Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (35 page)

Which was all very well and good as far as it went, she thought uneasily, as she walked the short distance between the house and the kitchen. But considering the way her heart had pounded when she had seen him!
Dieu!
It did not bear thinking about! And when they had gazed into each other's eyes...

She snorted. This was ridiculous. After the way he had abandoned her, she should feel nothing but scorn and contempt for him. And she did, she reminded herself fiercely. She really did, except... except that it was very hard to remember what she
should
feel when she was only aware of what she
did
feel, especially when her wayward heart was telling her something far different than her brain.

There was no sign of her inner turmoil when she reentered the small salon. Briskly she said, "Ah, here you are
Monsieur
Lancaster. Since my daughter will be busy for a while with her husband, it will be my... pleasure to show you about their new home. Would you care for some refreshments first?"

John shook his head. A winsome smile curving his chiseled mouth, he asked, "Could you not call me 'John'? I remember a time when my name came easily to your lips."

Lisette stiffened. "That," she said coolly, "was many years ago. I was a foolish young girl in those days." She met his eyes steadily. "You can be sure,
Monsieur
Lancaster, that I shall not make the same mistakes I made then."

John's face tightened and a muscle bunched in his jaw. "You were not the only one who was foolish. I was foolish enough to believe you when you said you loved me—foolish enough to believe that you would marry me."

Her eyes flashed. "You dare to say such things to me?" Lisette demanded furiously. She was so outraged that she had to fight the impulse to cross the room and strike his dark face. This was her daughter's father-in-law, she reminded herself. Micaela was married to his stepson. For the sake of the younger ones, they would have to learn to rub shoulders together. She took in a deep, calming breath, forcing the knot of rage in her chest to dissipate.

Her head held proudly, she said, "There is no use for us to discuss what happened a long time ago—it is over and done with. And I suggest that we would both be wise if we agreed that we were both fools and let it go at that."

John nodded curtly, an acid taste in his mouth. How many nights had he lain awake savoring the angry accusations he would hurl at her if he ever saw her again? How many times had he alternately cursed her and yearned to hold her again? He sighed. What good had all his private suffering and rage ever done him? Perhaps she was right. Perhaps, they should just let the past go.

"Very well, since we are not to discuss what happened between us, what do you suggest we do?" He smiled sardonically. "Pretend we are strangers? Pretend we have just met?"

"We
have
just met! I am not the young girl that you knew—I have been married, and I have borne and raised two children. You are no longer the man I thought I had fallen in love with—you also married—Hugh is your stepson. We are not the same people we were."

John moved restlessly around the room. He finally stopped a few feet from her. "It will not be easy. Memory has a way of tripping one up when least expected."

"I know," Lisette said softly, wishing he was not standing quite so close to her, wishing that his dearly remembered scent was not in her nostrils, wishing painfully that she did not feel the powerful tug of attraction between them. So it had been, she thought, the first moment they had laid eyes on each other.

Determined to follow her own advice, she picked up her skirts and said briskly, "If you will follow me, I shall show you the main rooms on this floor. They are, as you may have noticed, scantily furnished, and many of the things are somewhat shabby, but it will not be so for long." An impish smile curved her mouth. "Micaela and I composed a very long and
very
expensive list of items we needed and sent it off to New Orleans. It is good that your stepson has a deep purse."

To their astonishment, the time they spent together wandering through the various rooms of the house passed pleasurably. John was interested in the house, and Lisette happily explained its history and the various changes Micaela intended to make.

"Are you going to be living with them?" John asked at one point.

Lisette smiled and shook her head. "
Non!
At the moment they seem happy to have me around. I intend for them to continue to do so. Not having me underfoot all the time will make us all enjoy the time we spend together so much more,
oui?"

"Very astute of you," John replied, nodding his head. "Hugh would like me to leave Natchez and join him down here, but I have not yet made up my mind."

She regarded him for a long moment. "Living near them, as I do," she said, "is not quite the same thing as one living in Natchez. I am only hours away from Micaela, but for you it is a long, arduous journey between New Orleans and Natchez."

His gaze fixed on her face, he asked slowly, "And how would you feel if I were to move down here, if I were to buy myself a home that was only 'hours' away from them? Our paths would be bound to cross frequently."

Lisette shrugged. "For my child," she said tartly, "I would endure even
your
presence!"

A spark lit John's eyes, and he threw back his head and laughed. "You still," he murmured a moment later, "have a damnably sharp tongue."

Lisette tossed her head. "And now,
monsieur,"
she said determinedly, "if you please, I should like to show you the terrace at the side of the house."

Meekly John followed her, realizing regretfully, that for the moment at least, Lisette was once again committed to her role of polite hostess.

* * *

There was no polite hostess, however, to greet François when he called that same afternoon at Alain Husson's town house in New Orleans. He was expected, and the Husson butler immediately showed him to the small salon and indicated that Master Husson would join him shortly.

His attractive features strained, François wandered around the elegant room, wondering uneasily why Alain had wanted to see him. He hoped it wasn't about his debts.

Alain entered the room a moment later, an affable smile on his face. Straightening the cuff of his shirt where it showed beneath the sleeve of his plum-colored jacket, Alain asked, "Have you been waiting long? I had an errand to take care of, and have just returned to the city."

François shrugged. "
Non
. I only arrived a few minutes ago.

"Bon!
Would you care for some refreshments? Some cafe au lait? With some pastries, perhaps?"

"Just coffee will be fine," Francis said, seating himself in a chair covered in oxblood-colored leather.

After ringing for a servant, Alain chose an identical chair across from François and settled into it. He cocked a brow and said, "I suppose you want to know why I wanted to see you today?"

François nodded, bracing himself for Alain's demand for payment of the monies owed him. Monies he had no way of paying.

Almost as if Alain had read François's thoughts, he murmured, "Do not be so tense,
mon ami.
I have no intention of asking for payment. I am very well aware of your means, and I know that raising the amount you owe me is beyond your power at this time."

"I
will
pay you, I assure you," François said stiffly.

Alain smiled. "Oh, of that I have little doubt,
mon ami."

The butler arrived with their coffee, and for several minutes there was no further conversation. It was only when the butler left that Alain sank back into his chair and, stirring his coffee, said, "I had intended this meeting to be a bit of a private celebration between the two of us, but I am afraid that I—er—miscalculated."

"A celebration?" François repeated. "What would we have to celebrate? I
still
owe you a great deal of money. If things had gone as we had planned, you would now be my brother-in-law and my debt to you would have been paid. As it is, I have no idea how I am to pay you—but I shall—honor demands it." François sighed. "And then there is Etienne's murder."

Alain took a sip of his coffee. "Does that bother you? Etienne's death?"

"
Mon Dieu!
Of course, it does!" François burst out, rising from his chair in his agitation. He glanced back at Alain. "We were friends! I have known him and his family since I was a child—all my life."

Alain looked amused. "I had not realized that you were so close to him."

"Damn you! We were not close, and you know it! But we
were
friends and to have—" François stopped, his fists opening and closing impotently at his sides.

"Sit down," Alain said, "and listen to me. Etienne is dead, and there is nothing you can do about it now. He had to die. Once it was known he was in Hugh's hands, there was no choice. It was necessary. Just as the
Américain's
death is necessary."

François blanched. "
Nom de Dieu,
you
are
serious—you mean to kill him."

Alain nodded. "Of course. If luck had been with me a few hours earlier, he would be dead already. The, er, unhappy victim of a murderous bandit."

"You tried to kill him? Today?" François demanded, aghast.

"Naturally." His eyes hard, Alain added, "I have every intention of marrying your sister. I cannot do that if Hugh Lancaster remains alive. You agreed with me. Do not forget,
mon ami,
you are in this as deeply as I am."

"B-b-but murder! I never agreed to
murder!
It is horrible enough that Etienne is dead, but now you tell me you plan the murder of my own brother-in-law—it is despicable."

"Such a tender conscience you have developed,
mon ami.
You were not so high-principled when we first began our profitable enterprise." Malice evident, Alain added, "If memory serves me, it was
your
idea."

François swallowed. "I cannot deny it, but I never expected... it was only to have been..." He stopped, distressed. Taking a deep breath, he went on bitterly, "Once you learned how I meant to pay you, you were the one who expanded upon my idea, the one who volunteered to help me and the one who wanted us to steal more and more. I had meant only to pay my debts to you and then cease the pilfering." Francis looked thoroughly miserable. "In the beginning with you demanding immediate payment and me with no way to pay you, it did not seem so very bad. I was only taking a little extra from my own company." He flashed Alain a glance of dislike. "When you offered to help me steal, you said that after a shipment or two, I would have paid my debt to you." François's jaw clenched. "But then when you saw how easy it was, you grew greedy."

"And you," Alain said softly, his eyes cold and unblinking, "could not stay away from the gaming tables. I was not the one who continued to lose money I did not have."

François looked away. "You are right," he said unhappily. "I was a fool! I kept thinking..."

"You wanted," Alain drawled, "to show everyone how adult and sophisticated and clever you were. Worse, you kept thinking you could best me and impress everyone. You were indeed a fool if you thought that I would allow that to happen. I do not lose. And I do not intend to lose now." Almost pityingly, Alain continued, "You are in far too deep to escape,
mon ami."

"Do not call me that! I am not your friend! You have used me and maneuvered me and forced me upon a path I never intended, just as I suspect you did to Etienne!"

"Ah, I see that perhaps I was mistaken in you. I thought you were your own man, answerable to no one." His voice cruel, Alain continued, "You boasted of it often, if I recall correctly. All that righteous anger you so frequently and vocally expressed against the
Américains
was just for show,
oui!
You like the
Américain
lording it over you? You are pleased that your sister is married to that mongrel? An
Américain,
who has practically thrown you out of your own company?"

"I did not like the
Américains
it is true—"

"Did
not like? Do my ears deceive me? Has the so staid and stolid
Monsieur
Hugh Lancaster won you over to his side? Was it not just a few days ago that you were outraged at his decision to pay Etienne's family a generous settlement from company funds? I do not remember you thinking so kindly of him then—or of your feeling such remorse over Etienne's death."

"Damn your eyes! Can a man not have second thoughts? I had not had time to think about it when Hugh sprang it on us! To my shame I must admit that I was angry at his actions—I viewed it as another example of his high-handedness—but after I thought about it for a while, I realized that he was right and I was wrong. We should have done something for Etienne's family—it was our
responsibility.
Even more so," he ended bitterly, "since I contributed to his death...."

Alain set down his cup and saucer with a clatter. "Do you know that you are growing boring,
mon am
—. Ah, forgive me, I am not to call you that anymore, am I?"

François drew himself up.
"Non
," he snapped, "you are
not
to call me 'friend' anymore. I am not your friend. But I am a fool. I have acted unwisely, and I have let my temper, my pride and, yes, my prejudices blind me to reality. It is
you
I should have vented my rage against, not the
Américains.
Because of you and my own reckless foolishness, I allowed myself to become involved in something that is dishonest and dishonorable. I have ruined myself. And all because I wanted to show everyone—
Maman, mon once,
Micaela, you and all my friends that I was a grown man, capable of running my own affairs. All I have done," he said heavily, "is show the world, what a spoiled, immature, and arrogant fool I am."