Deceive Not My Heart (60 page)

It was blunt, but it was effective. Leonie had stared at him as if she hated him, and had said stiffly, "Very well, monsieur, if that is the way you feel about it. I shall not argue with you further."

An exasperated sigh had broken from Morgan when he had looked at the proud, miserable expression on her face. Gently he had tipped up her small face. "Must we argue over money, sweetheart? It is for both of us! Does it really matter who pays the piper, as long as he gets paid?"

Leonie couldn't resist the coaxing note in his voice and gruffly she had replied, "No, monsieur, it doesn't. And—and I am sorry to have been so silly."

Morgan had smiled then and, sweeping her into his arms, he had kissed her and muttered, "Not silly, darling... adorable!"

That particular obstacle out of the way, things had moved at an astonishing pace. Morgan hired an army of workmen to start putting the old plantation in order. The driveway was the first thing to show signs of improvement, the ruts and ditches now a thing of the past. The shaggy, unkempt shrubbery and grasses were also already showing the attention of several gardeners, the lawn in front of the house neatly scythed and trimmed; the various bushes, the scarlet camellias and white azaleas, the rioting bougainvillea and honeysuckle vines had been pruned into some semblance of order. The sagging fences now stood proudly upright, the new posts and rails obvious by their unpainted state. Soon, though, the entire fence line would be a glistening, pristine white.

Only minor work had been done to the house itself—the hanging shutters straightened; the missing balustrades restored, and the broken steps of the horseshoe-shaped staircase replaced. But there was a new air of vitality about the house, almost as if the building sensed that its time was coming, that soon the real restoration of it would start.

Leonie and Morgan had continued to stay at Madame Brosse's for some days after their initial survey of the house. It was, as Morgan had pointed out, far more practical until certain things were decided upon. At first Leonie hadn't known what he meant, but she soon found out-there were numerous trips to the cabinetmakers and the upholstery shops; there was the necessity of selecting not only individual pieces of furniture, but the styles and type of wood as well as the fabrics. Floor coverings and carpets had to be decided upon, window hangings and curtains obtained, and Leonie's head was pleasurably spinning as she viewed all the lovely materials and goods that were so deferentially displayed for her—the fact that Monsieur Slade was a wealthy man had not gone unnoticed by the various merchants, nor the fact that he wanted only the finest merchandise for his home.

Once the main selections had been made and the interior of some of the rooms in the house had been put to rights until such time as the
real
work on them began, Morgan and Leonie had moved to the Chateau.

For Leonie everything had taken on a delightful dreamlike quality. Each day brought some enchanting new surprise for her to revel in, and the only blots on her horizon were Justin's absence and the peculiar state of affairs between herself and her husband.

Justin's absence would soon be taken care of—-he and the others were expected soon, but the situation with Morgan... It was hard for her to identify what was wrong. He was spending money on the plantation lavishly. He had, as he had promised, paid back the dowry. And while he was as polite and considerate as any woman could wish, Leonie sensed a barrier between them. There was an aloofness about him that puzzled her, as did the fact that there was only the mildest intimacy between them. It wasn't that he didn't desire her; she admitted wistfully, too often in the past days she had caught his gaze upon her, and the expression in those blue eyes had been unmistakable. But if he wanted her, then why, she wondered bewilderedly, didn't he seek her out?

Blushing in spite of herself, she knew that if Morgan came to her that she would deny him nothing, that her body longed for his. The sleepless nights she had lain awake, her passionate young body yearning for his touch, were ample proof that her desire for him was far stronger than she would have cared to admit.

Though love had never been spoken aloud between them, Leonie wanted to believe that he had begun to love her. No man could be so unfailingly generous, so attentive, so flatteringly considerate and kind and
not
be in love, she told herself repeatedly, uncertain whether she was stating a fact, or convincing herself that it was so. Of her own feelings there was no doubt—his actions in recent days put to rest at last whatever suspicions she might have harbored. She loved him! But did he love her?

Morgan was helplessly besotted, but his hands were chained by the knowledge of Ashley's impersonation. He might be able to keep a respectable distance from Leonie, but his eyes betrayed him every time he looked at her.

Loving her, wanting her, needing the warmth and sweetness she represented, he knew that he could not delay the moment of truth much longer. She had a right to know and he was grimly aware that he lied to himself every time he found a reason to postponing the telling of the distasteful tale.

The twelfth of July saw the arrival of Justin, Dominic, Robert, Yvette, and the rest of the Saint-Andre servants who had traveled to Natchez with Leonie. Watching the apparently endless cavalcade of wagons and vehicles Morgan had wondered sourly if his entire family was about to descend upon him.

An hour later, after an exuberant greeting by Justin, and the usual exchange of greetings between the others, Morgan had collared Dominic and asked him dryly, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I did request that you travel light, didn't I?"

Dominic grinned sheepishly. "I tried Morgan, but you know the family...."

Morgan grimaced. "Of course. How could I have forgotten maman's fondness for adding a bit of this and that. Do tell me, for God's sake, what is in all of those damned wagons?"

"Mmm, let's see. I think maman mentioned something about the rest of Leonie's wardrobe. And naturally there were things of Justin's... And, oh yes—china and linens."

Torn between amusement and vexation, Morgan said, "I'm to be well and truly inundated with the trappings of a family man, it seems."

Dominic had smiled in commiseration and then a serious expression crossing his face, he had asked, "Have you learned anything new? I kept my mouth shut as you requested, but it was damned hard, I can tell you! By God,
how
could we have forgotten that Ashley was in New Orleans that summer?" He shook his head in disgust. "It would have explained
everything!"
Throwing Morgan a quizzical look, he inquired, "Have you told Leonie yet?"

"No," Morgan replied curtly. "I've never considered myself a coward before, Dom, but I'd rather face a horde of Comanche warriors unarmed, than try to explain this to her." He sighed. "But it has to be done... and soon."

Dominic sympathetically concurred, but for the time being they put the unpleasant subject behind them while Morgan gave him a quick tour of the estate. The subject of Ashley could only be avoided for so long though, and that night as he prepared for bed, Morgan knew that he could no longer delay telling Leonie the truth. Not, he admitted bitterly, if I want to retain any self-respect.

Now that the family had arrived, it was even more difficult to find a private moment with her, he decided irritably the next morning. The house was not large, and the arrival of his two brothers and the others seemed to have filled it to overflowing. Servants were everywhere, and the added workmen made the entire place a hive of activity. Finding a moment alone
and
uninterrupted was going to take a miracle, he thought as he made his way downstairs.

Speaking with Leonie that morning proved fruitless. It was only in the late afternoon that Morgan saw his chance. Whisking her away on the pretext that he wanted her opinion about a further improvement to the road leading to the house, he managed at last to secure some privacy.

They walked in silence for several minutes, Leonie conscious that Morgan was looking unusually grim, his jaw clenched in a way that boded ill. She peeped up at him, a growing sense of unease creeping over her at the black frown that now marred his forehead. Correctly feeling that there was something dreadfully amiss, and unable to stand the suspense, she blurted out, "There is something wrong, isn't there? You don't want to talk about the road at all, do you?"

Morgan's mouth tightened. "No, I didn't want to talk about the road," he admitted. "That was only an excuse to speak to you alone."

Leonie stopped walking and stared up at him searchingly. "What is it, then?"

His left hand formed a fist, a muscle in his lean cheek jerked, and for a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer. Releasing his breath in a sharp sigh, he motioned her off the road and slowly they walked across the grass to the faded white fence that encircled the Saint-Andre family graveyard.

Leonie watched him uneasily, as he rested one booted foot on the bottom rail and leaned against the wooden fence. The feeling that something was grievously wrong crystallized in her mind and all hope for the future began to crumble. Hoping her tone was light, she inquired, "What do you want to talk about?"

Lost in his own hell, Morgan stared blindly out over the small graveyard, almost unaware of Leonie's presence. At the sound of her voice he looked at her, his heart contracting painfully.

Unconsciously straightening his broad shoulders, the blue eyes locked on hers, he said, "I have something to tell you that I should have told you the afternoon we visited Pere Antoine." His mouth twisted and he added bitterly, "Like a base coward, I have put off the moment for as long as I could."

Leonie felt chilled as she tried to guess what awful thing had brought about the obvious end to their increasing rapport. For Morgan to call himself a base coward seemed to portend something very ominous indeed. She said carefully, "I can't ever imagine you doing something cowardly." Her face was rueful as she added, "Arrogant, yes,
that
I can definitely believe! But cowardly, never!"

Morgan's dark mood lifted slightly and a faint derisive smile twitched at the corner of his full mouth. "Thank you, madame, for those kind words." But almost instantly his smile vanished, the ugliness of the situation bearing down upon him. He gave a low, frustrated groan and shifting his position a little, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

His gaze was intent upon her upturned face. "Leonie, I..."His voice trailed off, the words sticking like quills in his throat and softly he cursed the loss of his usually facile tongue.
Love,
he thought viciously,
has much to answer for!

Furious with himself, despising this weakness, he pulled her tighter to him, and rested his chin against her bright curls. "I suppose it would be easier, if I started by explaining about my family—my father's side, the English branch. That and the fact that most members of the Slade family bear a remarkable resemblance to one another. In some cases," he continued with a harsh note in his voice, "the resemblance is almost uncanny—one would think that certain individuals were actually twins."

Her cheek resting against the fine material of his jacket, Leonie nodded her head, saying, "I know what you mean—without being introduced, one would know instantly that Dominic and Robert were your brothers. Alexandre and Cassandre also are unmistakably Slades."

It was so lovely standing here in his strong arms, the warmth of his big body seeping into hers that Leonie forgot the air of impending tragedy that surrounded him. The cloth of his jacket felt smooth and comforting beneath her cheek and her slender form was suddenly shaken by a swift, violent surge of love for him. Unaware that she did it, her own arms tightened around his hard waist and she pressed herself closer to him.

It was a romantic picture that they unknowingly formed as they stood there together. Morgan's head rested on Leonie's tawny curls, his long, loose-limbed body seemed to be offering protection as her slim body curved into his, her jonquil yellow dress flowing gracefully about their feet. The small graveyard in the background added a poignant touch, the pink and coral roses that climbed the fence filled the air with a sweet, haunting fragrance, and the towering, moss-draped oaks created a secluded bower around the two still figures.

It was a tender scene, but the tall man who rode slowly in their direction didn't find it romantic in the least. Instead, the sight of Morgan with his arms about Leonie sent a curious blend of fury and fear through his veins, and with unnecessary violence, he yanked his horse to a standstill, his brain assimilating this unpleasant turn of events.

Neither Leonie or Morgan was aware of his presence; they were both too absorbed in their own private world to pay attention to anything but each other. The rider silently edged his mount closer, until he was close enough to hear their conversation. As he listened, an ugly smile came over his face.

Having started his explanation, Morgan forced himself to continue. His voice hardening, he said, "Yes, it's true that all of us do look very much alike—but I have an English cousin, Ashley, who bears a striking resemblance to me. In fact," he added flatly, "we have been mistaken for each other several times... usually by people who don't know either one of us very well."

Lifting his head, Morgan stepped slightly away from her, and tipping her chin upwards with a caressing motion, he explained, "Ashley, is without a doubt, the most thoroughgoing scoundrel one could ever meet—and I speak without malice. Mention his name to any member of the family and they will, in varying degrees, confirm my statement. He also," Morgan said, "has upon occasion impersonated me, invariably to the detriment of my character."