Deceive Not My Heart (22 page)

"Now, wait a minute!" Gaylord got out as he struggled to his feet. "I don't mean to harm you, and I would like very much to speak with you about—er—your husband."

Despite her anger and her fear, Leonie was curious to learn what this young man knew about Monsieur Slade. She slowly descended the stairs until she stood in front of him. Abraham lurked nearby, not certain whether to go for help or stay and defend his young mistress.

Gaylord glanced in his direction and said with difficulty, "I mean your mistress no harm." And then swinging back to Leonie, he added, "I apologize for grabbing you that way, but you startled me."

"I
startled
you,
monsieur?" Leonie asked with obvious disbelief.

Defensively Gaylord replied, "Yes, you did. Are you certain that Morgan Slade is your husband?"

Leonie took a deep, angry breath, infuriated that a stranger would doubt her word about something so important. She dug around in the reticule and found the marriage license. Furiously she threw it at him and spat, "There, monsieur!"

Holding the paper in his hands, his mouth gaping foolishly, Gaylord read the legal words and stared at the bold signature of Morgan Slade. "My God!" he cried out at last. "My poor Melinda is about to commit bigamy! The devil!
That black-hearted monster!"

Puzzled by his reaction, but still very angry herself, Leonie stood in toe-tapping impatience and demanded, "What are you talking about?
Who
is a black-hearted monster?"

Gaylord looked at her with sudden pity. She was an enchanting little creature... and to think that Morgan Slade had obviously deserted her and was on the point of announcing his betrothal to another woman. Frowning, Gaylord said bluntly, "I'm afraid your husband is, madame."

"Ah, bah! I knew
that!"
Leonie returned forthrightly. "But what of this woman Melinda, and bigamy?"

Drawing himself up stiffly, Gaylord announced dramatically, "Melinda is the woman I love—and your husband has stolen her from me! At this very moment they are announcing their betrothal!"

"Mon Dieu!
This
cannot
be!" Leonie breathed. She had known that Monsieur Slade was not honorable, but to think that he would attempt to marry another woman was beyond anything she could have imagined. The vivid little face fierce with determination, she declared passionately, "We must stop them! He must not be allowed to do this dastardly act!"

Their previous disagreement forgotten, in a very few minutes Leonie and Gaylord Easton were speeding through the night in a hastily rented gig. Easton drove while Abraham glumly hung on to the rear. She might be in complete cordiality with Monsieur Easton at the moment, but common sense dictated that Abraham come with her.

It was almost nine o'clock when the gig turned down the long drive that led to Marshall Hall. Gaylord was in a fever of impatience, and his heart was singing in his breast, for now his dear, sweet Melinda would never marry that bastard Morgan Slade—
he
would expose the man for the evil-hearted bigamist he was.

Leonie's outrage had not cooled as the miles had passed, and by the time Gaylord hauled the rented horse to a snorting standstill in front of the mansion, she was in a flaming fury. How dare Monsieur Slade take advantage of another defenseless young woman? Perhaps he made a habit of marrying unwary females for what money he could gain. It was an unsettling thought, considering the circumstances, but her main concern was that she save this Melinda Marshall from this horrid fate.

The impressive elegance of the huge house did not deter her, nor did the sight of the many carriages or the sound of voices and laughter that carried from the many lighted windows. It was going to be an embarrassing situation, but she was without fear or shame. Tightly clutching the reticule which contained the proof of Monsieur Slade's perfidy, she swiftly walked up the broad, white steps with Gaylord.

A butler in a black satin uniform and a pristine, white shirt looked them up and down, obviously dismissing Leonie's simple gown and Gaylord's casual dress of breeches and boots. In a voice cool with disapproval, he asked, "Your invitation, sir?"

Attacked with nervousness as he contemplated what he was about to do, Gaylord ran a trembling finger around the edge of his cravat and stammered, "Um, ah, we don't have one. But it is of the utmost importance that I speak with Mr. Marshall!"

The butler raised a haughty eyebrow. "If you will tell me the nature of your business, I shall see if Mr. Marshall is available."

Leonie had stood silently by Gaylord's side during this exchange, her temper rising with every passing moment. Deciding that Gaylord, for all his desire to expose Monsieur Slade, would dither forever, she caught both men by surprise as she stalked determinedly past the butler and said disgustedly, "Ah, bah! By the time you do that, it will be too late! I shall find Monsieur Marshall myself!"

The butler made an attempt to intercept her, but Leonie was not to be stopped. With Gaylord following uncertainly behind them, the butler breathing shocked protests, Leonie walked swiftly down the wide, gold and white hall, stopping only when she came to the wide, arching doorway of the ballroom.

The ballroom was full of men and women in silks and satins; the light from hundreds of candles in the crystal chandeliers above bathed the room in a golden glow. It was a handsome room of grand proportions; the waxed, wooden floor shone like amber glass in the candlelight. The women's gowns were vivid splashes of jeweled color as they moved about; the men were more somberly arrayed in velvets and satins of dark blues, deep greens, and black. Soft music drifted across the room, and the sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle permeated the air. Satin-garbed servants discreetly darted about with huge trays laden with refreshments.

Leonie stood for a moment in the center of the arch, her eyes slowly scanning the room. The size of the fashionable throng disarmed her and she was instantly assailed by a flicker of doubt.
Mon Dieu,
how would she find Monsieur Slade in this crowd? But she didn't have to go looking for Morgan Slade, because Morgan found her.

The evening had been passing with paralyzing boredom for Morgan, and any small hope he had cherished that life with Melinda might not be quite as insipid as he feared had been put to flight by a walk in the garden with that young woman.

Melinda, he had to admit, looked lovely. Gowned in blue satin and lace, her guinea-gold curls framing her pretty face, she was indeed a sight to quicken a man's blood. Unfortunately, Morgan's blood did not quicken, and as they walked and conversed desultorily in the garden, he had wondered again how he could have been such a fool as to think marriage to an empty-headed chit like Melinda would solve anything.

As they walked, Melinda had bemoaned the fact they would not be able to visit Paris for a honeymoon. A plaintive note in her voice, she had complained, "That terrible Napoleon—he is ruining everything! If only that horrid war would end, we would be able to go to Paris. I did so want to visit there."

Forgetting the intelligence of the woman he was with, Morgan had murmured teasingly, "Perhaps I should write him and request that he cease his hostilities long enough for us to have a Parisian honeymoon after all."

The big blue eyes wide with delight, Melinda had breathed admiringly, "Oh,
could
you? How absolutely splendid that would be!"

Realizing that she was in dead earnest, Morgan had looked at her with incredulity, and then strangling back the desire to laugh out loud, he had hastily suggested that they return to the house.
My
God
,
he had thought, torn between amusement and exasperation,
is
there anything
in
her
lovely
head
?

As the evening progressed, it appeared there was not. By the time the hour approached to make the announcement of their impending marriage, Morgan was so bored with her company and empty prattle that he knew there was no way in hell he could face the rest of his life married to Melinda.
But how the devil am I going to withdraw my offer without causing an unholy scandal?

Definitely a thorny problem, he admitted glumly, and it was compounded by his own reluctance to embarrass his parents and the Marshalls. It wasn't
their
fault Melinda was such a ninny-hammer!
Somehow,
he decided grimly,
I shall have to find an excellent reason for
her
to cry off. It should be simple enough to give her a distaste for me,
he thought with a grin—appearing foxed a few times in her presence, sporting a decidedly tyrannical air, and flaunting convention now and then should do the trick.
Just act normally,
he thought derisively,
and you'll come about.

It would have been easy for Morgan to put his half-formed plan into action that evening, but not even he was willing to put Melinda and her family, in addition to his own, through the embarrassment of watching the proposed bridegroom act the part of a rude, overbearing boor on the very night their betrothal was to be announced.
Tomorrow,
he mused slowly,
will be soon enough for me to show my disreputable colors and start revealing what an arrogant swine I can be.
Suddenly he smiled, thinking of the expression on Melinda's face when he, oh,
so casually, informed her that he was considering the possibility of their settling in the wilderness somewhere along the Natchez Trace. If that doesn't start giving her second thoughts, nothing will....

With that comforting notion, Morgan relaxed, and weary with boredom, resigned himself to playing out his role for the remainder of the evening. Arranging his features in a mask of polite cordiality, he dutifully did all that was required of him, but he detested every moment, longing for the entire affair to be over.

Finally, it was time for the announcement. With the two beaming families flanking them, Morgan and Melinda stood at one end of the elegant room as Mr. Marshall jovially called for everyone's attention. The musicians instantly laid aside their instruments, the babble of voices hushed—and it was in that moment that Morgan Slade caught his first clear sight of Leonie Saint-Andre.

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.

A hush fell as Leonie, her vivid little face alight with rage, stopped directly in front of Morgan. Gaylord was at her side, and from the moment Morgan had spotted him, he knew there was going to be trouble, even if it hadn't been obvious that the young lady was harboring some great stress. What, he wondered with interest and growing wariness, was young Easton up to? And what part did this ravishing creature, standing so breathlessly before him, play in these machinations?