Hugh's brow rose. "Indeed. And how may I help you in this exceedingly—er—desperate endeavor."
John grinned at him, looking boyish. "You can make excuses for our absence, no matter how long it may be."
A glimmer of amusement lurking in the depths of his gray eyes, Hugh nodded. "Of course. You know that you may depend upon me. Do I dare ask how you hope to accomplish your task?"
The boyish looked increased. "I have already ordered two horses saddled and asked Cook to see to it that suitable food and drink is packed in the saddlebags. It is unlikely that anyone except ourselves and a few servants are awake at this hour. Since there is practically no one to see me, or to give her aid, should I be so foolish as to allow her to seek it, I intend to march up to Lisette's rooms and compel her to come with me."
"And how do you plan to compel her to come with you?" Hugh asked, trying not to laugh.
"By explaining what would happen should I be found in her bedroom at this hour of the morning—or any other morning, for that matter," John replied with a resolute gleam in his eyes. "Though she is a widow and allowed much license, the thought of a man, especially if I am the man, being discovered in her bedroom by a member of her family will, I am certain, make her agreeable to following my orders. And since I intend to make my threat to create a scandal, either this morning, or another of my choosing, real, I do not believe I will get much of an argument out of her." John suddenly sighed, looking not quite so cheerful. "I wish there was some other method to obtain a private conversation with her, but she has forced this situation upon me." He glanced almost pleadingly at Hugh. "All I am asking of her is that she accompany me to someplace private, where we can discuss without interruption what happened to destroy our plans to marry over twenty years ago. It is not too much to ask, is it?"
Hugh shook his dark head. "No," he said quietly. "Not too much at all."
* * *
Except for a dicey moment in Lisette's room, when to his dismay, he found that Lisette had already arisen and was seated at her dressing table arranging her hair, John's plan proceeded smoothly. It had been a shock even to find her awake, and, spying a cup of coffee and a half-eaten beignet sitting near the edge of the dressing table, he stifled a curse. He had counted on finding her half-drowsy and still abed, not fully awake and able to think quickly and clearly. He planned to get her well away from the house before she realized what was happening, but listening to her humming to herself as she finished braiding her lustrous hair and fashioning the two thick braids into a tidy coronet around the top of her head, he knew he would not be able to rely on her befuddled state to aid him.
He hesitated just inside the French doors in her room, which opened onto the upper gallery. Half-hidden by the printed green-and-white cotton draperies, which had been pulled back on either side of the doors, John considered his position. He decided grimly that boldness would just have to carry him through. So when Lisette rose from her dressing table and approached the carved armoire which was positioned against the far wall, he stepped out from his place of concealment.
Lisette caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye and uttered a startled gasp, whirling in his direction. In a flash he was across the room, his hand going to her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her and pulling her next to him.
"Hush!" he whispered. "I mean you no harm, but I must speak with you."
She made an attempt to escape him, but finding that she could not, she ceased her struggles and contented herself with glaring up at him, her dark eyes spitting fury. She looked, John thought idiotically, utterly enchanting.
"If I remove my hand from your mouth, have I your promise that you will not scream?" he asked.
Lisette nodded curtly. The moment his hand was removed, she demanded furiously, "Have you gone mad? What are you doing here? Dieu! If you were to be found here, there would be a terrible scandal. What were you thinking? What is so important that you could not wait to talk to me in more appropriate surroundings?" Determinedly she began to propel him toward the French doors. "You must leave immediately! No one must find you here."
John dug in his heels, refusing to budge, and when her efforts to remove him from her rooms proved futile, she stopped and hissed, "Did you not hear me? You cannot be found here. My children would be scandalized. And as for Jean! Dieu! I cannot even think of his reaction. You must leave this instant!"
John smiled down at her flushed, angry features. "Oh, I intend on leaving," he said slowly, "but not without you."
"What? Are you mad? Zut! I will go nowhere with you."
"Very well," John replied equitably and, selecting a small cypress chair near the French doors, sat down. Still smiling, he crossed his arms comfortably over his chest and said amiably, "Since you feel unable to accompany me at this moment, I shall sit here and wait until you are ready."
Lisette's eyes narrowed. "Have you been drinking? Is that why you are acting like a fool?"
"No, I have not been drinking, and I am not acting like a fool." His voice hardened. "I am, however, acting like a man whose patience has run out. I want to talk to you—privately, and I am not leaving this room until you agree to give me what I want."
Lisette threw a harassed glance around. If anyone, even a servant, were to find him here! She looked down at her simple dimity wrapper, suddenly aware of her nakedness underneath it. Dieu! She had to think.
Resentfully she eyed him, deciding waspishly that he looked indecently attractive for this time of the morning, his brown eyes alert and lively, his cheeks freshly shaved, and the silver wings at his temples striking against the inky blackness of his hair. He was wearing a form-fitting russet jacket and buff breeches which emphasized his broad shoulders and lean legs. For a man of his age, she thought bitterly, he was far, far too handsome. And he was in her bedroom!
Recalled to her senses, she stifled the urge to throw something large and heavy at his head and instead stamped her foot in frustration. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she finally asked, "If I go with you—you swear that you will not bother me again?"
"If you go with me and agree to discuss what happened over twenty years ago."
"Zut! What happened was that you abandoned me!"
"Odd, that is exactly what I thought—only I was the one abandoned. You deserted me!"
Lisette looked taken aback. "I never deserted you," she said with a trifle less heat. She started to say more when the rattle of crockery on a tray in the hallway stopped her. "We cannot talk here—someone is going to interrupt us," she said distractedly.
"My point exactly—which is why you are going to put on your riding clothes and come with me."
She flashed him a furious glance, but from the jut of his chin, it was obvious that he was going nowhere unless she went with him. Muttering under her breath, she flew across the room to the armoire and extracted a riding costume. Mouth set, she disappeared behind a screen in one corner of the room.
Scrambling into her clothes, she reappeared only seconds later and, sitting down on the bed, yanked on her boots. Quivering with outrage and indignation, she said less than five minutes later, "I am ready. Shall we leave?"
John rose to his feet and smiled. Lisette's palm itched to slap his handsome face. Offering his arm, he said, "If Madame will allow me?"
Lisette snorted and hurried out the doors. She had to go with him, and she was not looking forward to the prospect.
They were silent as they left the upper gallery via the wide staircase at the rear of the house. The horses were tethered at the base of the stairs, and a moment later John had tossed Lisette into the saddle of a smallish bay mare and mounted his own horse.
It wasn't until several minutes later, when they had left behind the immediate grounds of the house, that John let himself believe that his plan had actually worked. He slanted a glance at Lisette's stony features. Getting her away from the house had been the easy part, he realized uneasily. The hard part was yet to come.
They rode for some t
ime through the sun-dappled countryside—oaks, locust, hackberry, magnolias, and cottonwoods growing in profusion. Coral honeysuckle and Virginia creeper and other vines ran rampant through the undergrowth, and the vivid pink and purple splashes of the wild azaleas could be seen here and there. They crossed the occasional sluggishly moving bayou lined with spiky-fanned palmettos and once surprised a sleeping alligator on a muddy bank.
As time passed and they plunged deeper and deeper into the wilderness, the silence between them changed. The air was no longer charged with anger. The tenseness which had vibrated between them lessened, and they both began to relax. To her astonishment, Lisette discovered she was enjoying the ride. With a steady horse under her, the early-morning air soft and caressing, the myriad, mysterious scents of the bottomland forests wafting in her nostrils, and the sheer variety and number of plants, trees, and animals to catch her gaze, it was no wonder that she found it difficult to focus on her previous resentment and fury.
Yet she did not forget why she was here or the underhanded method John Lancaster had used to obtain her presence. But she was confused about his reasons for going to such great lengths simply to discuss the demise of their plans all those years before. Surely, it could not matter to him now? A frown marred her forehead. What had he meant by declaring that she abandoned him? She had loved him! She had longed with the very fiber of her soul to be his wife. If Papa had not come to her with the news that John had... She stiffened, her fingers clenching around the reins. If Papa had not come to her...
For the first time since that awful day her father and Renault had confronted her about the plan to run away with John Lancaster, she wondered about the sincerity and honesty of the men who had destroyed her dreams. Her mouth twisted. After she had married him, she had learned firsthand that Renault had not always told the truth—only when it suited him, and then only what he wanted anyone to know. There had been countless times during their marriage that she had caught him in lie after lie. And Papa. When it came to getting his own way, she admitted reluctantly, Papa would have lied to the Archangel Gabriel if he had thought it would gain him anything. John had claimed that she had abandoned him—had she? Unknowingly. Had her father and Renault confronted each of them with a pack of lies? And they, like fools, had believed them?
Ruthlessly tamping down the silly surge of hope which ran through her, she eyed John's broad back as he rode in front of her. She had loved him once. Passionately. Adoringly. He had been everything she had ever wanted in a man, a husband. For years he had haunted her dreams, and she would awaken with her arms aching to hold him just one more time and tears on her cheeks. Even now she had trouble believing that he had left her to face her family, alone and disgraced. But had he? Had he been told that she did not want to marry him? And had he left New Orleans believing that she had deserted him?
It was a tantalizing thought. She told herself she was ridiculous to think him innocent, to make excuses for his behavior. He had made no attempt to see her again. In fact, he had never, to her knowledge, set foot in New Orleans again.
Suddenly that fact began to take on enormous importance. Why had he not come back again? Too ashamed to face her? Or had there been another reason? Such as being so shattered by her betrayal that he could never return to New Orleans? Her heart began to beat swiftly, and she was annoyed at her reaction to the possibility that there was more to the sudden ending of their love affair than she had been led to believe. Ma foi! she told herself sternly, I am just being a silly old woman. Of course, he had not been shattered by her supposed defection. But the idea would not go away—suppose that he had been so hurt to think she would toss away their love that he could not...
Finding a small shady glade, John halted their horses, and, lifting Lisette down, he tied the horses at the edge of the clearing. A huge fallen log lay at the side of the glade, and, after checking around it for any unwelcome wildlife, John spread a blanket on the forest floor, using the log as a backrest. To Lisette's bemusement, he immediately unpacked a tasty picnic and proceeded to arrange the various packets of food and drink on the blanket to his satisfaction. Only after he had finished setting things to his liking did he turn and look at her.
An unreadable expression in his dark eyes, he held out a hand and said softly, "Will you join me for refreshments?"
Warily, Lisette put her hand in his and allowed him to help her to the ground near the log. The skirts of her riding habit tucked under her legs, she settled against the blanket-draped log, her eyes never leaving his dark, intent face.
John smiled at her. "Would you like something to drink? Cook sent along a jug of lemonade, and there is also some orange juice."
Lisette shook her head, her lovely features mirroring all the uncertainties, mistrustfulness, and half-acknowledged yearnings that were within her. "You said," she began quietly, "that you wanted to talk to me where we would be uninterrupted." She glanced around, a wry expression crossing her face. "I doubt that we shall be bothered here."
Seating himself across from her, John nervously plucked at a tuft of grass growing near the blanket. "It seemed so simple," he explained, his eyes fixed on hers, "when I planned this little outing. But now that the moment is upon me, I find myself at a loss for words."
"I do not remember that you were ever so in the past," Lisette murmured, wishing that her pulse was not acting erratically and that her heart was not behaving in the most peculiar fashion. But so many taunting and tempting thoughts were running through her brain that she could not control either them or her reaction to them. Had they been lied to? Had John loved her after all? She had certainly believed so. More importantly, if she had not believed him implicitly, she would never have given herself to him. Confused and yet hopeful, she did not know if she really wanted to find out the truth. Life had been so much simpler thinking him a cad and a liar all these years. Painful and lonely, but simpler. She did not know if she wanted to learn that her father and her husband had coldly rearranged her life to suit themselves.
John smiled crookedly at her. "Then I put on a very good act. Whenever I was with you, I felt as tongue-tied as a country bumpkin in the presence of a goddess."
Ignoring the painful thump in her chest, Lisette tossed her head. "You see, you claim not to have a facile tongue, and yet you easily spout charming nonsense."
John shook his head. "It is not nonsense—it is true." He suddenly reached for her hand and pressed an ardent kiss to her warm palm. Then he said, "Lisette, do you not know that I always thought of you as a goddess—that I wondered how I could have been so lucky, so damned fortunate to have gained your love?"
"Then why did you leave me?" she cried, her hand trembling violently in his grasp.
"I did not leave you." His mouth twisted. "At least not until your father and Renault had made it painfully obvious that you were not going to run away with me, that you were marrying Renault before the month was out and that I was just an embarrassment to you."
Her fingers tightened around his. "And you believed them?" she asked in a low shaken voice. "You believed them?"
"Their words alone, no, but, you see, they gave me a note you had written to me."
"What note?" Lisette demanded with a frown. John released her hand and, from the inside of his jacket, withdrew a much-folded piece of paper. It was obviously many years old and had obviously been much handled. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.
For several long moments Lisette stared at the small, torn scrap of paper in her hands as she might a poisonous snake. Just when John thought he could stand the suspense no longer, she unfolded the note and read the contents. There was not a great deal written, just a few lines, but those few lines, John reflected bitterly, had destroyed him. Over the years since that terrible day, he had read and reread them, and each time he had read them he had felt as if each word had been etched in acid on his heart.
Please, I beg you, if you care for me at all, do not continue to importune me. I will not marry you. I love another.
Lisette
Chapter 19
"They tricked us! Oh, you dear, dear imbecile—I never wrote this to you!" Lisette exclaimed. "It is part of a note that I wrote to Renault when I knew that I loved you." Her eyes huge, dark pools in her white face, she said, "Renault wanted to marry me; Papa approved, and, before you appeared in New Orleans, I had been drifting into a betrothal with him." She hesitated and, even after all these years, a blush stained her cheeks. "But once I had met you..." Her eyes seemed to grow even more luminous, more mysterious, her expression indescribably tender. "Once I had met you, I knew that I could not marry him. I loved you. And only you."
John made an inarticulate sound and dragged her into his arms. "I have always loved you," he swore huskily against her lips. "Always! Even when I believed that you had lied to me, deserted me, and loved another."
"Oh, John!"
There were still many explanations to be aired, but for the moment, John and Lisette cared for nothing but the fact that they were in each other's arms once again. They kissed many times, kisses as passionate and loving as they had shared in their youth, but there were now two new elements in their embrace—an aching sadness for what they had lost and a sweet ecstasy that came from knowing that in spite of deceit and trickery and even marriage to other people, their love had never lessened, never faltered.
It was quiet in the glade, the only sounds the soft, tender murmurings of two lovers, cruelly, deceitfully parted for decades. Their arms entwined around each other, hands caressing, lips almost touching, they spoke for a long time of things shared only by lovers.
It was the startled snort of a buck which brought them back to the present. Together they stared as the sleek brown form disappeared into the forest once more, then they looked at each other and smiled.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 28
