Deceive Not My Heart (24 page)

Back in the elegant room from which Gaylord had just been ejected, Leonie swallowed, and in a voice that shook with emotion she said, "Messieurs, I regret the timing of my announcement, but nothing can change the facts. You have the proof of what I say in your hands. It
is
Monsieur Morgan Slade's signature, and he
did
marry me almost six years ago in New Orleans."

Morgan flicked one eyebrow up and murmured, "If that is the case, why don't I remember it?"

It was one of the most difficult moments of Leonie's life. She knew she told the truth, and yet confronted by an outright denial by Monsieur Slade and the obvious disbelief of the others, she was both furious and frightened.
Mon Dieu,
what was she to do if she could not convince these gentlemen that she spoke the truth? Morgan Slade was apparently going to pretend they had never met, so her one chance was to convince the other men in the room.

The green eyes staring beseechingly at Matthew Slade, she said in a voice that trembled with despair, "Monsieur, what I tell you is the truth. I have no reason to
lie!"

Matthew moved restlessly, his gaze dropping once again to the document he held in his hands. It had the look of authenticity as he had seen his son's bold, scrawling signature too many times not to recognize it. The slim girl before him had the look and air of a lady, and even more damning, there was a ring of truth to her words. He looked thoughtfully across at his eldest son. Could he have done such a thing? Married a young woman and then deserted her?

It wasn't something Matthew liked to contemplate, nor did he particularly like the answers that came to him. What did he actually know of this son of his anymore? Once, he could have answered without a doubt that no son of his would do such a thing, but now? Now he didn't know. Morgan had changed a great deal since Stephanie and Phillippe had died. It was possible that he could have married this beguiling young creature with some twisted thought of punishing her for Stephanie's sins. He didn't know. But what he did know was that the document appeared authentic... and so did the young lady.

Matthew asked quietly, "Will you please tell us how you came to meet my son, and the sequence of events that brought about this marriage you claim took place?"

Heartened by his slight softening, without hesitation Leonie told him the facts, her vivid face reflecting a variety of emotions as her young voice rose and fell in the room.

When she finished, there was a waiting silence, broken only when Morgan pushed himself away from the bookcase and said sarcastically, "A touching story, my dear, but one that I fear is patently untrue." Meeting Matthew's eyes, he stated in a hard voice, "I
did not
marry her! Not even in a drunken stupor! For God's sake, don't you think I would remember?"

Staring intently at the tip of his shoe, it was Dominic who said softly, "But you were in New Orleans that summer. And you did play cards with Gayoso—you've told me that yourself. Did you by chance meet an old Frenchman by the name of Saint-Andre there?"

Morgan let out his breath in an explosive sound. The blue eyes glittering with fury, he snapped, "How the hell should I know? It was almost six years ago, and with the exception of Gayoso's sudden death it was an uneventful trip. I stayed with Jason, and I conducted the business I had gone down there to do. And
I damn well didn't marry anybody!"

Where once Leonie had been the one on the defensive, it was now becoming apparent that at least two of the men in the room were giving her story some credence. A note of incredulity in his voice Morgan demanded, "You believe her?" And when neither his father nor brother would answer or meet his eyes, he turned on Leonie and snarled, "Why the hell did you show up now?
If
I married you six years ago, why did it take you so long to make yourself known?"

"Because, Monsieur, you and I made a bargain," Leonie spat back. "I promised to make no demands on you and you none on me, and at the end of five years, you were to pay me back my dowry. It is for the dowry that I have come—not
you!"

"Oh, I see," Morgan replied insultingly. "I knew that there must be
money
involved somewhere. How much do I owe you, cat-eyes?"

Leonie stiffened at the tone of voice and two spots of color bloomed on the high cheek bones. "Do not call me that! And you do owe me the money!" Reaching once again into her reticule, she pulled out another crumpled piece of paper and hurled it at him. "There, monsieur! There is the paper you signed which promises you shall pay me my dowry back at the end of five years. Deny that too, if you dare!"

Frowning blackly, Morgan read the paper, his signature once again staring damningly up at him. "Jesus Christ, but you're a clever little bitch!" he finally bit out. "And I'd like to know how and where Gaylord found you so opportunely... or have you merely been waiting for the right moment to strike?"

Leonie didn't think, she was so angry that there was only one thought on her mind—stop his ugly accusations. Like a small tawny wildcat, she lunged across the room towards him, her hand connecting soundly with his dark, lean cheek. The sound of the slap was like a pistol shot in the room, and Morgan reacted instinctively, his right hand closing like a steel-sprung trap around her slender wrist before he yanked her arm behind her back, forcing her body up next to his.

The imprint of her hand burned a dark red on his cheek, and in a murderous voice Morgan threatened, "Don't ever do that again, or I'll break your neck!"

"Morgan!"
Matthew thundered, more shocked than he had ever been by his son's actions. He was a gentle man and of the firm opinion that the ladies deserved only cosseting from a man. Morgan's actions were totally outside his comprehension, and the stunned expression on Matthew's face, as much as his tone of voice, made that more than apparent.

The sound of his name uttered in those shocked accents brought Morgan sharply back to the reality of the situation, and with a snarl he threw Leonie away from him. "Shall I apologize to the
lady,
father?" he asked in a dangerous tone. "She has accused me of the blackest villainy and has even gone so far as to strike me. For
that,
I am to meekly bow my head and say, thank you very much? Not bloody likely!"

Mr. Marshall, although angry and mortified, had remained an avid spectator to everything that had happened and finally managed to break into the conversation. "Disgusting!" he said with affronted dignity. "Matthew, my friend, I do not wish to be insulting, but I cannot say strongly enough that after this violent exhibition of your son's temper, it would be out of the question for my little Melinda to marry him. Even if it turns out that this young lady is lying... which I seriously doubt!" Puffing himself up importantly, he added, "I have never been so embarrassed or insulted in my life as I have been this evening, and no matter what you say, the blame all lies at the feet of your son!" Looking at Morgan the same way he would a coiled snake, he ended pompously, "The only saving grace of this entire affair is that my daughter has been spared a life of what I am certain would have been unmitigated misery. How I could have been so mistaken by a man's character, I do not know! What a shocking evening this has been!"

While Matthew might have agreed with some of the statements made by Mr. Marshall—it
had
been a shocking evening—he didn't relish the other man's assessment of his eldest son... even if it might be proven true. His handsome face appearing older than his sixty years, Matthew said stiffly, "I cannot apologize sufficiently for this unfortunate incident, but until Morgan's guilt or innocence has been established, I would appreciate it, if for no other reason than our long friendship, that you refrain from casting slurs about my son."

Mr. Marshall sniffed and muttered peevishly, "Oh, very well, but I don't know how I am going to hold my head up again. My darling Melinda will never be able to meet anyone who was present here tonight without dying of shame! And the wasted food! My God—"

"If that's all that's bothering you," Morgan said nastily, "send the bills to me! As for your shame and embarrassment, you should have no trouble laying everything at my door....you have already begun to do so! I'm positive that by tomorrow morning, friendship or not, you will be joining in with the hue and cry of the pack in shrieking my many sins to the heavens!"

Mr. Marshall shrank back slightly at the expression on Morgan's face, wondering how he could ever have considered Morgan Slade as a man worthy of his sweet Melinda, but then remembering all the broad acres and money that went with the heir to Bonheur, he had second thoughts. A man was entitled to a show of strength now and then—women seemed to like that sort of thing—and who was he to whistle down a fortune for his daughter? Besides, subsequent events might prove that Morgan was innocent... and then where would they be? Conciliatorily, he said, "Oh, come now, there is no need for such hot statements among friends. We are all under a severe strain, and I think it would be best for us all to have a good night's sleep and discuss it further in the morning. We, none of us, are at our best at the moment."

Morgan's face twisted into a sneer, but Matthew forestalled the inflammatory words his son was likely to fling by saying with more heartiness than he felt, "An excellent idea! I think by tomorrow morning we will all view this in a better light. Please ring for the servants to bring our carriage round, and have someone see if my wife will ready herself for the ride home."

Leonie, who had remained silent, unconsciously rubbing her wrist where Morgan's fingers had bruised the tender flesh, spoke up, "And me, monsieur, what of me? Am I to simply disappear overnight so that your lives will go on just as they have?"

Morgan walked over to her and with a tanned hand he tipped up her chin. Smiling, not a nice smile either, he drawled, "You, my dear? Well, you shall of course accompany us to Benheur. After all, we can't have all these questions unanswered, can we?"

Leonie tried to move away from him, but when she took a step backwards, she found herself up against a piece of furniture. Glaring up at his dark face, she agreed tightly.
"Non!
Of course not."

Still smiling that not very nice smile, Morgan purred with deceptive cordiality, "Fine. Then you will have no objections to riding with me in my curricle to the plantation. I'm certain we shall find several things to discuss on the way home."

Leonie felt her heart begin to beat very fast, and just a little frightened by the cold promise in those blue eyes, she blurted out breathlessly, "That is not necessary. I have taken rooms at a tavern here in Natchez and I shall stay there for the night."

"Oh, no, we can't have that," Morgan murmured softly. "It wouldn't be seemly for the woman who
claims
to be my wife to stay at a common inn."

Leonie swallowed nervously, deciding that she much preferred the furious man who had hurt her wrist to this calm, apparently polite gentleman who said all the right and polite things with his mouth, but whose eyes said something entirely different. He was standing too close to her, and there was such an air of menace about that big, powerful body that she knew the last thing in the world she was going to do was ride off into the night with him.

"Thank you, monsieur, but I would prefer to keep my own arrangements," Leonie said stubbornly. "If someone will kindly see that I have transportation back to King's Tavern, I shall be quite happy."

"But I won't be," Morgan drawled. "Having been separated from you for—ah, let me see, almost six years is it? I can hardly bear to let you out of my sight."

It was obvious he meant nothing of the kind, but Matthew, still not certain which one of them he believed, decided that it would be best if the young woman did stay at Bonheur until things were settled. Kindly he said, "My dear, while of late I seldom find myself in agreement with my son, in this case I believe he is right. You must make Bonheur your home until we straighten out this tangle. It will be much better for everyone."

Ignoring Morgan, who still stood too close to her for comfort, Leonie looked across the room to Matthew, her indecision clear. This was not how she had envisioned things. She had never meant to intrude into Morgan Slade's life beyond what was necessary to retrieve her dowry. Certainly she had never planned to live in his home or to take her place as his real wife—something that might very well happen, she admitted with a sinking feeling in her stomach, if Matthew Slade had his way. She sensed correctly that Morgan's father was leaning more and more in her favor, and while that should have elated her, it gave her instead a feeling of disquiet. Matthew Slade did not look the sort of man who would calmly allow his daughter-in-law simply to disappear. If he decided she was indeed Morgan's wife, then he would insist she become one of the family—something Leonie had
no
intention of doing!

She hadn't wanted Morgan Slade for a husband six years ago and she definitely didn't want him for one now.
Mon Dieu!
Not after what had happened this evening. Even the thought of the last and final piece of paper she had that he had signed in New Orleans gave her no comfort. Risking a glance at his hard, lean face, she quickly dropped her eyes at the mixture of insolence and something else which she couldn't define that flickered in the depths of those dark blue eyes.
Non!
The piece of paper that he had signed waving away his rights of husband would prove a frail, if nonexistent, barrier to him, if he decided he wished to be her husband in fact as well as name.

As she hesitated, trying desperately to find a graceful way out of the situation, Morgan, who had been watching the vivid face intently, and mistaking the reasons for her hesitation, said dryly, "Not quite working out as you planned, is it, little witch?"