Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  Chateau Saint-Andre had been her bulwark against the world, and in time of trouble or uncertainty it had given her the peace and solace she needed. Tonight, she would have given much to be there, to have the reality of her own past about her, to remember who she was and why the journey to Natchez had been so vital.

  Certainly, it had not been for love! Nor had it been to be engulfed and swamped by the Slade family. Day by day she could feel herself becoming further enmeshed in life here, and it frightened her... almost as much as the thought of loving Morgan Slade did.

  Staring out into the gathering darkness, Leonie's thoughts were in turmoil with images of Chateau Saint-Andre, Morgan, Justin, and even the dowry moving in a chaotic blur. She was the most unworthy creature alive to forget, even for a moment, the real reasons why she had come to Natchez, why it was imperative to have her dowry.

  Chateau Saint-Andre was home! That was Justin's heritage, not this pretty doll's house! And her dowry would give Justin back what was his; the precious gold would allow them to restore the Chateau to great beauty, to turn it into a home as lovely or lovelier than Bonheur.

  And yet, how could she bear to tear herself away from the man who had begun to mean so much to her? Justin too must be considered, and thinking of the way he followed Morgan about, of the growing affection she knew the child bore the man he thought was his father, Leonie writhed with self-abasement... she should never have deceived her son that way.

  But what else could she have done? she wondered with anguish. It would have broken her heart to have Justin labeled a bastard. Not for herself did she care, but for Justin—he wasn't going to grow up with people sneering and sniggering behind his back, making sly remarks about his parentage. She simply could not and would not allow it!

  Perhaps, she thought painfully, that was when she had begun to lower her guard against Morgan Slade's mocking charm. The way he had so carelessly acknowledged her son that morning he had found them pillow-fighting had disarmed her completely, and for the first time since she had met him in New Orleans, she had felt something more than mere mistrust and dislike for him.

  In the days that had followed as she and Morgan lived in close proximity with one another, that initial disarmament had continued. She had seen him express a seemingly natural affection for her son; her servants had been completely captivated, and even Yvette had confessed shyly that she thought Leonie was very fortunate in her husband. Leonie also had found herself drawn to him, liking the wicked gleam of amusement that danced in the vivid blue eyes, the sound of his laughter when he and Justin played together, and the easy kindness and courtesy with which he treated them all.

  He certainly seemed very different from the man she had married in New Orleans, and that difference disturbed Leonie. This man she liked, might actually have begun to love... but the man she had known in New Orleans had aroused no such emotions.

  The story he had given concerning his reasons for denying her accusations at the ball had sounded reasonable when she had finally heard them from Matthew, but something didn't ring true. She mistrusted the tale of a divorce that was supposed to have taken place... and he had denied ever seeing her before. Even if she could accept the fact that he had thought he was divorced, that still didn't explain why he had not repaid her the dowry—his excuse of poor memory had found even less favor with Leonie than it had with his father. Or why he now seemed prepared to open up his arms to them all—to take not only a child he knew wasn't his, but also the rest of Leonie's little entourage into his home. Why? Why? Why? she wondered, unconsciously biting her lower lip.

  It had been clearly understood between them that they would make no demands upon the other, and yet, in spite of everything, here she was with her son and the others living in his house and partaking of his generous bounty. The Morgan Slade she had married in New Orleans had never struck her as generous.

  But even more unsettling than those inconsistencies was the fact that she was very much afraid that she had foolishly allowed herself to fall in love with him. Instantly she rebelled at the idea, denying the thought. Mon Dieu, it was impossible! She could not love such a man!

  A dozen questions about the future filled her head. Did this afternoon truly change anything? Was their marriage to become real? Not just a business arrangement? And what of Justin? Sooner or later Morgan would demand the truth. And the dowry; did she just forget it and allow her husband to support her?

  Something in Leonie rebelled at that thought. She had been independent too long, had managed her own affairs too long, to let someone run her life. No, Morgan must pay back what was hers. It was, she decided stubbornly, the principle of the thing, not so much that she wanted the money if she was to take her place as his wife. She must provide for Justin's future; if she and Morgan had children of their own, their father could provide for them, but Justin's future was her responsibility.

  The idea of bearing Morgan's child made her heart beat very fast, and she realized with a shock that she was actually contemplating remaining in Natchez to live as Morgan's wife. Chateau Saint-Andre tugged at her soul, but Leonie knew that bricks and lumber could never give her the joy that living out her days with her husband at her side could. But with the dowry it could be saved for Justin, she thought confidently, and knowing that her son would one day walk the land of their ancestors eased some of the ache in her heart. Soon, she must talk to Morgan about the dowry and explain why it was so necessary for her to have the money immediately. The first of July was less than a month away, and Maurice de la Fontaine was not likely to wait longer than that for his money....

  Tomorrow, she concluded firmly, tomorrow I must talk with Morgan and see that he takes the necessary steps to repay my dowry. Feeling more at ease within herself, if shy and yet excited at seeing her husband again, she left the veranda and made her way downstairs to join the others for dinner.

  As had been the case since they had moved into Le Petit, Robert and Dominic had joined them for dinner, and the meal that followed was lively with teasing conversation among the three brothers, as well as a radiant Yvette and an oddly tremulous Leonie. Every time she glanced up and caught Morgan's bright blue eyes on her, her composure deserted her, and in confusion she would look hastily away.

  Morgan looked at her often that evening, unable to do otherwise. He would try to ignore the steady, almost violent appeal she held for him and lose himself in talking animatedly with his brothers, but time and time again like steel to a magnet, his eyes were drawn inexorably back to her. An expression of possession and speculation in his gaze, his eyes roved slowly over her face and shoulders, lingering appreciatively for a moment or two on the soft fullness of her mouth or the gentle rise and fall of her breasts beneath the lavender gown.

  He wanted her, Morgan admitted slowly. But though he found her incredibly desirable, he also was positive that he wasn't insane enough to fall in love with her. And yet, all afternoon he had been unable to get her out of his mind, remembering too well the taste of that sweet mouth under his and the delicious warmth of her body as it had writhed under his. But more than just sexual images had crossed his mind during the hours since they had last seen one another. The memory of how she had looked standing in the stream with her skirts rucked up about her waist came back to him, as did the jubilant smile that flashed across her face when she had caught the frog for Justin. She was absolutely enchanting, and Morgan was uneasily aware that he was in danger of allowing himself to forget the reasons behind the charade they were playing.

  Inexplicably, in less than a week Leonie and her son had become part of his life, and he was bewildered by the ease with which it had happened. With an effort he had to remind himself repeatedly that underneath the pleasant surface presented to the world, there was a deadly battle being fought... that they were "the enemy." Not the child, for Justin could not be blamed for his mother's schemes, but Leonie herself was definitely his sworn adversary, and staring hard at her across the long, white table, his thoughts were suddenl
y unkind as he reminded himself forcibly that no matter how enticing he found her, she was still a liar and a fraud.

  Mentally, he ticked off her sins: she claimed to be his wife and he knew very well that she was not; she claimed he had promised to pay her back a dowry he had never received; and she was passing off a child as his he knew he had never fathered. Not a pretty list of activities, he thought savagely, as Yvette and Leonie prepared to leave the room so that the gentlemen could enjoy their cigars and brandy. Nevertheless, despite the chicanery he believed her capable of, he found that she still had the power to arouse emotions in him that he had thought never to feel for another woman again. Not just passion—passion was something he had felt for a number of women—but with this one, there was some other emotion entwined, an emotion he vehemently denied and would not name.

  He and his brothers did not linger long over their brandies, and in a very short time, they had joined Yvette and Leonie as the two young women conversed idly in the main salon. Broodingly, Morgan watched Leonie, wondering at the paradox she presented.

  She looks so damned genuine, he admitted angrily. The tawny curls were caught in a neat chignon at the base of her neck, a few unruly locks escaping to frame her lovely face, giving the high cheekbones and straight little nose a patrician cast. Her manners were impeccable, as was her speech, and she handled herself just the way one would expect a young woman of good breeding... except, Morgan thought with a sudden grin, she held wild pillow fights with her son and chased frogs in the creek like a hoyden.

  Dominic interrupted his thoughts just then by asking him a question, and with an effort Morgan brought himself back to the moment at hand. Aware that now was not the time to delve into the mystery Leonie Saint-Andre represented, for the next few hours Morgan pushed the problem aside, and it was only as he undressed for bed later that his thoughts returned to Leonie's presence in his life.

  She was definitely an adventuress, he finally decided. No matter what reasons she had for doing so, she was lying through her lovely little mouth every time she claimed to be his wife. And more damningly, she had gone to a lot of trouble to have those clever forgeries made up. And who, he wondered suddenly with a painful clutch in his gut, was Justin's father? Why hadn't she sought help from the boy's father?

  The thought of another man possessing that vibrant, young body was exceedingly unpleasant, and he forced himself to think of something else. It was then that something even uglier occurred to him. Perhaps there was one person he hadn't met yet... the mastermind of the entire plot, the man in Leonie's life... the father of her son.

  His mouth filling with bitter bile, Morgan's hands clenched. Of course. It wouldn't be the first time that a scheme such as this had been tried on a wealthy man. It had to be a man who had decided which pigeon they would pluck, a man who had made the forgeries and had done all the necessary investigations to make certain that no hole could be found in her story. Perhaps her grandfather wasn't even dead. Perhaps he was behind it.

  They could all be in on it, he decided viciously. Family servants were notoriously loyal, if they were family servants, and if they stuck to their tale, the story would be impossible to disprove.

  He was almost positive he had stumbled across the truth. Leonie had never made any secret of the fact that it was her dowry, her money that she was after. Most men sucked into such a sordid little plot would have found it easier to simply pay the money and have Leonie disappear out of their lives—presumably after giving the poor dupe some "proof" that could be offered to his friends and neighbors to explain away the entire unpleasant situation. And then with the merry jingle of gold in their pockets, Leonie and her partner would look around for their next victim.

  Oh, yes, how easily it could be done. The child, the servants, even the incredibly lovely companion Yvette, all part of the rig. Together they formed an aura of such truth and authenticity that it was almost impossible not to believe them.

  Standing at his window overlooking the boxwood garden, Morgan smiled tightly to himself. It had probably worked very well for them in the past... but not this time, he promised savagely. Not this time!

  Sickened by the thoughts that were running through his head, he turned away from the window and with leadened steps crossed the room to his bed. Were Leonie and Justin truly part of such a despicable plot? Even as he coolly admitted that they could very well be, his every instinct cried out a fierce denial.

  But until he heard from Jason, he thought with angry frustration, there was nothing he could do but allow the situation to continue. Further questioning of the servants would gain him nothing, and Leonie herself certainly wasn't going to make any mistakes... the lying little bitch hadn't put one foot wrong yet!

  It was very late when sleep finally overtook him, and while there had been a moment when he had considered seeking out Leonie and losing himself in the pleasures her body could give him, he had dismissed the idea. In the mood he was in at present, he decided, he was far more likely to strangle her than make love to her.

  Morgan's nonappearance in Leonie's bedchamber left her with mixed emotions. On one hand, in spite of her newly discovered emotions regarding Morgan Slade, she was relieved not to be forced too soon into a relationship she had such reservations about, but on the other hand... Lying alone in her bed, unwillingly remembering Morgan's passionate kisses over her body, she felt her senses stir and her blood race in her veins. Ma foi! This is most unseemly, she thought uncomfortably. It is very bad of me to think such lustful thoughts—the devil will have my soul!

  After a brief struggle with shockingly sensual fantasies, resolutely she focused on her need for the dowry and fell asleep planning the conversation she would have with Morgan in the morning. Leonie might have been able to control her conscious mind but she had absolutely no power over the subconscious, and as she slept images of Morgan and herself in the forest glade engulfed her; she woke in the morning with the memory of his mouth on hers, his strong arms crushing her to him.

  Dressing in her second best gown of yellow linen, Leonie decided that it was imperative that she speak with Morgan about the dowry. His reactions to her request could conceivably resolve some of her reservations about him. She might have been foolish enough to think herself in love with him, but she was also uneasily aware that he was definitely not quite the charming lover and father he had played this past week.

  The memory of her initial dislike and mistrust in New Orleans came back too strongly at times to be ignored, and while she hoped those feelings were merely the result of a young girl's resentment of being forced into a marriage she hadn't wanted, she couldn't forget them. And Morgan hadn't exactly followed any of the agreements he had signed—he had not paid back the dowry and yesterday afternoon's events certainly were not in keeping with the promise not to exert his conjugal rights.

  The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Had she truly fallen in love with a man whose word was meaningless? Was he as dishonorable as he appeared? Capable of lies and deceit, his only thought his own pleasures? She stopped in bewilderment, aware that the only real thing she did know was that Morgan Slade had many faces, and she longed to know which was the real man.

  Walking slowly down the stairs on her way to find Morgan, every ambiguity of the situation hit her. They had agreed to live separate lives and yet here she was in his house, living as his wife. Her son was not her husband's, but thus far her husband had made no comment on that fact and blandly accepted the boy. Perplexed, she shook her head as if to clear the paradoxical thoughts that churned there.

  The dowry seemed to be the one thing that would reveal the real man—if he paid, as promised, voila! It would prove that he was at heart an honest man. But if he did not, she decided with a tightening of the firm, little jaw, if he did not.... If he did not, then she would know him for the villain he had first appeared to be!

  Chapter 17

  Morgan was working in his office when Leonie finally found him. She was shy about ente
ring what was predominantly masculine territory, and although she had been in the office once, when she had been shown over the grounds of Le Petit, until now there had been no reason to seek him out as he worked.

  When Leonie knocked on the door, he was browsing through some account books Matthew had thought would bring him up to date with the affairs the sprawling estate. His mind had not been on the neat columns of figures and concise entries, though, and to glance up and find the object of his thoughts hesitantly pushing open the door in answer to his command to enter came as a distinct surprise.

  For a long moment, they stared wordlessly at each other, Leonie very conscious of him as a man—a man who was her husband and a man who had awakened instincts and responses she had never dreamed she possessed. Her original reason for seeking him out had been straightforward, but now that she found herself alone with him, the impact of his blatant masculinity on her newly discovered senses left her curiously tongue-tied and self-conscious.

  He was half-sitting, half-lounging on one edge of the big desk, his knee swinging carelessly over the corner while the other long leg was stretched out to the side propping him up. The account books were spread haphazardly at his side, and the one he had been perusing so indifferently rested lightly on the strong thigh of the leg that swung freely from the desk, the lean fingers that held it open appearing very dark against the pale gray binding.

  He was dressed much more formally than Leonie had seen him lately, the dark blue coat fitting his broad shoulders expertly, the starched, elegantly arranged cravat of white linen contrasting pleasingly against both the jacket and the darkness of his face. Form-fitting nankeen pantaloons hugged his long, powerful legs, and gleaming, high-topped boots of dark brown Spanish leather were on his feet.