On the other hand, he reminded himself coolly, it would create a whole host of new problems—especially if his suspicions proved correct and it turned out to be either Jean or François, or both, who were stealing from the company. With Micaela as his wife, he would find it awkward to accuse her brother or her uncle of thievery—or of hiring someone to beat him soundly. Certainly prosecuting them would be out of the question. A tempting vision of Micaela suddenly floated before him. But there would be, he admitted to himself as he took a sip of his brandy, advantages....
Hugh shook his head disgustedly. He wasn't seriously considering marrying Micaela Dupree, was he? She made her opinion of him clear, and he wasn't fool enough to marry a woman who disliked him. Such a union would bring nothing but trouble, and he wasn't one who went looking for trouble.
He would concede, however, that Micaela aroused some elemental emotion within him. A night or two, he thought wryly, spent in the arms of a clever courtesan would no doubt cure him of his damnable preoccupation with Mademoiselle Dupree! In a few weeks, a month, he would look back on this time and wonder how he had allowed himself to be so befuddled by her. She was undeniably a seductive armful, and if she had been of a certain class of woman, he would not have hesitated a moment before setting her up as his mistress. But wife? He shook his head. Ridiculous!
And as for whoever had set those ruffians on him... Hugh smiled like a lazy tiger. He was going to enjoy exposing his enemy—and teaching him a lesson, a lesson that would not soon be forgotten.
Feeling better about the situation, Hugh finished his brandy and returned to his bed. To sleep. And to dream of flashing dark eyes and soft, tempting cherry red lips.
Certain that he had been suffering from an aberration, during the following days Hugh banished any thoughts of Micaela from his mind and concentrated on affairs at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. There were no further attacks on him, and he wondered if he had been mistaken in what he had overheard. Perhaps.
March faded into April, and Hugh was no closer to discovering his thief—or his attackers—or their reasons. On the twenty-ninth of March, he had written to the firm which handled their affairs in Europe and had requested a complete copy of several of the suspicious invoices. He had offered no reasons, but he had asked that they be sent privately to him at Jasper's town residence. There was no point in alarming anyone at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree... yet.
He had also delved more deeply into the tasks of each person employed by the firm. There were only so many people who had access to the invoices, and he was eliminating them from his list of suspects. He had considered that the order for the attack on him could have originated from someone in the company other than the Duprees, but he had found nothing to support that theory. And as for the person who might have altered the invoices—originally he had been suspicious of everyone, but as the weeks had passed he had narrowed down his list.
Hugh had not been inclined to consider Husson on his list of suspects in the beginning, but the more he learned of the man and his connection to François, the more he wondered. The losses had not really started until after Husson had won his shares from Christophe. Of course, the same could be said of Jasper, but the notion of Jasper stealing from the firm was absurd. Husson was a different story though.
The Creole was certainly wealthy, but Hugh had learned through discreet inquiry that Husson was also a great gambler. As was François, Hugh thought grimly. However, Husson seemed to win more than he lost, and there were rumors that a wise man did not often wager against him. Husson was, according to several American friends, nearly unbeatable. More interesting to Hugh, however, was the information that while Husson graciously accepted any man's vowels, only a fool did not repay the debt... promptly. A whisper here and there had come to Hugh's ears that men unwise enough not to redeem their vowels, were not only dishonored, but things happened to them... unpleasant things. Noses and legs were broken. Houses and crops burned. Loans were denied. Livestock disappeared. All of which made Hugh wonder if Husson could have been behind the attack on him. It didn't seem likely, but it certainly had been the sort of thing often connected with Husson's name.
It was clear that Alain Husson was not a man to be trifled with. And François, Hugh had discovered, owed Husson a very large debt. It was murmured that the debt had been growing for some time and that Husson had finally demanded his money but François was having trouble meeting that demand. It was possible, Hugh considered, that Husson had put pressure on François to repay his gambling debts and François had been compelled to do so the only way he could—steal from his own company. Then again, Husson and François could be in collusion with each other and whether the idea to steal from Galland, Lancaster and Dupree had come from François or Husson made little difference. They also could have conspired to have him beaten, thinking to drive him out.
Because he had nothing definite to go on, Hugh was forced into a waiting game. Until the next large shipment arrived from Europe, or the copies of the invoices he had sent for were finally in his hands, he could do nothing.
At a standstill in his quest to find the thief or the person who had ordered the attack on him, and strangely reluctant to proceed with his courtship of Alice Summerfield, Hugh found himself irritated and frustrated. With an eye toward purchase, he had looked at several prospective town houses and had even seen a few larger estates in the country. He would need both eventually, but viewing the various houses and lands did not give him the pleasure he had thought it would. Some spark, he acknowledged, was missing.
As April melted into May and the days lengthened and grew warmer and more humid, he found himself oddly restless and unsettled, nothing holding his attention for very long. Even Jasper's lively company did not soothe the impatient, ceaseless stirrings within him, and his temper grew short.
The invitation to stay several days at Riverbend came as a total surprise, and Hugh was doubly irritated by the flush of anticipation and pleasure which had rushed through him when he had read Lisette's note. His bad temper vanished, and for the first time in weeks he found himself looking forward to an event with eager expectancy. It was, he told himself firmly, the prospect of getting away from the city and seeing more of the lush Louisiana countryside that had raised his spirits. It had nothing to do with the fact that he would see Micaela. Nothing.
Some of Hugh's anticipation lessened when he learned that it was a large house party that he had been invited to attend. He was pleased and not surprised that Jasper had been invited, but the news that Alice Summerfield and her parents had also received an invitation brought a faint frown to his face. The connection had to be François, but what in Hades was that young puppy trying to do? Cut him out? Hugh snorted. The way he felt right now, François had his blessing.
The Husson family had also been invited, but would not be staying at Riverbend. Like the other neighbors who would be attending the various entertainments scheduled for the Dupree guests, they would be riding and driving over each day and returning to their own home afterward. Why this pleased Hugh when Jasper mentioned it, he did not care to speculate.
* * *
Micaela had been startled when Jean first proposed the house party to Lisette one evening at dinner. She had stared at his unreadable features and had wondered what was behind this sudden decision. The news that Jean intended for Hugh Lancaster to be amongst the invited guests made her eyes widen. Ma foi! Had her oncle had a change of heart about the Américains? It seemed so, especially when Jean went on to mention that he also intended for the Summerfield family to attend the house party.
Micaela looked across the table at François's suspiciously bland face. It had been François, she recalled, who had introduced her and Lisette to the Summerfields when they had come into the city in March, and she had wondered then what had prompted her brother's interest in the Américains. Of course, Mademoiselle Summerfield was very lovely, but surely François was not...
Her gaze narrowed as she studied her brother. Wa
s he thinking of marriage? To an Américain! Bah! That was unlikely... as unlikely as her becoming Hugh's mistress. Or her marrying Alain Husson.
Later that evening as she prepared for bed, Micaela frowned when she thought of Alain Husson. He had paid several visits to the plantation since she and Lisette had returned from their last trip to New Orleans and his determined pursuit of her had become so persistent and so unrelenting that she was feeling decidedly harassed. Despite her previous strong hints and increased coolness to him, Alain seemed oblivious to the fact that she was not enamored with him and that she had no intention of marrying him—if he should be so foolish as to ask her!
* * *
During the days that followed Jean's announcement of his plans for the house party, Alain's pursuit of Micaela continued and her manner toward him became increasingly sharp, sometimes bordering on rudeness. Her less-than-welcoming manner did not seem to faze him, and there appeared no escaping his attentions—not when François was always inviting him to visit or stay for dinner.
This evening was no exception. Alain had come to dine. Once the meal was finished, Alain asked, as he usually did, if he could escort her for a stroll around the gardens before he departed for his own home. Micaela accepted with ill-disguised reluctance. No one else seemed inclined to join them, so they were alone as they left the dining room and stepped out into the warm night air.
Determined to make it as short a walk as possible, Micaela set off at a brisk pace down the winding path which ambled through the extensive gardens at the side of the house. They had not gone far before Alain asked, "Why are you in such a hurry, ma coeur? It is a beautiful night—almost as beautiful as you...."
Micaela snorted and cast him an exasperated look. "And I have told you repeatedly that I do not find your compliments welcome—nor, I might add, speaking plainly, your continued pursuit. I have asked, no, pleaded with you to turn your attentions elsewhere, but you refuse to listen to me."
Alain smiled. "Ah, ma belle, you do not really mean that. You know that I adore you... that both our families are waiting in momentary expectation of our announcement that we shall be married." A complacent expression on his handsome face, he reached for her hand. "Perhaps," he purred, "I have been too discreet and sedate in my courtship... perhaps you have been waiting for me to show you how much I desire you."
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth crushing down on hers as he held her tightly against him. Her first reaction was astonishment, then as his hand moved boldly to her breasts, sheer fury erupted through her. She fought him, twisting and squirming violently in her efforts to escape his hot, seeking mouth and equally bold hands.
Managing finally to break free of him, her bosom heaving with temper and exertion, she glared at him in the moonlight. Without thinking, she soundly boxed his ears as he stood before her with that superior smile on his face.
"I would never," she hissed in a shaken, furious tone, "consent to marry a man who acts so boorishly! How dare you force yourself upon me."
Alain's eyes glittered with an emotion that made her distinctly uneasy, and she stepped away from him. "Come one step nearer to me, and I shall scream," she warned him.
"And you think that your uncle or brother will come to help you?" Alain asked coolly. "You are a pretty little fool, chérie, and I wonder if it is not your hesitation to marry me which holds my interest."
"Hesitation?" Micaela spat. "Just so you have no illusions, let me explain my position to you—I will not marry you—under any circumstances!"
Alain almost smirked. "Will you not? Shall we make a wager on it?"
"Bah! It is useless to talk to you," she said disgustedly. "Go home, Alain. For the sake of the long friendship between our families, I will try to pretend that tonight did not happen. I hope that the next time we meet you will have recovered your senses."
His confidence not the least battered, Alain bowed and left.
Greatly disturbed by the incident, Micaela had gone immediately in search of her uncle. She found him looking over some papers in his office, which was in a separate building behind the main house.
The words tumbling out of her mouth, she poured out her story in bald detail. To her growing unease, Jean did not seem concerned. Deciding that he had not understood just how far Alain had gone beyond the bounds of acceptable behavior, a blush staining her cheeks, she muttered, "He kissed me, oncle, and t-t-touched me in a much too familiar manner."
His dark eyes shuttered, Jean glanced at her and remarked, "I think you make too much of his behavior. He is a young man in love. An extremely eligible young man. A young man who would make an excellent addition to our family."
Micaela flushed with anger. "I told you that I was not going to marry him! It is unfair of you and François to encourage his visits. And I do not appreciate having him always lurking about and... and pawing at me whenever we are out of sight of others."
Jean shrugged. "As I said, he is in love. A hot-blooded Creole in pursuit of his bride. You are cruel to keep him at a distance."
Micaela's eyes narrowed. "You do not intend to do anything about him, do you? You are trying to force me to marry him."
Jean looked away, unable to meet her accusing gaze. "Force you, chérie? I think you are becoming hysterical."
Micaela snorted. "And I think that you have become hard-of-hearing."
Jean shook his head. "You know how important it is for the family, especially your brother, for you to marry Husson. I suggest you rethink your position." A coaxing note entered his voice. "Becoming a spinster aunt to François's children is no future for you, petite. You are far too lovely to remain unmarried. By refusing Alain, you are being foolish and stubborn."
Micaela's hands clenched into fists. "And you will do nothing to stop Alain from continuing to persist in his unwanted attentions to me?"
Jean forced a smile. "As I said earlier, petite, I think you are making too much of his behavior. He is impetuous, and I will admit that perhaps he has let his desire for your hand in marriage go to his head.... You have been gently reared—it is natural that you should resist him, but I am afraid that in Alain's case, your reluctance only adds spice to the chase." His smile gone, a shadow on his face, he added with sudden weariness, "You might be wise to accept him, while it is still your choice."
"What do you mean?"
Jean sighed and, picking his words with great care, said, "Sometimes... events... happen which take away one's choices. You would do well to remember that the next time Alain comes to call."
Micaela was so incensed, so angry at Jean's lack of support that his words and the implied threat in them went right over her head. Her lovely face flushed with temper, her dark eyes flashing, she snapped, "And you would do well to remember that I will not be forced into a marriage I find repugnant!" Having said the last word, she stalked from the room.
Dissatisfied with Jean's reaction, she considered talking to François. Alain was, after all, François's friend. Perhaps if she made it clear to her brother...? But talking to François, she realized bitterly, would do no good—he, or at least his gambling, was the reason why the match with Alain was viewed with such favor.
Knowing there was at least one sympathetic ear into which she could pour out her troubles, Micaela stormed up the stairs, intending to tell her mother all that had transpired. Maman would support her. Maman would make the males of the family listen to reason. Halfway to Lisette's room she stopped. She was not a child, she chided herself, to run to Maman at the first sign of difficulty. She was an adult. And her situation was not so very precarious—unpleasant, perhaps, but not serious. And the solution was simple—all she had to do was avoid Alain and keep saying no—vehemently! She would take great care that she did not find herself in the same position that she had tonight. A smile curved her mouth. Eventually even the most ardent suitor would lose heart if he was continually met with an icy shoulder and a frozen stare.
* * *
The date of the house party approached sw
iftly. To Micaela's relief there were no further incidents with Alain, and she wondered if Jean had, after all, had a word with him. Perhaps Alain had finally realized that she was serious about her refusal to marry him? Whatever the reason for Alain's absence, Micaela was grateful for it.
Sitting alone on Tuesday morning in the gazebo which overlooked the river, she snatched a few minutes respite from the frantic preparations which had consumed the household in preparation of the party.
The house would be full of guests in a few hours and several pleasurable activities had been planned for their amusements. Tomorrow there would be a tour of the plantation and dinner al fresco in the gardens; Thursday afternoon, a riverboat trip had been arranged; on Friday they were all going for an extended ride in the country; a midday interlude had been arranged. At a favorite family stopping point, a pleasant area littered with moss-draped live oaks and with a commanding view of the Mississippi River, a luncheon would be served by the servants, who would have ridden ahead to have everything ready to serve the riders when they arrived. On Saturday night, Lisette had planned a grand ball to which everyone for miles around had been invited. Other amusements were planned and, of course, the gentlemen would be able to hunt and ride as the mood took them; the ladies would be able to explore the extensive and beautiful gardens and grounds adjacent to the house.
Knowing that Hugh Lancaster had been invited, Micaela was both looking forward to and dreading the coming party. She could not understand her antagonistic attitude toward him—even if he was an Américain! She had, she admitted uneasily, met several Americains, the Summerfield family for instance, and not once had she been prompted to make a hostile comment while in their company. Normally a warm, congenial person, she was appalled at the aggravating things that came out of her mouth whenever she was around Hugh Lancaster. It was embarrassing and, she confessed with guilty pleasure, very exciting. Every stinging barb she aimed at him filled her with that odd mixture of guilt and excitement. Rather, she thought ruefully as she rose and began to walk toward the house, like pulling the whiskers of a sleek, sleeping tiger.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 7
