Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (45 page)

It didn't help François's frame of mind that Alain took one scornful look at the sparse furnishings and faded window and bed hangings in his rooms, and said sarcastically, "If this is a sample of the
Américain's
wealth, I am afraid that your sister has made a very bad bargain."

Instead of firing up as he would have not a week ago, or eagerly agreeing with him, François said mildly, "Hugh and Micaela were not yet expecting company. The house is being entirely redone, but it will be some time before all the new furnishings arrive and all the changes are made." Coolly he added, "The only reason you are here now is because you forced yourself upon us. If the surroundings displease you, you may leave."

Alain whirled around, his black eyes narrowed and dangerous. "Feeling brave, are we?" he asked silkily. "Have you forgotten that we are in this together?"

"No, I have not forgotten, but
you
have forgotten a great deal if you think that I ever agreed to murder," François stated grimly.

"Do not tell me that you have developed a conscience?" Alain sneered. "Do you think to throw yourself on your brother-in-law's mercy? Do you think he will overlook what you have done because he is married to your sister?"

"No, I do not," François replied, his face suddenly looking older, almost haggard. "But I have sworn to myself that no matter what happens to me, I will not stand by and let you kill him."

"You think to stop me?" Alain hissed, his hands clenching into fists. "You would dare?"

François nodded.

Alain's ugly expression cleared, and, smiling, an open, sunny smile that had always charmed François previously, he threw an arm around François's stiff shoulders and murmured, "Come now,
mon ami,
what are we fighting about? You know that the
Américain
has to die. It is necessary if I am to marry your sister—have you forgotten that I have always wanted her for my wife?"

François stepped away from Alain's clasp. "Have
you
forgotten that she did not want to marry you?" An ashamed expression flitted across his features. "And I was wrong to attempt to force her into a situation where she would have had no choice in the matter but to marry you. It is fitting that our plans to compromise her turned out as they did. Some might say that it was poetic justice for her to end up forced to marry Hugh Lancaster." His eyes bored into Alain's. "And perhaps," he said quietly, "I no longer want you to marry Micaela."

"Then perhaps," Alain snapped, "you had better make plans to see that the rather large sum you owe me is deposited in my bank on Monday morning."

François bowed with exaggerated politeness. "Of course. I intend to discuss the matter with my uncle within the next day or two." Proudly, he added, "You do not have to worry about your money. A Dupree always pays his debts, but not in the blood of other men. You will have your money—leave Hugh alone."

"And if I do not?" Alain asked his handsome features mottled with fury. "Do you really think that you can stop my plans for him?"

Short of confessing all to Hugh, François saw no way out of his dilemma. Realizing that falling out with Alain was going to gain him nothing, and might actually pose more of a danger to Hugh, he dropped his antagonistic stance and asked reasonably, "Why is it so important that you kill Hugh? I have promised to pay you what I owe you; our plans for your marriage to Micaela did not come to pass, and it is too dangerous to continue embezzling from the company. You already have a large fortune so you do not need the money. Why persist in this unlawful endeavor? Could you not stop what you are doing before anyone else gets hurt?"

Alain studied François's face for several minutes, his mouth tight and grim. Then he relaxed and, throwing himself down in a worn black leather chair, said easily, "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have thought so long about killing Lancaster that it has become fixed in my mind."

"You will reconsider?" François asked eagerly, hardly daring to believe that he had stood up to Alain and had convinced the other man to change his mind.

Alain's eyes dropped, hiding the fury in their depths. "I will certainly think about it." He glanced up and smiled with apparent ruefulness at François's anxious features. "I would dislike losing your friendship over this matter—after all, I had hoped to be your brother-in-law, and now that I consider it, much of what you have said has merit," he drawled. "You are my dearest friend. I would not want to offend you." Alain stood up, clapped François on the back, and said, "Take that worried look off your face,
mon ami
; you have won. To please you, I shall rethink my plans—Hugh Lancaster will not die by my hand—I swear it to you."

François wanted to believe that he had really changed Alain's mind, and though he nodded and exclaimed his relief at having the matter settled, he did not quite trust Alain. Husson was capable of great villainy and deceit as Etienne's death had shown. Still, when François left Alain's room a few minutes later, he felt that he
had
given Alain food for thought and that Alain might have spoken honestly—and, more important to François, Alain had given his word that he would not kill Hugh. Now, he thought glumly, if I can only bring myself to face up to what I have done, and tell Hugh and Jean.

François was not the only one with a secret weighing heavily on his mind. The previous night's conversation between Lisette and Jean was never very far from Lisette's thoughts, and, a dozen times during the day, she had almost brought herself to the point of speaking privately with John. Every time she thought she had fired up her courage enough, she would look at him and imagine the anger and hurt she would see in his eyes, and her heart would sink. Had they been kept apart all these years by other people's lies, only to stumble on the biggest lie of all? One that was entirely of her own making?

A bleak expression on her face, Lisette wandered through the flower-lined walkways of the grounds at
Amour
late that afternoon, her thoughts heavy and unhappy. John deserved to know, she told herself repeatedly. She could not begin their life together with the knowledge that Micaela was his daughter kept secret. But what if he turns from me? she wondered, anguished. What if he despises me for not having told him before now?

Common sense told her that he could not blame her for not having spoken earlier—until just a day ago they had both believed they had each been cruelly deserted by the other. But I should have told him yesterday, she admitted. And every hour, every minute I delay makes it more difficult.

She was standing in the shade of a towering magnolia tree, the huge creamy blossoms perfuming the cooling air as she stared at the small man-made lake near the gazebo. Intent upon her own thoughts, she had not heard John's approach and she started dramatically when he touched her lightly on the arm.

"I am sorry, my dear," he said. "I did not mean to frighten you." He grinned at her. "If I did not know better, I would think that you were either planning some dark, dastardly crime or that you had a terrible secret to hide."

Lisette stared up at his beloved features. How could she bear to lose him again? And yet, his very words had given her the opening she needed.

A quick glance around confirmed that they were all alone, and, taking a deep breath, not allowing herself time to consider what she was saying or to change her mind, she said starkly, "I do have a secret. I did not know it at the time, but I was pregnant when we were parted. That was main the reason I agreed to marry Renault so soon after you left." Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "Micaela is not Renault's child. She is yours—ours."

Chapter 21

John stared at her, his expression a mixture of astonishment and awe. "Micaela is
my
daughter?" he finally managed after several long, agonizing moments.

Lisette nodded, too moved by the dawning delight on his face to speak. What could she have said anyway? Her future, happy or brutally shattered, lay in John's hands. Her body braced as if for a blow, she regarded him, loving him even more at this moment when she might very well lose him again, this time forever. His initial reaction was promising, but when he had recovered from his shock, when he'd had time to think about it, would he hate her? Angrily condemn her and believe that she had practiced the crudest chicanery of all on him?

"My child," John said dazedly. "I have a daughter." The words were spoken in a manner which strongly suggested that he had to actually say them aloud to understand them.
"Our
daughter, Micaela."

Just when Lisette thought she could bear the suspense no longer, the most tender smile imaginable illuminated his face and with a laugh, a shout, his hands closed around her waist and he swung her off her feet. Whirling them around like a wild man, he grinned at her. "We,
Madame-
bride-to-be, are parents! Is it not the most wonderful thing in the world?" His crazy dance slowed and his expression grew intent. Slowly he put Lisette down. Brushing her lips with his, he said thickly, "Actually, the second most wonderful thing in the world—the most wonderful thing is that you love me and that you are going to marry me—even if it is over twenty years later than it should have been."

He kissed her, his lips warm and caressing against hers. His mouth tasted of passion barely leashed, of desperate longing and tenderness and Lisette felt herself responding with all her heart, with all her love. As his lips moved on hers, the suffocating terror that she might have lost him forever ebbed away. He loved her. Even after she had denied him his child. Tears of gratitude and joy flooded her eyes.

"Oh, John," she murmured brokenly, her arms tightening convulsively around him. "I was so afraid that you would hate me when you found out."

His lips tasted the tears on her lashes, and his face softened even more. "Hate you, my love? How could I? I have loved you all my life, and now I find that you have given me a gift that I never thought to receive—a child." A whimsical smile curved his chiseled mouth. "And after waiting this long to marry you, I am not going to let
anything
come between us."

His hand on her waist, he gently guided her to the wooden settee they had shared earlier in the day. Settling her in the crook of his arm, he said, "Now tell me everything. Everything about her, when she learned to walk, to speak. Everything."

They talked for a long time, their voices rising and falling rhythmically, the purple-and-rose twilight settling gently around them. Not even the buzzing mosquitoes seemed willing to intrude in their cozy little world. Lisette did her best to answer his eager questions, both of them laughing now and then when she related one of Micaela's more amusing antics over the years. When she finally had run out of anecdotes, John leaned his head back and gave a great sigh, a happy one.

Silence fell between them. Peace and tranquility washed over them. There were still difficult moments ahead—not the least of them Micaela's reaction to the truth—but for the moment that problem was put aside. Micaela would have to be told, but not this very instant. Hugh would also need to know. They had already decided that for Micaela's sake, and to save her the embarrassment and scandal that would be sure to erupt, her true parentage did not have to become public fodder. Only those most immediately involved needed to know the truth. Not even François would be admitted to the secret. Micaela and Hugh were the only ones who needed to be told the truth, and very soon. But not right now.

Eventually John stirred and said in a tone of such deeply felt regret that it tore at Lisette's heart, "I wish I could have seen her grow up. I wish I just could have known that we had a child."

Lisette's hand tightened on his. "I am sorry," she said softly. "So very sorry for my part in denying you your child."

John glanced at her and shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear." His face hardened. "It is your father and Renault who have much to answer for—and fortunately for them, they are both already dead or I might have had to kill them with my bare hands."

"Do not!" Lisette cried. "Do not let us dwell on what they cost us—it will only cost us more if we let their evil deeds cloud our happiness."

He kissed their entwined hands. "To please you, I shall not. Now tell me, who else besides Jean knows that Micaela is my daughter?"

"No one. I did not even know that Jean knew until last night, when he taxed me with my silence."

"For which," John admitted, "I am damned glad!" He slanted her a look. "I cannot believe that you were afraid of me—afraid to tell me. What did you think I would do—abandon you again?"