Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (48 page)

It was John Lancaster who broke the uncomfortable silence. "We do not intend for this to become public knowledge," he said gently. When Micaela stiffened and looked at him incredulously, he said hastily, "Not because I would not be proud and honored for everyone to know that I have such a lovely daughter, but because I do not want you to suffer the humiliation and pain that would arise if everyone knew the truth."

"It is no one's business," Jean murmured quickly, "but ours. We five are the only people who know the truth and will be the
only
ones who ever know the truth." When Micaela's features remained frozen, he added quietly, "We meant you no harm,
petite,
by telling you—we felt it was only fair for you and Hugh to know the identity of your real father." He smiled fondly at Micaela. "This really changes nothing,
ma chérie.
I trust that you will still consider me your uncle—I know that I will always think of you as my niece."

Micaela nodded numbly in his direction, her thoughts and emotions spiraling dizzily through her brain. Some of the first shock was leaving, and there was curiosity in her gaze when she looked at John Lancaster. He was her father, she thought stunned. This tall, likable
Américain
with the whimsical smile was
her father.

"How long have you known about me?" she asked in a small voice.

A tender, eager smile crossed John's face. "Not as long as I would have wished." He flashed a warm glance at Lisette's taut face. "Your mother, for obvious reasons, did not tell me until this afternoon. It was," he said softly, "the most wonderful news I could ever have received, next to your mother agreeing to marry me." He sighed. "I just wish that I had known sooner—we missed a great deal, you and I. But I am hoping that you will allow me privately to take up the duties and delights of fatherhood and that perhaps eventually you will look at me with affection." Their eyes met. "I do not intend to force myself upon you. We shall move slowly into our new relationship, you may set the pace. The last thing that I want is to make you uncomfortable or miserable. I, we, all want only your happiness."

Micaela smiled. He was charming, this father of hers, she admitted with a funny little spurt of pleasure. She felt so strange, not exactly excited, not precisely sad, certainly confused and perplexed, but not in a painful way any longer. With every passing moment, her initial dismay and hurt was fading. John Lancaster was her father! Somehow that knowledge did not displease her. The more she considered it, the more she liked the idea. Her father was not dead—he was sitting right across from her. And he was going to marry her
maman
in just a few weeks.

"Are you very angry with me?" Lisette asked, her eyes filled with anxiety. "I-I-I never meant to lie to you—it was just that it seemed best for you, for all of us, if you believed Renault was your father." A tiny sob came from Lisette. "Oh,
petite,
please do not hate me! I did not mean to harm you."

Micaela's heart melted at her mother's distress. Slipping across the short distance that separated them, she sank to her knees by Lisette's chair. Smiling up at Lisette, she said simply,
"Maman!
How could I hate you or condemn what you did? It did not harm me. You did what you thought was right at the time." She looked over at John Lancaster and sent him a dazzling smile. "It is a good thing that you are marrying my
maman
—when I call you
'Papa'
no one will wonder at it!"

"Oh,
ma chérie!"
Lisette cried, hugging Micaela. "I have been so afraid. It has been a terrible burden."

"But one you no longer have to carry by yourself," Micaela murmured. "We will all share it now,
oui?"

Misty-eyed, Lisette nodded, John's hand held tightly in one hand, Micaela's in the other.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Hugh walked over to the trio. Helping his wife to stand, he glanced at John. "I seem to remember," he said lightly, "saying something to the effect that I was glad you had not married Lisette, that if you had, my adorable wife would not have been born. It seems that I must rephrase that statement and thank you most sincerely for having had the foresight to have created the woman I love more than I can say."

Micaela beamed up at him. "What a handsome thing to say,
mon amour."

Hugh grinned at her. "I am a very handsome fellow, remember?"

"Bon!"
Jean said with a note of relief. "It seems that we have managed to cover the rough ground lightly enough, and I, for one, think some brandy would not come amiss right now." He smiled. "A celebratory partaking, of course."

* * *

Later that night, as they lay in bed together, Micaela asked softly, "You do not mind that your stepfather is my
papa?"

Hugh chuckled and pulled her closer. "Mind? Sweetheart, when are you going to learn that I think you are perfect. That it doesn't matter a damn to me who your parents are. All I care about is that I have you. You are my wife and I love you and you love me. Nothing else matters."

Pleased and extremely gratified, Micaela kissed him. She started to speak and then, as if deciding against something, snuggled down next him. But Hugh had seen her expression, and, nudging her slightly, he murmured, "What? Is there something else on your mind?"

Micaela sat up and stared down into his beloved features. "We talk about many things," she began carefully, "and there are now few secrets between us, but the one thing you
never
talk about to me, is the very thing that brought us together—the troubles at our company."

Hugh looked uncomfortable. "I did not want to worry you," he offered lamely.

Micaela snorted. "You forget that it is my company, too,
mon cher.
That whatever happens to it affects me greatly. Should I not know what is going on—what you have found out, or have not? And how serious the problem is? Or how you intend to correct it? You tell me nothing, yet my future, our future, is linked to the affairs of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. Do you not think that now that we have resolved our personal problems, it is time that
we
resolve the difficulties of the company?"

Hugh was quiet for a long time, turning her words over in his head. What Micaela had said was true. Everything. She was right—there should be no secrets between them... not if their marriage was to become a true partnership.

"Trust you to put your finger directly on the delicate issue," he said ruefully. Having conceded the wisdom of her words, he proceeded to tell her everything that he had discovered; the method that had been used systematically to rob the company, and his suspicions that one of the owners might be behind it all.

"Even my
oncle
or François?" Micaela asked, shocked at such a thought.

Hugh shrugged. "It is possible. I no longer think your uncle is involved, although I did in the beginning. And as for Jasper—I never did suspect him."

"But you still suspect
François?"

"Unless I am mistaken, he still owes Husson a large sum of money. And one way to pay off his debts would be to help himself to the company's goods. It is not implausible."

"But unlikely!" Micaela said stoutly, unwilling to believe that François would stoop to stealing from his family.

"Not really. He probably would not even consider it stealing—merely taking what is already his."

"You believe this?"

"I hope that I am wrong. I would like," he answered grimly, "for Husson to turn out to be our thief. It would make things so much tidier."

Micaela looked troubled. "I do not want to believe that François would do such a thing, but I cannot deny that there might be some truth in what you say. François is very spoiled—his wishes have been seldom thwarted—and unfortunately, I could see him justifying his actions. But I cannot see him committing cold-blooded murder, nor," she added frankly, "being brazen enough to steal the vast amounts that have been stolen lately. A little pilfering,
oui,
but not—" She glanced at Hugh. "Do you really think that Alain could be behind everything—the thefts and"—she shuddered—"poor Etienne's murder?"

"You know him better than I—what do you think?"

Micaela's face became thoughtful. Uneasily, she remembered the look in Alain's eyes the night he had forced himself upon her. It had been a most unpleasant look, and there had been something, something extremely ugly and brutal about his actions that night. Slowly she nodded. "I think that in the right circumstances, Alain would make a bad enemy, that he might very well be capable of committing murder."

"So what do we do? Cast him out of our house? Accuse him?"

Micaela sent him a look. "Casting him out of our house or accusing him of being a thief and a murderer without proof would only provoke another duel, and I will not have you risking your life so foolishly." She kissed him soundly. "I do not intend to become a young widow."

"Such a lack of faith in my prowess on the dueling field. I think I shall be offended," Hugh murmured, grinning at her.

"You may be as offended as you like—at least you will be
alive!"

"And that matters to you?" Hugh asked, confident of her answer.

"Oh, perhaps, a trifle," she replied airily, then ruined the effect by giggling. "You know that I adore you, you arrogant creature," she murmured as she slid down beside him, her arms around his neck. "And I shall not bolster your conceit by telling you how very much."

"Since we are not to talk about that particular fascinating subject, what do you think we should do about Alain?"

"We shall watch him," Micaela said sleepily. "He shall not make a move that we do not see. While he is visiting us that will be simple enough, one of us can keep an eye on him—and when he leaves, you will hire someone to shadow his every step."

"That is a very good idea," Hugh said slowly. "A
very
good idea."

"I know," she muttered drowsily. "I thought of it."

Hugh lay awake a long time after Micaela had gone to sleep, thinking on the odd twists and turns of fate. It seemed, he thought with a smile, that he owed a great deal to Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. If John had not come south with the notion of starting up an import-export company and if he had not met with Christophe Galland and fallen in love with his beautiful daughter, Lisette... Even the cruel deceit practiced by Christophe and Renault had played a necessary part—without it, John would never have become his stepfather. And if someone had not been stealing from the company, he, himself might not have decided to relocate in New Orleans—might never have had the opportunity to fall in love with the bewitching little creature asleep at his side. Unthinkable!

Hugh was just about to follow Micaela into the arms of Morpheus when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Despite the thickness of the walls, he heard the low undertone of two men talking and recognized the half-raised voices of Alain and François. He frowned, wishing to hell that François had had better taste in boon companions. Alain Husson was a born troublemaker, and the sooner he left for New Orleans, the sooner Hugh would like it. Actually, he thought with a decidedly carnal smile, the sooner
everybody
left him alone with his wife, the better he would like it.

François would have been more than happy to oblige Hugh as guilt and fear made it increasingly uncomfortable for him to impose on Hugh's hospitality. But until Alain departed for the city, François was forced to remain at
Amour.
He did not trust his onetime friend, despite Alain's vow not to harm Hugh. He wanted Alain under his eye, where he could watch the other man for any moves against Hugh.

The two young men had spent a pleasant evening visiting with their friends and even during the ride back to the plantation, their conversation had been amiable. It was only after they had turned their horses over to the sleepy-eyed stableboy and begun to walk toward the main house and up the steps at the front of the house that the friendly state of affairs between them began to deteriorate.

Uneasy with Alain's presence at
Amour,
François asked him bluntly, "How long do you intend to remain here?"

Alain cocked a brow. "In such a hurry to get rid of me,
mon ami?"

François's jaw clenched, but his voice was even. "Let us be frank. You did not come to see me—you came for another reason, and since that reason no longer exists—"

"Did I say it no longer existed?"

"You
swore
that you would not harm him. And I repeat, there is no longer any reason for you to remain here."

"Ah, but suppose I am enjoying myself? Suppose I do not wish to leave just yet?"

"But I want you to leave," François replied, his voice rising as they walked down the hall toward their rooms.

Alain looked at him, something ugly in his dark eyes. "Do you know that I find your company offensive just now? Do not push me, little man. I might be forced to deal with you, and trust me, you will not like my methods."

"Threats?" François asked dryly. "I should warn you—do not push
me
too hard. I might yet gather my pride and courage and tell Hugh everything."

They had reached Alain's door. Alain gave him a cool glance and said, "I see that there is no dealing with you in this mood.
Bonne nuit!
Perhaps tomorrow you will have recovered your senses."

François's state of mind did not change during the night and he spent another sleepless eternity in his bed before the soft light of dawn finally crept into his room. He continued to toss for another hour or two, before finally forcing himself to rise. Several minutes later, staring at the hollow-eyed apparition that stared back at him in his shaving mirror, he knew that he could not go on this way. His conscience lashed him like a steel-tipped whip, and his pride would not let him forget that he was a coward and a thief.