Deceive Not My Heart (21 page)

"But she shall
not
marry you!" Gaylord snarled. "You may think you have won for the moment, but we'll see whom she marries in the end!"

Morgan shrugged and raised one black eyebrow quizzically, "If you've finished with your harangue, shall we begin?"

"By God,
yes!"

It was an uneven fight from the beginning. Gaylord may have had righteous wrath on his side and a more powerful, younger body, but he was no match for Morgan's iron sinews and steel-sprung muscles, as he soon found out. For a tall man, Morgan was swift and light on his feet; he was also deadly with his fists, and while Gaylord managed to land one wild swipe in a bruising blow to Morgan's lean cheek, Morgan brought the extraordinary duel to a quick end.

Dancing expertly out of reach of Gaylord's maddening swings, Morgan watched intently for the opening he wanted. It came within a few seconds of the start of the fight, and with lethal accuracy his right fist connected with Gaylord's handsome chin. The blow rocked Gaylord off his feet and sent him smashing to the ground, also splitting his lip, and staring at the blood that rushed down his chin, Morgan said evenly, "I believe first blood is mine."

Gaylord's dark eyes flashed and he growled, "You'll still not marry her! I tell you now, I shall do everything and anything within my power to stop you! Anything!"

Morgan smiled at him pityingly, wondering if he had ever been quite so young and impassioned. Then his face hardened. Yes, he had been... until a lying, cheating jade of a wife had shown him the errors of his ways. Shrugging into his jacket held reverently by an admiring Mr. Blanchard, Morgan said cooly, "In that case I presume it behooves me to beware."

Gaylord sat up and wiped his bloody lip. Glaring up at Morgan, he spat fiercely, "You think I jest, but I
shall
stop you! You'll see. I'll
find a way!"

Chapter 10

The day of the betrothal ball dawned bright and clear. Standing at his window at Bonheur, sourly viewing the clear, cloudless blue sky, Morgan decided that the day's warm promise certainly did not reflect his inner feelings. The brief, ridiculous duel with Gaylord Easton had given him much to think about, and he knew now, had known from the moment he had offered for her, that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was marry Melinda Marshall.
Even that soft, white body can't tempt me,
he thought. There was nothing that Melinda could give him that would compensate for being leg-shackled to a woman whose one aim in life was to dress well and have babies... if, she had confided tranquilly to Morgan just yesterday, they didn't ruin her slim body!

Gaylord, my young, silly friend, if you
can
come up with a way to gain your heart's desire, you have my blessing! I'd even help you!

Gaylord wasn't going to need anyone's help in stopping his marriage, for Leonie Saint-Andre was about to burst on the scene. But of course neither Morgan, as he gloomily prepared to attend his betrothal ball that night, nor Gaylord as he miserably made his way to King's Tavern to drown his sorrows in whiskey, was aware of that fact.

Leonie and her little group had arrived that day in Natchez just as the sun was fading; having no idea where to locate her erstwhile husband, she had not sought a place to stay for the night. Trying to conserve her slim resources, Leonie had nervously skirted the squalor of Natchez-under-the-Hill, passed by the elegant and expensive inns and taverns on the bluff above, and finally settled her exhausted, travel-stained entourage in the homey, plain comforts of King's Tavern.

The journey from Chateau Saint-Andre to Natchez had been without incident, but it had also been a long, tension-filled trip for them all. Not one of the little group had ever been farther away from home than New Orleans, and as they pressed deeper and deeper into the wilderness the simple act of making one's bed on the hard ground in a strange, unfamiliar territory had been an ordeal.

Relief had almost been palpable when they had reached Natchez. Mammy, her round black face shining with delight at having arrived alive and unscathed at their destination after the long, lonely stretches of green wilderness, had said firmly, "That was the last time I leaves home!"

Leonie had smiled tiredly, unwilling to argue, and at that moment, all she cared for was a bath and a real bed.

But by the time everyone had been settled in and she had bathed and put on a clean gown, her spirits had revived, and she was preparing to find Monsieur Slade. By eight o'clock that night, having seen that everybody was comfortably occupied for the night, Leonie sat planning quietly in the room she shared with Yvette and Justin. She would ask the proprietor if he knew of Monsieur Slade, and depending on what he told her, she would proceed from there. Looking across at Yvette who sat in a small, wooden rocker plying her needle, Leonie asked abruptly, "Will you be all right with Justin, if I leave you for a while?"

Yvette's lovely brown eyes were troubled as she glanced at her half-sister. "You mean to begin immediately searching for him, don't you?"

Leonie nodded her tawny head vigorously.
"Oui!
We haven't much time. What little money we have will not last very long.... I must see Monsieur Slade as soon as possible."

Justin, who had been sleepily playing with the kittens on the floor near Leonie's feet, looked up, and with a sparkle in the green eyes, so like his mother's, he demanded, "You are going to see my papa? I wish to come too!"

Leonie bit her lip and made some vague reply. Presenting Justin to Monsieur Slade was going to be dangerously difficult. Justin's conception was a secret that Leonie had not shared, and everyone assumed he was her husband's child. For obvious reasons she had not seen fit to explain any differently, and Justin had grown up believing Monsieur Slade to be his father. What she had not counted on was Monsieur Slade seeing Justin, and now that the moment was fast approaching, she was understandably uneasy and terrified that the truth would come out. She could not bear for Justin to be labeled a bastard, and in some way, just precisely how escaped her, she intended to avoid that.

The only glimmer of hope she had was the fact that Morgan Slade had been
very
drunk their wedding night and it was possible, if not probable, that if he found out about Justin's existence she could convince him that
he
had fathered the child.
Mori Dieu! but that is unlikely,
she thought angrily. It was far too probable that he was going to remember vividly how she had denied him her bed, threatening him with a pistol!
I shall just have to take a gamble,
she decided.
No matter what he says if he learns of Justin, I shall just insist that Justin is his son.

Shaking out the soft folds of her gown, she stood up, and then bent down and kissed Justin's cheek.
"Bon nuit, mon fils—
you will do as
tante
Yvette says, and go to bed soon?"

Justin made a face, but as he was an agreeable child, he nodded his dark, curly-haired head.
"Oui, maman.
You will not be gone long?"

Leonie answered him honestly. "Only as long as it takes, but I shall hurry,
mon petit."

Then with a swirl of her skirts, she was gone from the room. Unaware of the enchanting picture she made in the gown of lavender muslin, the long, unruly hair caught in a coil of braids at the back and short ringlets round her face, she hurried down the hall, intent upon finding the tavern's proprietor.

The lavender gown was one of the dresses her
grand-pere
had bought when she had married Monsieur Slade, and despite being almost six years old, it was still quite fashionable with its high waist and slim, narrow skirt. It was a bit low-cut for Leonie's taste, but she had solved that problem by wearing a square shawl of cream silk across her shoulders and fastening it in the center with a cameo brooch that had belonged to her
grand-mere.

A frivolous reticule of white lute string spangled with silver hung from one slim hand; it contained the all-important agreements that Monsieur Slade had signed in the summer of 1799. Agreements he was now going to honor, she thought grimly as she reached the stairway that led to a small garden at the side of the tavern.

It was the same garden where two nights earlier Gaylord and Morgan had fought their ridiculous duel. As luck or fate would have it, Gaylord had wandered from the taproom and was brooding over the indignities he had suffered at Morgan's hands when Leonie came down the stairs. Seeing the young man standing there in the darkness, his form and shape faintly outlined in the light from the tavern, Leonie stopped.

Since the night she had lost her virginity at the hands of a stranger, Leonie was not quite as foolishly intrepid as she had once been. This young man in his well-cut, brown jacket-and buff breeches did not look dangerous, but she was not going to leave herself open to suffer a repetition of that night. She stood there indecisively, wishing he would leave, and had just decided to return to her rooms when Gaylord saw her standing there.

A polite young man, and not so drunk that he didn't recognize a lady when he saw one, he bowed and murmured, "Good evening, Ma'am. It is a pleasant evening, is it not?"

Still not leaving the safety of the stairway, tensed to run if he made any overt move, but slightly reassured by his elegant clothes and well-bred voice, Leonie replied just as politely,
"Oui,
monsieur, it is."

The soft French accent caught his attention, and walking slowly towards her, he asked, "Are you newly arrived here in Natchez? I couldn't help but notice your accent."

As he approached, Leonie surreptitiously moved farther up the stairs. She didn't mind conversing with strangers... provided they didn't get too close.
"Oui,
monsieur, my family and I arrived here just this evening."

Gaylord stopped at the newel, and looking up at Leonie, catching his first sight of the bewitching face with its high cheek bones, slanting eyes, and sweetly curved mouth, he decided that perhaps Melinda
wasn't
the most beautiful girl in the world. The dark eyes glowing with admiration, he flashed a charming smile, and said softly, "I sincerely hope that you and your family plan on a long stay in Natchez. And would you think me very forward if I asked to be numbered amongst your first... and most honored acquaintances?"

Unused to the intricacies of flirting, Leonie shrugged and answered indifferently, "If you wish, monsieur." She frowned for a moment, and then sending him a considering glance she asked slowly, "Are you familiar with the people who live here in Natchez?"

Slightly taken aback at her cool reception to his practiced charm, he muttered, "I should think so... I have lived here all my life."

"Then, perhaps you could tell me where a Monsieur Morgan Slade lives?"

The simple words had an electrifying effect on Gaylord. He stiffened and the charming smile was wiped instantly from his handsome features. The hand resting on the newel tightened convulsively while his other hand closed into a fist, and in a harsh voice he demanded, "And what would be your business with Slade?"

Leonie's winged eyebrows rose haughtily at his manner, and in a cold little voice she answered, "I do not see that it is your concern, but he is my husband and I wish to find him!"

Gaylord's fine brown eyes nearly started from his head, and he burst out with great astonishment, "You're lying! He's not married!"

Not noted for her even temper, Leonie flushed, and the green eyes glinting with golden flecks, she spat, "And you, sir, are insulting! How dare you accost me and call me a liar!" She spun on her heels, intent upon returning to her room, but Gaylord wasn't about to have their confrontation end. Bounding up the stairs, he caught her arm and jerked her around to face him. "Now, just a minute! I want to talk to you!" he snapped.

Furious that this stranger would lay a hand on her, and just a little frightened considering what had happened the last time a strange man had done so, Leonie smacked him soundly with her hand and gave him a robust shove that sent him tumbling backwards down the stairs. Her small bosom heaving under the silk shawl, she watched with satisfaction as he sprawled in the dirt at the bottom of the stairs.

Abraham, having been ordered by Mammy to check on the young mistress before they retired for the night, came around the corner of the tavern just then, and Leonie was never so happy to see his sad-eyed black face as then. "Abraham!
Mon Dieu!
but I am pleased to see you! This creature attacked me!"