Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (37 page)

Chapter 17

"What!"
Micaela asked in obvious astonishment, her lovely smile fading as she stared at Hugh.

Hugh grimaced. She was going to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about, was she? He found that deeply disappointing. From what he had overheard of their conversation, he knew that François and perhaps even Jean had put enormous pressure on her to marry him. When she had given into their pleas, she had done so more for their sakes than her own. It stung him to remember that she had admitted to François that she did not like him very much and that not even his fortune had tempted her. Obviously, she had changed her mind, but he wished she would be honest with him. Marrying a man one did not love in order to save one's family was not an ignoble act. Which did not mean he was happy about being married because of what he could do for her family. The idea that Micaela considered marriage to him a sacrifice for the Dupree family's continued well-being left a distinctly nasty taste in his mouth.

"I said," he repeated coolly, "that I know why you married me. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard that revealing conversation you had with François at the gazebo at Riverbend."

When Micaela still looked puzzled, he went on harshly, "The one where your brother pleaded with you to marry me—I believe he referred to me as 'young and handsome and a man who would someday be one of the wealthiest, most influential citizens in New Orleans'—or something of that nature." He smiled grimly. "And then there is the matter of that sharp tongue of yours. Who else felt its lash as I did?"

Micaela's eyes widened in dawning comprehension. A bitter laugh was startled from her. "You thought that François was referring to
you?"

Hugh winced at the scorn in her voice. "Considering what happened, I think it was an honest assumption," he replied levelly.

Her eyes flashed, and she was suddenly, blazingly furious at him. To think such a thing of her! "You think that I married you for my family? That I connived and trapped you into marriage so I could get my hands on your money?"

She looked like an angry young tigress , her hair in wild disarray around her shoulders, her cheeks blooming with angry roses and those dark eyes full of fire. Her hands were on her hips and her temptingly shaped mouth was tight with fury.

Her wrath gave him pause, and somewhat warily, he answered, "It seemed likely, after overhearing that conversation and your subsequent actions. You
did
put us in a compromising situation. A situation which forced our marriage—and gave you access to my fortune."

Micaela's dainty nostrils flared with suppressed fury.

"You arrogant, conceited, snooping
snake !
Do you really think that François wanted me to marry
you!"
She laughed angrily. "Your belief,
monsieur,
in your own charms and wealth is far superior to reality.
It was Alain Husson whom François wanted me to marry.
François is deeply in debt to him, and if I had married Alain, the debt would have been paid. You, I am sorry to say, would have been the
last
person François would have wanted me to marry!"

Hugh's brow snapped together in a ferocious frown. Her anger was real, and he realized with a sickening lurch in the region of his belly that what she said made sense. Perfect sense. Of course, François would not have wanted her to marry him. Of course, Alain Husson would have been the logical choice. With chagrin, Hugh recalled again that he had even heard gossip that Alain was courting her. And he had known about François's debt to Alain. What a block-headed buffoon he had been to leap to the, no use pretending otherwise,
conceited
conclusion that it was himself François had been urging her to marry. There were, he admitted wryly, other young men who also fit François's description—only he had been too arrogant to realize it. Or perhaps, he had not wanted to realize it. He had, it seemed, completely misunderstood the situation.

A man grasping at straws, he said desperately, "You arranged for us to be found in that old hunting shack. You deliberately stayed behind with me. Tell me that was an accident!"

Her lip curled.
"Non, monsieur,"
she said sweetly. "That was no accident. It was a simple act of human kindness. I thought that you were hurt. I thought that I was
helping
you."

Appalled, Hugh stared at her, every word she said shattering his conception of the reasons behind their marriage. She had claimed to be innocent before, but he had not believed her. He had thought she was lying, but only because of what he had overheard. If
Alain
had been the man her brother had urged her to marry... then their being found alone had just been... unfortunate. Her stopping to help him had been entirely innocent and
not
part of a clever scheme to trap him into marriage. He swallowed painfully.

Of course, he reminded himself weakly, she could be lying now. Alain might not have been the subject of that overheard conversation, no name had ever been mentioned, but Hugh knew that he was only chasing will-o'-the-wisps. The conversation made entirely too much sense if he substituted Alain for himself. He had, he realized, blundered badly—at least in one respect. But remembering Alice's words that Micaela had admitted to her that their marriage was purely business, he said, "On our wedding day you told Alice Summerfield that you had only married me because—"

Micaela did not allow him to finish. "
Alice Summerfield!
How dare you say her name to me! I told her nothing! Why should I? She was a stranger to me. But you!" Her lip curled contemptuously. "She told me a great deal about you! You married me, loving her—you deserted her, broke your promises of marriage to her to marry me. What does that make you?"

Hugh's brows snapped together. "What the devil are you talking about? There was never anything between Alice and me except friendship." He looked a little guilty. "There was a time that I... did consider marriage with her, but nothing came of it—I never loved her, nor did I ever say such a thing to her—or offer marriage to her. And if she said any differently, she was lying."

Even as he defended himself, Hugh realized precisely how Alice had played them one against the other. He and Micaela had been strangers forced into marriage—they had known little about each other, and there certainly had been no trust between them. How easy it had been for Alice to meld fact and fiction, to plant seeds of doubt in Micaela's head, as well as his own. He could not excuse himself for misunderstanding the conversation he'd overheard between Micaela and Francis, but he should have recognized Alice's words for what they were—the mendacious jabs of a jealous woman. Alice had confirmed his own worst fears, and she had given Micaela an entirely erroneous impression of their relationship.

Across the short space that divided them, he eyed his wife. His very beautiful, very
angry
wife. She did not look, he decided ruefully, to be in the mood to listen to any apologies or explanations he might offer. And he was very aware that there was little he could say to excuse his arrogant assumptions. But he had to try.

Attempting a smile, he began, "Micaela, I owe you—"

"Ah, bah!" she snapped. "I do not want to hear any more silliness from you. You have blamed me from the beginning for our marriage when it is
you
who connived and schemed."

"I most certainly did not!" Hugh said indignantly, outraged that she thought such a thing of him.

"Non?
Forgive me if I doubt your word. Is it not true that when we married, Jean turned over control of my shares to you?"

"Yes, but that was only because I am your husband, dammit. They are not my shares, however, they are yours. I am only holding them for you in the same way your uncle did."

"Ah, so then, my shares in the company mean nothing to you? I could demand that you give them to me and you would? I could say, give them away to... Alain, and it would not bother you?"

Hugh hesitated, fatally. Micaela smiled."Never mind," she said coolly. "I do not want to hear your lying answers." She pointed a slim, accusing finger at him. "It is you,
monsieur,
who trapped me—you who pretended to be hurt and who pretended to fall asleep so that we would be found in such a compromising situation. That is what François believes. He believes you did it deliberately in order to force me to marry you and gain control of my shares, thereby increasing your control of the company."

"Blast
the damned company!" Hugh burst out, just as furious as she. His gray eyes glittering, he demanded, "And what do you think? Do you really think that I would stoop to such dishonorable tactics?"

She regarded him for a long moment. "Why should I not?" she finally asked. "You believed it of me." And she spun on her heel and stalked from the room.

"Micaela!
Dammit, do not walk away from me!" Hugh shouted after her, but she ignored him, and, a moment later, he was alone. Alone to contemplate the quagmire into which he had blindly stumbled. Or perhaps, not so blindly, he thought furiously. Pigheadedly was more like it.

Hugh spent the remainder of the afternoon alone in his bedroom brooding over his mistakes, planning and discarding a dozen schemes to redeem himself with his angry wife. Nothing useful came to mind. He had erred, badly, and it appeared that he was going to have to suffer for it.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a peculiar affair. On the surface, everything was as it should be; Micaela was lively and full of smiles, Lisette continued her role of polite in-law toward John Lancaster, and the two men both acted as if they had not a care in the world.

Still smarting from the argument with Micaela, Hugh was on his best behavior. He complimented his wife on the meal, wild duck stewed with young turnips; commented approvingly on the changes she had wrought in the house and mentioned how charming she looked in her gown of jonquil silk and lace, but all his efforts gained him was a cool stare. John did not fare much better. The conversation during dinner was naturally of a general nature, but after dinner, it was decided that the four of them would brave the mosquitoes for a few minutes and take a short walk in the warm, moonlit evening. When the younger couple strolled ahead of them, John hoped for a private word or two with Lisette, who was walking beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

He thought she had never looked lovelier. Her dark eyes here bright and glowing, her black hair was worn swept up on top of her head, affixed with a gleaming jeweled comb that winked in the moonlight, and the ruby-colored gown she was wearing intensified the ivory hue of her shoulders and arms. Aware of the powerful attraction she still exerted over him, John said softly, "You look very beautiful tonight, more beautiful than I ever remember seeing you."

Lisette glanced at him, one slim brow arched. "Indeed,
monsieur.
Does that mean I looked like a hag previously?"

John scowled. "That was not what I meant, and you know it."

Lisette shrugged. "It is not necessary for you to pay me compliments. I am long past the days when pretty words turned my head."

John bit back a curse. Controlling himself with an effort, he muttered, "I was not trying to turn your head—I was merely commenting on how nice you look this evening."

"Merci,"
she said coolly, "but I would prefer if you did not make personal comments. We are nearly strangers to each other and only the marriage of my daughter and your stepson forms any sort of bond between us. Please remember that in the future."

Gritting his teeth and stifling a strong urge to shake her... and then take her into his arms and kiss her senseless, John made no further attempts to breach the wall she had placed between them.

* * *

The arrival of Jean and François two days later, on Thursday, was greeted with relief by everyone. The intervening time had not been unpleasant, but Hugh and John were conscious of treading on thin ice around a pair of unfailingly polite, but frustratingly elusive ladies. The two men viewed the arrival of another pair of males as much-needed reinforcements in a war they seemed to have no hope of winning. As for the ladies, they, too, were delighted at the influx of company, the strain of trying to keep two determined men firmly in place and at arm's length was fraying their nerves.

Hugh was still wearing his arm in a sling, but the wound was healing nicely, and in a week or two he would be completely recovered. Naturally, the attack on him was of great concern to Jean and François. After the first flurry of greetings had been exchanged, the attack became the topic of conversation when the group retreated inside to the coolness of the house.