Deceive Not My Heart (15 page)

Feeling a bit more comfortable, with the pistol tucked in the new reticule
grand-pere
had bought her, Leonie went back to sleep.

The reticule had not been the only new item of apparel that
grand-pere
had presented to her these past few days. He had made the supreme sacrifice and sold one of the two magnificent geldings he had managed to retain, even in face of his mounting debts. The gelding fetched a more than good price, and with the ready money, Claude had been able to bribe, beg and cajole three new gowns and other items of clothing from a modiste who had known him in the old days when the Saint-Andres had had money and then some.

The clothes meant nothing to Leonie, but Claude was determined not to send her to her new husband in outgrown rags. His conscience pricked him just a bit whenever he thought of the crumbling state of Chateau Saint-Andre. Ah, well, Monsieur Morgan was a rich man, he would receive an impressive dowry, and most importantly, he would have Leonie for his bride. What more could any man ask for?

Ashley, sipping a glass of whiskey before retiring that night for bed, could think of nothing. Monsieur Saint-Andre was still convinced he was dealing with Morgan, and fortunately Morgan had not appeared to show the old man his mistake. Also, Ashley had taken great care to lie low and to avoid any of the spots Morgan might conceivably be. All the meetings with Saint-Andre had been held at the Saint-Andre townhouse, and when he had not been at the townhouse, Ashley had remained in seclusion in his rooms on Rampart Street, counting the hours until the dowry was in his hands and he boarded the
Scarlet Angel
The day of the wedding dawned hot and humid, and at four o'clock in the afternoon of July 26,1799, Leonie Saint-Andre was joined in holy matrimony with a man she and her grandfather both thought was Morgan Slade of Natchez, Mississippi. And Morgan—his nefarious cousin Ashley and the old Frenchman Saint-Andre being the last people in the world he was thinking about—spent the day happily fishing for catfish with his friend Jason Savage.

Chapter 7

The wedding was necessarily small and private. Naturally none of Monsieur Slade's relatives could attend, considering the haste with which the event had taken place. Leonie had looked very lovely in a demure gown of soft rose satin, and Ashley, posing as Morgan, had been very handsome in a form-fitting coat of dark blue superfine and black velvet pantaloons. There were few witnesses, only Claude and Yvette, and two black-robed nuns from the Ursuline convent, as Leonie said the words that joined her to the tall, dark-haired man at her side.

Ashley had explained to Claude his intention to return immediately to Natchez to prepare his home and his parents for the coming of the new bride. Claude had been a little disturbed that Slade did not plan to take his bride with him, but because of the hastened circumstances he made no demur.

Pleased and satisfied that he had done all a guardian should to insure a granddaughter's future, after drinking several toasts to the couple, he had departed for the Saint-Andre townhouse.
It is done,
he told himself with satisfaction.
Leonie is safe.

* * *

Leonie was anything but safe. They had eaten dinner together in the privacy of the rooms Ashley had reserved. Ashley for obvious reasons had not wished to mingle with the wealthy, aristocratic crowd in the dining room, and Leonie had no desire to be seen by anyone. As the meal progressed, Ashley's eyes had roamed with increasing hunger over Leonie's round, creamy shoulders. Her hair was in shining curls that cascaded about the striking little face, and as his gaze rested on the swell of the small bosom against the rose satin material, he felt himself harden with desire.

My God, but she was a lovely little piece, he thought lustfully. An ugly gleam entered the hard blue eyes as he reminded himself that for all practical reasons she was also his wife. Why should he deny himself a wedding night? Besides he wanted to prove to the little bitch that it wasn't wise to deny a husband his rights under the law. Alone in the bedroom, her bloody precious agreement wouldn't be worth the paper it was written on!

Leonie had not missed the gleam of lust in his eyes and her stomach recoiled.
Mon Dieu, but I am glad I did not trust him,
she thought scornfully. There had been little conversation between them, and just as soon as the meal was finished, Leonie excused herself and escaped into her own room.

It was one of the most comfortable rooms Leonie had ever seen. A thick blue and wheat colored carpet flowed throughout the room; in one corner was an upholstered chair in a deep rose fabric and two small tables of polished oak had been placed on either side. The bed was equally charming, draped in yards of filmy white mosquito netting; the windows had curtains of gay chintz.

Leonie took a child's delight in the room and caressed the bright quilt on the bed.
It is all so welcoming,
she thought with pleasure. But then she shrugged. Tomorrow she would be back at the townhouse and by the next day on her way back to the Chateau Saint-Andre.

But first, she had to get through this night. Without thinking to ring for the maid her grandfather had spared from the townhouse, she had gone to the huge, mahogany wardrobe, and found the new nightdress that
grand-pere
had insisted she have. The nightdress was a very daring garment and after putting it on, Leonie was shocked when she stared in the tall, cheval glass mirror that was in the room. She giggled nervously....
What a wicked thing to wear to bed!

The gown was of the sheerest, flimsiest material Leonie had ever encountered, and through the sea-green color of the gown the points of her rose-tipped nipples were obvious, as was the sweet curve of the narrow waist and the slender length of the golden legs.

Deciding that she would feel infinitely less depraved if she were covered by the bedsheets, she had just approached the bed when the door that connected her rooms with Monsieur Slade's flew open.

Ashley had been drinking steadily since Leonie had bid him a chilly good night, and the more he thought of it, the more he was certain he was owed a wedding night. After all, he had gotten the wench out of a fix, hadn't he? If he hadn't come along, where would she be?

A petulant curve to his full mouth, he had poured himself another drink and proceeded to his own bedchamber where he stripped off his clothes and pulled on a vulgar dressing gown of gold satin that rioted with scarlet dragons. He eyed his empty bed with disfavor and after fortifying himself with another shot of whiskey lurched through the door to Leonie's room.

For a moment he stood there swaying, the dark blue eyes glittering with the hard sheen of desire as his gaze took in the enticing picture Leonie made in the revealing gown. He felt a tightening in his crotch and, almost licking his lips in anticipation, took a step towards Leonie.

But Leonie was not to be caught unprepared. Without a second's hesitation, she swiftly reached for her reticule lying on the table near the bed, and with a calmness she didn't feel, she grasped her grandfather's small pistol and swung it in Ashley's direction. Her heart beating so fast she thought she would suffocate, she put her other hand on the pistol and staring unblinkingly at Ashley's stupefied expression said cooly, "Monsieur, if I remember correctly, we
do
have a bargain... do we not? It states that you will make
no
demands upon me. I trust you mean to
keep
that bargain."

Ashley's face darkened with rage, and in that moment there was nothing handsome about his features. Vain and greedy he might be, but he was not so foolhardy as to attempt the rape of a woman armed with a pistol. "You'll pay for this, you French bitch!" he snarled before he turned on his heels and slammed from the room.

Her hands trembling, her entire body shaking from reaction, Leonie sank down on the bed.
Merde! but I was frightened,
she thought. She swallowed painfully, knowing what she would have suffered if she had not taken the precaution of bringing her grandfather's pistol. The thought of the monsieur's mouth on hers and his taking the liberties the stranger at the governor's had taken only last week filled her with revulsion. Almost fondly she eyed the weapon lying loosely in her hands.
I must have
grand-pere
teach me how to shoot it,
she decided grimly.
The next time I will not be bluffing!

Leonie did not sleep much that night. She sat curled up against the headboard of the bed, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the door between her room and Monsieur Slade's, the pistol held firmly in her small hands. Occasionally sleep would prove too much for her and she would nod, only to come awake with a jerk, her heart thumping madly in her breast for fear Monsieur Slade had taken advantage of the moment's weakness and had crept into her room.

In view of the night they had spent, when the newlyweds met the next morning it was with little pretense of affection. Besides suffering from the worst hangover in his life, Ashley was thoroughly enraged that a mere chit of sixteen had outfaced him. As for Leonie, though she had never had a high opinion of men in the first place, Ashley's blatant attempt to disregard their bargain had been the final blow—men were such unscrupulous beasts!

She greeted her husband of one day coolly, her contempt obvious in the sea-green eyes. As for Ashley, he could barely stand the sight of her. With the exception of his cousin Morgan, no one had ever gotten the better of Ashley Slade, and he was furious that a mere slip of a girl had been able to beat him at his own game. What words he sent her way as they ate their breakfast were surly to the point of rudeness.

One of the slashing eyebrows quirking upwards, Leonie finally said, "Monsieur, we have only a few hours more to endure each other's company, and I think it would be wisest if, for that period of time anyway, we at least treated each other with politeness. I can well do without your profanity!"

Ashley snarled something ugly, but her point was well-taken. Until he was actually on the ship and it had left the port of New Orleans, he would take no further risks.

Consequently when they arrived at the Saint-Andre townhouse, no one would have suspected the true state of affairs. Claude noted the purple smudges beneath Leonie's eyes, but he assumed it was from a night spent in her husband's arms, so it gave him little alarm.

Ashley, ever the chameleon, played his role faithfully, smiling fondly at his young bride and bemoaning his imminent departure for Natchez. When at last the moment arrived, he swept Leonie into his arms and muttered maliciously, "I think you owe me
this,
at least!" the second before his lips came down hard and plundering on hers.

With her grandfather watching benignly, there was nothing Leonie could do except let Monsieur Slade have his way... but she made a grim little vow that he would
never
catch her in this position again!

Ashley took full advantage of the situation, his arms crushing her up against his hard masculinity, his tongue brutally raping her warm mouth. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, when a hot tide of revulsion and temper was surging up through her body, Ashley released her, a smug, satisfied smile on his weak mouth.

Leonie's eyes hated him, and with the golden flecks very apparent, she spat in an undertone, "If I ever see you again, monsieur, it will be one day too soon!"

Ashley only smiled, his breathing faster than usual. He had enjoyed kissing her, enjoyed the softness of her body next to his, and he cursed the fact that last night he had not known fully the secrets of her slender body. Ah well, the gold of her dowry would buy women enough for him, and he would derive a spiteful enjoyment from the irony of it all. For just a moment, he pictured Morgan's face when Leonie appeared demanding her dowry.

Controlling the urge to chuckle at his own cleverness, Ashley finally took his leave from Leonie and her grandfather. By the time darkness fell, he was happily ensconced in his cabin on the
Scarlet Angel,
drinking a toast to his good fortune as the ship slowly sailed away from New Orleans.

Leonie drank no toast that night; instead she crawled gratefully into her own bed and as soon as her head hit the pillow she was sound asleep. It had been a difficult twenty-four hours for her, but at last it was over. She was married, it was true, but Yvette was safe—too, she had the precious agreements, which should protect her from her husband in the future, and in time she should receive her dowry back. The return of the dowry worried her just a little—Monsieur Slade had shown, to her at least, that he was
not
an honorable man, and even with the signed agreement, she felt fairly certain, she would have a fight on her hands when the time came. But for tonight, she would not dwell on the problems that might arise in the future.