Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  Unused to this sort of sophisticated banter and shocked at Burr's open admiration of her, she blurted out, "Oh, but, Monsieur Burr, I would never be unfaithful to my husband!"

  There was a burst of delighted laughter, and Leonie flushed, but Morgan bent down and touched his lips lightly to her temple. "Well done, my dear. Well done!"

  As the laughter died down, the introductions were finished and for a few minutes there was a spate of polite conversation before Morgan was able to escape, leaving Leonie under his mother's protective eye.

  Needing a respite from the heat and press of the crowd, Morgan strolled outside to the veranda to enjoy a cigar and get a breath of fresh air. He hadn't been there long when Stephen Minor joined him and for a few minutes they smoked in companionable silence, until Minor said, "And what do you think of little Burr?"

  Morgan shrugged. "I don't think about him a great deal, but I confess I do wonder about what he is up to. Especially knowing that he just spent a few days with our good general at Fort Massac."

  "Ah, yes, our dear friend, General Wilkinson," Stephen said, throwing Morgan a teasing look.

  Morgan grinned back at him and murmured, "Is there anybody you cannot charm?"

  Stephen regarded the tip of his cigar and said thoughtfully, "I don't think so.... At least I haven't met anyone... yet."

  It was no idle boast Minor made. He had come from Pennsylvania as a youth and had managed to carve out a powerful and respected niche for himself in Natchez. He had prospered under the Spanish rule and it was a mark of his adroitness that when Natchez passed into American hands, Stephen Minor had been its first American governor.

  In his late forties, he was still a handsome man, although the thick dark hair had begun to recede near his temples. He was likely to laugh when others cursed and inclined to stay calm in the face of adversity that would make another blind with rage.

  Morgan liked him; an easy relationship existed between them. They were not close friends, but each respected the other, and consequently, Morgan was not guarded in his conversation.

  Jerking his head in the direction of the ballroom, Morgan asked, "Do you believe his tale of settling on those lands near the Washita River in the northern part of the Orleans Territory?"

  "The de Bastrop tract?"

  "I suppose that's the one, unless you know of another four hundred thousand acres he's laid claim to," Morgan returned dryly.

  Stephen smiled faintly. "Point taken." The two men talked for some minutes about Burr, speculating about his trip, but soon the conversation turned to more personal matters as Stephen remarked, "I must congratulate you on your bride. She is delightful... not at all what I expected."

  Morgan made a face. "Has there been a great deal of talk?"

  "A great deal," Stephen agreed. "But I think after tonight, it will die down. Certainly your wife can be assured of the support of my wife and me. That alone should still the majority of the wagging tongues... even Melinda's."

  Morgan looked surprised. "In view of what happened I would have thought that she would be the last one to talk about it! Unfortunately, it was, I'm certain, a humiliating experience for her and one she wouldn't particularly like bandied about."

  "One never knows with the Melindas of the world. But I shouldn't worry—she already has her sights set on someone else."

  "Anybody I know?"

  Stephen's forehead creased into a slight frown. "I don't think you do know him." And looking intently through the open doors into the ballroom, he suddenly said, "That's the fellow—the tall young man in blue talking with your brother."

  Morgan quickly found Dominic and with interest he noted the handsome dark-haired man about the same age at his side. "Who is he?"

  "Adam St. Clair. He's English. Came here a few years ago. Has a very nice place on the bluff, Belle Vista, and owns quite a bit of acreage across the river. Nice boy. His sister lived with him for a while—but after her son was born, she left Belle Vista to join her husband. She left just last year, I believe." Struck by a thought, Stephen turned to look at Morgan. "By God, I just realized! Catherine, Adam's sister, is married to your friend, Jason!"

  Morgan appeared thunderstruck. "Jason's married?" he finally got out. "And has a son?"

  Stephen nodded. "Yes—and if you two were better correspondents you would have known about it! At any rate young Adam is Jason's brother-in-law, and I don't think your friend could have a nicer one."

  Morgan nodded in the direction of Adam and Dominic. "And Dominic and Adam are friends?"

  "Hmm, yes, quite good ones, as you'll soon discover for yourself, now that you have decided to rejoin polite society."

  Morgan pulled a face. "Well, I'll tell you one thing, I certainly don't envy young St. Clair's position—not with Melinda in pursuit! Which was," Morgan added with a rueful smile, "most ungentlemanly of me to say."

  Stephen laughed. "Very ungentlemanly... but perhaps appropriate under the circumstances."

  The two men conversed for several more minutes and then finally Stephen said regretfully, "As I am the host of this affair, I suppose I should mingle with my guests. It has been a pleasure renewing our acquaintance, Morgan, and I look forward to seeing more of you now that you have decided to settle down."

  Uneasily aware that his future might not be as secure and serene as envisioned by Minor, Morgan replied, "I wouldn't count too heavily on my apparent fondness for home and hearth, Stephen—I've been searching after adventure for so many years now, that I don't know if I could remain happy in one place for very long."

  Stephen pursed his lips and shook his head. "Brett Dangermond said practically the same thing earlier this evening. You young bucks, are never satisfied. Always looking for excitement. I'll tell you what I told him: Remember Philip Nolan—he went searching for adventure once too often!"

  His attention caught by the name of Dangermond, Morgan asked,"Brett? Brett Dangermond is here tonight?" And at Stephen's nod he said, "By God, I haven't seen him in years!"

  Stephen laughed. "If the pair of you would remain in one place long enough, you might be able to spend time with each other. I don't know which of you is worse—both of you always harrying off after this or that!" Giving Morgan a stern look, he finished, "At least you have a wife now, which should slow you down a bit!"

  Morgan only grinned and watched as Stephen walked into the ballroom to rejoin his guests. For a moment Morgan stood there considering entering the crush in search of his friend, Brett, but then dismissed it. If Brett was around they'd meet up sooner or later.

  Having finished his cigar he reached inside his coat for another one, telling himself that just as soon as he smoked it, he would go inside in search of Leonie. Hopefully she would be ready to go home; he'd had enough of society for the night.

  It didn't take him long to find her, and as the hour was approaching two o'clock in the morning and the many glasses of champagne she had been served had given her a headache, she was more than happy to leave. It had been an exciting evening for her, but at the moment all she longed for was her bed.

  The ride back to Le Petit was accomplished in almost total silence; they had exchanged a few comments about the ball before sleep overpowered Leonie. Stifling a mighty yawn, she had curled up against the cushioned seat of the gig and before Morgan had driven a quarter of a mile, she was sound asleep.

  Reaching Le Petit, Morgan drove directly to the stables, and after handing the reins to a drowsy Abraham, he plucked the sleeping Leonie from the gig. She fitted his arms nicely, he thought with a swift rush of tenderness as he carried her to the house. Her head was resting against his shoulder, her slim body curving gently next to his and he suddenly wished that she was always as sweetly yielding as she was at this moment.

  Silently he entered the house and made his way to her rooms. Knowing she would probably object vehemently if he attempted to make love to her, and not wishing to disrupt the uneasy harmony between them, he laid her on her bed to await the ministrations of Mercy.r />
  He found Litchfield waiting for him, and shrugging out of his black velvet jacket, he said with a yawn, "I really didn't expect you to still be up."

  Litchfield sent him a look. "As if I would dare go to sleep before your return. Especially," he added, "when I know you would want to be informed immediately of the arrival of a letter from Jason Savage."

  Sleep forgotten, Morgan spun around. "Well, for God's sake, where is it?"

  Smiling loftily, Litchfield walked over to a nearby table and picking up a small silver tray, presented it to Morgan.

  Morgan made a face at him and snatched up the letter.

  The two men had not written to one another in some time, and so briefly, Jason brought Morgan up to date—most of what he wrote, Morgan had just learned. Jason touched lightly on his marriage to Catherine Tremayne, the fact that he was now the proud father of a son, Nicholas, and that he had made Terre du Coeur, one of the many properties owned by the family in the northern part of the Territory of Orleans, his home.

  It is sheer luck, Jason wrote, that you found me in New Orleans.

  My grandfather suffered a seizure some weeks ago and I have been staying here only because of that.

  Catherine is expecting our second child at the end of August and I mean to leave here just as soon as possible. I was not present when Nicholas was born but I damn well intend to be there for the birth of my second child!

  I have done as you asked and inquired after information concerning Leonie Saint-Andre.

  Morgan, my friend, you are not going to like what I have discovered.

  I don't know if your Leonie is the same one I have learned about, but they sound very much the same. For your information, such a young woman does exist; Claude Saint-Andre was her grandfather as she says, and he did die in the fall of 1799. She lived, also as she says, at the family plantation, Chateau Saint-Andre, some miles below New Orleans.

  I have talked with the priest, Pere Antoine, who performed the ceremony of marriage, but he could throw little light on the subject. I looked over the records and saw the entry where one Morgan Slade, bachelor, from Natchez, Mississippi Territory, did indeed marry Leonie Saint-Andre in July of 1799.

  Claude Saint-Andre was well thought of, if pitied at the end of his life. Apparently it was only after the death of his son some years ago that he began to waste what was a considerable fortune. Many people I spoke to expressed dismay at the state of finances that faced your Leonie when he died. Evidently, simply by pure guts and pluck she was able to keep the plantation going for several years, and it was only when old Etienne de la Fontaine died and his son Maurice took over that she was forced to leave.

  I feel I should mention that there are those who imply that Maurice would have been quite happy to have simply ignored the debt, if Leonie had been more receptive to his person. And in view of her supposedly married state it is quite clear that his intentions were entirely dishonorable.

  I don't know what else to tell you. Everything I have discovered appears to agree with what you wrote me. Certainly I haven't been able to find any facts to the contrary. Are you positive you didn't marry her? I was, of course, only jesting, mon ami."

  As for there being another man involved, other than my comments about Maurice de la Fontaine, I have discovered nothing. She seems to have lived an extremely secluded existence at Chateau Saint-Andre, venturing into New Orleans only once or twice a year, and no one that I spoke to ever heard of any man in her life... except for her husband. That doesn't mean that there isn't a man involved, only that I can find no hint of one. I might also mention that there are those people, a few, who seriously doubt she was ever married—who believe that the marriage to Morgan Slade was all fabricated to give her son a name and respectability. They thought it strange that her husband was never in residence and that Leonie and her husband had actually never been seen together or appeared to spend any time with each other. It is peculiar, I must admit.

  Jason's letter didn't contain much more, just a few added odds and ends that he had discovered about Leonie and her background and thoughtfully Morgan laid it aside. He found himself disappointed and yet not surprised by what Jason had written. It wasn't likely that someone embarking on a scheme of this type would totally fabricate everything, but he had hoped that Jason would have been able to ferret out at least one discrepancy that would have given him something to go on.

  The news that Jason could find no hint of another man pleased him and at the same time troubled him. He was so certain that there was another man, that Leonie was not doing this just on her own. Because you want someone to blame for her actions? he asked himself jeeringly. Or because you really do feel that there is another man in her life?

  Obviously at one time or another there had been a man in her life—Justin hadn't been found in a cane field!

  Realizing that Litchfield was still in the room, Morgan said, "Jason has nothing new to impart; his letter confirms most of what Leonie claims."

  "What do you intend to do now, sir? Pay her the money?"

  "I've considered it," Morgan admitted, "if for no other reason than to discover the next step in the farce!"

  "Mayhap you should pretend to fall in with the idea," Litchfield offered.

  "Hmm. Perhaps, but somehow I doubt the little witch would believe me if I told her I was going to accede to her demands. I've expressed myself too forcibly in the past on that subject to now suddenly do a volte-face."

  "Then what?"

  "I don't know. I'll be damned if I know what to do now. She's brought me to a standstill, I'm afraid... at least for the moment." Throwing Litchfield a crooked smile, he added, "At any rate nothing will be decided this evening, so you might as well seek out your own bed—I am quite competent, I'm certain, in preparing myself for bed."

  For several moments Morgan stood in the center of his room staring at nothing, his brain busy mulling over Jason's letter and its effect on the current situation. Certainly it resolved nothing, and if anything he felt more helpless and confused than he had before.

  With frustrated anger he stared at the letter. I know I didn't marry her—even if Jason hasn't been able to find anything wrong with her story. I did not marry her!

  And yet faced with mounting evidence to the contrary, Morgan actually began to doubt himself. Had he gotten blind drunk one night and married her? Was she telling the truth? Perhaps he couldn't remember what had happened because he had been too drunk to even know what he had been doing? It was the only explanation that came to him and he found it dissatisfying. He had never been that drunk in his life! Or had he?

  Shaking the disconcerting thoughts from his mind, he shrugged out of the black velvet jacket. I didn't marry her, he told himself vehemently. I would have remembered... I would have remembered her. I didn't sign that damn dowry agreement either! I wouldn't have—why the hell would I need her money? And as for any other agreement she might claim I signed I know damn well that I didn't.

  Suddenly deciding that he wanted very much to see the other document which Leonie had mentioned on at least one occasion, he spun on his heels and strode into her rooms.

  Leonie hadn't yet retired. She had been drowsy when Morgan had left her, but by the time Mercy had undressed her and had made her slip into a negligee of yellow silk and lace, she was wide awake. Her hair still had to be undone and brushed, and as Mercy wielded the tortoise-shell brush through the thick tawny mane, Leonie glanced around the room.

  With a faint frown furrowing her forehead she noticed a pile of clothing heaped on one of the chairs. Recognizing her own yellow gown on top of the clothes, she asked, "What are you going to do with those?" indicating the pile of clothes with her hand.

  Never missing a stroke, Mercy said, "They's goin' to be burnt. Monsieur's field hands is better dressed than you was, missy! Now you got all them new, fine things, ain't no reason to keep those."

  For a second Leonie looked stubborn, and then realizing it was silly to continue to resist the situation, she
hunched a shoulder and said grumpily, "I suppose you're right. Is that everything?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am, I'll leave the lavender gown and rose one with the new things—they's still nice."

  Leonie's aversion to her wedding gown was too deeply rooted to be easily overcome and her mouth tightened at the news that Mercy had kept it with the new clothes. Unable to explain it herself, but wanting the garment out of her life, she snapped, "Not the rose one—it goes with the others." And before Mercy could reply, Leonie jumped up and marched over to the big wardrobe and flinging open the doors, rummaged around until she found the offending garment. With a great deal of satisfaction, as if by destroying it she could obliterate the confusion within herself that her marriage to Morgan Slade caused, she threw it down on the other clothes and said, "Burn it too. I never want to see it again!"

  It was at this point that Morgan strode into the room and hearing her words, he not unnaturally asked, "Burn what, and why don't you ever want to see it again?"

  Leonie turned to look at him, her earlier charity with him vanishing as she reminded herself that he was not to be trusted—even if earlier he had seemed to want to make their marriage real. Lifting up the rose satin gown, a hard light in her eyes she demanded, "You don't recognize the gown, monsieur?" And at Morgan's mystified expression and the negative shake of his dark head, she said with soft irony, "Ah, but of course, you don't! You don't even remember our wedding at times, so how could I expect you to remember my wedding gown? How stupid of me!"

  Morgan's eyes narrowed but glancing across at the open mouthed Mercy, he said, "You may leave, Mercy. Your mistress will have no further need of you tonight."

  Leonie promptly countermanded the order. "Non! You will stay; I am not finished with you for the night."

  Mercy shot a nervous look over at Morgan's unrevealing features and then back to Leonie's angry face. Deciding she would rather have to put up with a tantrum from Leonie than the unknown from Monsieur Slade, Mercy dropped a quick curtsy and scooted from the room.