Deceive Not My Heart (48 page)

Leonie shrugged and said tartly, "We is not going to be
anything
if you don't start putting some of this away!"

Mercy shot her a look. "Somethin' sure is bitin' you, Miss Leonie."

Aware that her resentment had nothing to do with Mercy, Leonie forced a smile and said lightly, "Oh, stop chattering and put those things away."

"What? Before I've had a chance to inspect them?" Morgan asked from the connecting doorway.

At the sound of his voice Leonie spun on her heels, her heart pounding. She had not seen him all day and if she hadn't known better she would have thought he was avoiding her. Not only had he not joined her in the breakfast parlor, he had sent word that he would also not be in for lunch, requesting a tray in his office.

Leonie had debated the wisdom of bearding him there, but remembering the last time she had entered his office, she had decided against it. Consequently, she had spent a frustrating day, bottling up all the hot, angry words she longed to hurl at him. It hadn't helped to know that all she had to do was walk across the expanse of lawn that separated his office from the house to face him. Angry with herself for being a coward and furious with him for placing her in that position, her simmering temper was not the least bit soothed by her heart's reaction to his unexpected presence. He was so handsome in his bottle-green jacket and buff breeches. A crooked smile was curving his mouth and there was a mocking gleam in the blue eyes, almost as if he were aware of the frustration that had eaten at her all day and was laughing at her.

Leonie took a deep breath as her hands unconsciously clenched into fists. With as much calm as she could muster, she said to Mercy, "Please leave us, Mercy. I wish to speak alone with Monsieur Slade."

Morgan's eyes narrowed at the word
monsieur.
Walking slowly into the room, he agreed, saying, "Yes,
do
leave us, Mercy. I must teach my wife the proper way to say my name."

Leonie flushed and Mercy, a speculative glint in her eyes, laid down the frothy confection of lace she had been holding and left the room.

Alone, facing him, Leonie discovered that the abuses she had yearned to heap upon his head were scattering before the reality of his powerful presence.
He has become so dear to me,
she thought painfully;
I love him and yet I
must
not! He is a blackguard, a man without honor who is not to be trusted and yet...

Fighting the urgings of her heart, she was finally able to revive the rage she had kept tamped down, and glaring up at him, she said stiffly, "Monsieur, we must talk! This situation is intolerable and I will not allow it to continue."

"My sentiments precisely," Morgan returned, as he flicked a finger through the pile of filmy garments Mercy had left on a small velvet sofa.

The wind unexpectedly taken out of her sails, Leonie gaped at him, and then recovering herself, she asked suspiciously, "What do you mean by that? Are you going to repay my dowry?"

Morgan regarded her thoughtfully. As if choosing his words with care, he said slowly, "I might. It depends on what you're willing to give in return."

A frown creased her forehead. "I don't understand. I already
have
given you what was required—my hand in marriage."

"But suppose," Morgan asked quietly, "I wanted you and Justin to stay with me?"

Her heart knocking painfully against her ribs, an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, Leonie regarded him dumbly. She longed to shout out a joyous, unreserved yes, but caution held her back. Was this another trick? Was he only attempting to disarm her in order to gain some advantage?

Leonie's distrust was not without foundation. The men in her life had done nothing to make her trust the male of the species. And Morgan's recent actions had done nothing to change her opinion. Why now should she consider for one moment the possibility of staying with him?

Quite simply because her heart was blind to all reason. She loved this bewildering man, and more than anything she did indeed wish to be his wife. But her practical nature and her sensible mind were in direct and violent conflict with the demands of her wayward heart.

Almost despairingly she got out, "Monsieur, I must have time to think. You have asked me no easy question and before I give you an answer, it is imperative that I consider many things."

It was not the reply that he wanted and with a sinking heart she watched the way his face changed, the shuttered expression that came down over his proud features, and the cold glitter that entered the dark blue eyes.

"I see," he said calmly, furious and yet almost relieved at her fencing. He hadn't meant to even mention a permanent arrangement, and if he was furious at Leonie for her reluctance to commit herself, he was equally furious at his own lack of control.
Fool!
he berated himself.
Did you really think that last night changed anything? My God, how could you have been so stupid as to let the passions of the flesh blind you to reality?
A bitter smile on his mouth, he made a bleak promise not to make that mistake again.
And if it
is
love I feel for her,
he thought viciously,
I'll damn well
kill it.

All day long he had fought that particular battle within himself, fighting against the attraction he felt for her, trying to convince himself that he did
not
love her, that the admission he had made to himself last night had been some wild aberration brought on by the pleasure of her body. But when he had entered her room and had seen her, all his resolve had gone flying and he had spoken without thinking. Something that won't happen in the future, he decided grimly, his pride as well as his heart smarting under her rebuff. And the thought occurred to him again that perhaps there was a
real
husband lurking in the background. He found the idea unbearable, and conscious of an ugly jealousy, he turned away from her and walked over to the chair where the amber-bronze gown lay in regal splendor.

"You'll wear this tonight when we attend the ball for Burr?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"Ball? What ball?" Leonie inquired, her emotions thrown into confusion by his abrupt change of topic.

Morgan cocked an eyebrow at her, and then realizing that he hadn't mentioned the fact that his mother had accepted the invitation for them, he smiled faintly and said, "My lamentable memory again, I'm afraid. There is a ball being held tonight to honor Aaron Burr, our ex-vice-president, and we are expected to attend."

"Oh, but—" Leonie began to protest.

Morgan stopped her by interrupting and saying, "We
will
attend, my dear, and I will accept no excuses." A sardonic expression on his face, he added, "I think it is time we made our first public appearance and put an end to the wagging tongues, don't you?"

Her features stormy, Leonie returned, "Bah! What do I care about wagging tongues?"

Morgan strode over to her and said in a dangerous tone, "You may not, but my family has had to put up with a great deal of scandal they could have well done without. Our argument aside, I believe you owe it to them to make some amends. Attending this ball will do much to stop speculation, and Leonie," he finished with a hard glint in the blue eyes, "we
are
going to the ball tonight."

Rebellion sparkling in her eyes, Leonie debated the wisdom of defying him, but something about the set of his jaw made her decide that this was not the time to declare war. With a meekness that was a direct variance with the expression on her face, she capitulated. Shrugging a shoulder, she turned away from him and said, "Oh, very well, monsieur, I will go to your silly ball. And I will behave very prettily. Does that satisfy you?"

A sudden hint of laughter in his voice he reached out and spun her around. "Cat-eyes, I thought last night you had learned my name. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to say it so soon... or is it you would like another lesson?"

Leonie spluttered, but Morgan's mouth effectively stopped further speech as his lips came down hard on hers. He kissed her thoroughly and only when Leonie was limp in his arms did he lift his mouth from hers. He looked down into her bemused face and murmured, "Does that make you remember? Can you say
Morgan,
or must I give you further lessons?"

The sea-green eyes spitting golden flecks, Leonie glowered up at him, but aware of what would follow if she continued to defy him, she muttered, "I have not forgotten, mon—M-M-Morgan."

Morgan sighed. "Pity," he said regretfully. "You are such a delightful pupil."

Leonie blushed and Morgan laughed aloud. Flicking a careless finger down her hot cheek, he said, "There are things I must do before this evening, so for the time being, my prickly little cat, I shall leave you to preen amongst your spoils." Before Leonie could think of a scathing reply, he turned and left the room.

Furious with her own helplessness, Leonie stamped her foot in rage, wondering if she dared to ignore his command to attend the ball. Remembering the hard blue eyes and unyielding chin she decided against it—the uneasy feeling that it would be foolish indeed to ignore what he had said was too persistent.

Consequently, trying very hard to remain unmoved and indifferent to the excitement that was coursing through her veins at the idea of attending her first ball, she permitted Mercy to have full rein. And when the grinning black woman finally stepped back and turned Leonie in the direction of the tall mirror at one end of the room, Leonie's breath caught in her throat.

Is that really me?
she wondered, staring open mouthed at the slender, fashionably attired young woman who stared back at her. Mercy had done her work well; the tawny curls had been piled high on Leonie's small head, and several tiny ringlets had been coaxed down to caress her ears and cheeks. A very light dusting of pearl white powder across her face and bosom had given her an ethereal look, but no artifice was needed to add color to her soft coral mouth or to intensify the depths of the green eyes. The exquisitely fashioned gown was as beautiful as she remembered it, and it gave her an air of elegance with its slim, classical lines, the ever-changing amber and bronze hues of the silk a perfect foil for Leonie's coloring. From beneath the narrow skirt, a neatly turned ankle could be glimpsed above delightful amber satin slippers; Leonie was aware that she had never been so richly dressed in her entire life.

Next to her skin, she could feel the fine lace-trimmed lawn chemise and petticoat and the softness of her silken stockings. It was a delicious feeling and she felt sinful for enjoying it. Even the perfume she wore tonight had a wickedly intoxicating scent to it; a faint scent of gardenia lingered in the air wherever she moved.

It was difficult not to be excited and pleased with herself, and though Leonie fought a valiant battle, she lost. A happy smile on her face, she nearly skipped down the hall to Yvette's room to share her pleasure.

"Yvette," she cried gaily as she danced into the room. "Look at me! What do you think?" With an endearing innocence she added "I am very grand,
n'est-ce pas?"

Yvette, feeling much better, agreed. "Oh, Leonie, how beautiful you are! You will be the belle of the ball,
oui?"

Remembering that she was not supposed to enjoy herself, Leonie grimaced, "Bah! What do I care?" And sitting down on the edge of Yvette's bed she asked anxiously, "You do not mind that I am going out and leaving you here?"

Yvette smiled gently. "No, I do not mind. After all, it is you who are married to Monsieur Slade. I am merely your companion."

Leonie scowled. "You will not say such things! You will have just as many beautiful gowns, too. You will see! I promise that it will be true!"

Yvette giggled and murmured, "Leonie,
ma petite,
I never doubted it." Struck by a sudden thought, she asked, "Has Justin seen you yet?"

"No, but I am on my way to him now. Do you think he will like me this way?"

"I'm certain he will," Yvette said warmly.

Justin was enchanted with Leonie's appearance, but it was the scent of gardenia that he liked best. Burying his little face in her neck, he prattled, "Ah, maman, you smell like a flower. A very pretty one,
oui?"

Leonie gave a gurgle of laughter. "But of course,
mon coeur!
I am your maman, am I not?"

She did not stay long with Justin, but having kissed him good night and having given the nursemaid instructions for the evening, she made her way to the main parlor. Entering it, some of her happiness evaporated. After all, nothing had
really
changed between her and Monsieur Slade. But, she could not restrain her pleasure and excitement.

She knew the reason for her elated mood, but she stubbornly persisted in pretending otherwise.
It is merely the thought of going to my first ball and the enjoyment of having fashionable clothes,
she told herself time and time again. But her heart knew the real reason and though she had tried to push Morgan's question out of her mind all afternoon and evening, it came back to haunt her.

Appearances would lead one to believe that he wanted a real marriage, and it was all Leonie could do not to throw common sense to the winds and fling herself into his arms shouting, yes, yes,
yes
when he walked into the parlor a few minutes later. But uncertainty—he had shown himself to be as changeable as the winds—held her back.