Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  But Dominic had no bitter experience to make him so prejudiced against women.... It wasn't women, Morgan conceded, staring at his brother's dark, lean face, that Dominic objected to—it was marriage! Dominic liked women. A smile quirked Morgan's chiseled mouth. Leonie would have added tartly, "The wrong kind!" And Morgan supposed that from a respectable woman's point of view, the various highfliers and soiled doves who had availed themselves of Dominic's protection over the past several years were the wrong sort of women.

  Breaking into Morgan's musings, Dominic said, "I'll tell you what it is—Leonie wants to make positive that I marry only someone who she likes and approves of! Look how she maneuvered Robert into marrying Yvette!"

  While not denying Leonie's propensity for matchmaking, Morgan did say with suspect meekness, "Well, yes, but you must admit that Robert needed very little, er, maneuvering. He fell in love with Yvette on sight, and it was only Yvette's elusiveness that prevented them from being married for so long."

  Thinking back to those days, remembering how Robert had mooned over Leonie's companion, Yvette, Dominic had to reluctantly agree with Morgan's assessment. Robert had been in love with Yvette right from the beginning, despite the unpleasant situation that had surrounded them all that summer of 1805. Hell, Dominic confessed to himself, he had even been a little in love with the breathtakingly beautiful Yvette; and recalling some of the other events of that time, he grinned. Morgan had certainly not been enamored of the married state then as he was now, and he had denied ever having laid eyes on Leonie Saint-Andre when she had appeared in Natchez and stated that Morgan had married her six years previously in New Orleans and that Justin, her son, was Morgan's child.

  His gray eyes filled with laughter, Dominic teased, "I remember once when you were not so complaisant about marriage...."

  Morgan grinned back at him, and the resemblance between the two brothers was marked. The Slade siblings bore a striking resemblance to one another; all had the same thick black hair, strongly marked eyebrows, deep-set eyes and firm and unyielding chins which they had inherited from their father, Mathew. Their dark coloring came from their Creole mother, Noelle, and it was from her, too, that they had inherited their quick tempers and family pride.

  The grin which Dominic's comment had aroused still upon his lips, Morgan murmured, "Well, yes, but it is your marriage we are talking about."

  "Oh, Lord! Must we?" Dominic groaned. "Why," he asked with annoyance, "is everyone suddenly so determined to see me married?"

  "I don't know that they are determined so much as they feel that it is such a waste of good husband material for you to remain single," Morgan replied. On a more serious note, he added, "However, I do wonder, if for no other reason than producing an heir of your own, that you don't marry."

  "You have gone over to the side of the enemy!" Dominic exclaimed with mock wrath, the gray eyes glinting.

  Smothering back a laugh at Dominic's reaction, Morgan shook his head and said quickly, "No, I haven't, and I swear I'll not bring up the subject again. Leonie will just have to be content when I tell her that you are set upon becoming a lonely old bachelor."

  "Lonely!" Dominic retorted. "With that pack of brats that you and Leonie seem intent to thrust upon an unsuspecting world? And what about Robert and Yvette? How many do they have now? Five? Six? And what about the others? I have a legion of nieces and nephews—I'm sure that when the time comes, I'll be able to name at least one of the brats as my heir!" Grinning, he continued, "You can tell Leonie that although I have every intention of turning into a disgustingly fat old man surrounded by a covey of lovely, adoring, ah, ladies, I will do what is proper and leave all my earthly belongings to one of her children. And now," Dominic asked with feigned plaintiveness, "could we please dispense with the subject? It does weary me so."

  Morgan easily turned the conversation into other channels, and the two brothers spent an enjoyable hour or so talking about the things that interested them—the fine bear that Dominic had killed only last week; the exquisite pair of French dueling pistols that Morgan had just purchased the previous day; and, of course, the more usual things of crops and horses....

  "Are you serious about setting up your own stud farm, Dom?" Morgan asked as their talk wandered around to what was still one of Dominic's paramount pursuits.

  "Hmm... yes, I think that I shall," Dominic replied, setting down his empty snifter on a small table nearby. Sending Morgan a faintly cynical smile, he went on. "You see, I have been thinking about my future and I agree in part with Leonie when she says it is time that I settle down. And if I am to do this, I must have something to amuse me. Horses have always done so, and selecting prime horseflesh is something that, you will admit, I am rather good at doing." A flicker of annoyance crossed his attractive features. "If it weren't for this damn war of Mr. Madison's, I would return to England and cast about for a really good, reputable stallion to bring over here, but as it is..."

  For many Americans the war seemed very far away, which it was—fought primarily along the border between the United States and Canada and on the high seas; for the most part it had little impact on the majority of their lives. It was only when some unpleasant aspect of the hostilities intruded into their day-to-day living that people remembered the war, and then there was more anger expressed about the President, James Madison, and the Congress than about the British.

  With far more seriousness than he had shown all evening, Dominic asked abruptly, "Do you think that anything will come of the British proposal for direct negotiations?"

  Morgan shrugged. "Madison accepted the offer, so it's possible, but I don't see a great deal happening before next year. We would be wise to come to terms soon, though. Since Napoleon's defeat last year at Leipzig, it is only a matter of time until Wellington and the other British allies annihilate the French—and then we will be in trouble! With the war in Europe at an end, England will be able to bring all of her might against us, and I wouldn't want to make a wager on the outcome."

  Dominic nodded gloomily. The war between the United States and Great Britain was particularly unpleasant for him; he had friends on both sides of the conflicting forces and he disliked the notion of having to choose between them.

  There was no question on which side he would fight if it became necessary. He had been in England when word of the American declaration of war had arrived in London in the summer of 1812, and he had not hesitated a moment before finding a ship and sailing for home. The Slade family had strong ties to England—the Baron of Trevelyan was their father's older brother, and nearly all the younger Slades had at one time or another spent time with their uncle. Of all of them, Dominic had stayed in England the longest; he had made London and its environs his home for nearly three years, only the outbreak of war ending his sojourn there.

  Dominic had not been unhappy to leave. For some time before the news of war had arrived, he had been conscious of a restlessness and had found himself growing bored with the constant round of balls and routs, of deep gaming at Boodles and Brooks, of drinking "blue ruin" until dawn and generally concerning himself with nothing more important than the cut of his coat, the spiritedness of his horse or the charms to be enjoyed in the arms of his latest mistress. It had all been very agreeable, and the danger and excitement of a duel, which, with his Slade pride and ready temper, had occurred more than once during his stay in England, had only added a bit of spice to the even tenor of his days.

  It was not Dominic's nature to be idle—he was filled with a restless vitality—but as one of the younger sons of the family, he had no need to shoulder the day-to-day responsibilities of running the great plantation, Bonheur. Even the necessity for him to strike out on his own had not been essential. When Dominic had turned twenty-one, Mathew, as he had done with his two elder sons, had given him a tidy sum of capital and several hundred acres of prime land in the area of what had then been West Florida and what was now the West Feliciana parish of upper Louisiana. Dominic had spent his money wisely
and he possessed the gift of prospering effortlessly—his crops were abundant, his cattle and horses prolific breeders, and his shrewd investments made him an impressive profit. In the ten years or so that had elapsed since Mathew had given him his start, Dominic had more than trebled his initial holdings.

  Fate had been kind to Dominic Slade. It had endowed him with a tall, lithe body, a strikingly handsome face and a mocking charm. When those attributes were added to his background and fortune, it was not astonishing that there had been little that Dominic had ever wanted that had been denied him. He was the darling of his parents, the despairing delight of his sisters and sisters-in-law and a genial, welcome companion to his brothers and friends. He was not precisely spoiled, but he possessed a not unnatural arrogance, and he was used to getting his own way and expecting events to turn out exactly as he wanted.

  Upon his return from England nearly two years ago, his life had continued just as he had presumed it would: his family and friends had been gratifyingly happy to see him, his businessman had shown him the continuing growth of his investments and his overseer had presented him with the plantation account books, revealing that the land had yielded a rich harvest of crops over the years. For a while he had been content; it had been very pleasant to be back home, back in the bosom of his family, and to renew old acquaintances, but of late...

  Of late, Dominic was once again aware of a lack in his life. Of something that was missing... He was conscious of a strange restlessness within himself, a growing dissatisfaction with his comfortable existence. A cynical expression crossed his face. Leonie, he was quite positive, would put it down to his unmarried state, but if there was one thing Dominic knew he did not need or want, it was a wife! He had finally decided that it was simply because his life was without purpose, that he had no great consuming interest, and in order to change that, he had hit upon his current scheme of raising horses—not just any horses, only the most select!

  Rising to his feet, he poured himself another brandy and, after doing the same for Morgan, sat down again, saying, "Well, I, for one, am not going to worry over this bloody war until it comes knocking on my door. Now tell me about that bay stallion, which you said impressed Jason so much."

  Before Morgan could reply, the carved door to his study was opened, and Leonie walked into the room, her green silk skirts rustling gaily about her ankles. "Mon amour, " she murmured, "do you intend to spend the entire night locked up in here?"

  Morgan's face softened as it always did when Leonie was near him and, putting down his snifter, he rose, saying, "Absolutely not!" With a glint in his dark blue eyes, he added huskily, "Especially not if you require my attention."

  "Morgan!" she exclaimed with a giggle, her sea-green eyes reflecting a similar glint. With mock demureness, she added, "What will your little brother think of us?"

  At thirty-one, Leonie had changed little over the years. Her tawny hair, worn now in an elegant chignon at the base of her neck, was just as bright as it had been when Morgan had first seen her; the mischievous sparkle in those almond-shaped eyes was still very much evident, and it was only her fuller curves that showed the passage of time. She was a small woman, finely boned, but after four children and nearly ten years of marriage to Morgan, her slender shape had a lush richness to it that had not been there when she and Morgan had first fallen in love.

  That they had remained very much in love was obvious from the glances they exchanged and the sweet contentment that seemed to surround them. There was never any doubt that, after a tempestuous beginning, Morgan and Leonie had found a deep and lasting happiness.

  A grin on his face, Dominic got up from his chair and said, "I do believe it is time that I retired and, er, left you two to your amusements."

  Leonie gave him a slightly annoyed glance. "I think I am angry with you, mon ami. Did you ask Mademoiselle Leigh to go riding with you tomorrow morning?"

  Putting a brotherly arm about her waist, Dominic dropped a kiss on her hair. "Sweetheart, I know that you have my best interests at heart, but I really had no desire to further my acquaintance with Mademoiselle Leigh."

  "But, Dominic!" Leonie cried. "She is so beautiful. And she is kind and gentle. And her father is very rich." A little frown creased her forehead as she asked, "Didn't you like her at all?"

  His gray eyes glittering, Dominic murmured, "Oh, indeed I did! But you see, I don't think she would accept the offer I would send her way."

  "I think you are wrong," Leonie began seriously, only to stop abruptly when she saw the amusement dancing in Dominic's eyes. "Ah, bah!" she said. "You mean you would offer her only your protection, not your hand!"

  "Precisely, my dear," Dominic returned with maddening cordiality.

  Leonie ignored the smothered laugh that came from Morgan. Her gaze narrowed, and with hands on hips, she muttered, "Someday, Dominic, it is my sincerest wish that you fall in love with a young lady who will drive you half mad and lead you a merry chase. I hope she will spurn your advances and puncture, at least for a little while, your infuriating complacency!" Shaking her finger at him, a mixture of amusement and earnestness in her voice, she ended, "You mark my words, mon ami, someday it will happen, just you wait."

  Laughing, Dominic pushed her away from him. "Cursing me, Leonie? Now think how terrible you will feel when my heart is broken!"

  "It will be good for you," Leonie returned sweetly.

  Looking across at his brother, Dominic complained, "You don't beat her often enough, Morgan. Hasn't anyone ever told you that a woman needs a firm hand—especially a woman with a sharp tongue!"

  Morgan smiled and, pulling an indignant Leonie against his tall body, remarked, "I have my own methods of controlling her, and if you don't want to be embarrassed I suggest you leave, because I have every intention of kissing my wife."

  Dominic looked at the pair of them, Leonie's head leaning against Morgan's broad shoulder, and he grinned. "Shameless! And you a respectable married couple!" A smile still curving his lips, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. As he walked down the broad hall that led to the main part of the house, he was suddenly conscious of an odd feeling of envy. It must be a glorious thing to share the sort of love that existed between Leonie and Morgan. Then he shook himself. Good God! What was he thinking!

  The next morning, his fleeting moment of envy—if that was what it had been—was gone, and he strolled outside to the gallery that ran across the front of the house. Despite the early hour, Morgan was already there, apparently lingering over one last cup of chicory-flavored coffee before beginning his day as a busy planter.

  The white-railed gallery was a pleasant place and the family spent a great deal of time here. There was a round black iron table and several chairs with gaily covered scarlet cushions scattered about. From this vantage point the wide, rolling Mississippi River was barely discernible above the treetops, but the lush emerald lawns with the moss-hung oaks and white-flowering magnolia trees made a delightful view.

  After exchanging greetings, Dominic helped himself to a cup of coffee from the large silver pot that sat in the center of the table. There were some still-warm cross buns on a plate nearby, and picking one up, Dominic remarked with a gleam in his eyes, "And did you teach Leonie her much needed lesson?"

  "That," Morgan replied, "is none of your business."

  Dominic grinned, not the least abashed by Morgan's answer; it was precisely what he had expected him to say. There was an amiable silence between the two men for several moments as Dominic ate his bun and drank his coffee, but setting down his empty china cup, he suddenly said, "About that bay stallion we were talking of last night... What exactly was Jason's opinion?"

  "Just that the horse was one of the most beautiful and fleetest animals he'd ever seen."

  Dominic whistled. "It must be some horse to gain that sort of praise from Jason."

  "It is," Morgan answered. "The stallion effortlessly ran into the ground one of Jason's most promising young colts." A reflective smile c
urved his mouth. "He was not pleased! Jason Savage does not like to lose!"

  Both of the Slades were well acquainted with the man of whom they spoke. Jason's brother-in-law, Adam St. Clair, was Dominic's close crony in Natchez, and Jason had been Morgan's friend since the two older men had met as schoolboys while attending Harrow in England. Dominic had grown up knowing Jason, and he could well imagine Jason's dislike of losing. Dominic suspected it happened only with great rarity!

  A look of deep interest on his lean face, Dominic asked, "Do you know anything else about the horse? Such as the name of the owner and where the animal can be found?"

  Morgan sent Dominic a glance. "Are you thinking of buying the horse?"

  Dominic shrugged. "I might be—if he lives up to what I've heard."

  "He will, believe me," Morgan replied. "I was there at the race meet and I saw the animal. If you're serious about breeding horses, he would certainly make an excellent stud for your stables."

  "Which brings me to why I'm here—besides wanting to see you and Leonie and your pack of brats," Dominic said. At Morgan's questioning look, he said in a rush, "Would you be willing to sell me the house at Thousand Oaks and possibly some of the surrounding area? I'll give you a good price for it."

  Morgan stiffened, a shuttered expression closing down over his chiseled features. Thousand Oaks was the plantation his father had given him when he had married his first wife, Stephanie. It was situated halfway between Natchez and Baton Rouge, in the virgin, verdant wilderness along the Mississippi River. Morgan had intended that one day Thousand Oaks would be as elegant and gracious as Bonheur. With that objective as his goal, he had spent long, arduous months overseeing the building of the house and outbuildings, watching the land being cleared for cotton fields, dreaming of the day he would bring his wife and young son to their own home.... And while he had been busy at Thousand Oaks, his beloved wife had been busy falling in love with another man.