Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (50 page)

Jean opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. "Of course. You are right. It is the only way. It is best for everyone."

Hugh sent each man a long look. "Only we three and Micaela and François know the truth about the thefts and Etienne's death. Lisette has been told that Alain must have gone mad when he attempted to kill François and me—that is all she knows about the whole ugly affair and that is all that she needs to know. There is no reason to burden her with the details of François's brief foray into crime. I think François has learned a hard lesson and that he will be a better man for it." Hugh's face grew somber. "I cannot forget that he risked his life for me this morning—that says much of his character. He is entitled to another chance, and I think the trip to England will give him time to face up to what he has done and give him a chance to grow up—without having to look over his shoulder all the time, to see if we are watching him, waiting for him to fall from grace. I have confidence that by the time he returns in a few years, he will have dealt with the situation and put it behind him—as we will have."

The two older men agreed. "It was a nasty business," John said. "I am glad that we can keep it amongst ourselves."

Jean shuddered. "The scandal would have been ruinous. It would have been terrible for the Husson family to have had Alain's crimes paraded before everyone. They would never have been able to hold up their heads again. It is better this way—for everyone."

* * *

Feeling satisfied with himself, a short while later Hugh entered his rooms and discovered his half-naked wife sitting in a decidedly seductive pose in the middle of his bed, her hair tumbling in a dark cloud around her shoulders. All thoughts of the day's events vanished from Hugh's mind as he approached her with a delighted smile on his handsome face. "I see that you have taken my words to heart," he teased.

Micaela looked demure. "Why,
monsieur,
whatever do you mean?"

Hugh laughed. Scrambling out of his clothes, he joined her in the bed. "I mean," he said, as he dropped a kiss on one tempting breast, "that you obviously are not ashamed or reluctant to let me know your intentions."

"Is that what I am doing?" she asked, a sultry smile on her mouth.

"Oh, I sincerely hope so...."

* * *

It was quite some time later before coherent thought returned to either one of them. Nestled next to each other, desire momentarily slaked, they talked about Alain's death. Toying with the mat of hair on his chest, Micaela said admiringly, "I think it is a clever story that you so hastily concocted to explain everything."

"And I think it was rather clever of you, my sweet, to follow Alain and save my life and your brother's."

Micaela stretched like a cat, looking rather pleased with herself. "It was brave of me, was it not?" She glanced lovingly at him. "I told you I did not intend to become a young widow—I could hardly stand idly by while Alain murdered you, could I?" Her expression grew soft. "I love you,
mon amour.
Without you, my life would be nothing."

"Do you know," Hugh said thickly, "that I absolutely adore you?"

She kissed him warmly. Rubbing her nose against his, she murmured, "But not more than I adore you."

Contentedly they lay there together, their arms around each other. "It is strange, is it not," Micaela said after a while, "how things have ended. There were so many lies, so much deception and yet in the end, there is only love. When everything is taken into account, all the obstacles, all the pain and heartbreak and double-dealing, only love remains—ours for each other;
Maman'
s and John's for one another."

Hugh pulled her closer. "And that, sweetheart," he said fervently, "is just the way it should be and will always be for us...."

The End

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DECEIVE NOT MY HEART

The Louisiana Ladies Series

Book One

Excerpt from

Deceive Not My Heart

The Louisiana Ladies Series

Book One

by

Shirlee Busbee

New York Times Bestselling Author

DECEIVE NOT MY HEART

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"One of the best romance writers of our time."

~Affaire de Coeur

What brought his eyes to her, he couldn't say, but one second his gaze was idly skimming the smiling crowd, and the next it was riveted on the dainty figure standing uncertainly in the archway.
Sweet Jesus, who is that bewitching little creature?
was his first thought, the blue eyes narrowing intently as they moved assessingly over the bright tawny hair and golden skin. So compelling was the pull of attraction that it was all he could do to prevent himself from closing the distance between them and demanding an introduction. Despite the occasion and the distance that separated them, the small slim figure radiated an appeal that trapped Morgan's attention; he was unable to tear his gaze away from her.
It's the hair,
he told himself savagely a second later,
it's the same shade as Stephanie's.
But it wasn't that, and he knew it—the first sight of Stephanie's shining curls had not filled him with an overpowering desire to caress their silken softness, nor had it instilled a craving to bury his head in the unruly strands and breathe in the sweet perfume he knew was there.

Angry at this sudden surge of passion, his mouth tightened and the dark blue eyes hardened. Whoever she was, he was damn well going to avoid her—any woman who could arouse such powerful emotions at first sight was a damned witch. And yet, having decided that, he still couldn't tear his gaze away, as he stared at her, every nerve in his body aware of her—and furious because of it.

Leonie felt the steady, increasingly hostile blue stare, and as if drawn by a magnet, she looked at last in his direction. Across the space that divided them, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with a hard, arrogant face dressed in a well-fitting jacket of midnight blue velvet and black satin breeches that displayed the long, muscled length of his legs. The candlelight caught blue shadows in the black hair, and his skin was dark, the heavy, arching black brows apparent in spite of the distance and people that were between them.

Time seemed to freeze; the rest of the room and the world faded away. There were just the two of them as their eyes met across the width of the ballroom. Then Leonie recognized him—or rather thought she recognized the man she had married nearly six years ago—and with righteous wrath blinding her to everything but his iniquity, she stormed toward him.

Gaylord was two steps behind her, his courage wavering at the ugly, embarrassing scene that was about to erupt. Cowardly, wishing he had suggested they wait until later and then have a private confrontation with Slade, he made one vain attempt to catch Leonie's arm and persuade her to postpone the confrontation.

It is doubtful anything could have stopped Leonie at that moment; everyone in the room was becoming aware that something was very wrong. Morgan's eyes had not left Leonie's slim, determined little figure as she made her way towards him, and naturally people began to turn to see who or what had his undivided attention at such an inopportune moment. Gaylord's presence alone caused a titter of curiosity to sweep the room, and Melinda's satin-slippered foot started to tap with an angry rhythm.
If he does anything to spoil my party, I shall never speak to him again!
she decided petulantly. Disparagingly, her gaze rested for a moment on Leonie and then dismissed her.
What a positively dowdy gown she is wearing!
was her only thought, as Leonie reached them.