An hour ago Morgan would have heatedly denied it, but after the buffeting he'd taken from his father, he was in no mood to continue to protest his innocence. "She claims she is, and she has legal documents with my signature on them which would tend to prove her word true."
It was an uncomfortable ride home—Noelle wanted to believe in her son's innocence, but Morgan's attitude made it difficult. He had put up a wall between them, and to all of her questions, he made glib, mocking replies that made her long to box his ears as she had done when he was a child.
Leonie's ride to King's Tavern was not unpleasant, for Matthew did his best to put her at ease, and Dominic, who she now knew as Morgan's younger brother, was also very polite, though still reserved. It was obvious that Dominic, like Matthew, had not quite made up his mind. He wasn't openly siding with either of them; he was assimilating the facts and weighing them.
Matthew's prattle proved soothing, and Leonie found herself relaxing slightly, the tight, painful knot of despair lessening in her chest. Smiling across from her in the gloom of the carriage, Matthew said lightly, "Staying with our family will be quite different for you, and we are such a large family that I hope our numbers do not frighten you."
Leonie sent him a small, strained smile. "Oh? Are there more than Dominic and M-M-Morgan?"
"Indeed yes, my dear! Robert, my son after Morgan, and the youngest children, the twins Cassandre and Alexandre, were also there tonight, but during the fuss I suggested that Robert take them home. You'll meet them tomorrow. There is also a daughter who is married and lives in Tennessee, and I suspect before the year is out, if you are indeed Morgan's wife that is, you will meet Alicia and her ever-increasing brood."
By the time they reached the tavern, Leonie knew the names and ages of all the Slades. All three of them discreetly avoiding even mentioning Morgan's name.
The Slade family sounded delightful and under other circumstances, Leonie would have enjoyed herself hugely, but as it was, she was exhausted emotionally as well as physically. It had been a long, tiring journey from Chateau Saint-Andre to Natchez, and she had not even been allowed to gather her forces before she had been vaulted into a situation that she had never considered. Like a little cat who finds itself in a strange place with strange people, and with at least one of those strangers treating her with hostility and the threat of physical violence, she was on her guard and tense.
What questions Matthew and Dominic put her way, she answered honestly, if cautiously. Perhaps they were pretending to be her friends in order to trick her? It was possible, she thought, yet she had no choice but to trust them... until they proved unworthy.
She was apprehensive about the move to Bonheur, but that too, she was powerless to stop. She had been in charge of her life and the lives of everyone else in her small group for so long that she felt as if she was being smothered by the Slade family. At least at King's Tavern, she retained some control of their lives, but with every second that passed, they were all being drawn inexorably into the power and possession of the Slades. She was simply too confused and devastated by the night's ugly scenes to find a way to avoid moving to Bonheur. Tomorrow, she vowed silently to herself as they entered the tavern....
Fortunately Yvette had still been up when they arrived, and the introductions had gone smoothly, Matthew and Dominic clearly blinded by her radiant beauty. Dominic's eyes kept straying back to the perfect oval of her lovely face.
Yvette was even more breathtakingly lovely than she had been at sixteen. Everything about her was exquisite. Her black hair was luxuriant, her eyes wide-spaced, long-lashed, and dark. Her sweetly shaped bosom pressed gently against the soft material of her gown, the small waist and slim hips prettily discernible beneath the soft drape of the narrow skirt—Dominic felt completely besotted just looking at her.
Yvett's shy smile and unassuming manner were delightful, Matthew decided warmly, and his certainty that Leonie was Morgan's wife increased. It was inconceivable that these two utterly charming young women could be involved in anything deceitful. Morgan, he thought heavily, has much to answer for!
Whatever suspicions Matthew might have had concerning Justin's parentage, were put to flight the instant he laid eyes on the sleeping child. He would have known the child as a Slade anywhere and most particularly as Morgan's. The small masculine features were a vivid reminder of Morgan's at the same age; the jaw and the already arrogant shape of the nose reminded Matthew unmistakably of his eldest son.
Dominic, who had followed his father over to the bed, looked hard at the boy, but he could see no striking resemblance; of course he hadn't been born when Morgan was five years old and so he couldn't recognize the similarity. Justin was just a black-haired, attractive child to him, although he would admit that the boy could have been Morgan's. But then again... Unconsciously Dominic shrugged his shoulders; what the hell did he know of children?
But Matthew was positive, and with an incredibly tender expression on his face, he stood staring for several moments at the sleeping child. Then with a softer note in his voice, he turned to Leonie and said, "Forgive me, my dear, for doubting your story. Justin is all the proof I would ever need."
Only by the greatest of will power did Leonie hide her astonishment. Mon Dieu, but this was unexpected! Was Monsieur Slade mad? Anyone could see that her handsome son bore no resemblance to that hard-faced, hawk-eyed scoundrel who had called her such names tonight!
Deciding Matthew Slade must be the type of man who convinces himself of what he wants to believe rather than accepting the facts, Leonie made some light reply. But watching the older man's face as he bent over the child, at the wondering expression of tenderness that crossed his features, she was racked by a sudden stab of guilt. It was very bad of her to let this man think Justin was his grandson, but she could not very well at this point baldly state that she had no idea who had fathered her child.
Matthew's easy and instant acceptance of the child only added to Leonie's increasingly unhappy dilemma. On one hand, for Justin's sake, she was elated that Matthew assumed the boy was his grandson, but on the other, it created problems that had never occurred to her before. Should she let this apparently kind man begin to love Justin when she had no intention of remaining in Natchez? How could she allow him to think this was his grandson when she knew Justin wasn't? It seemed unbearably cruel to deceive Matthew, but she agonized even more about what it would do to Justin. Was it fair to let him think this man was his grandfather? To let him believe that the other members of the Slade family were his relatives? To have him learn to love the Slades only to wrest him away from them? Her thoughts were so painful that for the moment Morgan and the problems he represented faded away. Her one thought was of her son—Justin must not be hurt by this situation.
But during the next half-hour or so, Leonie was so busy with their immediate removal to Bonheur that she had no time to think of anything but the present. Fortunately, there was not a great deal of repacking to do, so in a remarkably short time they were all on their way to Bonheur.
Leonie, Yvette, and the sleeping Justin rode with the two Slades, while Mammy, Abraham and the others followed in the two mule-drawn wagons. It was only then, with Justin's small dark head resting on her bosom, the coach swaying lightly on its well-sprung chassis as it moved unhurriedly through the black night, that Leonie thought again of Morgan Slade.
Sitting quietly in the coach, she bit her lip as she reviewed the evening. Anyway she viewed what had transpired, it had been disastrous. And her resentment and dislike of Morgan Slade grew with every passing mile. He was indeed a scoundrel, and she questioned angrily how her grandfather could have so misjudged a man.
But even more than that, she puzzled over how her own memory could have played her so false. She had thought of him as a weak man, but there had been no sign of weakness about him tonight, and remembering that hard, dark handsome face, she trembled slightly. Those were not the features of a weak man!
She was certain she detes
ted him, despised him in fact, and yet she was unwillingly aware that had she not known his true character, she would have found him overpoweringly attractive. She frowned blackly in her corner of the coach, wondering viciously how such a thing could happen. She was not some silly jeune fille susceptible to a handsome face! But despite all that had happened that evening, during every moment of it, she had been acutely conscious of Morgan's tall, lithe body as she had never been aware of another person in her life.
Even when he had touched her in anger, something deep within her had responded to the feel of those strong hands against her skin, and she was both angered and bewildered by that knowledge. Surely she was not attracted to this monster? Such a thing could not be! she thought confusedly. He was a liar, and a dishonorable man, so how could she even feel the slightest stirring of attraction?
I must be overwrought, she decided firmly. Or perhaps it was the sherry I had before dinner. At any rate, she stubbornly and resolutely put the disturbing idea from her mind. Bah! She was not going to waste time thinking about him!
Morgan's absence when they arrived was conspicuous, but Noelle was waiting for them in the huge, elegant entrance hall. She greeted Leonie and Yvette with cool civility. Good breeding demanded that she be polite, but she could hardly bring herself to do more than acknowledge their presence. Whatever the truth of the matter, this young creature had caused Morgan a great deal of discomfort and embarrassment, and Noelle would not easily forget it. Still, since it appeared her husband at least believed the story, she could not and would not show the girls any unwarranted rudeness, regardless of her own thoughts on the matter.
Actually, Noelle had no firm convictions either way—she had no illusions about what her son might be capable of, and he had made no attempt to deny the marriage. But then, she also knew Morgan well and knew that if he had been hurt or falsely accused, he was far more likely to throw caution to the winds and defiantly refuse to speak in his own behalf, hiding his lacerated feelings behind a sneer. He was stubborn and proud, she admitted unhappily.
Matthew followed behind the two young women; Justin, sleeping that hard, deep sleep of the very young, was motionless in his arms. Meeting his wife's questioning eyes, Matthew said simply, "You can see for yourself."
Moving across the wide hall, Noelle approached her husband and gazing down into Justin's face as he lay sleeping in Matthew's arms, she felt her heart twist in her breast. Thus had Morgan looked as a baby. Mon Dieu, it must be true, she thought reluctantly.
Thawing slightly, she swung around to look more closely at Leonie. "You must be exhausted, ma cherie, with all this upheaval. Come with me, I have had several rooms prepared for your use. Your servants will be shown to their quarters by our butler, so have no fear about them."
A very few minutes later, Leonie was sleeping soundly in the most comfortable bed she had ever lain upon in her life. Yvette was in the room next to hers, with Justin sleeping in a small alcove off of it. Leonie had wanted Justin in with her, but Yvette had said practically, "Petite, you are fatigued beyond reason. Tomorrow, Justin will wake early and I'll take care of him until you are fully rested. Go to sleep now and do not argue with me—you know I am right!"
Leonie had been too tired to fight over such a trivial thing and had meekly capitulated. And even though she had slid into bed with the set intention of waking early, the day was half gone before she opened her eyes.
For just a moment, she didn't know where she was, but then with unwelcome clarity, the events of last night flashed across her mind. She was at Bonheur, the Slade family estate, and shortly she was going to have to face her unscrupulous husband again.
It had been a tactical error on Leonie's part to sleep in so long, because while she had slept dreamlessly, a great many things had been happening. For one thing, it gave Morgan time to put some plans of his own in operation... plans that were not going to find favor with Leonie.
If Leonie had slept dreamlessly, Morgan had not. He lay in his bed in a room several doors down the hall from her room and stared sightlessly at the ceiling above him, alternately damning Leonie for the lying jade he thought she was, and his father for being fooled by a pair of bewitching green eyes.
Morgan could not remember a time in his life that he had been as furious as he was at the moment, or a time when he had felt as helpless as he did now. He wasn't quite certain which enraged him more—Leonie's clever attempt at extortion, or the fact that his family for the most part believed him capable of such chicanery. And to know that he was innocent was galling beyond belief.
It had been no accident that he had not been there to greet Leonie when she arrived at Bonheur. He had purposely kept himself out of the way, afraid that if he laid eyes on that lying, conniving little bitch he might not be accountable for his actions. God damn her! he thought viciously, his hands unconsciously clenching into white-knuckled fists. Lies, lies, and more lies! But how to prove it!
She had the legal documents with his name on them and she was enlisting supporters, oh, so ingeniously, by using her feminine wiles to good effect—a wide-eyed appeal here, a hint of a quaver in her voice there; and when that didn't seem to be gaining the objective, outrage so magnificently expressed that it sounded authentic. Oh, Jesus! What the hell was he going to do?
Too angry and infuriated to sleep, Morgan at last gave up the pretense and slid naked from his bed. Shrugging on a robe of sapphire blue silk, he carelessly knotted the belt about his lean waist and then unconsciously began to pace the confines of his room like a caged panther.
The more he thought about the evening and what had transpired, the angrier he got—and he'd been blazing mad to start with.
Pacing the floor didn't seem to help, and dwelling on the past evening only served to add more fuel to what was rapidly becoming ungovernable rage. Realizing that he was gaining nothing by stalking back and forth across his darkened room and thinking about the crafty little viper who had insinuated herself into his family, he pulled on a pair of old breeches and boots, and after slipping on a linen shirt and hastily buckling a wide belt about his waist, he left his room.
A few minutes later, Morgan let himself out a pair of French doors at the side of the house and was on his way to the stables. Moments later he was astride his favorite mount, a powerful, long-legged, blood-bay stallion with black points named Tempete—a name that suited the animal's temperament admirably. Tonight, though, beyond snorting affectionately and cavorting playfully for a few seconds, Tempete did not live up to his name and responded eagerly to Morgan's commands.
Morgan did not bother with a saddle. Riding the horse bareback through the silence of the night brought back memories for Morgan—memories of his life with the Comanches and many a moonlight raid.
How long he rode, Morgan didn't know. He took a turn off from the main road to Bonheur and then followed a narrow, overgrown path that gently angled downward, and after a while he found himself riding near the edge of the roiling, hissing, mighty Mississippi River. He rode for some miles, staring out into the darkness, not even aware of the roar of the river; his thoughts were far away from the trauma and disagreeable situation that awaited him upon his return. And as he rode silently through the blackness of the night, the sky gradually began to turn that soft purple that comes as the stars fade and the sun seeks to establish itself once more in the heavens.
The ride brought Morgan a sense of peace, his rage and furious resentment fading for the moment. By the time the first pink and gold fingers of dawn were streaking across the sky, he was able to view the problem that Leonie and her precipitous advent into his life had created, with less emotion and more of the cool, unruffled intelligence for which he was noted. For the first time since she had erupted so violently into his life, he was able to put aside the completely natural desire to furiously shout aloud his innocence, and, instead, to turn his powerful mind to the problem of finding a way to expose this clever schemer for the lying, conniving bitch she was.
Just the
thought of her, and Morgan felt scorching, scarlet rage boiling up inside of him, but he swiftly brought it under control. Raging and ranting would gain him nothing. He had to fight the little witch on her own grounds, he decided slowly. He must find a way to turn this situation against her—somehow, those very legal-looking documents that she had so neatly trapped him with must be made to work against her. But how?
Turning Tempete from the river, Morgan eventually found the path he had taken down and slowly retraced his ride, his mind occupied with the search for a solution. It was obvious that her main reason for seeking him was to extort money.
Then why, he wondered idly as he urged Tempete along, had she chosen such a public and dramatic way of announcing their ostensible relationship? Gaylord? That could be, he admitted reluctantly.
A patch of blue to the right caught his eye, and seeing the beckoning glitter of the dawn sun on water, he guided Tempete toward it. Pushing their way through the wild, luxuriant undergrowth, they came eventually to a spot Morgan hadn't visited since a child.
A small, gurgling creek ran around the edge of the Bonheur estate before it plunged over the high bluff to the river below, and here and there as it meandered over the acreage, it widened into deep, blue pools—pools where Morgan had loved to swim. This particular one had been his favorite because it was the one farthest from the house; the deepest one with the clearest, sweetest water; and because of the small waterfall that splashed over the small rocky abutment at one end of the pool.
Staring at the cool, clear depths, Morgan gave into an impulse. Dismounting Tempete and tying the reins to a nearby bush, he walked to the edge of the pool.
It took him only a moment to strip off his clothes, and then with a clean, strong dive, he plunged into the clear water. The water was cool and pleasing along his skin, and settling down to a steady pace, he swam from one end of the pool to the other, then back again, his mind once again seeking a way out of the trap Leonie Saint-Andre had sprung on him. His body moved effortlessly through the water, the muscled arms and legs propelling him without conscious thought, leaving his brain free to concentrate on more important things.
Deceive Not My Heart Page 18
