Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (43 page)

Hugh looked across the room, where John sat on the arm of Lisette's chair, their hands clasped. His stepfather appeared dazzled and delighted by what had happened, and the expression on Lisette's face was not much different. Hugh nodded. "It is too bad that they had to wait over twenty years though," he said carefully. His eyes flicked to hers, and holding her gaze, he asked huskily, "And what about us? Am I going to have to wait twenty years for you to forgive me for being so stupidly arrogant and conceited?"

Micaela swallowed, her pulse galloping in her veins, her eyes clinging to his, unable to break away from that steady gray look. They were almost touching, and, this close, she could smell the exciting masculine scent that was uniquely his and feel the warmth of his tall, solid body. Her mother's words rang in her ears again and, realizing that there was only one place in the world that she wanted to be—in his arms—she said softly, "There is nothing
to
forgive. We were both wrong."

The gray eyes darkened. "Does that mean what I think it does, sweetheart?"

A bubble of joy surged up through her at the hungry note in his voice, and smiling, her lids half-lowered, she murmured, "And what do you want it to mean,
monsieur?"

Hugh took an impetuous step toward her. As his arms came swiftly around her, a blush stained her cheeks. Aware of the others in the room, she said hastily, "Hugh! Not right here, not
now!"

Recalled to his senses, Hugh's arms lessened only fractionally. Grinning down into her face, a glitter in the gray eyes that made her feel weak in the knees, he demanded, "Tell me when and where, sweetheart, and then and only then, will I let you go."

Burningly aware of his arms around her, aware, too, of the sudden sweet ache of anticipation in her own body, she muttered, "My rooms—after we have all retired for the night."

He brushed a swift kiss across her mouth. "Do not," he warned, "even think of changing your mind."

"Perhaps it is you who will change his mind," she said saucily as she slipped from his embrace.

He caught her hand and pressed a warm, ardent kiss on it. "Never!" he swore softly, his eyes full of promises she dared not think about right now.

Her entire body tingling, a dreamy smile on her lips, Micaela rejoined the group at the other end of the room. Her thoughts were on the private moments she would soon spend with her husband. Perhaps that was why when they all parted to seek out their own beds she did not notice the exchange between Jean and Lisette.

All evening, the conversation had been on the future, but for one person, at least, the past had not been entirely forgotten and as they all bid each other good night and parted, Jean asked for a private word with Lisette. Lisette hesitated, her expression uneasy. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny his request, but there was something in his eyes that made her decide to meet him. What could it hurt? Seeing that John had not noticed them, she murmured, "Meet me on the gallery downstairs in half an hour." Jean nodded and left her.

Having shared a tender goodnight with John, Lisette waited several minutes before slipping out of her door and hurrying down the stairs. She breathed more easily once she had stepped outside onto the downstairs gallery. Jean was waiting for her. Placing her hand on his arm, they began to walk side by side in the magnolia-scented darkness.

They had barely taken a half a dozen steps before Jean said in a low tone, "He will have to be told, you know. You cannot let this secret lie between you."

Lisette looked at him, her face bleak. Stonily she said, "I do not know what you are talking about. And I must say I am annoyed at you for getting me down here where you waste my time by speaking in riddles. It is very late, and I would like to go to bed."

When she started to turn away, he gently held her captive.

"Lisette, we have to talk about this. You cannot pretend that it never happened."

Her eyes searched his desperately. "What do you know?" she demanded. "What is it you
think
you know?"

Jean smiled, more a grimace than a smile. "Very well, we shall do it your way," he said tiredly. He hesitated, and gazing out into the black night, said carefully, "I
think
that I can count on my fingers as well as the next man,
ma chérie,
and according to my calculations, Micaela was born almost seven months to the day after your marriage." He slanted Lisette an old-fashioned look. "Everyone else may have believed that she had been born early, but you forget I was there." He looked away from Lisette's stricken features. "I did not know all the details of your affair with John Lancaster, but I knew enough to figure things out for myself and there was one thing that I was very positive of—even at seventeen... my new-born niece was far too fat and lively an infant to have been born two months early. And then there was my brother's reaction to her—he did not ignore her, but I know there was more to it than simply the fact that he doted on his son and was indifferent to his daughter. There were times when he looked at Micaela, when he thought himself unobserved, that his face wore a most unpleasant expression."

"Which does not mean a thing!" Lisette said sharply.

His eyes full of pity, Jean said, "On the face of it, no, it does not mean anything. Many Creole fathers prefer their sons to their daughters. But knowing as I did that you had refused Renault several weeks before you ended up marrying him—rather hastily, I might add—and knowing, as everyone else did not, that you were in love with John Lancaster..."

Lisette opened her mouth, but Jean shook his head.

"
Non
. Do not try to tell me differently. Let there be no more lies between us." When Lisette would not meet his gaze, he added mildly, "There is one more thing, perhaps the most telling of all: your father's gift of nearly half his stock in the company to Renault on the day you married. Stock that was to be Renault's for his lifetime only and that upon his death was to go to your firstborn child and
only
your firstborn—no matter how many other children were born to the marriage. Rather curious do you not think? It always struck me, very much like a bribe..."

Lisette, her jaw set, tears glittering on her lashes, remained silent.

Jean sighed and asked gently, "So, when are you going to tell him that Micaela is his daughter? And how do you intend to explain to Micaela that her father is not Renault Dupree, as she has been led to believe all her life, but John Lancaster?"

Chapter 20

Micaela paced the gleaming yellow-pine floor of her room, eager for Hugh's arrival, yet a little anxious, hardly daring to believe that the problems which existed between them could be resolved so easily. Again and again, she reminded herself of her mother's advice. She must not let hasty, hot-tempered words ruin what could be a new beginning between them. A beginning based on truth and not mere speculation and other people's opinions. She and Hugh had both made mistakes, made assumptions about each other that were incorrect. She realized that if she was to save her marriage, she had to put away her hurt, her anger, and, yes, her pride. She had to listen to her heart, and she had to stop being a coward! She must speak of her deepest feelings to him, no matter what the cost.

She was wearing a modest, pale yellow nightgown of finest cambric trimmed with lavender ribbons and a filmy, flounce-hemmed wrapper in a shade of soft spring green. With her hair falling in black, lustrous waves around her shoulders, she looked very young and vulnerable as she paced her room. Tonight would be between just the two of them, and if she were brave enough to bare her heart, to speak honestly of their differences, by the morning, she was either going to be the happiest woman alive or the most miserable. Nervously she clasped her hands together, wishing that it was already morning. This would, she admitted wryly, be all behind her. She would know the truth of his feelings for her.

At the sound of a door opening behind her, Micaela stiffened. Her eyes wide, she swung in that direction. Hugh leaned in the doorway between their two rooms, his shoulders propped against the doorjamb. He was wearing a robe of richly embroidered silk; jewel-toned dragons and other mythical beasts rioted across the black background. To Micaela's fascinated gaze, the flickering candlelight gave life to the creatures on his robe, a golden eye here, an emerald tail there.

He appeared tall and forbidding as he lounged there, his face in shadows, the thick black hair falling carelessly across his brow. His arms were folded on his chest, and, as he continued to stare at her, Micaela was aware of a sudden trepidation. Reminding herself that this was her husband, that she had nothing to fear from him, she gave herself a shake.

Forcing a welcoming smile, she murmured, "Good evening."

Hugh grinned, his forbidding air falling away like magic. Approaching her, he lifted her chin with one finger. "Being formal tonight, are we, my love?"

Micaela swallowed, her eyes locked on his. Was she his love? she wondered. Or was he teasing her? Aware that she had been staring at him for several seconds, she found her tongue and stammered,
"N-n-non
." And taking refuge in honesty, she muttered, "I could think of nothing else to say to you."

"Now I find that hard to believe," Hugh said, his gray eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Considering the number of times I have been on the receiving end of that tart little tongue of yours."

Micaela jerked her chin away. Not looking at him, she said miserably, "Do not tease! I do not want to fight with you."

"And the last thing I want to do, sweetheart, is fight with you," Hugh admitted, pulling her unresisting body close to his. Resting his chin on her dark hair, her cheek pressed to his chest, he murmured, "I do not know how we got in the tangle we are in, but I do know that I want it to end. We cannot, if we are to have any sort of happiness, continue as we are. You are my wife. I am your husband. Surely, sweetheart, we can do better than we have done so far?"

Micaela nodded, rubbing her cheek against his warm, hard chest. "It is mostly my fault—I am too quick to take offense," she said earnestly. "And I believed François when he said that you only married me because of the company." She felt Hugh stiffen and she added hastily, "François is very young and silly—I should not have listened to him."

Hugh sighed and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I would not be so eager to take all the blame for our situation—I have done my part also to bring us to this point." He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and added, "I think it is time that we had a long talk, and if we are going to be confessing our sins, I suggest that we get comfortable." He swung Micaela up in his arms and started toward the bed, but realizing how little talking would get done the moment he laid her on the mattress, he grimaced regretfully and swerved in the direction of a big, overstuffed chair covered in faded ruby damask. The chair had been pressed into service until the new furniture arrived, but settling into its worn comfort, Micaela resting on his lap, Hugh suddenly discovered a surprising fondness for the object.

Neither one of them quite knew how to start, but both were painfully aware of the importance of tonight. Nervously Micaela's fingers crumpled the heavy silk lapel of Hugh's robe, her thoughts darting like fireflies through her mind. The warmth and feel of Hugh's hard body beneath her legs was distracting, the knowledge that he was probably naked underneath the robe making an aching pulse spring to life between her thighs. Wrenching her thoughts away from his physical attributes was difficult, but she was determined to have her say before her courage failed her.

Hugh was just as aware of Micaela as she was of him, and just as determined that they thrash things out between them before he allowed himself the delight of making love to his wife again. It was not easy. He was already hard and eager, the heavy weight of his member making its presence felt against his leg. The fact that her tempting little bottom was pressing against his thighs, her breasts were nestled snugly against his chest, and her mouth was mere inches below his did not help matters. She glanced up at him just then and his eyes locked compulsively on her lips, his hunger to kiss her almost overwhelming him.

Suppressing a groan and his baser instincts, he pressed her head against his neck and muttered, "We must talk! And if you look at me like that, I am afraid that I will forget everything but how very much I want to make love to you."

Micaela smiled against his warm neck, suddenly feeling more confident. Softly she asked, "Did you really think that I had trapped you into marriage—that you were the person François was badgering me to marry? You truly believed that François wanted me to marry
you?"