Alain Husson wasted little time in responding to François's invitation. It was not yet eleven o'clock on Saturday morning when he drove up to the main doors of Amour in a stylish phaeton pulled by a pair of high-strung grays. His trunks rode in the small baggage rack at the rear of the vehicle.
Watching as Alain descended from his vehicle and was greeted by a surprisingly less-than-jolly François, Hugh smiled to himself. To think that such a short while ago he had been dreading this man's arrival! Knowing that Micaela loved him made all the difference in the world, Hugh thought with excusable smugness. Confident of his wife's love, he strolled down the steps and greeted Husson with something almost approaching genuine welcome.
If Alain seemed a bit taken aback by Hugh's warm greeting and François's noticeably cool one, he kept it to himself. Smiling and displaying the charm for which he was noted, he allowed himself to be escorted to the gazebo near the lake, where everyone else was enjoying the tranquil morning.
When Alain approached the group in the gazebo, there were more greetings, and the conversation did not become general until after he had been served a cup of coffee and had settled in a sturdy cypress chair like the rest of them. The two women looked cool and charming in their simple garb, Micaela glowing in a pale pink muslin gown; Lisette, in a soft shade of green, had an unmistakable radiance surrounding her. The gentlemen, also casually dressed, were all wearing breeches and boots, Hugh and François having foregone their jackets, their crisp white linen shirts not yet showing the effects of the debilitating humidity. There was a relaxed, carefree air about them all—except, though he did his best to hide it, for the faint moodiness of François.
Sipping his coffee, Alain studied the group before him. He could not fail to notice the air of intimacy between John and Lisette. They were discreet but they made no attempt to conceal their affection. Sitting side by side on a wooden settee, their glances meeting often as they exchanged small, private little smiles, their closeness was obvious. Alain's eyes narrowed. He shot a furtive glance around the group. The fact that no one else seemed surprised by their behavior gave him pause.
From where he stood, behind Micaela's chair, one hand lying on her shoulder, Hugh watched Alain's reaction with amusement. "You have arrived at a very happy time for all of us, Alain." Hugh said. "My very lovely maman-in-law agreed only yesterday to become my stepmother." He grinned at the older couple. "Lisette is to marry my stepfather in a matter of weeks. We are all pleased by the news."
Alain was shocked, anger instantly coiling in his belly, and he shot a swift glance at François to gauge his reaction to this astonishing news. François seemed not the least perturbed by the knowledge that his mother was about to marry one of those despised Américains—and a damned Lancaster at that! Were none of their women safe from these encroaching vandals? Alain thought furiously. And François! Mon Dieu! What was he thinking of, to condone such a thing?
Recovering himself, Alain smiled politely, giving no hint of just how infuriating he had found the news of the coming nuptials. "Congratulations to both of you," he said, his voice as smooth and melodious as ever, not even the faintest sign of his anger in his tone. He was even able to bring a warm gleam to his dark eyes as he murmured, "I am honored to be one of the first to hear of your good news."
There was talk of the wedding and of John's plans to settle in the Louisiana Territory. Looking over at Lisette, John declared, "While I know that my bride would gladly follow me to Natchez, I think that she, and consequently I, will be far happier living near our children. I intend on Monday to write my business agent in Natchez to sell all my holdings, and I shall immediately begin looking for a suitable property for us." He picked up Lisette's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "If we cannot find something with a house already on it that pleases my bride then we shall build ourselves a new home which will please her."
"Ah—how very nice," Alain said mendaciously. "I shall look forward to visiting you in your new home."
"It is very exciting, oui?" Micaela asked."To think that my maman and Hugh's step-papa are getting married! We have all been a little giddy this morning." Her gaze slid to her husband, and she smiled into Hugh's eyes. "We have," she added softly, "much to celebrate today."
The warmly intimate look that passed between Hugh and Micaela, as well as the caressing note in her voice, enraged Alain anew and for the first time he became aware of the changes in the younger couple. Watching narrow-eyed as Hugh ran a caressing finger down the side of Micaela's cheek and she turned her lips to kiss it, Alain's own fingers clenched around his fragile china cup. A second later it shattered in his hand.
Exclaiming and apologizing, Alain sprang to his feet. Fortunately he had drunk all his coffee, and nothing had been spilt on his clothes. But he used the disruption as an excuse to leave the happy group. A stiff smile on his lips, he murmured, "I find that my early start from the city has tired me. Do you mind if I rest in my rooms for a short while?"
A chorus of assent met his request, and escorted by François—who had only accompanied him after Alain had sent him a speaking look—the two men departed for the house. It was Jean who stated the general impression of everyone else. "Is it my imagination," he asked, after the two young men had strolled away, "or does François seem less than pleased at the arrival of his friend?"
"I was wondering the same thing," John replied. "He did not seem particularly happy at Alain's presence."
"Well, I for one will be glad if my son has finally come to his senses and realizes that Alain Husson is not a young man after whom to model himself!" Lisette said tartly. "I have always been of the opinion that young Husson thinks far too highly of himself and has been outrageously indulged by his maman and sisters."
"And François has not?" Micaela inquired, a twinkle very like her mother's in her dark eyes.
Lisette flushed, but she said gamely, "It is true that I have—er—"
"Spoiled him?" Jean inquired with a teasing note.
Lisette laughed. "Oh, very well, I have spoiled him, but he is basically a good boy."
"He is not a boy," Hugh said, the smile on his face taking any sting from the words. "He is a man. And perhaps, he is discovering that one's first friends are not always one's best friends."
François would have agreed emphatically with Hugh's assessment of the situation. For as long as he could remember he had admired and aspired to be like the dashing heir to the Husson fortune, but he had discovered during the course of the last several days that he no longer viewed Alain as the epitome of Creole verve and manliness. More and more, he found himself drawn to Hugh, and more and more he had become ashamed of his own actions—not only his part in the robbing of the company, but also his surliness and rudeness toward the Américains, Hugh in particular. Thinking of some of the things he had said, he cringed.
François knew himself to be at fault, and he would not pretend otherwise, but he also knew that his youthful admiration of Husson and his willingness to follow blindly where the older man led were at least partly to blame for his present predicament. As he walked with Husson up the staircase and showed him the suite of rooms which had been assigned for his use during his visit, François suddenly realized that he did not like Husson very much. In fact, it was clear to him that there was little to admire in the other man. What was he after all, François wondered, but a wellborn, wealthy thug? A man who needed to dominate and wield power over others in order to feed his overweening pride; a man who hid behind others and hired brutal underlings to carry out his commands. He was, François admitted with a guilty pang, a man who could order the murder of a longtime acquaintance and have no qualms about it. And I wanted to be like him? François thought incredulously. How could I have been so mad?
It didn't help François's frame of mind that Alain took one scornful look at the sparse furnishings and faded window and bed hangings in his rooms, and said sarcastically, "If this is a sample of the Américain's wealth, I am afraid that your sister has made a very bad bargai
n."
Instead of firing up as he would have not a week ago, or eagerly agreeing with him, François said mildly, "Hugh and Micaela were not yet expecting company. The house is being entirely redone, but it will be some time before all the new furnishings arrive and all the changes are made." Coolly he added, "The only reason you are here now is because you forced yourself upon us. If the surroundings displease you, you may leave."
Alain whirled around, his black eyes narrowed and dangerous. "Feeling brave, are we?" he asked silkily. "Have you forgotten that we are in this together?"
"No, I have not forgotten, but you have forgotten a great deal if you think that I ever agreed to murder," François stated grimly.
"Do not tell me that you have developed a conscience?" Alain sneered. "Do you think to throw yourself on your brother-in-law's mercy? Do you think he will overlook what you have done because he is married to your sister?"
"No, I do not," François replied, his face suddenly looking older, almost haggard. "But I have sworn to myself that no matter what happens to me, I will not stand by and let you kill him."
"You think to stop me?" Alain hissed, his hands clenching into fists. "You would dare?"
François nodded.
Alain's ugly expression cleared, and, smiling, an open, sunny smile that had always charmed François previously, he threw an arm around François's stiff shoulders and murmured, "Come now, mon ami, what are we fighting about? You know that the Américain has to die. It is necessary if I am to marry your sister—have you forgotten that I have always wanted her for my wife?"
François stepped away from Alain's clasp. "Have you forgotten that she did not want to marry you?" An ashamed expression flitted across his features. "And I was wrong to attempt to force her into a situation where she would have had no choice in the matter but to marry you. It is fitting that our plans to compromise her turned out as they did. Some might say that it was poetic justice for her to end up forced to marry Hugh Lancaster." His eyes bored into Alain's. "And perhaps," he said quietly, "I no longer want you to marry Micaela."
"Then perhaps," Alain snapped, "you had better make plans to see that the rather large sum you owe me is deposited in my bank on Monday morning."
François bowed with exaggerated politeness. "Of course. I intend to discuss the matter with my uncle within the next day or two." Proudly, he added, "You do not have to worry about your money. A Dupree always pays his debts, but not in the blood of other men. You will have your money—leave Hugh alone."
"And if I do not?" Alain asked his handsome features mottled with fury. "Do you really think that you can stop my plans for him?"
Short of confessing all to Hugh, François saw no way out of his dilemma. Realizing that falling out with Alain was going to gain him nothing, and might actually pose more of a danger to Hugh, he dropped his antagonistic stance and asked reasonably, "Why is it so important that you kill Hugh? I have promised to pay you what I owe you; our plans for your marriage to Micaela did not come to pass, and it is too dangerous to continue embezzling from the company. You already have a large fortune so you do not need the money. Why persist in this unlawful endeavor? Could you not stop what you are doing before anyone else gets hurt?"
Alain studied François's face for several minutes, his mouth tight and grim. Then he relaxed and, throwing himself down in a worn black leather chair, said easily, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have thought so long about killing Lancaster that it has become fixed in my mind."
"You will reconsider?" François asked eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he had stood up to Alain and had convinced the other man to change his mind.
Alain's eyes dropped, hiding the fury in their depths. "I will certainly think about it." He glanced up and smiled with apparent ruefulness at François's anxious features. "I would dislike losing your friendship over this matter—after all, I had hoped to be your brother-in-law, and now that I consider it, much of what you have said has merit," he drawled. "You are my dearest friend. I would not want to offend you." Alain stood up, clapped François on the back, and said, "Take that worried look off your face, mon ami; you have won. To please you, I shall rethink my plans—Hugh Lancaster will not die by my hand—I swear it to you."
François wanted to believe that he had really changed Alain's mind, and though he nodded and exclaimed his relief at having the matter settled, he did not quite trust Alain. Husson was capable of great villainy and deceit as Etienne's death had shown. Still, when François left Alain's room a few minutes later, he felt that he had given Alain food for thought and that Alain might have spoken honestly—and, more important to François, Alain had given his word that he would not kill Hugh. Now, he thought glumly, if I can only bring myself to face up to what I have done, and tell Hugh and Jean.
François was not the only one with a secret weighing heavily on his mind. The previous night's conversation between Lisette and Jean was never very far from Lisette's thoughts, and, a dozen times during the day, she had almost brought herself to the point of speaking privately with John. Every time she thought she had fired up her courage enough, she would look at him and imagine the anger and hurt she would see in his eyes, and her heart would sink. Had they been kept apart all these years by other people's lies, only to stumble on the biggest lie of all? One that was entirely of her own making?
A bleak expression on her face, Lisette wandered through the flower-lined walkways of the grounds at Amour late that afternoon, her thoughts heavy and unhappy. John deserved to know, she told herself repeatedly. She could not begin their life together with the knowledge that Micaela was his daughter kept secret. But what if he turns from me? she wondered, anguished. What if he despises me for not having told him before now?
Common sense told her that he could not blame her for not having spoken earlier—until just a day ago they had both believed they had each been cruelly deserted by the other. But I should have told him yesterday, she admitted. And every hour, every minute I delay makes it more difficult.
She was standing in the shade of a towering magnolia tree, the huge creamy blossoms perfuming the cooling air as she stared at the small man-made lake near the gazebo. Intent upon her own thoughts, she had not heard John's approach and she started dramatically when he touched her lightly on the arm.
"I am sorry, my dear," he said. "I did not mean to frighten you." He grinned at her. "If I did not know better, I would think that you were either planning some dark, dastardly crime or that you had a terrible secret to hide."
Lisette stared up at his beloved features. How could she bear to lose him again? And yet, his very words had given her the opening she needed.
A quick glance around confirmed that they were all alone, and, taking a deep breath, not allowing herself time to consider what she was saying or to change her mind, she said starkly, "I do have a secret. I did not know it at the time, but I was pregnant when we were parted. That was main the reason I agreed to marry Renault so soon after you left." Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "Micaela is not Renault's child. She is yours—ours."
Chapter 21
John stared at her, his expression a mixture of astonishment and awe. "Micaela is my daughter?" he finally managed after several long, agonizing moments.
Lisette nodded, too moved by the dawning delight on his face to speak. What could she have said anyway? Her future, happy or brutally shattered, lay in John's hands. Her body braced as if for a blow, she regarded him, loving him even more at this moment when she might very well lose him again, this time forever. His initial reaction was promising, but when he had recovered from his shock, when he'd had time to think about it, would he hate her? Angrily condemn her and believe that she had practiced the crudest chicanery of all on him?
"My child," John said dazedly. "I have a daughter." The words were spoken in a manner which strongly suggested that he had to actually say them aloud to understand them. "Our daughter, Micaela."
Just when Lisette thought she could bear the suspense no
longer, the most tender smile imaginable illuminated his face and with a laugh, a shout, his hands closed around her waist and he swung her off her feet. Whirling them around like a wild man, he grinned at her. "We, Madame-bride-to-be, are parents! Is it not the most wonderful thing in the world?" His crazy dance slowed and his expression grew intent. Slowly he put Lisette down. Brushing her lips with his, he said thickly, "Actually, the second most wonderful thing in the world—the most wonderful thing is that you love me and that you are going to marry me—even if it is over twenty years later than it should have been."
He kissed her, his lips warm and caressing against hers. His mouth tasted of passion barely leashed, of desperate longing and tenderness and Lisette felt herself responding with all her heart, with all her love. As his lips moved on hers, the suffocating terror that she might have lost him forever ebbed away. He loved her. Even after she had denied him his child. Tears of gratitude and joy flooded her eyes.
"Oh, John," she murmured brokenly, her arms tightening convulsively around him. "I was so afraid that you would hate me when you found out."
His lips tasted the tears on her lashes, and his face softened even more. "Hate you, my love? How could I? I have loved you all my life, and now I find that you have given me a gift that I never thought to receive—a child." A whimsical smile curved his chiseled mouth. "And after waiting this long to marry you, I am not going to let anything come between us."
His hand on her waist, he gently guided her to the wooden settee they had shared earlier in the day. Settling her in the crook of his arm, he said, "Now tell me everything. Everything about her, when she learned to walk, to speak. Everything."
They talked for a long time, their voices rising and falling rhythmically, the purple-and-rose twilight settling gently around them. Not even the buzzing mosquitoes seemed willing to intrude in their cozy little world. Lisette did her best to answer his eager questions, both of them laughing now and then when she related one of Micaela's more amusing antics over the years. When she finally had run out of anecdotes, John leaned his head back and gave a great sigh, a happy one.
Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) Page 31
