Deceive Not My Heart (38 page)

"Well, Jesus Christ!" Dominic said to the empty room. "I wonder if Morgan knows this."

Morgan, of course had heard something to that effect during his questioning of the servants, but he hadn't paid a great deal of attention to that particular information, and the blunt truth of the matter is that even if he had, it wasn't likely that he would have done anything any differently. Leonie's oddly moving little admission he would have put down to being simply another ploy to get the money out of him. The initial scheme wasn't working, so why not try tearing at his heartstrings? Unfortunately, as Morgan would have told Leonie bluntly, his heartstrings had been torn out long ago.

* * *

The trip down the river was without incident and Morgan might have enjoyed it under other circumstances, but to his intense annoyance he discovered that absence did not lessen Leonie's hold upon him. She drifted like a beckoning, tawny temptress into his every thought, her slender form seeming to dance seductively around each curve and bend of the mighty Mississippi River, her soft laughter ringing in his ears. It was at night that she truly haunted him; time after time he would wake up abruptly, the feeling of her in his arms so strong, the taste of her on his lips so real, that for several seconds he didn't realize he had been dreaming again. With a virulent curse, he would fling himself over on his side and force himself to sleep, only to have the same insidious dream weave itself through his subconscious.

Morgan also discovered that it wasn't only Leonie who had insinuated herself into his thoughts; he found that he missed Justin. In the short space of time he and Justin had been together, he had grown rather used to the boy's exuberant greeting in the morning as, his green eyes alight with enthusiasm, he came flying down the stairs in search of his "Papa." The boy was hard to resist, Morgan admitted, knowing that he had taken more than a little pleasure in those rides around the estate with Justin following happily on Thunder. It would be so easy to accept Justin as his real son, so easy to love the boy as he had Phillippe. So
damned,
easy!

In the short span of barely a week the two of them have possessed me,
he reflected furiously. Just the fact that he even gave Justin a thought revealed how entwined his life had become with the Saint-Andres. And the nights, the nights were proof of how completely Leonie had invaded his entire being.

At least the journey gave him something constructive to do, he told himself repeatedly. And Gaylord Easton could conceivably hold the key to the entire puzzle, the information he might learn from Gaylord effectively ending the mockery of marriage he shared with Leonie.

The certainty that there was another man involved somewhere had grown even more firmly in Morgan's mind as he and Litchfield came nearer to Baton Rouge. He had some reservations about that man being Gaylord Easton, but Gaylord was the only other link to Leonie that he had at the moment. Obviously someone had fathered the child, and it seemed reasonable that Justin's father would be the man who governed Leonie's actions. Whether that elusive shadowy man was Gaylord Easton remained to be seen. Morgan did have some doubt that Gaylord was Justin's father, but surveying the murky waters of the Mississippi as they approached Baton Rouge he admitted that he should have questioned Gaylord immediately, instead of having so blithely dismissed him.

Baton Rouge had been one of the earliest French settlements in Louisiana but was now considered part of West Florida. Controlled by the Spaniards, it was a bustling port city situated on a pleasant bluff on the left bank of the Mississippi. Finding a comfortable set of rooms proved no obstacle and, leaving Litchfield to unpack their few necessities, Morgan sought out a livery stable and bought a pair of horses. He and Litchfield would need them for the journey home. That business accomplished, he set about finding Gaylord Easton.

After a few questions, Morgan learned that a family named Easton lived some five miles north of Baton Rouge. From what he had gleaned, they sounded as if they were the relatives that Gaylord had come to visit.

Morgan was up early the next morning impatient to find Gaylord, but he restrained himself from calling upon the Michael Easton family until the respectable hour of ten o'clock. He found the house, an elegant three-storied white mansion, with little trouble and he hoped he would find Gaylord with equal ease.

Luck was with him, for these were indeed the relatives that Gaylord had come to visit. And, fortunately, from Morgan's point of view, Michael Easton, a bluff hearty man of some fifty years, proved to be an easy agreeable fellow.

"Want to see my nevey, do you?" he asked interestedly, his shrewd brown eyes quickly sizing up Morgan's tall elegant form. At Morgan's nod, he added, "Well, I hope you can take him from the path he is on! Since he's arrived from Natchez he's done nothing but drown in my best whiskey and moan and blubber over some chit by the name of Melinda. Says if he had it to do over again, he'd go ahead and let her commit bigamy. Says he never thought she'd blame
him
for the broken engagement! Can't say as though I don't agree with him. All the boy did was the right thing, and I'm afraid I don't see how this Melinda hussy can say it's his fault when all he did was save her from making a damned fool of herself."

Morgan smiled slightly and murmured, "I doubt anyone can stop Melinda from making a fool of herself."

Michael Easton cocked a rusty-brown eyebrow at him. "Oh-ho, like that is it? Well, I can't say as I'm surprised. Sounded like a Canterbury tale to me!" Nodding to his left, he continued, "You'll find him in the
garconniere."

Walking away from the elder Easton, Morgan was thoughtful. From the remarks dropped by his uncle, it seemed Gaylord was deep in the throes of self-pity and certainly not involved in any scheme with Leonie.

Entering the
garconniere,
a small two-storied building that was a greatly reduced replica of the main house, Morgan found Gaylord in his rooms on the second story.

Gaylord was drunk, sprawled in a large overstuffed leather chair, when Morgan walked into the room. Blearily Gaylord gaped at him, the stubble on his face and chin giving him a decidedly unsavory appearance, and the red-rimmed eyes were more than adequate proof that his uncle had not exaggerated the situation. A glass full of what Morgan assumed was whiskey was clasped loosely in one hand and as Morgan stopped just inside the doorway, it suddenly slid from Gaylord's slackened hold and shattered on the floor.

"You!"
Gaylord blurted out with loathing and astonishment, ignoring the shattered glass and widening ring of liquid on the floor. "Isn't it enough you have taken the only woman I shall ever love from me? Must you hound me too? Melinda will not even speak to me! And do you know why?" Rising clumsily to his feet, his hands clenched into fists, he snarled, "Because I saved her! I
saved
her from you and now she hates me! I begged her forgiveness for the way I ruined her ball; I've pleaded with her to understand that my one thought was to protect her; I've admitted I shouldn't have created such a scandalous scene. But good God, what could I do?" His fine dark eyes full of dull misery, he said bitterly, "When I met your wife that night at the tavern I couldn't believe my luck! I was so
damned
excited, I never thought of anything but of saving Melinda from your dastardly clutches." He threw back his head and gave an angry shout of laughter. "What a jest! I think the
worst
thing that ever happened to me was finding your wife! Believe me, I wish now I'd never laid eyes on her!"

Morgan said nothing for several seconds as a number of things raced through his brain. After an intense scrutiny of the younger man's features, the first thing that struck him was that Gaylord bore no resemblance to Justin, and Morgan found himself uncomfortably relieved by this. Did it really matter to him who Justin's father was? He gave Gaylord another assessing look, deciding he must have been mad to think even for one moment of this poor besotted fool as a partner in an underhanded scheme to part him from his money. It was obvious that Gaylord was, for reasons which totally escaped Morgan, pining grievously for Melinda Marshall. It also appeared that he regretted bringing Leonie to the Marshall house that night.

But aware that it could be an act, Morgan proceeded to explore the matter further. Idly he murmured, "I can sympathize with your dilemma, but I wonder if you would mind explaining to me precisely
how
you came to so opportunely discover Leonie? It is something that has mystified me for some time."

The conversation that followed was acrimonious and mercifully brief. But Morgan was able to ride away from Gaylord Easton a short while later, confident in his own mind that while Gaylord was a hot-tempered fool, determined to waste his emotions on a silly chit not worth a moment's thought, his only connection to Leonie was a chance meeting at King's Tavern.

His mission accomplished, he and Litchfield left that very day for home. Riding swiftly towards Natchez Morgan couldn't say that his trip had been a success. He had eliminated Gaylord from whatever plot existed, but his notion of another man, a shadowy stranger in the background had only grown stronger. And he was precisely in the same position he had been when he had left Natchez—saddled with a lying jade who claimed to be his wife.

Through the humid heat of June he and Litchfield rode the narrow, curving trail that lead toward Natchez, arriving at Le Petit after midnight near the middle of the month. They had discussed camping another night on the trail, but both men had been eager to reach home and so, aided by the light of a half-moon, they had pushed on.

The house was in darkness, and after unsaddling their exhausted horses and giving them a scant rubdown, both men walked silently towards the house. They entered as quietly as possible, not wishing to awaken anyone, and might have managed to gain Morgan's rooms undetected if Litchfield hadn't stumbled over something in the blackness, and dropped the valise he was carrying.

The valise landed with an audible thump and there was a muffled curse from the annoyed Litchfield. In offended tones he said, "I believe, sir, that young Justin has left his wooden horse in the hallway."

Morgan grinned in the darkness, knowing that Litchfield would never have allowed such a deplorable incident to have occurred if he had been in charge while the master was away. Morgan started to make some teasing remark, when the door to the study suddenly flew open and Dominic, a pistol in one hand and a candle in the other, snapped, "Hold it right there! Make one move and you'll be dead men!"

"Dom!" Morgan said with surprise. "What the hell are you doing here at this hour of the night?"

Recognizing Morgan's voice instantly, as well as his tall form in the candlelight, Dominic grinned sheepishly, and lowering the pistol, he said, "Oh! It's you!"

"Well, who else did you expect at this ungodly hour?"

"Housebreakers. While you've been gone several houses in the area have been robbed, and with no man in the house, maman has been worrying herself into a decline fretting over Leonie and the others." Throwing Morgan a resigned look, he added, "As you know, once maman gets something into her sweet little head she instantly takes steps to correct what is bothering her."

Morgan smiled in agreement. "Yes, but tell me why you aren't abed? Surely the house can offer something more than the dubious comfort of my study?"

Dominic pulled a face. "Well, yes. But you see if maman was determined that a man stay in the house, Leonie was just as determined not to have me stay!" Shaking his head, a rueful gleam in the gray eyes, he admitted, "There have been some stormy days while you have been gone, I can tell you that! Leonie is as stubborn, independent a little minx as I have ever met. She informed maman that she had managed to live the past five years without the protection of a man and she saw no reason why she should suddenly have herself saddled with someone who probably couldn't shoot as well as she could! Maman took exception to that, I can tell you! She decided that Leonie was casting aspersions on my ability as a marksman and for a few minutes there I was afraid I'd see blood spilt."

Morgan could well imagine the scene, and a hint of laughter in his voice he asked, "What happened?"

Litchfield forestalled Dominic's reply by saying in long-suffering accents, "If you gentlemen will persist in conversing in the dark except for one candle, and after the hour of two o'clock in the morning, might I be excused to find more refined comfort?"

Dominic smothered a snort of laughter and Morgan, amusement glittering in the dark blue eyes, turned to look at his valet. "By all means, Litchfield,
do
take yourself off. I shall see you in the morning... unless of course, you have other plans?"

Litchfield sent him a speaking glance and without another word disappeared in the gloom of the hall.

Swinging back to Dominic, Morgan said wryly, "He is right you know, we
could
find somewhere else more comfortable."

Dominic gave a silly little bow and murmured, "If you will follow me?"

A few minutes later they were both seated in Morgan's study sipping whiskey. The disappointing outcome of Morgan's trip to Baton Rouge and his meeting with Gaylord had been discussed, and for the moment they were simply enjoying each other's company. Morgan had shrugged out of his jacket and his shirt was half undone to the waist revealing portions of his bronzed chest with its whorls of fine black hair. Lounging comfortably in a red leather chair, his long legs encased in buff breeches, Morgan laid his head back against the softness of the leather and expelled a long relaxed sigh. "God, but it's good to be back!"