Deceive Not My Heart (27 page)

Morgan did not bother with a saddle. Riding the horse bareback through the silence of the night brought back memories for Morgan—memories of his life with the Comanches and many a moonlight raid.

How long he rode, Morgan didn't know. He took a turn off from the main road to Bonheur and then followed a narrow, overgrown path that gently angled downward, and after a while he found himself riding near the edge of the roiling, hissing, mighty Mississippi River. He rode for some miles, staring out into the darkness, not even aware of the roar of the river; his thoughts were far away from the trauma and disagreeable situation that awaited him upon his return. And as he rode silently through the blackness of the night, the sky gradually began to turn that soft purple that comes as the stars fade and the sun seeks to establish itself once more in the heavens.

The ride brought Morgan a sense of peace, his rage and furious resentment fading for the moment. By the time the first pink and gold fingers of dawn were streaking across the sky, he was able to view the problem that Leonie and her precipitous advent into his life had created, with less emotion and more of the cool, unruffled intelligence for which he was noted. For the first time since she had erupted so violently into his life, he was able to put aside the completely natural desire to furiously shout aloud his innocence, and, instead, to turn his powerful mind to the problem of finding a way to expose this clever schemer for the lying, conniving bitch she was.

Just the thought of her, and Morgan felt scorching, scarlet rage boiling up inside of him, but he swiftly brought it under control. Raging and ranting would gain him nothing. He had to fight the little witch on her own grounds, he decided slowly. He must find a way to turn this situation against her—somehow, those very legal-looking documents that she had so neatly trapped him with must be made to work against her. But how?

Turning Tempete from the river, Morgan eventually found the path he had taken down and slowly retraced his ride, his mind occupied with the search for a solution. It was obvious that her main reason for seeking him was to extort money.

Then why, he wondered idly as he urged Tempete along, had she chosen such a public and dramatic way of announcing their ostensible relationship? Gaylord? That could be, he admitted reluctantly.

A patch of blue to the right caught his eye, and seeing the beckoning glitter of the dawn sun on water, he guided Tempete toward it. Pushing their way through the wild, luxuriant undergrowth, they came eventually to a spot Morgan hadn't visited since a child.

A small, gurgling creek ran around the edge of the Bonheur estate before it plunged over the high bluff to the river below, and here and there as it meandered over the acreage, it widened into deep, blue pools—pools where Morgan had loved to swim. This particular one had been his favorite because it was the one farthest from the house; the deepest one with the clearest, sweetest water; and because of the small waterfall that splashed over the small rocky abutment at one end of the pool.

Staring at the cool, clear depths, Morgan gave into an impulse. Dismounting Tempete and tying the reins to a nearby bush, he walked to the edge of the pool.

It took him only a moment to strip off his clothes, and then with a clean, strong dive, he plunged into the clear water. The water was cool and pleasing along his skin, and settling down to a steady pace, he swam from one end of the pool to the other, then back again, his mind once again seeking a way out of the trap Leonie Saint-Andre had sprung on him. His body moved effortlessly through the water, the muscled arms and legs propelling him without conscious thought, leaving his brain free to concentrate on more important things.

What part
did
Gaylord Easton play in her plans? he wondered as he swam. Or was it Gaylord's plan and Leonie only his tool? Somehow, Morgan doubted that. Leonie Saint-Andre had not left him with the impression that she would be anyone's tool.

Pushing himself forcefully away from the rocky abutment, he did a precision turn, and then with his arms cutting cleanly through the crystalline, blue waters, he swam back and forth, his mind fully on Leonie Saint-Andre. He did not like what he was thinking either.
She's too damned attractive,
he admitted savagely, knowing he wouldn't have let her disappear out of his life even if she hadn't brought herself so summarily to his attention. Which left him where? Drawn irresistibly to a woman he perceived to be an unprincipled bitch?

God damn it, no!
he nearly shouted aloud, his stroke faltering a bit. But Morgan knew he lied, and stopping abruptly in the center of the pool, he treaded water, shaking his wet dark hair from his eyes. All right, so he'd like to bed the wench, he couldn't deny that, but despite his desire for her, he still wanted the little vixen exposed for the liar she was.

Suddenly losing his pleasure in the swim, he left the pool and dragged his clothes on over his wet body. Seating himself at the base of a huge magnolia tree near where Tempete leisurely cropped tender spring grass and clover, Morgan plucked a blade himself and idly chewed on it as he continued to search for a way out of this snare.

If it
was
money she was after, then of course, the easiest solution was to have her name her price and give her the damned money, he conceded. But that solution rankled. He hadn't married the bitch and wasn't about to be harassed into meeting her demands. Besides, paying her the money wouldn't solve his problem—with her gone he would still have to convince everyone else that she had lied and that the entire preposterous incident had merely been a scheme to bleed money from him.

No, she was going to find out that Morgan Slade was not the easy gull she had first thought, he decided grimly, and that meant he had to play along with her until he had the proof he needed. He tossed away the mangled blade of grass, and feeling as if he now had a glimmer of a plan, he swiftly remounted Tempete and headed back towards the house.

And so it was, as he rode along the narrow, tree-shaded little patch through the woods near Bonheur, that one way of turning the tables on Mademoiselle Saint-Andre occurred to him. The path ran in front of a large clearing, and glancing at it, Morgan's hands tightened unexpectedly on the reins, causing Tempete to dance angrily.

A miniature of Bonheur sat serenely in the clearing, the forest flanking it on all three sides, and staring at the house Morgan suddenly smiled. Of course, Le Petit Bonheur.

Le Petit Bonheur had been constructed three years earlier by Matthew in the hopes that a house separated from the main estate would encourage one of his bachelor sons to marry. Robert was thirty-one, Dominic already twenty-three, and Alexandre and Cassandre sixteen, rising seventeen, and Matthew was optimistically planning for the future. Someday, he hoped there would be several homes scattered across the thousands of acres of Bonheur, all of them housing the growing families of his sons, and Le Petit, as it was called, was the start of that very fervent hope. But so far, none of his three eldest sons seemed inclined to take advantage of the elegant little house. Until now, Morgan thought with a dangerous glitter in the dark blue eyes... until
now....

Chapter 13

Leaving the path, Morgan approached the front of the house, staring at it thoughtfully. Le Petit was about half the size of Bonheur, and while it duplicated the broad columns, the wide verandas and the architecture of the main house, it had a charm of its own, the soft yellow glow of the walls and the glistening white columns pleasingly different from the cool green of Bonheur.

Morgan rode slowly around the house, noting the kitchen, constructed as usual some distance from the building, and the stables that nestled under the verdant growth of the pines, oaks, and tupelo trees. Servants' quarters of brick were further along in the forest, each with its cleared little space for whatever food crops the blacks wished to grow for their own use. Turning Tempete back towards the main house, Morgan glanced at the latticed summerhouse that could be seen through the trees at the right of the house. Beyond it, he caught a glimpse of the same stream that formed the pool he had just left. Guiding the restive stallion around to the other side, he discovered a terrace and a boxwood garden, as well as another building just inside the forest line which he correctly took to be the office.

Nudging Tempete into a brisk trot, he rode back towards the path, and stopping there, took another long look at the house. A fairy-tale house, in a fairy-tale setting, he thought sardonically, and a smile of pure deviltry lit his face.
I wonder,
he mused with unholy amusement,
how my new bride will like it!

Le Petit had given him an idea for a partial solution to block Leonie's further intrusion into his family. If he brought her here, she would be isolated from the rest of the family and would have fewer chances to work her wiles on his parents. She had claimed to be his wife; everyone seemed to believe her, so why not appear to give in gracefully? Precisely what sort of excuse he was going to offer to explain his reasons for denying her existence so vehemently last night, and supposedly deserting her, escaped him for the moment, as did any sort of explanation for his behavior with Melinda, but he was certain something would occur to him. Leonie Saint-Andre was going to discover she wasn't the only one who could lie through her teeth, he decided coldly.

Appearing to acknowledge the validity of her claim was risky, even he would admit that. He would be branded a liar as well as several other more unpleasant things, but momentarily there was no other choice. As long as he denied her accusations, she would gather sympathy and supporters, but if he conceded defeat and did
not
deny her story, might that action disconcert his charming little wife?

He rather thought it would, certain she'd had no intention of actually taking her place as his spouse. It was money that she was after, not social position, and he'd be willing to wager his inheritance that the last thing she wanted was a husband hung around her pretty neck. Something she was going to get with a vengeance, he promised with a wicked smile.

It would also give him time to put someone to work on discovering exactly who this little bitch was and why she had chosen him for her scheme. Acknowledging her as his wife deftly took the offensive away from her and gave it to him, leaving her the one to then find a way to get herself out of the trap
she
had fallen into.

The more Morgan thought of the idea, the more intrigued by it he became. There were, he reflected cynically, several aspects to having a wife that he was certain he would enjoy—that challenging mouth, for one and that delectable, slender body for another.

A mocking smile on his lips, Morgan finally kicked Tempete into a gallop, suddenly eager for the commencement of battle—and a battle, he was certain, it was going to be!

All of his earlier rage had disappeared, if not the bitter hurt and sharp disappointment of having his parents think him capable of villainy, and he was in a more normal, confident frame of mind. As for his parents, his current plan couldn't wound or distress them more than they already had been. They believed the worst of him, so who was he to deny it? The scandal and gossip currently flying from one plantation to another he dismissed contemptuously—next week there would be something else for the residents of Natchez to discuss, and the unexpected appearance of Morgan Slade's wife at his betrothal ball to Melinda Marshall would fade into the past.

He might damn Leonie Saint-Andre for disrupting his life, but he was more alive and full of enthusiasm than he had been in months, perhaps even years. For the first time in far too long, he was actually looking forward to something, actually planning something instead of allowing weary disinterest to take him where it would. The tedious boredom that had been his constant companion was gone, and in its place there was a burst of excitement surging in his bloodstream and a pleasurable sense of expectancy that went to his head like wine.

Morgan was almost happy when he reached Bonheur—not quite, but almost—for, after all, he had always enjoyed a good fight, and the one shaping up gave all the appearances of being the most treacherous and yet exciting fight of his entire life. He was going to greatly enjoy crossing swords with Mademoiselle Saint-Andre!

The house was stirring now, and when he approached the stables, he was met by Jeremy, the head groom. Tossing Tempete's reins to the man, Morgan sent him a carefree grin and slid from the back of the stallion.

"He's had a good run, but I'd have him walked before turning him loose in the pasture," Morgan said by way of explanation.