Deceive Not My Heart (13 page)

Claude hesitated. Ashley might look incredibly like Morgan but he was
not
Morgan, and Claude was having some reservations about this young man. On closer acquaintance and when liquor was not blurring his thoughts, Claude wasn't so certain that his first impression of Morgan Slade was correct. There was
something
about
this
man... his eyes were hard, even calculating, and there was a hint of self-indulgence about the full mouth that Claude didn't remember. Pulling himself together and sneering at his own thoughts, he stated baldly, "I have a young granddaughter whom I would like to see married. I would like you to be her husband."

Ashley could have sworn with fury. What good did marriage do him? Hell, he could have married any number of times in the past few years—even an heiress or two—so why should he consider it now?

Claude supplied him with the answer. His eyes fixed on the black coffee in his cup, Claude said, "She has a large dowry and when I die, which my physician has told me will not be too far in the future, she will inherit hundreds of acres of fertile land some miles up the river from here. I know you are a wealthy young man yourself, but I also know that most men prefer a wife who brings something besides herself to the marriage bed." Looking up, his old face suddenly very tired, he asked softly, "Would five thousand doubloons in Spanish gold be enough for you?"

Ashley
took a
long
breath
.
Jesus Christ, is five thousand doubloons enough? I should think so! It's a bloody fortune! But how can I get my hands on it... without getting a wife hung around my neck? Or rather how can
Morgan
do it?

To give himself time to think, he took out a thin cigarillo, lighted it, and puffed a few minutes, staring out into space. Not wishing to appear too eager, and yet unwilling to let this unexpected opportunity slip by, Ashley said slowly, "I might consider it."

Flicking an ash from his cigarillo he went on, "Of course, it depends on your granddaughter. If we are to become relatives, perhaps I should first know something about the woman I
may
marry."

Relieved and yet finding this conversation strangely distasteful, Claude proceeded to tell him about Leonie. He did not of course, explain the true state of the Saint-Andre fortunes and tended to dwell more on Leonie's many attributes: her youth, her beauty, and her docile manner—the latter a blatant lie.

In spite of himself Ashley was intrigued, but he was also smart enough to realize that if the girl was everything her grandfather claimed and if he was as wealthy as he appeared to be, suitors would be fighting madly for her hand. So why did the old man want Morgan?

Letting that particular question wait for a moment, and needing to know if there really was some way he could profit by this meeting, Ashley asked smoothly, "If you and I come to agreement, say this evening, how soon would you wish the marriage to take place? Do you want a long engagement? Or is there some reason for urgency? And when would you turn over the dowry?"

There was something about this affair that was bothering Claude, but he couldn't put his finger on it. During their earlier meetings, Monsieur Morgan had not seemed either cold-blooded or mercenary, and Claude was troubled, wondering if he had greatly misjudged his man. But Ashley, as if sensing he was not imitating Morgan very well, suddenly flashed Claude a charming smile and murmured, "How very businesslike this must seem to you. Believe me, I am not normally so blunt, but then," with a depreciating gesture, "no one has ever offered me his granddaughter in marriage before."

Some of Claude's misgivings abated. Smiling warmly across at the handsome young man, he replied, "And I have never acted as a marriage broker before—so, we are even,
non?"
Feeling a little more at ease, Claude answered candidly, "I will be truthful with you, monsieur... if I could arrange the marriage for tomorrow I would! And the gold will be paid to you the day you marry my Leonie."

Ashley let out his breath in a whistle of surprise and asked curiously, "Why are you in such a hurry to see the girl married?"

Claude's face tightened and he said stiffly, "The number of my days are set. When I die, Leonie will be alone in the world. I should like to go to my grave knowing that her future is secure."

"I see," Ashley replied slowly, his cunning brain busily assessing how best to use this information. He
might
just be able to get his hands on the gold and get rid of the girl, he thought with growing confidence. Sending Claude a wide smile, he said affably, "I know you would like an answer immediately, but I must have some time to consider your proposition." A note of cajolery in his deep voice, he added, "The decision to give up one's freedom should not be made lightly." Glancing at the gold watch he took from a small pocket of his embroidered yellow vest, Ashley suggested, "Give me a few hours to think about our discussion. Would it be convenient to call upon you this evening at your home?"

Claude nodded, for some reason not as elated as he had thought he would be if Monsieur Slade had seemed agreeable to the proposition. Monsieur Slade was not reacting as Claude had imagined he would, nor did Claude find him quite so charming and impressive as he had at the governor's.
I must be getting old,
he told himself. The young man was certainly handsome in an arrogant way, his dark blue eyes gleaming brightly in the dark, handsome face, but Claude had found the face far more attractive when they had played cards than he did now. Sighing at his own lack of enthusiasm for what had been his most longed for accomplishment, Claude said aloud, "If you could come to call at, er... say, nine this evening?" And at Ashley's nod, he added, "If you give a favorable reply, I will introduce you to my granddaughter at that time."

Again Ashley nodded, inwardly aware of a feeling of smug satisfaction. By God, if I have my way, that gold will be in my hands before the week is out—and I'll be on a ship for England!

The two men parted, Claude to return to the house on Toulouse Street and Ashley to make some discreet inquiries about Claude Saint-Andre. What he heard made him smile nastily and understand why Saint-Andre had chosen to approach a stranger. No one, it seemed, wanted to shoulder the Saint-Andre debts, which were scattered indiscriminately throughout the city. And no one, it seemed, had ever heard of the five thousand doubloons.

When Leonie was informed that there was a distinct possibility that she would meet her future husband within a matter of hours, she was torn between tears and fury. The day had brought her little solace, her body and mind still in a state bordering on shock after last night's assault. With the rape still raw in her mind, to be faced with a prospective husband was almost more than she could bear, and for one wild moment she considered running away. But then, her fiery mettle and valiant spirit came surging up, and Leonie knew she could never run away from any fight. She would face this man and, somehow, find a way to save herself, Yvette, and her grandfather in spite of himself.

Without enthusiasm, she allowed Yvette to arrange her hair in a neat cornet of braids, and then Leonie reluctantly put on the apricot gown she had worn the day before when she had quarreled with her grandfather. It was her only decent gown and it fit her young figure admirably, the high waist and straight, slim skirt giving her a regal air. Slippers of white satin were on her feet, and Yvette, a born romantic, had insisted that Leonie let her pin a spring of jasmine in the tawny hair.

Viewing herself in the spotted mirror in her room, she stuck out her tongue at her image. "Bah! It doesn't matter what I look like—it is only the dowry that interests Monsieur Slade!"

She couldn't have been more correct. The dowry drew Ashley like a shark after blood. Having decided that if the gold did exist, he might as well have it as Morgan. Ashley presented himself at the Saint-Andre townhouse at nine that evening. What did it matter to him, if Saint-Andre owed a mountain of debt? He wouldn't be around when the truth was discovered—Morgan would be! Let
him
sort out the problem!

Inquiries into the state of Monsieur Saint-Andre's finances had not been all that Ashley had seen to in the short time since he had bid Claude good-bye. A quick check of the ships in the port of New Orleans had revealed that the
Scarlet Angel
would sail for England the following Friday, just one week away, and he intended to be on her—with a trunk full of gold!

Consequently, Ashley was at his most charming, adroitly soothing Claude's growing suspicions that Monsieur Slade was not the man he had first thought him. The two men conversed in the room with the cream carpet, and burgundy chairs and drapes, the only elegant room in the house; in the soft candlelight, the obvious deficiencies were hardly noticeable.

Despite his earlier reservations, Claude was delighted when Ashley, with a nice air of deference, conceded that if Monsieur Saint-Andre found him suitable, then he would be honored to marry his granddaughter, and just as soon as Monsieur Saint-Andre could arrange it. The two men drank a toast with a bottle of excellent French brandy that had been saved for just such a momentous occasion, each feeling very pleased with the bargain.

Leonie wasn't. Ushered into the room a few minutes later there was a rebellious sparkle in the sea-green eyes and a determined slant to the small, firm chin. There had to be a way out of this coil and she was going to find it even if it meant throwing herself on Monsieur Slade's mercy!

Ashley was enchanted with the appealing sight she made in her apricot gown, the candlelight turning her hair the color of fine golden sherry. It really was a shame he hadn't the time for dalliance—and for a brief moment he actually considered the possibility of taking his supposed bride to England with him. But then, with a mental shrug, he dismissed the idea, too aware of the pitfalls in such a scheme. He was running a great risk as it was, so why risk more?

Leonie disliked Ashley on sight. Prejudiced against him by the fact that she was being forced to marry him in the first place, she saw more clearly the dissipation that marred his face than did Claude. The assessing blue eyes beneath the heavy black brows did not cause her heart to beat with pleasure, nor did the full sensuous mouth with its indulgent curve make her wonder how it would feel against hers—after last night she was quite,
quite
certain she never wanted a man's mouth on hers again. He was handsome in a rakish sort of way, she conceded, but there was nothing about him that made her want to marry him.

Claude beamed when they were introduced, and Leonie, mindful of her manners, suffered Monsieur Slade to take her small hand in his and gently brush his lips across it. Looking at Claude, Ashley asked affectedly, "May I keep this lovely little hand, monsieur?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Leonie glanced quickly away and had to bite her lip to keep from giggling.
Mon Dieu! How silly!

Claude was charmed. Smiling genially at the tall young man standing so close to Leonie, he said graciously, "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you do so, Monsieur Slade."

Ashley turned to look into Leonie's face, his hard blue eyes wandering almost possessively over her features. "And you, my dear, will you accept me as your husband?" Ashley asked. The words were mere formality as far as he was concerned, as the girl would obviously do as her grandfather wished—and he could almost feel the gold in his hands! Certainly he hadn't expected an answer—a blush, or a shy glance or a small nod was the most he expected by way of reply. Unfortunately he didn't know the mettle of the young lady in front of him and her words came as an unpleasant shock.

Unwilling to meekly submit to fate, a defiant expression flickering over the sultry features, Leonie replied cooly,
"Non!
Why should I?"

Ashley was clearly taken aback and Claude was furious.
"Leonie!"
he thundered. "Have you forgotten our conversation about Yvette?"

Leonie's defiance wavered. But then her mouth set mulishly, although there was a wary glint in her eyes, and she said with composure,
"Non, grand-pere.
But before I accept Monsieur Slade's offer, I think I should be allowed to speak with him privately. It is only fair,
n'est-ce pas?"

Both men appeared decidedly uneasy but for entirely different reasons. Claude was aware that Leonie was going to fight every inch of the way to the altar in spite of her earlier capitulation, so he didn't trust her—with good reason. As for Ashley, he was infuriated. How dare this little slip of a girl upset his plans? He was counting on that money and the pleasure of bedding his innocent bride before he sailed for England, and it was a most aggravating surprise to discover that there might be some impediment to his plans.

Knowing how stubborn his granddaughter could be, and yet unwilling to meet her head on when things were moving so smoothly, Claude reluctantly acceded to her request. "Very well. It is proper and only right that you have a few minutes alone with your husband-to-be. But"—his face darkening and the threat of retribution obvious in the brown eyes, he ended harshly, "do not forget what I promised you! And, Leonie, I shall do it, if you deny me this."

Leonie's mouth tightened. "Of course. Now, may I speak with Monsieur Slade... alone?"

One fist clenched helplessly, but not willing to continue the argument in front of a stranger, Claude gave in. Looking apologetically across to the silent Ashley, he murmured, "She is a bit headstrong occasionally, you understand? And perhaps it would be best if you have a few words with her without my presence. I shall return shortly."