Deceive Not My Heart (32 page)

Thus far, Leonie herself could not say that she was unhappy. It would be hard for anyone to remain in misery in such charming surroundings, and as Morgan had not as yet made any overt move toward her, she was almost able to relax and enjoy herself.... Almost.

The house itself was lovely; the spacious rooms with their elegant furnishings would have delighted any bride, and to someone like Leonie, who had grown up and lived in the faded splendor of Chateau Saint-Andre, it was particularly enjoyable to wake up in the large, handsome set of rooms that she had been shown the afternoon she first arrived at Le Petit. She had her own sitting room, dressing room, and bedroom; each was large and airy, and full of light from the wide, tall windows that overlooked the latticed summerhouse and the pair of French doors that led onto the upper veranda. The decor for the most part was a charming mixture of cream and rose, the walls were hung with a delicate shade of rose silk, the carpet was a gorgeous blending of cream rose and green, and soft drapes of cream velvet lined the many windows.

In the sitting room, the sofa and chairs were upholstered in a beautiful tapestry print that combined the cream and rose colors, and the small tables were of satinwood; in her dressing room and bedroom, the wardrobes and other pieces of furniture were of the same gleaming light wood. Her bed with its high, delicately carved headboard was draped in yards and yards of rich ruby satin which formed a swirling canopy overhead before drifting in billowing curtains down the sides.

But while Leonie took a certain amount of pleasure in these elegant surroundings, she was always conscious that this was Morgan Slade's home. It was his food that she ate; his money that paid her servants; his stables that housed her mules. She also knew that eventually, whether or not the others followed, she and Justin
must
leave Le Petit.

Of Morgan Slade and his effect upon her emotions, she dared not think. He was too overpowering, too male, too virile, and too attractive for someone like Leonie, who had lived most of her life away from men. Time and time again she tried to recall the dislike and disgust she had felt for him in New Orleans, but instead she would find herself staring out the window, remembering how he had smiled at her at breakfast, or the flicker of something exciting in the depths of those dark blue eyes when he looked at her.
He is being
too
nice,
she decided at last.
Much too nice. He is up to something, of this I am positive.

Morgan
was
up to something. He was cooly stalking Leonie, but she was too innocent to realize it. He had held off forcing his way into her bedroom, enjoying instead the pleasure of the chase. It was a lazy game to Morgan; he advanced and she retreated, and just when it ceased to be a game, even he wasn't sure. It could have been the morning that he looked across the breakfast table and noticed the almost childish delight she took in the flaky croissant Mammy had served; then again, it could have been the evening that Dominic and Robert had come to call, and while they all, including Yvette, were sitting outside in the summerhouse, Leonie had given her charming gurgle of laughter at something Dominic had said, the sea-green eyes slanting bewitchingly with amusement. Morgan was never sure precisely when it happened, but sometime in those five days, despite the suspicion and distrust which existed between them, the fierce emotion he had experienced that night when he had first looked up and had seen her standing in the archway... that emotion took root and began to grow. He was unaware of it and would have furiously scoffed at the ridiculous idea that he could be falling madly in love with a lying little jade like Leonie. He told himself that it was simply proximity—seeing Leonie every day, it was only natural that he would often find her in his thoughts. Perfectly natural, he reassured himself time and time again.

But if that were true, why did he take such delight in simply watching her? The play of emotions across that expressive little face? The grace of that slender body as she ran across the expanse of lawn with Justin? Or, for that matter, why did that enchanting ripple of laughter that was so particularly hers fill him with such pleasure?

Despite the spell Leonie was unconsciously weaving about him, Morgan retained enough hardheaded common sense to finally sit down and write the letter that he had been putting off for too many days. Further thought on the subject of finding out the truth about Leonie Saint-Andre had made him decide that rather than send someone to New Orleans to investigate, he would write to his friend Jason Savage and have Jason discover what he could. And thinking of Jason, Morgan smiled to himself, for the first time seeing a glimmer of sanity in this entire insane situation. Jason could verify that Morgan had been with him at the time he supposedly married Leonie Saint-Andre. But Jason's word wouldn't be enough, Morgan conceded ruefully—their friendship was well-known and it was only logical that Jason would substantiate his story whether it was true or not.

Oddly enough, he had deliberately avoided writing the letter, but when it was sealed and had been sent on its way, he felt at once positive and yet queerly depressed. Perhaps he didn't want to know the truth about Leonie Saint-Andre. And yet the simple act of writing that letter stirred something deep in his mind. Something about
that
trip to New Orleans that he should remember... something that might provide the clue which would explain everything.

The sending of the letter reminded him forcibly of the fact that no matter how attractive or bewitching Leonie was, she
was
a liar who had embarked upon a dangerous masquerade. It was time, he thought with a grim sort of anticipation, to show her that there was more to their supposed marriage than just sharing a house.

Leonie sensed the difference in him almost immediately. During the time that had passed, and her mocking, deceitful husband had made no attempt to force his attentions on her, Leonie had been lulled into a false security. She told herself optimistically that he must mean to abide by the agreement he'd signed—the one agreement that had not yet been mentioned. She assumed that his own masculine vanity kept him from bringing it up, and while she was suspicious of his motives, she couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief that he appeared willing to honor at least
one
of their two agreements. And perhaps this was an indication that he would repay the dowry. Leonie sincerely prayed so! For as soon as she had received her dowry, she and Justin and the others would be off to try to regain their home. And that, Leonie vowed fiercely, would remove them from Morgan Slade's influence!

But apparently not soon enough, she thought uneasily, when she happened to look up and see him astride Tempete and watching her and Justin as they walked barefoot in the creek. She told herself it was the surprise of seeing him so unexpectedly, surprise and not the look in those brilliant blue eyes that sent a shudder of apprehension down her spine.

Leonie and Justin had been alone at the edge of the creek, and Yvette, finding the increasingly warm afternoons too debilitating, had retired to her rooms to rest. As Leonie and Justin were perfectly happy to be alone, they had forgotten everything except the sheer pleasure of exploring the rippling cool creek. They were out of sight of the house, just inside the green, shadowy forest when Morgan came across them. And as had happened the first morning he had found them playing on the bed at Bonheur, they were completely absorbed in their own activities and were unaware of him.

Leonie's skirts were rucked up about her waist, and small droplets of water sparkled on her golden legs and thighs as she and Justin splashed in the creek, attempting to catch a little green frog. Her hair had come loose from its haphazard chignon and cascaded in a curling mane about her slender shoulders. The gown was an old one of a soft shade of green, and staring at her, at the slim golden arms and the laughing, bewitching face as she turned to Justin when she caught the frog, Morgan felt as if he had never seen anything quite so temptingly lovely in all his life. She was a wild, fey thing... a forest nymph that he had caught by surprise. Unconsciously he held his breath, his hands tightening on the reins that controlled Tempete so effortlessly, afraid that the slightest movement would make her vanish in the green, sun-dappled forest like a mirage.

It was a secluded place where they were, the trees and vines hiding them from the house, the little creek edged here and there with wildflowers—wild hyacinth and sweet-scented violets. And as she stood there, the lovely shape of her legs clearly revealed, a shaft of sunlight turning the tawny curls to molten gold, Leonie exuded an irresistible, earthy sensuality that Morgan found difficult to ignore.

He was instantly conscious of the blood flowing hot and thick in his veins and of the heavy, sweet ache that suddenly flooded his loins. Only Justin's presence stopped him from urging Tempete into the stream and reaching down to swing her up into his arms. The fierce, hungry desire he felt was obvious in the blue eyes, and he made no attempt to conceal it when Leonie happened to glance up and saw him and the big, blood-bay stallion.

He was very handsome as he sat with insolent grace on Tempete, his white shirt carelessly opened to his waist, the buff breeches fitting snugly along his powerful thighs. The thick black hair brushed the collar of his shirt and one willful lock displayed a tendency to dip across his broad forehead, giving him a rakish air. His feet were bare, an oddity, but then he had been on his way for a private swim when he had come across Leonie and Justin. There was an unconscious arrogance about him, and the blatant expression of sexual desire which blazed in those dark blue eyes forced Leonie backwards, a half-frightened, half-defiant look on her face. Suddenly aware of the naked length of leg exposed to his gaze, an angry blush staining her cheeks, she hastily pulled her gown down and asked breathlessly, "Did you want us, monsieur?"

The "monsieur" made Morgan smile. Even pretending to be his wife, even living in his home, she refused to call him anything but "monsieur," and he was conscious it was her way of keeping a barrier between them. A barrier, he decided in that instant, he was going to enjoy smashing.

"Not exactly," he said slowly as he urged Tempete to the edge of the creek. Glancing briefly at Justin, he commanded easily, "Run along, will you, Justin? I want to talk to your maman... alone." Before Leonie could countermand the order, Justin had already begun to run towards the house, the little frog clutched triumphantly in his hand.

Alone, the two adults faced each other. The hard sheen of desire still glittering in his eyes, Morgan murmured softly,
"You,
not us, I want."

"Non!"
Leonie spat, her small body rigid with rejection. "You will not touch me, monsieur! I have a paper that says you will not!"

Morgan grinned at that, for a moment real amusement dancing in the vivid blue eyes. "Have you really, sweetheart? You must show it to me sometime. But not," he said thickly, "not now."

Leonie made a valiant effort to escape, picking up her skirts and spinning on her heels with the fleetness of a doe, she raced down the creek and deeper into the woods. And it was only as she plunged into the concealing green of the forest that she realized she should have run
toward
the house, not
away
from it. Dodging and darting, running as fast as she dared through the trunks of the trees, skirting the smaller clumps of brush, desperately she tried to work her way back towards the house.

Behind her she could hear Morgan's smothered laughter and the thud of Tempete's hooves as the stallion easily followed her. Her breath coming in gasps and her heart beating as if it would burst from her breast, she ran on, the long golden legs flashing in the occasional rays of sunlight that permeated the thickness of the forest. She ran with grace, and though she tried trick after trick to lose her pursuers, she was no match for Morgan's determined chase or Tempete's speed.

The uneven chase had only one end, and Morgan having let her run as far as he wanted, kicked Tempete into a gallop and bore down on the slim figure. Coming alongside her, he captured her in his arm and swung her up in front of him. Leonie still fought, twisting in his hold, her soft body like a sweet intoxicating flame wherever it touched. Angrily she panted,
"Non!
Monsieur, I tell you,
non!"

"And I tell you, yes!" Morgan breathed against her soft mouth before his lips stopped hers.

Leonie strained desperately away from him, but it did no good as his hold on her tightened and his mouth took liberties that reminded her vividly of the night she had lost her virginity to a stranger.

Bur Morgan was no stranger, and his probing tongue filled her mouth, his lips hard against hers as he deepened the embrace, his arms forcing her slender, resisting body up next to his until her breasts were crushed against his chest and she could feel the desire that drove him.

Whatever control Morgan may have had over his emotions, whatever good intentions he may have had, vanished the instant his mouth touched hers, and with a groan of sheer sensual pleasure, his lips and tongue slowly, caressingly explored the warm honey of her mouth. He held her firmly against him, reveling in the exciting twistings of her soft body as she fought to escape, and half-blindly, half-knowingly he guided Tempete farther away from the house and deeper into the forest.

It was a singularly erotic ride for both of them. Morgan could feel the horse's powerful movements beneath him as Tempete moved easily through the gloom of the woods, and there was Leonie's provocative body in his arms, her breasts brushing across his naked chest where his shirt hung open, her soft thighs thrashing across one of his and with half her hip, half her stomach pressed against his groin, he thought he would go mad with longing.