Puzzled by his actions, she searched his face. That he was laboring under some great stress was obvious and slowly, hesitantly, she admitted, "I lost it at the governor's mansion, the night Governor Gayoso died."
Morgan sucked in his breath sharply. "How?" he prompted almost savagely.
Shooting him a defiant glance, she muttered, "I had to get my hands on the vowels that I knew grand-pere would sign that night, and so I planned to steal them. I waited until everyone had left and then I crept into the mansion and stole them!" Resentfully she continued, "I got lost inside and trying to find a way out, I stumbled into a room." The memory of what had happened in that room cutting through her like a knife, she cried out, "I don't want to talk about it anymore! I told you once I was someplace I shouldn't have been the night I was raped. Why do you insist that I speak of it again? It is in the past, dead and forgotten! It has nothing to do with us!"
His voice incredibly gentle, he said softly, "But you see, I didn't know we were talking about the same night... the night you lost your virginity and Justin was conceived."
Angrily, she shrugged off his slackened hold. "Bah! It doesn't matter anymore!"
The sound of Justin's laughter drifted in from outside, and Morgan thought it was one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard... his son's voice. His throat tight, the blue eyes nearly black with emotion, he declared raggedly, "I, too, was at the governor's mansion the night Gayoso died. Did you know that?"
Leonie watched him with a wary, uncertain expression. "No, I didn't."
His hand trembling slightly he reached out and touched her hair and lips. Almost in a whisper, he muttered, "Gayoso had promised to send me a woman, and when a woman finally arrived, I assumed it was the one he had mentioned."
Leonie stiffened, her eyes widening with disbelief. She started to speak, but Morgan laid a silencing finger against her soft mouth. Huskily he confessed, "I remember that she had bright hair and that she was young. It was only after she had run out of my room that I discovered she had also been a virgin." Their eyes riveted with painful, unswerving attention on each other, he said with a rough sort of tenderness, "She also threw my money in my face."
Leonie was white, her lips quivering, tears of unbearable happiness brimming in her eyes. "It was you!" she exclaimed half accusingly, half joyously.
Not answering her, he reached inside his vest pocket, and with a hand that shook noticeably, he extended his palm to her, a small, golden crucifix lying in its center. "I believe," he said thickly, "this is yours."
A ray of afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, intensifying the gold of the crucifix, causing it to blaze with an almost blinding light—a light as gold and as warm and bright as their future together would be.
The End
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MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE
The Louisiana Ladies Series
Book Two
Excerpt from
Midnight Masquerade
The Louisiana Ladies Series
Book Two
by
Shirlee Busbee
New York Times Bestselling Author
MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE
Reviews & Accolades
"Busbee reaffirms her long-held place at the top of her genre."
~Publishers Weekly
Morgan had busied himself preparing for the journey to Natchez. The next day dawned sunny and hot but there was the hint of a thunderstorm on the horizon, and eyeing it, Jason had said, "Are you certain you don't wish to delay your departure for a few hours?"
Morgan grinned. "My dear friend, what flimsy excuses you present to hold me here. I am not made of sugar, I assure you, and a little thundershower will not melt me!"
Jason had laughed, their hands meeting in a tight clasp; then, astride a prancing, chestnut gelding from the Beauvais stables, Morgan had ridden away, heading up the river for Natchez. Attached to his watch fob was the little gold cross from a virgin whore.
He had looked at that little gold cross more than once during the past weeks, wondering about its owner. A dozen times, he had cursed the darkness that had hidden her features, cursed the circumstances that had allowed the girl to vanish from his life as quickly as she had appeared. And the fact that he thought of her often, that he had almost desperately wanted to know more about her, that he had regrets about that particular evening, annoyed him. What the hell—she was a whore, he had reminded himself repeatedly, ignoring the taunting voice in his mind that wouldn't let him forget that he had initiated her into her profession. Nor could he forget the feel of her in his arms, the sweet mouth beneath his, the soft body pressed next to his. He was grimly aware that if he could have found her, if his attempts to learn her identity from Gayoso's servants hadn't been fruitless, that he would be taking her with him now as he left New Orleans.
If she had been determined to sell herself, he reasoned that he might as well be the one to take advantage of it—she would have found him a generous protector. A discreet house in Natchez, a stylish carriage, blooded horses, clothes, jewels, servants, he would have gladly provided them all, and as his mistress she would have been safe.
Now why did I think of that? he thought sourly, as his horse trotted along the river road. Safety wasn't what she had wanted and he was angry that she could even now, weeks later, arouse a curious feeling of protectiveness within him. Scowling at the darkening sky, he angrily tried to push her out of his mind. But it was useless; a mile down the road, he caught himself wondering where she was now and what was she doing. And why the devil had she thrown his money back in his face?
* * *
The thunderstorm broke a half hour later, and to Leonie it seemed only fitting that the heavens should weep with her. For the past two weeks she had tried to ignore the signs, had tried to tell herself that nothing was different about her body, but this morning when she had arisen and the nausea that had been with her the last few days had attacked again, she knew it was no use pretending otherwise. She was to have a child... a child fathered in darkness and by a man whose name and face she had never known... and would probably never know!
Midnight Masquerade
by
Shirlee Busbee
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New York Times bestselling author Shirlee Busbee is celebrating 50 years of marriage to her husband Howard, and looking forward to another 50. Together, they live in Mendocino County, California, with three Miniature Schnauzers (Shirlee wants a fourth but Howard thinks two is enough—ah, drama ahead) and a herd of American Shetland Ponies.
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part II
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part III
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part IV
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Excerpt from Midnight Masquerade - The Louisiana Ladies Se
ries, Book 2
Meet Shirlee Busbee
Deceive Not My Heart Page 47
