Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (47 page)

Micaela sat there in the cooling water, blinking at him, her mind assimilating everything he said. A thought occurred to her and she bit her lip. "Have I displeased you?"

Hugh made a face. "
Displeased me? No.
Made me wonder if I displeased you? Oh, yes."

"Non! Non!"
she cried, half-rising from the water in her distress. "Never have you displeased me. Never! You have been everything that is wonderful and kind."

His gaze fell to her generous bosom, and he said thickly, "I am not feeling very kind at the moment, my love. At the moment," he muttered, as he grasped her upper arms and pulled her naked, wet body up the length of his, "all I can think of is how very much I want you."

"And I w-w-want you," she said in a tremulous voice, equally delighted and terrified at her boldness.

"Do you really, my dear?" At Micaela's shy nod, he kissed her thoroughly and promised, "Then I shall do my very best to see that you have me, all of me."

Heedless of anything else, he carried her into his bedroom. And there on his bed, in the seductive warmth of the golden afternoon, he proceeded to show Micaela precisely how very wrong
Tante
Marie had been.

Leaving the bed curtains open to admit the pale yellow sunlight, he stared openly and caressingly at his wife's many charms. "How could you think that I would find the sight of your very lovely and utterly enchanting body undesirable?" he asked softly. His eyes explored her. "Do you not realize that seeing you, seeing your sweet and exciting charms and seeing the reaction my touch has upon you, is as important a part of lovemaking as anything else?" He kissed her nipples, his tongue curling around the rigid nubs. "You are lovely, here..." His lips slid down to her flat abdomen, sending a shocking tingle through her. "And here..."

His mouth was warm and provoking as he spread lazy little kisses across her stomach. Micaela was flooded with sensation and trembled, her fingers uncertainly touching his thick dark hair. He murmured, "Yes, touch me if you wish, anywhere... as I intend to touch you." With an endearing uncertainty, she followed his command, her fingers and hands growing more confident with every passing second. Hugh willed himself to remain still, to let her explore as she wished, the touch of her questing fingers a torment and a delight.

His own passions were fully roused, and it was all he could do not to sink into the sweet, welcoming warmth he knew would be his and instead hold himself in check and give her complete access to his body. The feel of her hands caressing his nipples, wandering over his broad back and taut buttocks, made him sigh aloud with pleasure. And when her hand moved to his throbbing, aching manhood, he was certain he was going to die of ecstasy. The rapt expression on her face was nearly his undoing, and, with a muffled groan, he caught her hands in his. Kissing them, he muttered, "Enough for now, dear heart..." He glanced up at her, his gray eyes bright with desire, and said thickly, "Now it is my turn."

Already excited and eager for his touch, with every probing kiss he bestowed, she became even more deeply aroused. His mouth seemed to be everywhere, and he made it clear that she pleased him immensely, his husky words of delight building the aching heat within her into a powerful inferno. He was seducing her, she thought giddily, with not only his touch, but his eyes and his words, making her aware of her body in a way that she had never known possible. Her breathing was labored, every inch of her skin on fire where his lips had touched. When his mouth slid even lower across her stomach, when his hands parted her thighs and his wickedly searching lips found her, his tongue seeking the most secret part of her, her reaction was everything that Hugh could have wished.

Micaela felt as if she had been seared by fire—a flame so sweet and so intense that she arched up uncontrollably, her fingers clutching his dark head, pulling him and his exquisite exploring mouth closer to her. What he was doing was unthinkable, surely depraved, but she found that she could not stop him, that she did not
want
to stop him....

Her scent was in his nostrils, her taste upon his tongue and lifting her hips, Hugh continued his leisurely, explicit explorations between the soft, delicate folds of flesh. A feral smile curved his lips when she let out a shaken moan, and his hands tightened on her hips when she jerked and trembled under his bold caresses.

Hardly aware of what she was doing, gripped by the most incredible sensations-she had ever experienced, Micaela writhed beneath his caresses. She was feverish and trembling, frightened and thrilled by what he was doing, her nerves seeming to coil and bunch in the most exciting way possible. She felt on the brink of some new and terrifying discovery, and when it happened, when pleasure such as she had never even dreamed exploded through her, she jammed a fist in her mouth to muffle the scream which rose up inside of her.

Hugh felt her response, heard the hushed scream of delight, and a tight smile crossed his face. He kissed her throbbing flesh one last time and eased up over her damp body. Taking her fist from her mouth, he said, "I want to hear you, my love. I want, I
need
to know that I have pleased you. There will be no more secrets between us." His warm glance traveled down her generous curves revealed in the pale glow of the sunlight which dappled the room. "You are incredibly lovely. And always remember that the sight of your body gives me great pleasure—never be ashamed of what nature gave you." He kissed her and murmured against her mouth, "Remember, too, that I want your hands on me—that my body is yours to explore at will. I want you to drive me mad with your touch." Brushing back a tendril of hair that had fallen across her brow, he stared down into her stunned, sated eyes.

A wicked glint suddenly lit his gaze. "Of course, if you would rather follow
Tante
Marie's dictates..."

Almost too weak to move, loving him more than she had thought possible, Micaela ran a caressing finger down his lean cheek. "I think," she said softly, "that
Tante
Marie has absolutely no idea what she is talking about."

"Excellent!" Hugh said as he angled himself between her legs. He kissed her hungrily, and, when her arms went around his neck and her body eagerly arched up to meet his, Hugh knew a sweet joy. His wife loved him—and just as important—wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Chapter 22

If Hugh and Micaela thought that they had been happy before, that afternoon showed them the error of their thinking. Micaela discovered for the first time, truly discovered, the joys that could be found in the marriage bed with a loving, virile husband. And Hugh? To his ever-expanding delight, Hugh discovered again the passionate, sensual creature he had only glimpsed the day that he had been shot.

It was late afternoon before they finally rose from Hugh's bed and Hugh proceeded to scandalize Micaela—but not to any great degree—by joining her in a freshly prepared tub. Bathing with her husband, she discovered, could be
most
invigorating. With more than a little regret, they finally dressed and descended the staircase to see how their guests had fared.

Of François and Alain there was no sign, but they found Lisette, John, and Jean sitting on the shady side of the house in several comfortable rocking chairs which, at Micaela's request, had been rescued from the pile of old furnishings left stacked in one of the barns and newly repainted a gleaming dark green. From the expressions on the three faces, it was apparent that they had been discussing something serious, but at the sight of their hosts, they began to smile and talk animatedly about the coming wedding. Hugh eyed them. If he did not know better, he would think that there was a plot of some sort under way, at the very least a secret between the suspiciously bright and suddenly voluble trio.

But as the evening passed, Hugh forgot about his earlier observations and set himself out to be an exemplary host, considering that he had abandoned his guests all afternoon to dally in bed with his wife—something he planned to do again at the first possible moment. Down the long expanse of the table, he glanced at her, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. The sultry look she returned and the promise in that dark-eyed gaze almost made him choke on his wine. Had he, he wondered with a pleasurable ache in his loins, created an insatiable wanton? He certainly hoped so.

Too preoccupied with thoughts of what he would like to do with Micaela as soon as they could decently bid their guests good evening, Hugh only noticed in passing that Alain's presence had not seemed to have lightened François's mood. If anything François seemed more tense and somber. But having other things on his mind, Hugh promptly pushed further speculation away. There was only one person who held his attention, and if she did not stop throwing him those come-hither glances, he was going to shock everyone by acting the part of the libertine with his very own wife.

After dinner, Alain and François had made plans to visit with some friends who lived on the next plantation over. Their absence was welcomed by everyone—Hugh and Micaela because it meant that they could escape upstairs earlier and the other three because it gave them an opportunity to have a particularly sensitive conversation with their hosts.

The five of them, escaping the heat of the house, were sitting out under a pair of magnolia trees, the sweet scent of the blossoms lingering in the warm air. To keep the mosquitoes at bay, several small pots of brimstone had been lit, and it seemed to be an effective deterrent against the swarming pests. A lantern had been hung in each tree and they shed flickering circles of light in the darkness. There was a welcome breeze from the river's direction, and the croak of frogs and the occasional roar of a bull alligator drifted through the night.

The conversation was desultory at first as they sat in the dancing shadows, watching the lightning bugs flit in the distance. But as the minutes passed Hugh became aware of a note of strain in Lisette's voice. John glanced at her. Covering her hand with his, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Lisette shook her head vehemently.

Jean was also looking at her with an encouraging expression on his face. Hugh's eyes narrowed. What the devil?

Her mother's growing strain had not gone unnoticed by Micaela, who asked,
"Maman,
are you all right? Do you have the headache?"

Lisette looked across the brief shadowy expanse which separated them, Micaela's face a pale, sweet cameo in the faint light from the lanterns. "No," she said slowly. "I feel fine." She glanced uneasily between John and Jean, and, at some unspoken signal between them, she took a deep breath and declared solemnly, "I have something to tell you—something that will shock you. It is a secret I've held for over twenty years."

John's hand tightened on Lisette's. Staring at them, Hugh suddenly had an inkling of what Lisette was going to say—something he should have suspected the minute he had heard the tale of the long-ago love affair between the pair of them and saw that elusive dimple of Micaela's. Rising to his feet, he went to stand near Micaela's chair, his hand lying protectively on her shoulder.

Unaware of the tension invading the others, Micaela glanced up at Hugh and smiled. Affectionately she rubbed her soft cheek against Hugh's warm hand before looking back at her mother and asking, "What is it,
Maman
? What could you possibly tell me that would shock me?" She laughed. "Especially something that happened before I was born." The instant the words left her mouth, Micaela felt a stab of unease. Lisette's affair with John Lancaster had happened before she was born... and it had ended an indecently short time before her mother had married Renault.... Her eyes suddenly fixed on the couple across from her, she demanded, "What? Tell me!"

Baldly, Lisette said, "Renault Dupree is not your father. I was pregnant when I married him. John Lancaster is your father."

Micaela gasped, and Hugh's hand closed around her shoulder. Unconsciously, her hand joined his, and she clung to him as if he were the only stable thing in her universe.

The silence which followed Lisette's confession was deafening as Micaela stared first at her mother and then at John Lancaster. With pain in her gaze, she finally looked at Jean. "You knew?" she asked.

Jean nodded, his face grave.

She swallowed with difficulty as the real meaning of Lisette's words pounded in her brain. She had lived a lie her whole life.
Papa
was not
Papa.
Jean was not her uncle. The Dupree blood, the ancestors that she had thought were hers, were not. Had never been. She was a bastard child, only Lisette's providential marriage having saved her from disgrace and shame. Too stunned even to cry, Micaela sat there, staring dazedly into the darkness.