by Bobbi Smith
"What!"
"Miss Ducharme . . ." Adam began as he slowly reached into his pocket to draw out the papers. "If you'll just take a look at this, I think it will clear everything up." He held out the neatly folded title.
"See what he's got, Sarah," Lianne directed.
The servant hurried to take the papers from Adam and then handed them to her mistress. Lianne kept the gun on Adam as she glanced down at the document. Fear and anger jolted through her as she recognized the legality of the title and her uncle's handwriting. Belle Arbor now belonged to one Adam Trent. It was signed by her uncle and dated a week ago.
Lianne's hands began to tremble as terrible, soul-shattering emotions tore her apart. Everything he'd said was true . . . but how? How could this be? What had Uncle Antoine done?
"How?" was the only word she could choke out.
"I would have thought that your uncle would have notified you, but obviously he didn't," Adam said levelly. "He lost the plantation to me in a card game."
"In a card game . . ." Lianne repeated flatly as she stared at him. Bitter, galling tears burned her eyes, but she refused to show any sign of weakness.
Becky could see that the young woman was in complete shock from the news that she was losing her home, and her heart went out to her. Wanting to try to ease her distress, she spoke up gently, "Miss Ducharme, perhaps we could discuss this inside . . . without the gun?"
Lianne looked at Becky and, seeing no malice in her earnest gaze, lowered the shotgun. Without a word, she walked back inside. The crumpled title fell from her benumbed fingers as she reentered the main hall and wandered into the parlor.
"Miss Lianne, let me take the gun. You don't need it," Sarah coaxed, feeling her pain as her own.
For a moment, a flare of passionate hatred lit her emerald eyes. "If Uncle Antoine was here, I'd need it. I'd use it, too!" she vowed angrily as she reluctantly handed the weapon over.
Sarah said nothing, but Lianne knew her silence meant complete agreement.
"Adam," Becky spoke his name softly as she held him back from immediately following Lianne back inside.
"What?"
"What do you intend to do now?"
"I intend to take possession of my plantation," he stated firmly as he started to move off again, but once more Becky held him back.
"Adam," she said in exasperation, "it's obvious that she knew nothing about any of this."
"So?"
"So this must be very traumatic for her."
"That's not my problem, Becky." His voice hardened. He had no time to concern himself with the misfortunes of the Ducharme family. The girl was not his concern. "I can't help it if Ducharme's a bastard."
The cold indifference of his tone confirmed what she'd suspected, and she protested vigorously, "You can't just throw her out of her own home!"
Adam gave his sister a strained look as he headed up the stairs to the porch. "It's no longer her home. I'm the owner now."
Becky stared after him incredulously. Less than a year ago Adam would never have been so heartless in dealing with anyone, but ever since the raid on the Windwoud, he'd changed. He'd become callous to any goals but his own, and it broke her heart to think that he would never again be the loving, caring man he once was. She hurried after him, wanting to buffer any confrontation he might have with Lianne Ducharme.
"You needn't worry that we'll be a burden, Mr. Trent," Lianne was managing to say as Becky joined them.
"We?" Adam asked.
"My brother, Alex, and myself," she clarified, facing him. "He's out riding in the fields somewhere, but he'll return soon."
"We aren't worried about you being a burden, Miss Ducharme," Becky put in before Adam could say any more. "I'm sure this has all come as a horrible shock to you."
"Yes, it has," Lianne agreed. "Belle Arbor is our heritage . . . our birthright. It's been in my family for generations, and I'd hoped to keep it that way . . ." She paused and drew a ragged breath before glancing at Adam. "I'll travel to New Orleans and meet with my uncle this very afternoon to see what kind of arrangements can be made. I hope you won't mind our staying on for a short while until things can be worked out, Mrs. Trent."
"Miss Trent," Becky corrected. "I'm Adam's sister."
"Oh . . ." Lianne's surprise was evident as she glanced between the two of them, and she wondered why she felt so oddly pleased by the news.
"And, we won't mind your staying on until your affairs are settled," she went on.
"Thank you. I appreciate your kindness," Lianne told her, although she was still finding it difficult to believe that she was now a guest in her own home.
Adam's expression grew thunderous as he listened to his sister calmly invite Lianne to remain in residence. The last thing he'd wanted or needed was the Ducharmes staying on at the plantation. He'd been pleased with winning Belle Arbor, for it provided him with a private base to continue his pursuit of Shark. Becky offering the Ducharme girl and her brother sanctuary, though, complicated an already difficult situation. Besides, he admitted to himself reluctantly, there was something about Lianne that attracted him, and he couldn't afford the distraction.
"You're welcome here for as long as it's necessary," Becky assured her, completely ignoring her brother. She admired Lianne for the way she was conducting herself under the most trying of circumstances, and she knew for a fact that if their situations were reversed, she would not have been taking everything quite so calmly.
"I'll go upstairs and get ready to make the trip into town. If I set out in the next hour, I should be able to reach Uncle Antoine's before evening. I'd like to make the trip alone, so will you object to Alex staying here? He won't be any trouble to you. Sarah can take care of him."
"That'll be fine," Becky assured her.
"Well, if you'll excuse me then?"
"Of course."
Lianne left the room, her shoulders proudly squared, her chin held high. Adam watched her as she walked out, taking in the gentle sway of her rounded hips and the soft swell of her bosom. When he realized what he was doing, his mood grew even blacker. He had only one reason for being there and that was to seek his revenge. Nothing else mattered to him —nothing.
Becky had been watching her brother with interest, and she found his obvious annoyance over Lianne's staying on strange. It seemed to her that he was overreacting for some reason.
"I don't think she'll be staying here long," she offered. "I'm sure they'll want to move out as soon as something can be arranged."
"Good," he responded almost too quickly. "I've got no time to waste worrying about whether the Ducharmes are going to find out what I'm doing."
Once she was sure that Lianne had gone upstairs and was out of earshot, she probed quietly, "She's quite a lady, though, don't you think?"
In answer, Adam only shrugged. Then, spying the liquor cabinet across the room, he strode purposefully to it and poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon. It was a move that completely surprised his sister. She knew Adam was not normally a heavy drinker, and she wondered just what was disturbing him so deeply.
There was nothing Lianne wanted to do more than to linger in the tub of hot, steaming water and pretend that all was right with the world, but she knew she couldn't. There could be no pretending. The worst had happened and now she had to deal with it.
Snatching up the scented soap, she quickly began to scrub herself. She had to hurry if she was to make it to New Orleans this afternoon. Bathing completed, she stood up and grabbed the oversized towel Sarah had laid out for her. She stepped from the tub as she dried herself and wandered toward her wardrobe to select the clothes she would wear into town.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of herself in her full-length mirror, and she paused there, towel in hand, to study her reflection. With critical intent, she took inventory of her own attributes . . . high, firm breasts, not too big and not too small . . . a trim waist . . . curving hips . . . long, slender legs. Assessingly, Lianne regarded her
own face, and she decided that her thick mane of shiny burnished hair and her green eyes were definitely her best features. Though she judged herself no raving beauty, Lianne knew she already looked infinitely better than she had when she'd come from the garden.
Remembering the scene that had just taken place downstairs left her dispirited. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she turned away from her mirror image to begin to dress. There was a knock at the door as she was struggling to button the last few buttons at the back of her gown.
"Yes? Who is it?"
"It's me, Lianne," Alex called out.
"Come on in, sweetcakes," she invited, glad that she would get to see him before she left.
The door opened, but instead of bustling in as he usually did, Alex was very subdued as he entered. His eyes were huge in his face as he looked up at her solemnly.
"Is it true?" he asked uncertainly, his fear showing.
"Is what true?"
"Is it true that the man and lady downstairs now own Belle Arbor?"
Lianne hedged, wanting to give him an easier explantation, but none was forthcoming. There was no use in trying to soft-pedal it. Resignedly, she told him what had happened.
"I'm leaving to go into New Orleans right away, so I can see Uncle Antoine and try to straighten this all out," she concluded. "Sarah will be here to take care of you while I'm gone, but I shouldn't be away any longer than late tomorrow. All right?"
Alex looked confused as he tried to grasp how his uncle could have given away their home to a stranger. "Bella Arbor will be ours again when you get back, won't it, Lianne?" he ventured.
"I hope so, Alex . . . I hope so."
Her answer seemed to satisfy him for the time being. "Good." Alex smiled in relief and then was back to normal. He gave her a quick kiss and a hug before dashing from the room in boyish abandon.
Lianne's eyes burned as she watched him go, and she prayed with all her heart that she would be able to come up with a way to get her family's home back.
Chapter Six
It was near dusk as the Ducharme carriage made its way through New Orleans heading for Antoine's house in the French Quarter. Within the confines of the vehicle, Lianne rode in silence. To all outward appearances, she seemed very much the genteel young lady — her expression was schooled to blandness, her hair was done up in a sedate style, and her deep green traveling suit was high-necked and quite modest. Only her hands clinched tightly in her lap betrayed the truth of her inner turmoil.
Lianne had alternated between violent anger and wracking despair during the long trip to town. Things had been difficult for her before, but nothing matched the humiliation she'd felt when faced down by that . . . that Adam Trent. She tried to think of a suitably disparaging reference for him, but her limited knowledge of such colorful language left her stymied. A sneer of contempt curved her lips as she thought of him. The arrogant ass! His condescending attitude had made the awkward situation even more traumatic for her, and she knew she would hate him forever for his cavalier treatment of her. Not that he cared what she thought, Lianne reflected bitterly. He'd shown absolutely no compassion for her plight. Only his sister, Becky, had seemed to understand the devastating impact of what had happened to her, and Lianne would always remember her sympathetic kindness.
Lianne was glad that she hadn't run into Adam again before she'd left for town. The farther away she stayed from him the better. She scoffed at herself now for ever having thought of him as handsome. There was nothing really attractive about the man . . . Why, he was just like the black panther she'd seen one day in the bayou. It had been sleek and mesmerizingly beautiful, but there had been something very cold and very dangerous about it. It had been an amoral predator concerned only with its own survival, its own territory . . . just like Adam Trent.
As the carriage swung around a corner and pulled to a stop, all thoughts of Adam fled her mind. She was there —at Uncle Antoine's. The time had come for the real confrontation. When the driver opened the door for her, she descended with her usual grace and then paused for a moment on the walkway to glance up at the building. It was a cold-looking house, devoid of warmth, and she fought down the feelings of dread and panic that threatened. She wanted to face her uncle down, but she was truly afraid of what she was going to discover. If he'd gambled away her home, what else had he done? Marshaling her dignity, she continued up the walk. She knew Antoine wouldn't be pleased to have her show up on his doorstep unannounced, but at this point, she didn't care. She had to learn the truth.
His butler, Benjamin, answered the door. "Miss Lianne . . . this is a surprise. Come in," he invited though there was no warmth evident in his tone.
"Thank you, Benjamin. I've come to see my uncle. Please tell him I'm here." Lianne tried to sound as confident as she could as she faced the servant.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but he's out for the evening."
"Oh." The discovery that she would not be able to meet with him immediately left her feeling oddly deflated, and a wave of disappointment swept through her.
"Miss Lianne, where shall I put these bags?" The driver entered behind her carrying her things.
"You'll be staying on?" Benjamin queried, puzzled. Mr. Antoine rarely welcomed his niece or nephew into his home. He wondered why he hadn't been informed of the visit.
"I'll be staying, probably just for tonight," she answered.
"And your brother?"
"He did not accompany me."
"Well then, just take her things upstairs to the second bedroom on the left."
"What time do you expect my uncle to return, Benjamin?" Lianne asked as she moved into the parlor.
"I'm not sure. He didn't say."
"I see. Well, I'll have dinner while I wait. See to it, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
Adam had spent the afternoon touring his new plantation, and he'd been most satisfied with what he'd seen. The crops appeared to be doing well, the stables were well-stocked, and, though some repairs were definitely needed, the house would easily become a showplace again. All that had been good news, of course, but the information that he'd come across concerning their neighbors had pleased him even more. He'd known that the Labadie plantation was in this general area, but he'd had no idea that Suzanne's home bordered Belle Arbor. The discovery had encouraged him tremendously. The closer he was to Suzanne, the easier it would be to court her and win her trust.
Later that evening, after Alex had gone on to bed, Adam sat alone with Becky in the dining room savoring his after-dinner brandy. He was excited that things were turning out so unexpectedly well, and he knew exactly what he had to do next.
"I want to give party . . ." he began, drawing his sister's immediate attention.
"A party? Here? Why?"
"A housewarming, of sorts," Adam said casually enough though his thoughts were far from casual on the subject. He hadn't yet told Becky of his plan to marry Suzanne, and he didn't intend to. The less she knew about things, the better. "I think it would be a good way to meet the neighbors."
"And possibly make some contacts?" she shrewdly finished for him.
"I'm going to find Shark, Becky, one way or the other." His response was terse. "I'm going to do whatever it takes."
"I know," she answered sympathetically, not understanding at that time the real meaning of his words. "I'll do all that I can to help. How soon did you want to have this party? The house and grounds need a lot of work, but it shouldn't take much more than a month to get it done."
"We'll plan on six weeks, then. Everything should be ready by then. . . ."
Though Becky thought Adam was referring to the house, he was really thinking about Suzanne. He felt certain that he could win her by the time of the party, and he knew it would be the perfect time to announce their engagement. It rankled Adam that he had to be so patient in his pursuit of her, but he had no intention of destroying his chances of success by rushing things. He felt certain that he was on the right track. He would catch Shark, and wh
en he did, he would make him pay.
Antoine's mood was black as he entered his home in the wee hours of the morning. He'd felt good when he'd gone out earlier. It had almost been as if the debacle at Hewlett's the week before hadn't happened. His confidence had returned, and he'd felt sure that it was his night to win. He snorted in self-derision. The night that had begun with such promise had ended miserably. He'd lost again, badly.
Still, while Antoine hated to lose, he felt no remorse over losing more of Lianne's and Alex's money. The fact was that even in losing he felt an almost triumphant satisfaction. He had always hated his brother, Richard, even from the very beginning. As a child, Richard had always been the perfect one who could do no wrong. Later, when their parents had died, Richard had inherited the bulk of their estate while Antoine had been given a mere stipend. He had never forgiven his parents, and he had never forgiven Richard.
Antoine had not shed a tear at his brother's and sister-in-law's deaths and, in fact, had relished taking on the role of guardian to Lianne and Alex when Mark had died. It was in that position that he hoped to achieve some satisfaction for the unfairness life had dealt him. Antoine smiled drunkenly to himself, knowing that he'd certainly done that. He'd lost the plantation and now he'd lost most of their ready cash. All his niece and nephew had left were two trust funds that had been set up by their mother, and that could not be touched until they reached their majority. Though that meant he was temporarily running short of funds, it did not distress him unduly. He would think of a way to win some of it back. Antoine Ducharme had never gone completely broke yet, and he was sure he never would.
His senses were so dulled by drink that he paid no attention to the unusual fact that lamplight glowed from his parlor. Instead, he staggered on down the hall to his study where he knew his amply stocked liquor cabinet awaited him. His hands were shaking as he lighted the lamp on his desk, but they steadied just as soon as he had taken a deep swig directly from the half-full bottle of bourbon. Though the potent liquor burned, he relished every moment of it, and he gave a deep sigh of almost sensual gratification as he tilted the whiskey to his lips once more.
