Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  It was part of their morning routine, and the familiarity of having Justin clambering away from her as she tackled his wiggling little body was so achingly normal that she momentarily forgot everything but the joy of playing with her son. Unmindful of anything but the sheer fun of giggling and wrestling with Justin, the two of them soon had the bed in a shambles. They had gone from chasing one another under the covers to a pillow fight; Leonie, her tawny mane curling in delightful disorder about her shoulders, the bewitching green eyes alight with mischief and merriment, and her entire face glowing with laughter, looked not ten years older than her son. She had slept in an old, cotton shift and the soft, worn fabric clung to the slender body, hiding none of the beauty of the small, impudent breasts or the slim, narrow hips, as she sat gracefully back on her heels and deftly avoided Justin's pillow. Two slender straps were all that held the shift up, and Leonie's shoulders gleaned an enticing shade of pale gold as she gleefully attacked Justin with her pillow.

  "Dolt! How dare you treat me so, mon fils! I shall beat you soundly and lock you up in the barn for such behavior!" Leonie threatened teasingly as Justin's pillow caught her on the side of the head. "But first, I shall tickle you for an hour, oui?"

  Her mouth curved in a lively smile, she lunged for Justin, and Justin, squealing with laughter, met her halfway across the bed as he threw his arms about her neck. "Ah, maman, je t'adore!" he said impulsively.

  Leonie was kneeling, her arms about her son, as Justin hugged her, the black head and the tawny one very close together. "And I love you too, mon fils!" she said in a husky voice.

  Justin moved his head away from hers and asked with a slight note of anxiety, "Papa will love us too, oui?"

  Leonie hesitated, longing to reassure him, but the words she might have said never came, for Morgan's voice stunningly provided the answer to Justin's question.

  "I don't see how he could resist," Morgan said from the doorway where he had been watching them for several moments, unashamedly taking pleasure in observing their uninhibited antics.

  Leonie stiffened, the gaiety dying out of her face, the green eyes suddenly shuttered. He was lounging casually against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest, and the unexpected sight of the tall, manly form and the dark, lean face, as much as his astounding statement, caused her heart to race at a frantic pace.

  Morgan had noted the instant change in her demeanor, and he was aware of a painful stab of regret that the enchanting creature that had gamboled so delightfully with her son only a moment before had disappeared, and had left in her place a hostile young woman. He had just arrived back at the house and had come upstairs for the express purpose of mockingly informing his wife that their new home awaited them, when he had been transfixed by the sight of Leonie and Justin romping across the rumpled bed. He remembered with pain that Stephanie had not liked Phillippe to disturb her in her bedroom and had disliked intensely having her hair mussed or to be in disarray of any sort. As Morgan watched them almost enviously as they played, something stirred deep within him, an emotion he had long thought never to feel again. But he would have furiously denied any such feeling if he had been conscious of it—his heart and emotions being safely armored against the dangerous wiles of a woman. Yet Justin's artless question had breached his defenses, and he had been unable to make the scathing reply he might have.

  Morgan's words seemed to hang in the room for a second, and then Justin, his eyes widening as he stared at the tall, handsome man leaning in the doorway, asked breathlessly, "Are you my papa?"

  Leonie's eyes flew to Morgan's, and the fierce plea in the golden-green depths, as much as his inability to hurt the child, caused Morgan to push away from the doorjamb and to say softly, "So I have been led to believe. Would you like to be my son?"

  Justin, completely unaware of the tensions that swirled between the two adults, cocked his head to one side and said cautiously, "It might be pleasant, oui?"

  Morgan grinned at him and walked closer to the bed. Reaching out a careless hand, he gently ruffled Justin's mop of unruly black hair and murmured, "I think so. Shall we try it?"

  Justin was not a shy child, nor had he yet learned to mistrust strangers, and so with an engaging grin of his own, he replied, "Oh, oui!" Adding with devastating simplicity, "I have never had a papa before!"

  No matter what Morgan might think of his mother, he simply could not resist Justin's appealing personality; his own son Phillippe had not been much younger than Justin when he had died. And Morgan, despite the impenetrable barrier he had placed around himself, invariably found himself painfully affected whenever he saw a sturdy, dark-haired little boy of Phillippe's approximate age. It was not in him to harm the child simply because his mother happened to be a scheming little bitch.

  Justin was very pleased with this tall stranger, and completely oblivious to his mother's frozen form, he asked with unaccustomed shyness, "Would you like to play with us? We were having a grand fight with the pillows. They are most full, not like ours at home."

  Leonie was galvanized in action by Justin's invitation, and uncomfortably aware of her state of dishabille, she said hurriedly, "Non! Your papa is busy, and I must dress."

  A mocking glitter in the blue eyes, Morgan calmly sat down on the edge of the bed and drawled, "Oh, but I think I would enjoy joining you!"

  Justin was delighted, but Leonie shot Morgan a look that spoke volumes, her soft mouth tightening with annoyance. "Not this morning," she said cooly, wishing that her detestable husband would go away and allow her to dress in privacy. She had never been so conscious of her body before, and the expression in those blue eyes as they roamed assessingly over her slender curves did nothing to stop the increased beating of her heart.

  But Morgan was enjoying her discomfort, aware that if the child were not present she would not be quite so polite or show such restraint. Of course he took full advantage of it. Throwing himself backwards on the bed, his hands behind his head, he smiled sweetly up into Leonie's outraged features and murmured mockingly, "Oh, but I protest, dear wife. It has been years since I've had such a delightful invitation... would you deny Justin and me our pleasures?"

  Leonie swallowed tightly, quelling an urge to take the pillow in her hands and smash it against that taunting mouth. Justin displayed no such compunction and with a whoop of excitement, launched himself on Morgan's prone form, his pillow hitting Morgan full in the face.

  There was a muffled shout of laughter from Morgan, and then the next few minutes were chaotic as he promptly and efficiently retaliated. In the ensuing, noisy battle that followed, Justin did not seem to notice that his mother had removed herself from the scene, but Morgan, even fending off Justin's determined attack, was very much aware of her still form as she shrank against the elaborate headboard to avoid coming in contact with Morgan's lean, muscled length.

  A gleam of pure devilment in his eyes, Morgan lunged for Leonie, and before she could guess what he was up to, he had twitched her pillow from her hands and had pulled her down on the bed next to him. Half-lying, half-propped up by his elbows, he grinned down into her furious face and said lazily, "Good morning, wife." And ignoring the battering Justin was giving his back, doing as he had wanted since he had first laid eyes on her, he bent his head and kissed Leonie full on the mouth. He didn't hurry, he took his time, his lips warm and compelling as they explored her soft, surprised mouth, his entire body suddenly suffused with an unexpected surge of desire, entwined with a queer tenderness, at the heady sensation of that provocative mouth under his.

  Leonie was too surprised to react, and before she did finally begin to struggle, she discovered two rather terrifying facts: her body acted with a will of its own, instinctively curving closer to Morgan's, and she didn't find his kiss at all repulsive. Horrified, , she stiffened in his embrace, her hands pushing frantically against Morgan's chest.

  Immediately she was free, Morgan's mouth reluctantly leaving hers and his body rolling away from her. Like a frightened an
imal she scrambled away from him, her breasts heaving beneath the thin, cotton shift. With wide, dazed eyes she stared at him. "Monsieur, you should not!" she gasped.

  "Why not?" Morgan asked softly, his gaze fixed intently on the soft quivering mouth. "You're my wife, aren't you?"

  Leonie's answer to his question was lost as Justin, deciding he had been ignored long enough, threw himself on Morgan's chest, laughing with glee. "I have you, papa! I have you now!"

  Knowing this was not the time for further conversation between them, Morgan turned his attention from Leonie and grinned at Justin. "So I see, young man! And what do you demand as your tribute?"

  Justin's smile faded just a little and with a frown, he asked, "Tribute? What is tribute?"

  Morgan glanced cynically at Leonie before looking back at Justin. "Tribute, Justin, is the reward for winning." He spoke to the boy, yet Leonie had the curious conviction that he was really talking to her. "And," Morgan went on easily, "as you have won, you can demand that I give you whatever you wish."

  Justin regarded him silently for a moment. Then tentatively, "A pony?"

  Morgan smiled. "I think that can be arranged."

  "One black as thunder?" Justin questioned eagerly.

  "Thunder is a sound, not a color."

  "But it is a very black sound, oui?"

  Morgan laughed. "Oui! A very black sound!"

  "We will go and get him now?"

  "Not right now," Morgan replied as he sat up, taking Justin with him. "Right now, you and your mother have got to get ready to move to our new house."

  "What?" Leonie demanded, an odd trembling starting in the region of her stomach.

  Lazily, Morgan turned to survey her. "Our home. Did you think we would live all the time with my parents?"

  Her face wearing an expression of utter horror, forgetting Justin's interested presence, Leonie got out frantically, "But, monsieur, you misunderstand! We do not plan to remain here! I only came for my dowry. We promised not to interfere in each other's lives... it was understood between us."

  Morgan smiled wickedly. "But you have interfered in my life, haven't you?"

  There was no answer to that, and Leonie looked away, flushing. Before anyone could say anything else, Yvette, having decided that Justin had played long enough with his mother, came into the room but stopped abruptly at the sight of the tall, handsome man sitting on the edge of Leonie's bed holding Justin in his arms.

  Embarrassed at having interrupted such an intimate scene, a small gasp escaped her and hearing the sound, Morgan glanced curiously over in her direction.

  No one had thought to mention to him Yvette's positively dazzling beauty, and for a moment, like Dominic, he stared as one besotted at the perfectly formed, delicate features. Even gowned as she was this morning in a simple frock of yellow muslin, the midnight black hair in neat little curls near her creamy cheeks, she was breathtaking. Letting his breath out in a sigh of appreciation, he rose politely to his feet and asked softly, "And who in the name of all that's holy might you be?"

  Leonie had never once envied Yvette her exquisite beauty, but in that moment, seeing Morgan's obvious bedazzlement, she felt a stab of something that came perilously near to envy... and jealousy. She did not like it at all that her husband found Yvette quite so attractive. Angry at the foreign emotions that had pierced her, she said coldly, "She is my companion, Yvette Fournier."

  "Ah, yes, the companion," Morgan murmured with an odd note in his voice. What he had expected he didn't know, but somehow, while Leonie had so cleverly projected the image of a damsel in distress, he hadn't been prepared for the companion to also show the unmistakable stamp of breeding. It was disturbing, and Morgan began to see how his father and Dominic could have come to believe Leonie's lying tale. She doesn't make one wrong step, does she? he thought viciously.

  Justin, still held carelessly in his arms, felt the change in him, and anxiously tugged at Morgan's collar and asked, "You do not like Tante Yvette? She is very nice... and I love her best next to maman!"

  Morgan recovered himself instantly, and grinning into Justin's puzzled features, he said easily, "I don't see how I could not, especially since you seem so fond of her."

  Justin giggled and wiggled out of Morgan's hold. Scampering across the room to grasp Yvette's hand, he pulled her towards Morgan. "Come, Tante Yvette and meet my papa! He is to give me a pony!"

  Shyly, Yvette approached him, just a little apprehensive at finally meeting Leonie's mysterious husband. "How do you do, monsieur," she murmured softly, the dreamy brown eyes like huge velvet pansies.

  Morgan returned a polite greeting, and having recovered from the first shock of Yvette's startling beauty, he decided that while she was beautiful beyond belief, he rather preferred a lion-maned little cat with golden-green eyes. Glancing over his shoulder at Leonie's rigid form, his gaze slipped mockingly down the length of her and he drawled, "It seems that I am to play host to two lovely ladies. I am certain that after all my lonely bachelor years I shall find it a most pleasant experience."

  He watched with amusement the angry clenching of Leonie's fist, and then swinging back to Yvette, he said, "I must bid you all good day for the present, but I look forward to seeing you in just a short time at Le Petit. Until then..."

  He bowed politely, sent Leonie an infuriatingly mocking little smile and sauntered out of the room. Morgan had barely passed through the doorway when Justin flung himself on Leonie's bed and begged, "Oh, do hurry, maman! I want to see our new house... and to make certain that papa gets my pony!"

  Leonie gave him a strained smile and made some placating reply. She could not, it appeared, avoid moving into the new house with her husband any more than she could have avoided coming to Bonheur last night. Her emotions and thoughts in a jumble, she pulled off the cotton shift and then began to dress in the gown she had worn yesterday.

  Yvette, like Justin, seemed to be taken with Morgan, and as Leonie did her brief toilet at the marble washstand and furiously dragged a brush through the unruly mane, she had to endure listening to the two of them speak in rapturous tones about her beastly husband. It was galling, all the more so because she could not and would not disillusion either of them about him or his unscrupulous manners.

  And yet she was intensely grateful for the way he had treated Justin; too easily he could have made some disparaging remark or have been cruel to the boy. That he had not surprised her and made her just a little uneasy. This Morgan Slade was not acting as she had assumed he would.

  But what was worse than that was her own traitorous reaction to him. Too well could she remember the leap of her heart at the sight of him standing in her doorway, and even worse, the memory of the warm wave of shocking pleasure that had coursed through her body when he had kissed her. It should have disgusted her, filled her with repulsion, but it had not; and she found it impossible to believe that her own body and senses had betrayed her so treacherously. Mon Dieu, I am going mad, I think!

  With a sort of helpless fury, she watched as Mercy, whom Morgan had sent over to Bonheur to help Leonie pack, moved busily about the room, deftly putting into Leonie's small, worn valise the few things that had been taken out last night. Mercy was full of Morgan—how handsome he was; how kind he was; how tidy the little houses were that he had assigned to them; how charming was Le Petite, and most of all, how lucky was the little madame to have a husband such as he. Leonie gritted her teeth and bit back the furious retorts that tangled in her throat. It was all she could do to keep from screaming with rage that she did not want to be Morgan Slade's wife!

  But for all her thwarted anger, Leonie was deeply puzzled and appalled that now, after all these years, and after even going so far as to deny her existence last night, this morning he appeared resigned, almost eager to claim her as his real wife. The Morgan Slade that she had met in New Orleans had made it very clear that a wife was the last thing he wanted, and after their aborted wedding night, she had been certain that she would be the last woma
n he would want as his wife. Perhaps he was mad? Or, the thought occurred chillingly, could it be that he was going to avenge himself on her?

  Morgan was quite, quite sane, but it can't be denied that he was harboring thoughts of revenge... and enjoying himself far more than he had in years. But if Leonie was puzzled and angry so was Morgan. He had found the child, Justin, an irresistible little scamp, but he wondered disgustedly what sort of unscrupulous bitch would make her own child a party to such a nasty, sordid scheme as she was undertaking. And yet, she had not looked like an unscrupulous bitch as she had played so enticingly with Justin, nor did Yvette appear to be the sort of hard-faced, calculating creature one associated with this type of ruse. The servants too all seemed authentic, and still trying to find a chink in her tale, Morgan spent the next several minutes talking with Abraham as the lanky black man moved about in the stables, happy after so long a time, to be, working once again amongst the spirited, clean-limbed animals that occupied the various stalls.

  The conversation with Abraham gained him little, as did the one with Mammy, busy in her new kitchen, or the one he had with Saul, as Saul had explored the spacious grounds of the house which would be his province from now on. Growing more frustrated by the hour, Morgan sought relief in the small office he had spied earlier that morning.

  Already his father had sent over a few things to make it even more comfortable, and opening the door, Morgan discovered that the room, like Le Petit itself, lacked nothing. A pair of tall windows looked towards the woods, while another set faced the boxwood gardens. A long leather sofa was against one wall, and a huge oak desk with a chair stood near a pair of French doors that opened onto a small, secluded courtyard, where presumably the master of the house could take in a breath of fresh air when the demands of the estate became too much for him. The courtyard had also been furnished; a white iron table with four matching chairs had been placed in the center. Morgan stood in the middle of the French doors, gazing out at the pleasant scene.