Deceive Not My Heart (35 page)

He and his brothers did not linger long over their brandies, and in a very short time, they had joined Yvette and Leonie as the two young women conversed idly in the main salon. Broodingly, Morgan watched Leonie, wondering at the paradox she presented.

She looks so damned genuine,
he admitted angrily. The tawny curls were caught in a neat chignon at the base of her neck, a few unruly locks escaping to frame her lovely face, giving the high cheekbones and straight little nose a patrician cast. Her manners were impeccable, as was her speech, and she handled herself just the way one would expect a young woman of good breeding... except, Morgan thought with a sudden grin, she held wild pillow fights with her son and chased frogs in the creek like a hoyden.

Dominic interrupted his thoughts just then by asking him a question, and with an effort Morgan brought himself back to the moment at hand. Aware that now was not the time to delve into the mystery Leonie Saint-Andre represented, for the next few hours Morgan pushed the problem aside, and it was only as he undressed for bed later that his thoughts returned to Leonie's presence in his life.

She was definitely an adventuress, he finally decided. No matter what reasons she had for doing so, she was lying through her lovely little mouth every time she claimed to be his wife. And more damningly, she had gone to a lot of trouble to have those clever forgeries made up. And who, he wondered suddenly with a painful clutch in his gut, was Justin's father? Why hadn't she sought help from the boy's father?

The thought of another man possessing that vibrant, young body was exceedingly unpleasant, and he forced himself to think of something else. It was then that something even uglier occurred to him. Perhaps there was one person he hadn't met yet... the mastermind of the entire plot, the man in Leonie's life... the father of her son.

His mouth filling with bitter bile, Morgan's hands clenched. Of course. It wouldn't be the first time that a scheme such as this had been tried on a wealthy man. It had to be a man who had decided which pigeon they would pluck, a man who had made the forgeries and had done all the necessary investigations to make certain that no hole could be found in her story. Perhaps her grandfather wasn't even dead. Perhaps he was behind it.

They could all be in on it, he decided viciously. Family servants were notoriously loyal, if they
were
family servants, and if they stuck to their tale, the story would be impossible to disprove.

He was almost positive he had stumbled across the truth. Leonie had never made any secret of the fact that it was her dowry, her
money
that she was after. Most men sucked into such a sordid little plot would have found it easier to simply pay the money and have Leonie disappear out of their lives—presumably after giving the poor dupe some "proof" that could be offered to his friends and neighbors to explain away the entire unpleasant situation. And then with the merry jingle of gold in their pockets, Leonie and her partner would look around for their next victim.

Oh, yes, how easily it could be done. The child, the servants, even the incredibly lovely companion Yvette, all part of the rig. Together they formed an aura of such truth and authenticity that it was almost impossible
not
to believe them.

Standing at his window overlooking the boxwood garden, Morgan smiled tightly to himself. It had probably worked very well for them in the past... but not this time, he promised savagely.
Not this time!

Sickened by the thoughts that were running through his head, he turned away from the window and with leadened steps crossed the room to his bed. Were Leonie and Justin truly part of such a despicable plot? Even as he coolly admitted that they could very well be, his every instinct cried out a fierce denial.

But until he heard from Jason, he thought with angry frustration, there was nothing he could do but allow the situation to continue. Further questioning of the servants would gain him nothing, and Leonie herself certainly wasn't going to make any mistakes... the lying little bitch hadn't put one foot wrong yet!

It was very late when sleep finally overtook him, and while there had been a moment when he had considered seeking out Leonie and losing himself in the pleasures her body could give him, he had dismissed the idea. In the mood he was in at present, he decided, he was far more likely to strangle her than make love to her.

Morgan's nonappearance in Leonie's bedchamber left her with mixed emotions. On one hand, in spite of her newly discovered emotions regarding Morgan Slade, she was relieved not to be forced too soon into a relationship she had such reservations about, but on the other hand... Lying alone in her bed, unwillingly remembering Morgan's passionate kisses over her body, she felt her senses stir and her blood race in her veins.
Ma foi!
This is most unseemly, she thought uncomfortably. It is very bad of me to think such lustful thoughts—the devil will have my soul!

After a brief struggle with shockingly sensual fantasies, resolutely she focused on her need for the dowry and fell asleep planning the conversation she would have with Morgan in the morning. Leonie might have been able to control her conscious mind but she had absolutely no power over the subconscious, and as she slept images of Morgan and herself in the forest glade engulfed her; she woke in the morning with the memory of his mouth on hers, his strong arms crushing her to him.

Dressing in her second best gown of yellow linen, Leonie decided that it was imperative that she speak with Morgan about the dowry. His reactions to her request could conceivably resolve some of her reservations about him. She might have been foolish enough to think herself in love with him, but she was also uneasily aware that he was definitely not quite the charming lover and father he had played this past week.

The memory of her initial dislike and mistrust in New Orleans came back too strongly at times to be ignored, and while she hoped those feelings were merely the result of a young girl's resentment of being forced into a marriage she hadn't wanted, she couldn't forget them. And Morgan hadn't exactly followed any of the agreements he had signed—he had not paid back the dowry and yesterday afternoon's events certainly were not in keeping with the promise not to exert his conjugal rights.

The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Had she truly fallen in love with a man whose word was meaningless? Was he as dishonorable as he appeared? Capable of lies and deceit, his only thought his own pleasures? She stopped in bewilderment, aware that the only real thing she did know was that Morgan Slade had many faces, and she longed to know which was the real man.

Walking slowly down the stairs on her way to find Morgan, every ambiguity of the situation hit her. They had agreed to live separate lives and yet here she was in his house, living as his wife. Her son was not her husband's, but thus far her husband had made no comment on that fact and blandly accepted the boy. Perplexed, she shook her head as if to clear the paradoxical thoughts that churned there.

The dowry seemed to be the one thing that would reveal the real man—if he paid, as promised,
voila!
It would prove that he was at heart an honest man. But if he did not, she decided with a tightening of the firm, little jaw, if he did not.... If he did not,
then
she would know him for the
villain
he had first appeared to be!

Chapter 17

Morgan was working in his office when Leonie finally found him. She was shy about entering what was predominantly masculine territory, and although she had been in the office once, when she had been shown over the grounds of Le Petit, until now there had been no reason to seek him out as he worked.

When Leonie knocked on the door, he was browsing through some account books Matthew had thought would bring him up to date with the affairs the sprawling estate. His mind had not been on the neat columns of figures and concise entries, though, and to glance up and find the object of his thoughts hesitantly pushing open the door in answer to his command to enter came as a distinct surprise.

For a long moment, they stared wordlessly at each other, Leonie very conscious of him as a man—a man who was her husband and a man who had awakened instincts and responses she had never dreamed she possessed. Her original reason for seeking him out had been straightforward, but now that she found herself alone with him, the impact of his blatant masculinity on her newly discovered senses left her curiously tongue-tied and self-conscious.

He was half-sitting, half-lounging on one edge of the big desk, his knee swinging carelessly over the corner while the other long leg was stretched out to the side propping him up. The account books were spread haphazardly at his side, and the one he had been perusing so indifferently rested lightly on the strong thigh of the leg that swung freely from the desk, the lean fingers that held it open appearing very dark against the pale gray binding.

He was dressed much more formally than Leonie had seen him lately, the dark blue coat fitting his broad shoulders expertly, the starched, elegantly arranged cravat of white linen contrasting pleasingly against both the jacket and the darkness of his face. Form-fitting nankeen pantaloons hugged his long, powerful legs, and gleaming, high-topped boots of dark brown Spanish leather were on his feet.

A tense little silence permeated the room as they stared at one another, and assailed by a foreign surge of cowardice, Leonie suddenly wished she had not sought him out in such an isolated, private place. It would have been better, she decided with belated hindsight, to have spoken with him in the company of somebody else or at least at the house where there were others nearby.

Now why that thought should have occurred to her, she didn't know, she only sensed that once again, Morgan had changed personalities on her. There was something about this man that disturbed her. He looked the same, but this morning there was a hardness in the sapphire blue eyes she hadn't seen lately and a forbidding grimness to the full, mobile mouth that she was certain hadn't been there yesterday. A flush crossed her face. No, definitely there had been nothing grim or forbidding about that mouth yesterday afternoon.

Morgan noted the flush and his eyes narrowed. Snapping the account book shut with a sharp movement, he tossed it aside and asked unencouragingly, "You wanted to see me?"

"Oui,
monsieur, there are some—some things that I wish to discuss with you." Leonie answered with more confidence than she felt, wishing helplessly that he was not so attractive and that just the mere sight of him didn't start her heart pounding erratically in her chest.
Mon Dieu, but I am acting like a schoolgirl
Just a little angry with herself, she added more briskly, "There are things that must be decided between us. We cannot continue as we are."

Morgan's foot continued to swing slowly, his face expressionless as he looked at her. She was, he admitted unwillingly, absolutely charming as she stood before him, the old, yellow linen gown intensifying the color of the golden skin and tawny hair. The sea-green eyes with their bewitching golden flecks were wide with a beguiling sort of entreaty, but Morgan detected a hint of stubborn determination as she met his steely regard.

Leonie's advent into his private sanctuary had startled him, but now that the initial surprise had faded, and in view of the ugly thoughts that had kept him sleepless the night before, surprise had been supplanted by wariness... and a cold, deadly desire to trap her and the shadow man he was certain existed. Underneath his calm exterior, he was furious, furious that he had allowed his hunger for her body to further abet a scheme he firmly believed had been planned for the express purpose of separating him from his money, and furious that even for one moment he had allowed passion to rule him. There was another reason too for his fury: For the second time in his life he had come perilously close to allowing himself to be beguiled by an enchanting, lying little slut, and that knowledge was like salt on a raw wound.

Yesterday, the sight of her standing so demurely in front of him would have filled him with a queer delight, and he would have taken wicked enjoyment in continuing the exciting, treacherous game of wits between them. But that had been yesterday, yesterday when he had been so stupidly blind to the snare around his very feet. Today, he was very much aware of the snare, and had cursed himself a dozen times this morning for letting the demands of his body overrule the cool logic of his brain. He had almost forgotten the lesson Stephanie had taught him so brutally, but now his defenses were in place and there was no way in hell he was going to forget that this desirable little slut was only after money.