. Turning her back on him, she stared stonily out of one of the windows. "I will not continue this ridiculous conversation with you."

Hugh shrugged and began to dress. He had brought his longtime valet, Jeffers, with him from Natchez, but this morning Hugh had dispensed with his services. In fact, at this very moment, Jeffers should be overseeing the setting up of the new household.

Having finished garbing himself, Hugh turned to stare at Micaela's rigid back. She was being foolish, he thought to himself. She had gotten what she wanted—a wealthy husband. What more did she want? If he could accept being married for his purse, surely she could admit her own part in bringing about their marriage?

Shaking his head at the mysterious workings of a woman's mind, he said, "Well, if you will excuse me, I shall go to the office for a few hours—there is something I wish to check on. I shall not be long."

Micaela whirled around, her expression horrified. "You are leaving me?" she gasped.

Hugh frowned. "As I said, only for a few hours."

"But you cannot!" she exclaimed in agitated accents. Crossing to stand before him, her fingers clutched the lapels of his dark blue jacket. "Do you not understand, you
cannot!"

Puzzled, Hugh regarded her tense features. "Why not?" he asked slowly.

"It is
not
done," she said urgently. "Creole brides and grooms are expected to remain alone in their bedroom with each other for five days—or more. For one of us, or even both, to leave before that time would bring shame and disgrace on our family!"

Looking stunned, Hugh stared back at her. "We are confined here for five days?"

Micaela nodded vigorously.
"Oui
—at least. Meals will be brought and left at the door, but we are not to venture forth before the five days has passed. It would be scandalous to do so."

"Good Lord," Hugh muttered, "of all the damned archaic notions, that is the most..." He stopped, deciding hastily that his bride would not take kindly to hearing a Creole custom decried. It seemed a barbaric tradition, but realizing that most Creole brides and grooms hardly knew each other, he could see how it might have originated. His lips quirked. Being confined in a bedroom with one's spouse for several days was one way of ensuring the new couple became well acquainted with the other. Very
well
acquainted.

A carnal smile on his lips, Hugh absently began to undo his just-tied cravat. His gaze boldly caressing Micaela, he asked huskily, "And precisely how do you expect us to spend these five days, hmm?"

Chapter 10

Ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart, Micaela took a prudent step away from him. "We shall t-t-talk and learn to know each other better," she said primly.

Since the only knowledge which interested Hugh at the moment was the Biblical kind, he barely hesitated before he swept her into his arms and began kissing her. "We have years and years in which to talk, sweetheart. I think our time would be better spent in retiring to our marriage bed and learning all the wonderful ways in which we can pleasure each other."

"N-n-now?" she stammered, her senses spinning from his ardent embrace. "During the day? S-s-should we not wait until evening?"

His face buried in the fragrant dark clouds of her hair, Hugh grimaced. In view of everything, it would be sensible to proceed slowly with his bride.

Firmly setting her tempting body away from him, he said, "Since what we do here is important only to us, we can do what we wish, when we wish it, but perhaps you are right—perhaps it is time that we learned more about each other." Seating himself at the small table, his long legs stretched out in front him and crossed at the ankles, he slanted her a sardonic glance. "So. What do you want to talk about?"