Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (25 page)

Hugh's gaze hardened. "Then I am afraid when the thieves are exposed—and they
will
be exposed—he will suffer right along with the others. Do you understand me?"

Etienne swallowed with difficulty.
"Oui, monsieur—
I understand."

Hugh looked at Etienne for a long moment. "Starting tomorrow," he said finally, "and for the next few days, I may be out of the city, but after Thursday I will be home most evenings, should someone care to speak privately with me."

Feeling he had done what he could for the moment, Hugh left Etienne to begin work on the inventory and walked from the warehouse. Revealing to young Gras that he knew of the theft and suspected how it was being done had been a gamble. Would Etienne break and try to save his own neck, or would he run straight to his cohorts and pour out all he had learned? Hugh hoped it was the former.

The day was growing oppressively hot and muggy, and Hugh was glad to reach the cool comfort of his own home. He joined his wife in the courtyard, where she was seated in the shade of an arched trellis covered with scarlet bougainvillea. It was pleasant in the courtyard and Hugh was beginning to understand the Creole love of their secluded courtyards. Palm and banana trees, attractively scattered about, gave the place a tropical air, and the relaxing sound of bubbling water came from a double-tiered fountain positioned in the center of the area. The courtyard was private and intimate, completely shut off from the rest of the world. Covered walkways, with balconies above, adjoined the house and formed two of the enclosing arms of the courtyard, festooned with vines and sweetly scented flowers. The perfume of yellow roses and white jasmine filled the air. Honeysuckle and purple bougainvillea draped the other two walls, softening their stark outlines; flagstones the color of faded charcoal paved the floor.

Micaela greeted him with a smile, her heart leaping as it always did when she caught sight of his tall form. Dropping her gaze to hide the pleasure she felt in his company, she offered him a tall glass of the ever-present lemonade. Seated across from her with a black wrought-iron table separating them, Hugh took a long swallow of the cool liquid.

Putting the half-empty glass down, he looked across at her and asked abruptly, "Have you thought any more about the Justine place?"

She nodded, and admitted, "I have thought of little else. May I see it before we move into the place?"

Hugh grinned at her. "I was planning on taking you there tomorrow if you were agreeable—we could leave early in the morning and probably be back in the city just after nightfall. It would be a swift trip, but it would give you time to make note of any supplies or furnishings you might want to have sent out from the city."

Micaela smiled ruefully. "I will be honest. We have barely settled into this house and now to face another... It is somewhat daunting,
hein?"

"I suppose it is, but again we are fortunate in the fact that
Madame
Justine was willing to sell the house with many of its furnishings. At least you will not be presented with empty rooms and bare floors."

* * *

Despite her initial dismay at the news of the purchase of the Justine plantation, Micaela fell in love with it at first sight. They had left New Orleans just an hour after dawn that morning. Seated beside Hugh in a well-sprung gig pulled by a pair of spanking bays as they traveled along the River Road, Micaela had enjoyed the trip. Sunlight sparkled like splashes of pure silver off the waters of the wide Mississippi, and the vivid green of the swamp and forests and fields which meandered along the road provided an ever-changing scenery.

Micaela was almost sorry when, a few hours later, he finally slowed the horses and guided them away from the river, toward an impressive alley lined with magnificent live oaks. Shaded by the huge limbs of the trees which met overhead, Micaela sat up straighter, eager for the first glimpse of her new home. A quarter mile later the road curved and suddenly, there before her, was the Justine house.

It was not more than a decade old, having been built on the site of the original home, which had been destroyed by fire after having stood in this spot for over seventy-five years. The new house was a charming affair, built in the raised-cottage style, with wide covered galleries extending around three sides of the large structure. The turned wooden colonnades of the second story were supported by heavier brick and plaster pillars below, and delicate balustrades lined the upper gallery. In the sunlight the house gleamed whitely, and the narrow shutters which hung at the long windows were painted dark blue. The roof was slightly hipped and dormered, the cypress shingles a pleasing shade of silvery gray. A pair of octagonal
garçonnières
flanked either side of the house, giving it an impressive air.

There was a broad expanse of lawn in front of the house. Live oaks and magnolia trees were scattered around and behind the house. Micaela caught sight of the outbuildings—the slave cabins; the barns and stables; kitchen and overseer's home. The driveway made a graceful curving swath through the grounds, and Hugh brought his horses to a stop in front of the wide steps at the front of the house.

A pair of young black boys appeared out of nowhere to hold the horses' heads, and, after dismounting, Hugh came around the other side of the gig and lifted Micaela down. Looking toward the boys, Hugh said, "See that they are cooled down before turning them out We won't need them until five o'clock this evening."

"Did the widow Justine sell you her servants, too?" Micaela asked tartly.

Hugh grinned. "Yes, those that I wanted, and the four thousand acres of land that goes with the house. Less than half is under cultivation—cotton, a little sugar and corn—the majority is swamp and forest."

It was a considerable plantation, even by Louisiana standards, although Micaela knew that there were several larger estates in the Territory, but she was impressed nonetheless. "Do you intend to become a planter, too?"

"My stepfather and I," Hugh said, "have always been planters. We raised cotton in Natchez, but I am considering trying my hand at growing sugar cane here in Louisiana."

A little frown wrinkled Micaela's forehead. "But what about the company? To become a sugar-cane planter will require much of your time. Will you abandon the company?"

"No, I have no intention of turning my back on it But once I have affairs there under control, it will not be necessary for me to keep such a tight rein on the day-to-day running of the business. I intend eventually to hire a competent manager to handle the company."

Micaela was aghast. Hardly aware of being escorted up the broad steps and across the wide gallery to the massive twin doors of the house, she exclaimed, "A manager! But that is preposterous! A member of the family has always managed the company."

"Yes, and look where it has gotten us," he replied, pushing open the doors and ushering her into the cool interior.

"You,
monsieur,
are insulting my family!"

Micaela might have argued more, but Hugh suddenly pulled her close and pressed a hard kiss on her half-open mouth. Lifting his lips from hers, he said huskily, "I do not want to talk about the blasted business right now. Right now, I want to show my bride her new home. May we, please, for the present forget about Galland, Lancaster and Dupree?"

Micaela's dark eyes met his. Something in the gray depths of his gaze stirred a powerful response within her, and for a long moment their gazes clung. Barely aware of what she was doing, too aware of his lean, warm body next to hers, Micaela nodded.
"Oui.
Let us forget the company for the time being."

The following hours were some of the most memorable and enjoyable they had spent in each other's company. Micaela was delighted with the house, and she was excited at the prospect of buying all the new furnishings that would be needed—rugs, curtains, linens, beds, and tables. A lazily contented smile on his face, Hugh followed her about from room to room, thinking his bride had never looked lovelier—her cheeks were as rosily flushed as her lips, and her magnificent dark eyes were glistening with pleasure.

They enjoyed a light repast in the gazebo overlooking the man-made lake, which had also been constructed about the same time as the house. It was a charming place. Cedars, chinaberry trees and magnolias dotted the area; shrubs and fragrant flowers and vines had been skillfully planted about the edge of the lake to enhance the effect of a natural setting.

Pushing aside her half-empty plate, Micaela stared dreamily out over the placid waters. The scent of magnolias, water lilies and honeysuckle gently perfumed the air. She was going to enjoy living here with her husband.

She glanced across at him. He was seated on the other side of the table, with a lock of thick, dark hair fallen across his forehead, his gaze on the water. There was so much about him that she did not understand. And while she wished that their marriage had come about in a normal fashion, she discovered that she did not regret their union. How could she? He had been everything that was kind and generous and she was a fool to wish for more. But the knowledge that Hugh had stated that he'd had
no
intention of marrying her and that he believed that she had trapped him into marriage kept her from feeling confident in her marriage. And she could not banish, though she tried, that unpleasant and painful exchange with Alice Summerfield. Telling herself that the other woman had been upset and hurt did not lessen the impact of what she had said. Alice's words still lay like a canker on her heart.

She glanced at her husband, wishing she knew him better, wishing she had the courage to speak her doubts aloud. But he was, in so many ways, a stranger to her, an alien being with ways very different from her own. They seemed to exist on two different levels—the exciting intimacy of the bedroom and the pleasant, domestic day-to-day living, but they never talked about the unacknowledged gulf that lay between them. They never, she realized unhappily, talked about the matters closest to their hearts. She knew she avoided subjects that might cause dissension between them—did he?

And if she found the courage to ask him about Alice, did she really want confirmation? Did she really want to hear that he had been in love with another woman and that he had planned to marry her? Did she really want to risk destroying the fragile facade of tranquility they had erected? Micaela tried to tell herself that none of it mattered now, but deep down inside she knew that it did matter, it mattered a great deal.

"What are you thinking about?" Hugh asked abruptly, startling her.

She looked across at him and was uneasy to find his eyes fixed on her face. It was apparent that he had been watching her for some time. "Why, nothing," she said quickly, her eyes averted from his searching gaze.

"You looked unhappy. Are you?"

She forced a smile. "Of course not! Why should I be?" With real pleasure in her voice she went on, "This is a wonderful place. We shall like living here very much, I think." A teasing gleam in her eyes, she added, "It is a good thing that you waited to show me the place until after
Madame
Justine had agreed to sell it to you—just as you suspected, I would have been devastated if I had seen it and then she refused to sell after all. You were wise to wait."

"I am glad you like it," he said slowly, aware that she had not told the complete truth. She
had
looked unhappy, and it troubled him. Was being married to him so very awful? And wasn't it what she had schemed for? She had no business, he thought with sudden irascibility, being unhappy. She had gotten what she wanted. What more did she want?

He stood up and, with an edge to his voice, said, "If we want to get back to the city before too late, I suggest we get ready to leave."

Confused by his manner, Micaela nodded, wondering why he was looking so sour. Thinking to ease the sudden tension between them, she asked, "How soon will it be before we remove from New Orleans for the summer?"

Taking her arm and walking beside her as they made their way to the main house, he said, "Next week. Tomorrow you may start ordering the things you need, and I shall see to it that they are delivered directly here." He slanted her a glance. "Are you going to invite your mother to stay with you?"

"Oh,
oui,
if you do not mind. I know
Maman
will enjoy helping me arrange the house."

"I do not mind. In fact, I shall be very glad of it. You will not get too lonely with your mother to keep you company, while I am in the city."

Something in his voice made her look up at him. "Do you intend to be in the city often?" she asked quietly.

Hugh hadn't meant to tell her now, but that unhappy look on her face had been goading him. If she was so damned miserable with him, he thought savagely, he would be doing them both a favor by staying in the city.

"It is not convenient for me to be away from the business for very long right now," he said in a cool voice. "There are things that require my attention, but I will see to it that you and your mother are situated here before I bury myself in work." He sent her a sardonic smile. "You shall not have to endure my company very often during the next months. I shall, of course, come to see you from time to time—as business permits."

Every word was a knife blade in her heart, and any doubts she might have had about his reasons for marrying her were banished. It was clear, having married her and gotten what he wanted, he was now prepared to exile her in the country, while he cavorted and no doubt lived a bachelor's existence in New Orleans. Would there be another woman? Alice Summerfield, perhaps? Was there
already
another woman? Had he and Alice become lovers? The ache in her heart became almost unbearable. How, she wondered sickly, had he come to mean so very much to her, so suddenly?