Micaela found herself both excited and intimidated at the notion of having her very own home. Monsieur Follet's house was very large and grand... Delight swelled within her. And Hugh had bought it for them. The look she bent upon him was glowing and warm. "You are very kind."
Hugh cocked a brow. "And you, sweetheart, are being very formal with your husband."
She made a face. "It is all very strange, hein? We hardly know each other, and yet we are married."
Micaela could have bitten her tongue off as his face closed down. He rose to his feet and walked over to a tall mahogany wardrobe where a change of clothes for him had been placed yesterday. "Not so very strange," he said coolly, "when one considers the bold scheme which brought it about."
Her fists clenched and all of the kind thoughts she had had of him vanished. "You are insulting!"
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Am I? I feel it is more of a case of speaking bluntly." He smiled crookedly at her. "A trait you Creoles find appalling in Americans, among other things."
Her quick temper rising, she jumped up and snapped, "Oui, this is true. We also find you rude, overbearing, and arrogant!"
"Ah, but necessary to marry, yes?"
"Bah!" Micaela spat, her eyes flashing. Turning her back on him, she stared stonily out of one of the windows. "I will not continue this ridiculous conversation with you."
Hugh shrugged and began to dress. He had brought his longtime valet, Jeffers, with him from Natchez, but this morning Hugh had dispensed with his services. In fact, at this very moment, Jeffers should be overseeing the setting up of the new household.
Having finished garbing himself, Hugh turned to stare at Micaela's rigid back. She was being foolish, he thought to himself. She had gotten what she wanted—a wealthy husband. What more did she want? If he could accept being married for his purse, surely she could admit her own part in bringing about their marriage?
Shaking his head at the mysterious workings of a woman's mind, he said, "Well, if you will excuse me, I shall go to the office for a few hours—there is something I wish to check on. I shall not be long."
Micaela whirled around, her expression horrified. "You are leaving me?" she gasped.
Hugh frowned. "As I said, only for a few hours."
"But you cannot!" she exclaimed in agitated accents. Crossing to stand before him, her fingers clutched the lapels of his dark blue jacket. "Do you not understand, you cannot!"
Puzzled, Hugh regarded her tense features. "Why not?" he asked slowly.
"It is not done," she said urgently. "Creole brides and grooms are expected to remain alone in their bedroom with each other for five days—or more. For one of us, or even both, to leave before that time would bring shame and disgrace on our family!"
Looking stunned, Hugh stared back at her. "We are confined here for five days?"
Micaela nodded vigorously. "Oui—at least. Meals will be brought and left at the door, but we are not to venture forth before the five days has passed. It would be scandalous to do so."
"Good Lord," Hugh muttered, "of all the damned archaic notions, that is the most..." He stopped, deciding hastily that his bride would not take kindly to hearing a Creole custom decried. It seemed a barbaric tradition, but realizing that most Creole brides and grooms hardly knew each other, he could see how it might have originated. His lips quirked. Being confined in a bedroom with one's spouse for several days was one way of ensuring the new couple became well acquainted with the other. Very well acquainted.
A carnal smile on his lips, Hugh absently began to undo his just-tied cravat. His gaze boldly caressing Micaela, he asked huskily, "And precisely how do you expect us to spend these five days, hmm?"
Chapter 10
Ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart, Micaela took a prudent step away from him. "We shall t-t-talk and learn to know each other better," she said primly.
Since the only knowledge which interested Hugh at the moment was the Biblical kind, he barely hesitated before he swept her into his arms and began kissing her. "We have years and years in which to talk, sweetheart. I think our time would be better spent in retiring to our marriage bed and learning all the wonderful ways in which we can pleasure each other."
"N-n-now?" she stammered, her senses spinning from his ardent embrace. "During the day? S-s-should we not wait until evening?"
His face buried in the fragrant dark clouds of her hair, Hugh grimaced. In view of everything, it would be sensible to proceed slowly with his bride.
Firmly setting her tempting body away from him, he said, "Since what we do here is important only to us, we can do what we wish, when we wish it, but perhaps you are right—perhaps it is time that we learned more about each other." Seating himself at the small table, his long legs stretched out in front him and crossed at the ankles, he slanted her a sardonic glance. "So. What do you want to talk about?"
Uncertainty evident in her gaze, she sat down across the table from him. She bit her lip, racking her brain for a topic. "We could talk about your family," she said finally. "You know about mine, but I know nothing of yours other than Monsieur John Lancaster is your step-papa."
"There is not much to tell," Hugh replied, resigned to following her lead. "My father, Sidney Lancaster, died from injuries suffered when his horse bolted and took him over a bluff when I was four years old." His face softened. "He was much older than my mother, but she adored him. She always maintained that she had buried her heart with him. They had only been married five years, and she was just twenty-three years old when he died."
"Do you remember your papa at all?" Micaela asked, her dark eyes full of sympathy.
Hugh shook his head. "No, I was too young to have any clear memory of him. Mother claimed, however, that I was his very image."
"And Monsieur John Lancaster? When did your maman fall in love and marry him?"
A mocking expression lit his face. "They did not fall in love, sweetheart," he drawled. "Their marriage was a mutual business decision. John was a distant relative of my father's, a second or third cousin, removed a few times, I think. His property adjoined ours, and my father and John had undertaken several business ventures together prior to my father's death. Our interests were entwined and after several years, mother and John simply decided that it made good business sense for them to marry. He acquired a wife and a hostess; she got an excellent business manager and a father for her son." His mocking expression became more pronounced. "They neither one pretended it was anything other than convenient for both of them."
"I see," said Micaela, wondering sickly if he considered their marriage convenient. If François was right, her husband not only considered their union convenient, but expedient. But deciding not to tread on dangerous subjects, she asked, "And Monsieur John, was he a good step-papa to you?"
Hugh grinned. "The very best! Because of the situation, it has been John who has acted as my father for as far back as I can remember. I was elated when he and mother told me of their decision to marry." A reminiscent smile curved his mouth. "They were married the day after my eleventh birthday, and I felt every inch a man when I escorted my mother down the aisle and put her hand in John's. John formally adopted me a few hours later. It was a momentous day."
"And your maman? You do not speak of her."
Hugh looked away. "She died," he said simply, "a little under three years after they were married. I was not yet fourteen."
"Oh, I am so sorry," Micaela said, her tender heart moved by the pain she glimpsed behind those blunt words.
"Well, at least you will have only one in-law to contend with," he said, "and one you will be meeting not too many more weeks in the future."
"You think he will come to New Orleans?" Micaela asked, frowning. "He never has in the past. Maman said he was here when the company was formed, but never once since—in spite of being the major owner of the company."
"Perhaps," Hugh said dryly, "he took an aversion to the place. Remember he has not been the major owner f
or a few years now... or have you forgotten? I am the one who now owns the major share."
Micaela's lips tightened. "How could I forget, when it is because of that fact that we are married?"
Hugh smiled mirthlessly. "I suppose I should be flattered that you are finally being honest about your motives for having arranged this union between us."
"I did not 'arrange' a thing, and that was not what I meant at all!" she snapped, appalled at how quickly the mood between them had changed. Hanging on to her fraying temper, she muttered, "I meant that if you were not the major owner, you would not have come to New Orleans." Defiantly her gaze met his. "We would never have met and certainly would never have been forced to marry each other." The openly mocking smile which curved his lips was her undoing. It was obvious he did not believe a word of what she had just said. Her eyes blazed, and she added furiously, "And I, for one, wish that I had never laid eyes on you!"
It was, Hugh decided as he watched her spring to her feet and stalk majestically to the far end of the room, going to be a long five days. His gaze fell upon their bed. A grin crossed his face. Then again, perhaps not.
But Hugh's prediction proved to be more accurate than not. It was a long five days. Not that he was bored, nor was it that Micaela denied him his conjugal rights—in fact that was the only time that there was not a simmering air of suspicion behind their every word. At night, Micaela came into his arms easily enough, her body docilely accepting his, but she was a passive participant in their lovemaking. Her soft, almost-smothered sighs and oh-so-subtle reactions to his caresses were the only outward signs that she did not find the entire act repugnant.
They did talk, and even laughed together upon occasion and inevitably grew more comfortable with each other. It was an unspoken rule between them not to speak of the reasons for their hasty marriage, or the events surrounding it, as well as the dangerous subject of the affairs of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree.
Hugh found much pleasure in making love to his wife, but he was increasingly frustrated that he could not seem to give her the same scalding release he experienced in her arms. And he would have been astonished at how very difficult his wife was finding it not to respond to his skilled lovemaking with an openly wanton delight. He'd be even more astonished to learn that by suppressing every urge to respond with delirious vigor to his caresses that she thought she was behaving in a manner which pleased him.
Micaela might not have known what to expect from the marriage bed, but after Lisette's and especially Tante Marie's strictures, she did know that it was her duty as a good, decent Creole wife merely to accept her husband's lovemaking—very little was required of her beyond passivity. It would have been unthinkable for her to cry aloud her pleasure, or even more inconceivable, boldly to touch her husband or freely caress him—or even, horror, invite his passion. Innocent as she had been, she had taken Tante Marie's words to heart, especially the part about a Creole husband who had wanted to divorce his bride, because he thought she had been too exuberant in expressing her joys of the marriage bed. Micaela and Hugh might have been forced by circumstances and convention to marry, but Micaela was determined to be a good wife to him, even if it meant submissively accepting him into her bed and body, when every nerve, every fiber of her being called out for her to greet their joinings with wanton abandon.
It was an uncomfortable situation for both of them; Hugh determined to bring her earthshaking ecstasy; Micaela equally determined not to give any indication of the wild, shuddering delight his touch aroused within her. Each grew to dread the marriage bed.
By the time the five days had passed, it would have been hard to guess which one of them was the most relieved. At least now they would not be forced to spend hour after hour in the sole company of their unknowing tormentor. Following custom, Micaela would still not be seen in public for another week or two, but they were no longer confined to their bedroom, and Hugh would be able to take up his normal activities. Micaela could discreetly visit their new home and begin overseeing its renovations.
On the sixth morning after their marriage, they joined Lisette and Jean at the breakfast table. François, they were informed, had eaten earlier and had left to visit with Alain, who was healing well and had returned to the city for the wedding. Facing her relatives, embarrassingly aware that they knew exactly what she and Hugh had been doing the past five nights, was not the ordeal that Micaela had feared it would be, and five minutes after being seated by her husband, she was smiling and talking to her mother as if she had been married for six years instead of six days.
Jean seemed to have accepted with good grace the fact that the Américain was now part of the family and he made an effort to be friendly. For perhaps the first time ever in their long relationship, Jean and Hugh held an amiable conversation; but there was no denying that the mood lightened considerably when Jean rose and took leave of the others.
Having finished his own meal, Hugh put down his cup of coffee, and asked Micaela, "Would you like to see the house this morning? I intend to go into the office this afternoon, but for now, my time is yours."
Micaela's eyes sparkled. "Oh, oui!" She glanced at Lisette. "Would you care to come with us, Maman?" Uncertainly, she threw a look at her husband. "That is, if you do not mind, H-h-hugh."
Hugh grinned. "I am your husband, petite, not an ogre." To Lisette, he said, "Would you join us, madame? It would please me and, of course, my wife."
Lisette happily accepted, and a few minutes later, the trio left the house and walked to old Monsieur Follet's house on Dumaine Street. As Hugh had mentioned, it was just a few doors down from Jasper's town house. Like most Creole houses, it was built right to the edge of the banquette. The second-story balcony, festooned with delicate iron grillwork, jutted out over the banquette.
Micaela was filled with both pride and excitement when she stepped inside the elegant house, knowing that this would be her New Orleans home. As they wandered about, investigating places and areas that had been private during their other visits to Monsieur Follet, Micaela and Lisette exclaimed over the many spacious rooms. The house was, not surprisingly, furnished in an old-fashioned manner, but Hugh had made it clear that his purse was open and that Micaela could dip into it freely. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, Micaela had immediately begun to make a list of the furnishings that she intended to buy.
The servants were introduced to their new mistress and Micaela was pleased to recognize a few faces from home. Most were strangers to her, but she had no doubt that she would grow familiar with them in a short time.
The inspection done, Hugh escorted the ladies home. The day was growing hot and humid, and both ladies were happy to retire to a shady corner of the courtyard and sip lemonade. Hugh saw them settled and, finishing his own drink, rose to his feet.
"If I am to get any work done today, I am afraid that I must leave you ladies now."
Micaela was both disappointed and relieved that she would be spared his disturbing presence for several hours and said nothing. But Lisette made a face and said, "You Américains! All you think of is work—and you not married a week."
Hugh smiled. "Someone in the family has to work, madame—I have new demands on my purse these days and must make certain that it is full enough and stays full enough to please my wife."
A shadow entered Micaela's eyes. "I am certain that I will not act the spendthrift with your purse, monsieur," Micaela said stiffly. "And I do have money of my own—I did not come to you penniless."
"I am certain that is true," Hugh said, his gaze on her averted features. He had said the words in jest, but it appeared his bride had taken them to heart. Hugh sighed. He had much to learn of his new wife. Gently, he said, "Do not fear, sweetheart, it is a very deep purse. I would prefer you spend my money for major expenditures and keep yours for any personal trifles which catch your eye. Believe me when I say that you shall have whatever your heart desires."
"Will I?" she asked with sudden intensity, oblivious to her mother
's presence. "Will I?"
Hugh picked up her slender hand and dropped a kiss on it. "I swear it," he promised gravely, his gray eyes fixed on hers.
Micaela flushed and dropped her gaze, conscious of the rapid beating of her heart. How does he do this to me, she wondered miserably. A look, a word, and my emotions are not my own, and I forget the circumstances of our marriage. He smiles at me, kisses me, and I instantly forget that François might have been right. This man I married may have connived to bring about our union for monetary reasons. Despite his kindnesses, and he has been kind, very, his interest is only in the shares of the family business which I brought to our marriage.
* * *
Micaela's shares in Galland, Lancaster and Dupree were being discussed at that very moment in the Husson town house. Alain, François, and Jean were seated in Alain's study, which overlooked the courtyard of the house. They were scattered comfortably about the room, a cup of coffee near each man's hand.
Alain's wound was healing swiftly, but because of the broken shoulder, he was still tightly bandaged, and his arm was carried in a black-silk sling, which gave him a romantic air. It would be at least another month before he could dispense with the sling, and he was looking forward to it—and the moment he could take his revenge on the Américain.
He had many scores to settle with Hugh Lancaster, especially Hugh's marriage to the woman Alain considered his own. Forgetting that the duel had been of his own making, he was convinced that the Américain had cleverly arranged it all to get him out of the way, while boldly stealing his bride-to-be. Alain conveniently forgot that Micaela had bluntly refused his offer of marriage and that the only way he had been going to be able to marry her was by an underhanded, nefarious trick. He was incensed that the Américain had been able to marry her by using that same method. Not given to deep thinking, the irony escaped him.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 15
