A Heart for the Taking (55 page)

It was several minutes later before Fancy emerged flushed and breathless from her husband’s passionate embrace. “Oh, Chance,” she said softly, “I do love you—even when you are being utterly impossible.”

His face suddenly very serious, he stared down at her. Huskily he said, “I love you, Fancy. More than life itself. I
have loved and wanted you since the moment I first laid eyes on you, but I have never given you much choice in what happened between us, have I?”

She shook her head, but there was a tender smile on her lips. “No. You simply decided you wanted me, and my fate was sealed, no matter my opinion of the situation.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You are fortunate that I had the good sense to fall in love with you.”

“No regrets?” he asked, a faint question in his gaze.

Staring at his dark, intent features, aware of the hint of uncertainty about this always most certain man, she felt her heart swell with love for him. Flinging herself into his arms, she said earnestly, “My heart is yours. It has always been yours. Yours for the taking.”

With infinite tenderness, Chance enveloped her in his embrace, his mouth warm and worshiping on hers. And then, arm in arm, they turned and walked toward the house and the love-filled future that awaited them there.

Please read on for a

bonus excerpt from

And Love Remains

by

Shirlee Busbee

from

WARNER BOOKS

“
M
ercy!
What do you mean, he is moving
here
! Surely you have misread the letter, maman?”

Lisette Dupree frowned at her daughter. “I assure you, petite, that I did not make a mistake. Hugh Lancaster states quite clearly that he is moving to the New Orleans area just as soon as he is able to put his business affairs in Natchez in order. Here, read the letter yourself.”

Somewhat gingerly, almost as if she expected it to bite her, Micaela Dupree took the letter from her mother. There was silence as she read the offending document. She sighed heavily. “It is true,” she said in a voice of deep gloom. “He is moving here.”

The two women, who appeared more like sisters than mother and daughter, were seated side by side on a delicate settee covered in worn blue velvet in a small room at the rear of the Duprees’ New Orleans townhouse. It was midmorning on a cool, wet Monday in late February 1804, and the two ladies had been enjoying a cup of chicory-laden coffee when the letter from Hugh Lancaster had been delivered.

The arrival of a letter had been unusual enough to add some excitement to a dull day, but the news it brought had totally destroyed the pleasant mood they had been enjoying.

Micaela’s lovely but troubled dark eyes looked at her mother. “Francois,” she said slowly, referring to her brother, a year younger than herself, “is going to be most disturbed by this news.”

Lisette nodded. “And your uncle Jean, too.”

The two women sighed almost simultaneously, their resemblance to each other even more obvious. Only a few weeks away from her twenty-first birthday, Micaela was in the full bloom of her undeniable beauty, while Lisette, having turned thirty-eight just the previous month, was a fetchingly mature version of her only daughter. They did not look precisely alike; Micaela’s nose was longer than her mother’s charmingly retroussé affair, her brows thicker and more noticeably arched, and her mouth more lavishly formed, with a decidedly saucy curve to it. Both women were small boned; Micaela, however, much to her chagrin, stood three inches taller than her petite mother. The shapes under their simple muslin gowns were curvaceous with full bosoms, narrow waists and generously rounded hips. The celebrated creamy matte complexion which each possessed contrasted enchantingly with their gleaming blue-black hair and longlashed midnight black eyes. With lips as red as cherries, pale lovely skin and flashing ebony glances, their proud Creole blood was very evident.

“What are we going to do?” Micaela asked eventually, as she handed the letter back to Lisette.

Lisette shrugged. “There is nothing that we
can
do. The American is coming to live in New Orleans—whether we like it or not.”

Micaela stood up and took agitated steps around the pleasantly shabby little room. Stopping to look out at the rain-splattered courtyard at the rear of the house, she said moodily, “If only that arrogant creature Napoleon had not seen fit to sell us to the Americans like a cartload of old fish! I still cannot believe that it is done—that we are now to call ourselves Americans! Unthinkable! We are French! Creoles!”

Though it had been over seven months since the inhabitants of New Orleans had heard of the sale of the entire Louisiana Territory to the fledgling United States, the actual exchange had taken place barely two months ago in the waning days of 1803. It had been raining that day, too, Micaela thought unhappily. It was not fair! To be sold to those rude, overbearing Americans on the whim of an upstart Corsican general who now had plans to name himself Emperor of the French!

The Americans had been jubilant at the sale; they had long desired free use of the mighty Mississippi River and the Port of New Orleans, the gateway to the ocean and European ports. The Creoles had been stunned, despising the Americans on principle, thinking them loud, vulgar and brash.

The Creole population almost unanimously resented the presence of the new owners of the Territory, many unwilling to even speak to one of those cursed
Americains,
their wives refusing to have them in their homes. Of course, the Americans reciprocated the feeling in full measure, convinced that the Creoles were lazy, vain, and frivolous. Each faction regarded the other with loathing, suspicion, and mistrust.

Micaela’s mouth twisted. And the arrival of Hugh Lancaster, one of those despised
Americains,
was going to make the Dupree family painfully aware of just how much had changed since the Territory had become American. Her brother and her uncle were going to be livid.

“I wonder,” Micaela said softly, “why Monsieur Lancaster wrote to you and not Uncle Jean? Should not
mon
oncle
have been notified first?”

Lisette looked uncomfortable. “Your uncle has not been very, er, pleasant to Monsieur Lancaster when he has come to the city on business. I assume he thought that I would view his intentions more kindly.”

Micaela glanced at her mother in astonishment. “Do you?”

Lisette became extremely interested in the fabric of her
gown. “Not exactly . . .” Arosy hue blooming in her cheeks, she murmured, “I—I—I have never held the Americans in quite the aversion that everyone else does.” Meeting her daughter’s stunned gaze, she added firmly, “I actually liked young Hugh the few times I have met him—he ... he seems a personable young man.”

“But maman! He will ruin us! You know that he believes that someone is stealing from the partnership. You know that the last time he was here, he almost as good as accused
mon
oncle
of outright thievery—Francois, too—do not forget that!”

“I have not forgotten; I think that Hugh is simply mistaken, but I do not blame him for being concerned. Something is obviously amiss. The profits of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree have been falling for the past eighteen months, and the report that we received in September, when Hugh was last here, makes it clear that
someone
has been very careless in making proper records of our various sales and expenditures. In all the years that we have been in partnership with Hugh’s stepfather, John, we have never suffered a decline in profits like we have recently.”

“You mean since papa and grandpere died and Jean and Francois have been overseeing the firm, do you not?” Micaela demanded tightly.

“Your grandfather died over two years ago,” Lisette gently reminded Micaela. “Your father has been dead for five and Jean has been handling Renault’s share of the business for you and Francois since that time. Do you suspect your uncle of doing something to harm his own fortune as well as yours and Francois’?” She arched a brow and then went on calmly. “As for your brother . . .” An indulgent smile crossed her face. “I know he is young and spoiled, but he will grow up into a fine man; he only needs time. Do you really think that Francois would do anything to harm the firm his own father and grandfather founded? He will, as you will, eventually own fifteen percent of the business. Do you truly think that he would steal from himself?”

Micaela made a face, trying to think of a tactful way to tell her mother that Francois was more than just spoiled. He was, Micaela thought unhappily,
extremely
spoiled. His father’s only son and heir, and presently his uncle’s heir, too, from birth Francois had been pampered and doted upon by everyone. Her charming, handsome brother was not selfish by nature, Micaela admitted fairly. He could be quite generous and thoughtful—when the whim struck him. But ... She sighed. Unfortunately, in Creole society, the males were the light of their fathers’ eyes, the joy of their mothers’; gods to their wives and indulgent, generous fathers to their children. Was she merely being jealous that Francois had been born a male while she was only a lowly female? Not liking to think she could be that petty, she wrinkled her nose and tried to think more charitably of her sometimes infuriating younger brother. Perhaps maman was right—he was simply young and in time would be more responsible than he appeared to be now.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Francois, a merry smile upon his delicately handsome features, strolled into the room. He was a slim, elegant young man, not more than an inch taller than his sister and fashionably garbed in a form-fitting jacket of Spanish blue cloth with a striped marseilles waistcoat above his nankeen breeches and boots. His black hair gleamed in the light of the candles that had been lit because of the gray day, and his dark, speaking eyes were warm as they fell upon the two women. Approaching Lisette with his quick light stride, he bent down and exuberantly kissed her on both cheeks. “Ah, maman! You grow lovelier every day. I am a fortunate son, to have such a beautiful and charming maman!”

Lisette smiled with pleasure and caressed his cheek. “Such gallantry, so early in the morning,
mon amour!
I suspect that there is a fine new horse that you simply
must
have—or is it a new carriage?” The fondness of her expression took any sting out of the words.

Francois laughed without embarrassment. “Ah, maman—
you know me too well! Which does not mean that I do not truly think you beautiful and charming.”

Glancing across to Micaela, he said,
“Bonjour,
Caela, you are also looking extremely becoming today.”

Micaela cocked a brow at his fulsome manner and wasn’t the least surprised at the hint of color that leaped into his cheeks at her expression. Turning hurriedly back to Lisette, he sat down gracefully beside her and, taking one of her hands in his, he said in a coaxing voice, “Maman, there is a horse, a most handsome animal I assure you, and the cost will not be too dear.”

Involuntarily Micaela made a vexed sound. “Have you run through this quarter’s allowance already—gambled it away?” she asked quietly.

“It is none of your affair,” he said grandly, then spoiled the effect by demanding, “What difference is it to you? I am a man now and my money is mine to spend as I see fit.”

“Perhaps if you would spend it more wisely, you wouldn’t have to come begging to maman to buy you a new horse just halfway into the new quarter,” Micaela snapped before she could stop herself.

A scowl marred Francois’ handsome features and a hot retort hovered on his lips.

“Children!” Lisette said hastily. “That is enough! The day is unpleasant enough without the two of you squabbling.”

Micaela made a face and turned away to stare out the window once more. It was senseless to try to convince Francois that the Duprees were not as wealthy as they once had been. They were not poor,
merci, non!
but they no longer commanded a fortune that was so large that it seemed endless. Her father’s and her grandfather’s gambling habits had seen to that! It was because of her grandfather Christophe’s gaming losses that a pair of outsiders, Jasper De Marco and Alain Husson, now possessed an interest in the family firm. It appeared that Francois had also inherited the fatal trait.

The once great wealth of the Galland and Dupree families had been reduced to a comfortable size rather than the im
pressive amount it had been just a decade or two ago. In fact the major source of their income came these days from Galland, Lancaster, and Dupree, although the plantations that remained did contribute a small amount to their wealth. Micaela sighed. Regrettably, Francois could not seem to be brought to understand that he could not game away a small fortune night after night and still be able to live in the grand manner in which they had in the past. And maman, she thought half-annoyed, half-tenderly, cannot seem to understand that it is doing Francois no good for her to continue to buy him whatever strikes his fancy as has been done since he was a child! Another horse! Why, there must be a dozen or so eating their heads off in the Dupree stables at this very moment—and those were only the horses in the city!