Deceive Not My Heart (6 page)

A derisive expression flitted across the lean, dark face. "If you mean a
marriageable
young lady, the answer is
no,
papa! You'll have to be content to have your other offspring breeding your grandchildren."

"Now, Morgan—" Matthew protested.

But Morgan held up one hand and said in a voice laced with steel, "Don't! I will not talk about it, and if you want us to part on unpleasant terms, just continue the subject."

Wisely Matthew abandoned what he had been going to say. Morgan could be so implacable, he admitted with a sigh, as he puffed on his cigar and followed his son into the house.

Sleep came hard for Morgan that night, his father's words bringing back memories that he had thought were behind him. Apparently not, though, he admitted bitterly, as Stephanie's lovely face floated in his mind's eye. Angrily he got up out of bed and stood at the tall windows that overlooked the carriageway and drive.

Moonlight gilded the magnolia trees in the center of the circular drive, making each leathery green leaf seem edged in silver, but Morgan was blind to the beauty of the night. He slammed his fist against the wall.
How could I have been so misled by a beautiful face? Why didn't I realize that she had only been after money all along?
he wondered bleakly. But while he could think of his dead, deserting wife, his grief was too deep to touch on Phillippe's death. Stephanie had been a woman grown, following her own destiny, but his little son had merely been a pawn. He had adored both his wife and his son, but his love for Stephanie had died the instant he had read her note. Love had died and left in its place an icy anger against her, which little Phillippe's death had only intensified.
Faithless bitch!
he cursed furiously, filled with hate for what she had done to him. Bitterly he laughed in the darkness—
and papa wonders if there is any special woman waiting in New Orleans for me! I'll burn in hell before I ever believe a pair of lying eyes again,
he promised himself fiercely.
Never will I fall in love again. Never!

Chapter 3

Morgan woke with a start, the nightmare still very real; for a moment he didn't recognize his surroundings. With a blank, uncomprehending stare he gazed around the handsome, spacious room, trying vainly to identify his whereabouts. From the elegant, expensive furnishings it was obviously a place of wealth; his eyes lingered on the crimson silk hangings of the bed before wandering to an intricately carved mahogany chest against one wall. It looked to be of Spanish origin, and with that thought memory came flooding back—he was in New Orleans, at the governor's residence.

Arriving the previous day in the city, Morgan had wasted no time and had gone immediately to call upon Governor Gayoso in his offices. Gayoso had greeted him warmly, and upon learning that Morgan intended to be in New Orleans for some weeks he had instantly pressed an invitation upon Morgan to stay at his home. Morgan had sought politely to refuse, preferring not to be so completely under Gayoso's observation, but Gayoso had been determined, and as it would be foolish to insult one of the most powerful men in Louisiana, Morgan had eventually agreed. After all, he told himself, he did have business with the governor and what did it matter where he stayed?

Aware of the wisdom of not instantly broaching all of his reasons for being in New Orleans, Morgan had followed Gayoso's genial lead and had settled down to enjoy a few days of the older man's company and openhanded hospitality, aware that business would be discussed only when the governor was ready. Gayoso never rushed matters, believing firmly in the concept of
manana.

Manuel Gayoso de Lemos was a slim man of perhaps fifty; his dark hair, black eyes, and swarthy complexion made his Spanish blood very apparent. He was an oddity amongst the Spanish officials in that he seldom used his power and office for gain. That is not to say all of his dealings would survive scrutiny in the bright light of day, only that he had an honor of sorts. A hard drinker, his love of liquor was legendary, and it had been his ability to drink any Natchezian under the table, as well as his lack of blatant fortune hunting, that had made him so agreeable to the people of Natchez when he had been their governor a few years before. A charming, debonair, extravagant man, Gayoso made friends effortlessly and was an excellent host.

The evening had passed pleasantly, the food, the wines, and the company of the finest quality. After they had dined, Gayoso and Morgan had excused themselves from the ladies of the family and had spent the remainder of the evening, doing as gentlemen do so often, drinking and gambling in a handsome room the governor had set aside for that purpose.

A few more gentlemen had joined them, all strangers to Morgan, but they had proved to be agreeable company, particularly an aristocratic old gentleman by the name of Saint-Andre. The Frenchman had a witty tongue and a pleasing manner, and Morgan had found himself enjoying Saint-Andre's company immensely... at first. He had
not
enjoyed watching Saint-Andre become drunker and drunker, nor had he been comfortable watching Gayoso accept vowel after vowel from a man obviously unable to realize what he was doing.

But Gayoso's actions didn't come as a surprise to Morgan. The governor was a curious blend of avarice and generosity, and some of his methods of gaining money—and Gayoso
always
had need of money—were neither nice nor proper. Unable to stand by and watch the old man openly robbed, Morgan had put an end to Gayoso's unfair practice simply by calling it an evening. He adroitly convinced the completely inebriated Saint-Andre that he too should retire for the night. Morgan even found himself offering to escort the old man to his home.

Saint-Andre had been flattered, but he had declined, explaining somewhat incoherently that his own servants were waiting and that they would see him to his townhouse as they usually did. Feeling there was nothing more he could do, Morgan had bowed, made his adieus and retired for the night, Saint-Andre vanishing from his mind.

Morgan had slept soundly at first, but then just as dawn had been breaking on the horizon, the nightmare began again. It was always the same dream and it had haunted him from the moment he had seen his little son's lifeless body lying in that shady glen on the Natchez Trace. In his dream Morgan knew Phillippe was in terrible, mortal danger, and urgently, fear shrieking throughout his body, he rode desperately to rescue him. To his horror, he always arrived just in time to see a dark stranger slit his son's young throat and then disappear into the green jungle of the Trace, leaving Phillippe to strangle in his own blood. And, as happened this morning, Morgan would come awake with his heart pounding uncontrollably, his body bathed in sweat, his brain silently screaming out an anguished, furious denial.

If Morgan woke from the night's sleep with a nightmare, for Claude Saint-Andre the waking was an entirely different matter. It was true that his head was pounding like an African drum and that his mouth felt as if the entire Spanish Army had trampled through it, but he was full of confidence and excitement. He had found
Leonie's husband!
Monsieur Morgan Slade was
everything
a man could wish for in a granddaughter's husband! He was handsome, wealthy, and honorable—Claude had not been so drunk that he had not realized the motives behind Morgan's abrupt ending of the evening. Morgan Slade had given the definite impression of being a strong, determined young man who would brook no nonsense from a willful, headstrong little minx like Leonie. Claude was elated.

There would be difficulties, to be sure, but Claude, with his usual disregard of unpleasant facts, waved them aside. He would contrive.
Naturellement!

As could be expected, that afternoon when Claude informed Leonie that he had found her a husband she was less than pleased. She had been furious at being compelled to leave Chateau Saint-Andre to come to their shabby townhouse for the express purpose of being married off to the first convenient man her grandfather found. It had been bad enough being forced to agree to grandfather's infamous bargain, but to have a prospective husband shoved down her throat on their fourth day in New Orleans was more than she could swallow.

The sea-green eyes flashing with helpless anger, Leonie had asked bitterly, "And this Monsieur Slade, he has agreed to the marriage?"

Claude had hesitated, not wanting Leonie to guess he had not yet even broached the matter to the young man in question. Deciding that the sooner Leonie realized that her fate was sealed, the better off they all would be, he replied easily,
"Mais oui!
We did not finalize everything last night, you understand, but he is most agreeable. I will meet with him tonight to discuss your dowry and the date of the marriage."

Her eyes narrowed and Leonie queried sharply, "What dowry?"

Aware that she would find out about the money eventually, Claude said with deceptive innocence, "A handsome dowry of five thousand doubloons in gold that your father and I set aside the day of your birth." Smiling almost proudly he added, "You see,
ma petite,
despite all my faults I managed to save that for you."

He would have gone on, but Leonie's eyes went round with astonishment. Then, as the impact of what all that money would mean to her beloved Chateau Saint-Andre, an exuberant grin crossed her face and she burst out happily,
"Grand-pere! Mon Dieu,
but you had me worried! We are saved! With that much gold we can buy so many things for the Chateau—new livestock, new tools, and perhaps even hire people to work the fields!
C'est merveilleux!"
Throwing herself against her grandfather's chest, she hugged him impulsively and laughed gaily, "Oh, how afraid I was that you really meant to marry me off!"

Aghast at her attitude, gently Claude disengaged himself from Leonie's embrace. Almost tiredly he answered, "But I do intend to marry you off,
ma cherie.
The money is for your dowry, and I will not squander it on land that will take it and then demand more.
Non!
You will marry, and the money will buy you a wealthy, respectable husband who will take care of you."

Unable to believe him, Leonie stared openmouthed, the happiness dying from her face.
He is mad,
she thought wildly.
He must be mad! Hard, cold gold could do so much for the Chateau... and he wants to throw it away on something as useless as a husband'!
She swallowed with difficulty, fighting back a nearly irresistible urge to throw a flaming tantrum the likes of which Claude had never seen. With an effort she attempted to control herself, but unable to completely suppress her emotions, she stamped one small foot with unladylike temper and demanded fiercely, "Why do you insist that I marry? You are forcing me to do something that will make me hate you for the rest of my life! Why do you do this to me?"

"It is for your own good!" Claude shot back. "You need a husband to control you! I am too old and tired for the task and it is time you were married."

Leonie flashed her grandfather a withering look and muttered, "Ah, bah! I do not understand you in this mood. You are an imbecile!"

Claude merely smiled at her anger and, walking toward the door, said with chilling finality, "Perhaps so,
ma petite,
but you
will
marry, and tonight I will attend to the final details with Monsieur Slade."

Knowing that for the moment further argument would gain her little, except the satisfaction of releasing some of the helpless rage which surged through her slender body, Leonie dropped the subject and, instead, brought up another, equally explosive one. A set look on the young face, she asked tightly, "How many more vowels did you sign last night? Is that how you met this man—over cards and drink? Did he take your vouchers too?" Scornfully she finished, "Is he a man so without honor that he takes money from a drunkard?"

Claude's features froze and his dark eyes suddenly hard, he snapped, "Shut your mouth, you little she-devil and hear me out—I will not be questioned or dictated to by my own grandchild! Understand?"

"Zut!"
Leonie replied inelegantly, her chin tilted at a rebellious angle. "You are throwing my life away...
my future...
and I am to say
nothing!
Bah! It is
my
life,
grand-pere,
and
I
am fighting for it!
You
would do the same in my position, you must admit."

Some of his anger fading, Claude acknowledged the justice of her remarks, even if he disagreed with the idea of a woman having any control of her future. Unwillingly he confessed, "It is true that I met Monsieur Slade at Governor Gayoso's last night, but he is an honorable man. When he saw that I was—when he noticed that I was in no condition to continue gambling he very properly brought the evening to an end." And thinking to make Leonie view the gentleman more kindly, Claude added, "I was losing rather badly, and because of his intervention, Gayoso holds fewer of my vowels than he would have. You should be grateful to Monsieur Slade."