Deceive Not My Heart (34 page)

The remainder of that afternoon passed in a blur for Leonie. She vaguely remembered that Morgan had carried her to the pool and tenderly washed her body in the cool, reviving blue waters. A blush staining her cheeks, she remembered too the way he had helped her with her gown, his hands displaying an alarming tendency to wander over her body. The ride back to the house was hazy. She knew he held her in front of him on the big, blood-bay stallion and that he had kissed her with devastating intensity just before the stallion had left the forest and they had approached the house, but beyond that, the entire incident had taken on a dreamlike quality.

And in the familiar surroundings of her rooms much later that afternoon, she stared intently at her naked body in the cheval glass, puzzled that there were no outward changes to reveal the shattering metamorphosis she had undergone in her husband's arms. She had known a man's passion once before in her life, and yet Leonie had been completely unprepared for the exquisite pleasure Morgan's fervent lovemaking had given her. The abandoned reaction of her body bewildered her, almost as much as the knowledge that somehow, incredibly, she had managed to fall in love with Morgan Slade. Which event astonished her more would be difficult to decide, and the confusion she felt was obvious in the depths of the golden-flecked green eyes as she continued to peer at herself in the mirror, almost as if seeing herself for the first time.

The tawny mane curled and tumbled about her shoulders, one gleaming strand resting on the nipple of her breast, and remembering Morgan's mouth on that same nipple, Leonie's cheeks went red with embarrassment. Almost tentatively she touched her small breast, aware of the warmth and satiny texture of the smooth skin, wondering with a curious tingle in the pit of her stomach if Morgan would want her again. To her astonishment, she discovered that just thinking about him and what they had shared provoked a wild response within her as a warm wash of anticipation flooded through her body, her nipples hardening even as she stood in front of the glass.

Suddenly shy at what was happening to her, she spun around and hastily shrugged on her soft, white chemise and then put on the same lavender gown she had worn the night of Morgan's aborted betrothal to Melinda Marshall. The limitations of her scanty wardrobe were becoming obvious even to Leonie; there were only so many ways in which to disguise that one was wearing the same gown to dine in night after night. She and Yvette were both in the same position, and even trading off gowns and shawls and what little jewelry and bits of frippery they owned could alter their appearances only so much.

It had never bothered Leonie before that she possessed the barest essentials when it came to clothes, but tonight as she dressed to join Morgan for dinner, she wished passionately that she had something else to wear. None of her well-worn, everyday gowns would be suitable, and for reasons she could not even identify, she had put off wearing the dress she had been married in. As a matter of fact,
both
girls avoided the beautiful, rose satin gown, Yvette steadfastly refusing Leonie's generous offer of the dress. The brown eyes faintly puzzled, Yvette had said time and time again, "But it is your
wedding
gown,
ma petite!
I could not wear it! It would be bad luck,
non?"
Leonie didn't agree, but she could not
force Yvette to wear the gown, and consequently in languished in shining splendor at the back of Leonie's meager wardrobe.

Usually Mercy attempted to help Leonie dress, and Leonie found it infinitely amusing that after all these years of doing practically everything for herself, including some rather back-breakingly hard work, that now she had at her disposal a servant whose only task was to see that her mistress was properly attired. Considering the size of her wardrobe, Leonie found it silly for Mercy to fuss around the room, acting as if there were any choice in what she would wear that evening. Tonight, she had not even waited for Mercy's unnecessary help and was already dressed. She was just brushing a final curl into place when Mercy arrived.

Mercy eyed the lavender gown with disfavor, but she did not immediately launch into her accustomed argument about Leonie's avoidance of the rose satin gown. Instead she chose to be offended that Leonie had not waited for her services and muttered dire threats about what fates befall certain young ladies who had gone against the wise advice of their trusted servants. Leonie grinned at her, blew a kiss, and skipped out of the dressing room.

It wasn't quite time for dinner, and finding herself unsettled, she walked through the French doors in her room which led to the veranda. Blankly she gazed out over the lush, newly scythed carpet of grass and the neatly trimmed shrubs of Le Petit, suddenly longing for the untidy, scraggly and dearly beloved grounds of Chateau Saint-Andre. Le Petit was everything that any woman could wish for, and yet Leonie longed unbearably for the unkempt, faded glories of her home. And perhaps it wasn't so odd that tonight of all nights she yearned for it with a fierce intensity.

Chateau Saint-Andre had been her bulwark against the world, and in time of trouble or uncertainty it had given her the peace and solace she needed. Tonight, she would have given much to be there, to have the reality of her own past about her, to remember who she was and why the journey to Natchez had been so vital.

Certainly, it had not been for love! Nor had it been to be engulfed and swamped by the Slade family. Day by day she could feel herself becoming further enmeshed in life here, and it frightened her... almost as much as the thought of loving Morgan Slade did.

Staring out into the gathering darkness, Leonie's thoughts were in turmoil with images of Chateau Saint-Andre, Morgan, Justin, and even the dowry moving in a chaotic blur. She was the most unworthy creature alive to forget, even for a moment, the real reasons why she had come to Natchez, why it was imperative to have her dowry.

Chateau Saint-Andre was
home!
That was Justin's heritage, not this pretty doll's house! And her dowry would give Justin back what was his; the precious gold would allow them to restore the Chateau to great beauty, to turn it into a home as lovely or lovelier than Bonheur.

And yet, how could she bear to tear herself away from the man who had begun to mean so much to her? Justin too must be considered, and thinking of the way he followed Morgan about, of the growing affection she knew the child bore the man he thought was his father, Leonie writhed with self-abasement... she should never have deceived her son that way.

But what else could she have done? she wondered with anguish. It would have broken her heart to have Justin labeled a bastard. Not for herself did she care, but for Justin—he wasn't going to grow up with people sneering and sniggering behind his back, making sly remarks about his parentage. She simply could not and would not allow it!

Perhaps, she thought painfully, that was when she had begun to lower her guard against Morgan Slade's mocking charm. The way he had so carelessly acknowledged her son that morning he had found them pillow-fighting had disarmed her completely, and for the first time since she had met him in New Orleans, she had felt something more than mere mistrust and dislike for him.

In the days that had followed as she and Morgan lived in close proximity with one another, that initial disarmament had continued. She had seen him express a seemingly natural affection for her son; her servants had been completely captivated, and even Yvette had confessed shyly that she thought Leonie was very fortunate in her husband. Leonie also had found herself drawn to him, liking the wicked gleam of amusement that danced in the vivid blue eyes, the sound of his laughter when he and Justin played together, and the easy kindness and courtesy with which he treated them all.

He certainly seemed very different from the man she had married in New Orleans, and that difference disturbed Leonie. This man she liked, might actually have begun to love... but the man she had known in New Orleans had aroused no such emotions.

The story he had given concerning his reasons for denying her accusations at the ball had sounded reasonable when she had finally heard them from Matthew, but something didn't ring true. She mistrusted the tale of a divorce that was
supposed
to have taken place... and he
had
denied ever seeing her before. Even if she could accept the fact that he had thought he was divorced, that still didn't explain why he had not repaid her the dowry—his excuse of poor memory had found even less favor with Leonie than it had with his father. Or why he now seemed prepared to open up his arms to them all—to take not only a child he knew wasn't his, but also the rest of Leonie's little entourage into his home.
Why? Why? Why?
she wondered, unconsciously biting her lower lip.

It had been clearly understood between them that they would make no demands upon the other, and yet, in spite of everything, here she was with her son and the others living in his house and partaking of his generous bounty. The Morgan Slade she had married in New Orleans had never struck her as generous.

But even more unsettling than those inconsistencies was the fact that she was very much afraid that she had foolishly allowed herself to fall in love with him. Instantly she rebelled at the idea, denying the thought.
Mon Dieu,
it was impossible! She could
not
love such a man!

A dozen questions about the future filled her head. Did this afternoon
truly
change anything? Was their marriage to become real? Not just a business arrangement? And what of Justin? Sooner or later Morgan would demand the truth. And the dowry; did she just forget it and allow her husband to support her?

Something in Leonie rebelled at that thought. She had been independent too long, had managed her own affairs too long, to let someone run her life. No, Morgan must pay back what was hers. It was, she decided stubbornly, the principle of the thing, not so much that she wanted the money if she was to take her place as his wife. She must provide for Justin's future; if she and Morgan had children of their own, their father could provide for them, but Justin's future was her responsibility.

The idea of bearing Morgan's child made her heart beat very fast, and she realized with a shock that she was actually contemplating remaining in Natchez to live as Morgan's wife. Chateau Saint-Andre tugged at her soul, but Leonie knew that bricks and lumber could never give her the joy that living out her days with her husband at her side could. But with the dowry it could be saved for Justin, she thought confidently, and knowing that her son would one day walk the land of their ancestors eased some of the ache in her heart. Soon, she must talk to Morgan about the dowry and explain why it was so necessary for her to have the money immediately. The first of July was less than a month away, and Maurice de la Fontaine was not likely to wait longer than that for his money....

Tomorrow,
she concluded firmly,
tomorrow I must talk with Morgan and see that he takes the necessary steps to repay my dowry.
Feeling more at ease within herself, if shy and yet excited at seeing her husband again, she left the veranda and made her way downstairs to join the others for dinner.

As had been the case since they had moved into Le Petit, Robert and Dominic had joined them for dinner, and the meal that followed was lively with teasing conversation among the three brothers, as well as a radiant Yvette and an oddly tremulous Leonie. Every time she glanced up and caught Morgan's bright blue eyes on her, her composure deserted her, and in confusion she would look hastily away.

Morgan looked at her often that evening, unable to do otherwise. He would try to ignore the steady, almost violent appeal she held for him and lose himself in talking animatedly with his brothers, but time and time again like steel to a magnet, his eyes were drawn inexorably back to her. An expression of possession and speculation in his gaze, his eyes roved slowly over her face and shoulders, lingering appreciatively for a moment or two on the soft fullness of her mouth or the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the lavender gown.

He wanted her, Morgan admitted slowly. But though he found her incredibly desirable, he also was positive that he wasn't insane enough to fall in love with her. And yet, all afternoon he had been unable to get her out of his mind, remembering too well the taste of that sweet mouth under his and the delicious warmth of her body as it had writhed under his. But more than just sexual images had crossed his mind during the hours since they had last seen one another. The memory of how she had looked standing in the stream with her skirts rucked up about her waist came back to him, as did the jubilant smile that flashed across her face when she had caught the frog for Justin. She was absolutely enchanting, and Morgan was uneasily aware that he was in danger of allowing himself to forget the reasons behind the charade they were playing.

Inexplicably, in less than a week Leonie and her son had become part of his life, and he was bewildered by the ease with which it had happened. With an effort he had to remind himself repeatedly that underneath the pleasant surface presented to the world, there was a deadly battle being fought... that they were "the enemy." Not the child, for Justin could not be blamed for his mother's schemes, but Leonie herself was definitely his sworn adversary, and staring hard at her across the long, white table, his thoughts were suddenly unkind as he reminded himself forcibly that no matter how enticing he found her, she was still a liar and a fraud.

Mentally, he ticked off her sins: she claimed to be his wife and he knew very well that she was not; she claimed he had promised to pay her back a dowry he had never received; and she was passing off a child as his he knew he had never fathered. Not a pretty list of activities, he thought savagely, as Yvette and Leonie prepared to leave the room so that the gentlemen could enjoy their cigars and brandy. Nevertheless, despite the chicanery he believed her capable of, he found that she still had the power to arouse emotions in him that he had thought never to feel for another woman again. Not just passion—passion was something he had felt for a number of women—but with this one, there was some other emotion entwined, an emotion he vehemently denied and would not name.