Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (44 page)

The incredulity in her voice made Hugh wince and realize just how badly he had misunderstood the conversation he had overheard. Above her head, he made a wry face. "Indeed, I am sorry to say that I did, sweetheart. I was positive. And you have to admit, that while it was conceited of me, my assumption was not entirely without basis. What François said of Alain could, I think you will agree, have also applied to me—and then when we were found alone in such a compromising situation such a short time later, I was convinced that you had planned it all." He tipped her head back so that he could look into her face. "I was even half-convinced that François found us so easily because you had told him where we would be."

Micaela's eyes widened indignantly.
"Dieu!
And I suppose I caused the storm and made your horse act up, too?" Stiffly she added, "You do not hold a very high opinion of me, do you?"

Hugh shook his head. "I did not," he admitted. "But even believing you had trapped me, you may have noticed that I married you anyway—and in my own clumsy way have tried to make you a good husband."

"Why?" she demanded, ignoring the rush of tenderness his words engendered.

He brushed a kiss across her mouth that made her lips tingle. "Because," he said huskily, "I discovered, much to my astonishment, that I wanted you—at any cost. And because I found you utterly enchanting and that having you in my arms and as my wife seemed the most important thing in the world to me."

Her expression rapt, Micaela stared up at his dark face. Gently she caressed one lean cheek. "Truly?" she breathed. "It was not because of the business?"

Hugh smothered a curse. "That blasted company has caused me no end of trouble. There are times that I have considered selling out, just to be rid of that particular entanglement." He glared down at her. "You adorable little fool! Of course, the company had nothing to do with our marriage. It was a side issue." His face softened. "The company brought us together, I cannot deny that or that it gave me an excuse to be around you." Hugh hesitated, before saying, "Micaela, you have to know that I love you. A man does not act as I have, with
out
being driven by some very strong emotions. I do not know when I fell in love with you—it is a feeling that has been with me for so long now that I do not know when it began. I love you! And I want to keep you happy and safe, and in my arms, always."

Micaela flung her arms around him and pressed urgent, joyous kisses over his face. "Oh, Hugh—I have been so afraid! So afraid that you married me only because of the business and that you left me here while you stayed in New Orleans because you had grown tired of me. I was even afraid you had gone to Alice." A blush stained her cheek. "You did not even seek out my bed anymore," she said in a low, embarrassed tone. "I was miserable when you left.
Maman
will tell you how unhappy I was. I wanted only to be with you and I feared"—she gave a shaken little laugh—"I feared that you had left my bed because I bored you."

Hugh strangled back something between a groan and a laugh. "Bored? My sweet, if you only knew how much I have missed having you in my bed, how much it pained me to leave you here while I went back to New Orleans. And as for Alice—forget her! She lied about everything. Besides, I was too busy missing you to think of any other woman. The house in town was an empty cavern without your sweet presence in it. Even if we were sleeping apart, I had at least been able to see you and talk to you." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Even if it was only the sharp side of your tongue that I received." His voice deepened. "The last thing I wanted was to be parted from you, but I could see no other solution. Together we were certainly not solving our differences, and I thought that perhaps a little time apart would—"

"And then I
would
act the part of a silly goose!" Micaela interrupted disgustedly. "I should have trusted you. I should have told you, or shown you, what was in my heart."

His face tender, he stared down at her as she lay cradled in his' arms. His lips tantalizingly near hers, he asked softly, "And what, my dearest little love, is in your heart?"

Her eyes glowed. "Why, only love for you,
monsieur."
Hugh's eyes darkened, and caressing his face with her fingers, she said, "My heart is full of love for one man and one man only—my stubborn, arrogant, infuriating and oh so wonderful husband, Hugh Lancaster."

He kissed her then, his mouth hard and tender, passionate and worshiping. Micaela's arms clung to his neck, and she returned his embrace, her lush body straining against his as if she could not get close enough, as if she wanted to crawl right inside of him and become melded forever to him. It was a glorious moment, a moment to be cherished and remembered always. He loved her! She loved him! Nothing else mattered.

Soft, incoherent murmurs came from each of them, and, amazingly, the other seemed to know exactly what was being said. Sitting in that old, shabby chair, flickering candlelight bathing them in a golden glow, their arms around each other, their lips nearly touching, they exchanged the sweet vows and promises that all true lovers have since the beginning of time.

There was a new and different tingling awareness of each other, the knowledge that love brought them together, that it was love which made their bodies yearn and ache for each other, making the moment even sweeter, the anticipation of their joining so much more intense. When Hugh finally lifted Micaela in his arms and walked toward the bed, it was an unhurried and sensuous journey they took together, with many long, decidedly erotic stops along the way, as they tasted and explored and shared the wonder of their love. By the time he lowered her to the waiting bed, their clothes were gone, left scattered in a telling trail on the floor behind them. Their hunger for each other was an incandescent demand that pleaded for succor. And as their bodies slowly, sweetly merged, it was like the first time and every time they had ever made love; and it was love that they made all through the night on that large, welcoming bed.

* * *

Alain Husson wasted little time in responding to François's invitation. It was not yet eleven o'clock on Saturday morning when he drove up to the main doors of
Amour
in a stylish phaeton pulled by a pair of high-strung grays. His trunks rode in the small baggage rack at the rear of the vehicle.

Watching as Alain descended from his vehicle and was greeted by a surprisingly less-than-jolly François, Hugh smiled to himself. To think that such a short while ago he had been dreading this man's arrival! Knowing that Micaela loved
him
made all the difference in the world, Hugh thought with excusable smugness. Confident of his wife's love, he strolled down the steps and greeted Husson with something almost approaching genuine welcome.

If Alain seemed a bit taken aback by Hugh's warm greeting and François's noticeably cool one, he kept it to himself. Smiling and displaying the charm for which he was noted, he allowed himself to be escorted to the gazebo near the lake, where everyone else was enjoying the tranquil morning.

When Alain approached the group in the gazebo, there were more greetings, and the conversation did not become general until after he had been served a cup of coffee and had settled in a sturdy cypress chair like the rest of them. The two women looked cool and charming in their simple garb, Micaela glowing in a pale pink muslin gown; Lisette, in a soft shade of green, had an unmistakable radiance surrounding her. The gentlemen, also casually dressed, were all wearing breeches and boots, Hugh and François having foregone their jackets, their crisp white linen shirts not yet showing the effects of the debilitating humidity. There was a relaxed, carefree air about them all—except, though he did his best to hide it, for the faint moodiness of François.

Sipping his coffee, Alain studied the group before him. He could not fail to notice the air of intimacy between John and Lisette. They were discreet but they made no attempt to conceal their affection. Sitting side by side on a wooden settee, their glances meeting often as they exchanged small, private little smiles, their closeness was obvious. Alain's eyes narrowed. He shot a furtive glance around the group. The fact that no one else seemed surprised by their behavior gave him pause.

From where he stood, behind Micaela's chair, one hand lying on her shoulder, Hugh watched Alain's reaction with amusement. "You have arrived at a very happy time for all of us, Alain." Hugh said. "My very lovely maman-in-law agreed only yesterday to become my stepmother." He grinned at the older couple. "Lisette is to marry my stepfather in a matter of weeks. We are all pleased by the news."

Alain was shocked, anger instantly coiling in his belly, and he shot a swift glance at François to gauge his reaction to this astonishing news. François seemed not the least perturbed by the knowledge that his mother was about to marry one of those despised
Américains
—and a damned Lancaster at that! Were none of their women safe from these encroaching vandals? Alain thought furiously. And François!
Mon Dieu!
What was he thinking of, to condone such a thing?

Recovering himself, Alain smiled politely, giving no hint of just how infuriating he had found the news of the coming nuptials. "Congratulations to both of you," he said, his voice as smooth and melodious as ever, not even the faintest sign of his anger in his tone. He was even able to bring a warm gleam to his dark eyes as he murmured, "I am honored to be one of the first to hear of your good news."

There was talk of the wedding and of John's plans to settle in the Louisiana Territory. Looking over at Lisette, John declared, "While I know that my bride would gladly follow me to Natchez, I think that she, and consequently I, will be far happier living near our children. I intend on Monday to write my business agent in Natchez to sell all my holdings, and I shall immediately begin looking for a suitable property for us." He picked up Lisette's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "If we cannot find something with a house already on it that pleases my bride then we shall build ourselves a new home which
will
please her."

"Ah—how very nice," Alain said mendaciously. "I shall look forward to visiting you in your new home."

"It is very exciting,
oui?"
Micaela asked."To think that my
maman
and Hugh's step
-papa
are getting married! We have all been a little giddy this morning." Her gaze slid to her husband, and she smiled into Hugh's eyes. "We have," she added softly, "much to celebrate today."

The warmly intimate look that passed between Hugh and Micaela, as well as the caressing note in her voice, enraged Alain anew and for the first time he became aware of the changes in the younger couple. Watching narrow-eyed as Hugh ran a caressing finger down the side of Micaela's cheek and she turned her lips to kiss it, Alain's own fingers clenched around his fragile china cup. A second later it shattered in his hand.

Exclaiming and apologizing, Alain sprang to his feet. Fortunately he had drunk all his coffee, and nothing had been spilt on his clothes. But he used the disruption as an excuse to leave the happy group. A stiff smile on his lips, he murmured, "I find that my early start from the city has tired me. Do you mind if I rest in my rooms for a short while?"

A chorus of assent met his request, and escorted by François—who had only accompanied him after Alain had sent him a speaking look—the two men departed for the house. It was Jean who stated the general impression of everyone else. "Is it my imagination," he asked, after the two young men had strolled away, "or does François seem less than pleased at the arrival of his friend?"

"I was wondering the same thing," John replied. "He did not seem particularly happy at Alain's presence."

"Well, I for one will be glad if my son has finally come to his senses and realizes that Alain Husson is
not
a young man after whom to model himself!" Lisette said tartly. "I have always been of the opinion that young Husson thinks far too highly of himself and has been outrageously indulged by his
maman
and sisters."

"And François has not?" Micaela inquired, a twinkle very like her mother's in her dark eyes.

Lisette flushed, but she said gamely, "It is true that I have—er—"

"Spoiled him?" Jean inquired with a teasing note.

Lisette laughed. "Oh, very well, I have spoiled him, but he is basically a good boy."

"He is not a boy," Hugh said, the smile on his face taking any sting from the words. "He is a man. And perhaps, he is discovering that one's first friends are not always one's best friends."

François would have agreed emphatically with Hugh's assessment of the situation. For as long as he could remember he had admired and aspired to be like the dashing heir to the Husson fortune, but he had discovered during the course of the last several days that he no longer viewed Alain as the epitome of Creole verve and manliness. More and more, he found himself drawn to Hugh, and more and more he had become ashamed of his own actions—not only his part in the robbing of the company, but also his surliness and rudeness toward the
Américains
, Hugh in particular. Thinking of some of the things he had said, he cringed.

François knew himself to be at fault, and he would not pretend otherwise, but he also knew that his youthful admiration of Husson and his willingness to follow blindly where the older man led were at least partly to blame for his present predicament. As he walked with Husson up the staircase and showed him the suite of rooms which had been assigned for his use during his visit, François suddenly realized that he did not like Husson very much. In fact, it was clear to him that there was little to admire in the other man. What was he after all, François wondered, but a wellborn, wealthy thug? A man who needed to dominate and wield power over others in order to feed his overweening pride; a man who hid behind others and hired brutal underlings to carry out his commands. He was, François admitted with a guilty pang, a man who could order the murder of a longtime acquaintance and have no qualms about it. And I wanted to be like him? François thought incredulously. How could I have been so mad?