Deceive Not My Heart (40 page)

"Well, let's see..." Dominic began reflectively. "I've told you about the mule ride, and I've told you about her little skirmishes with maman, so you have some idea of what has been going on. Leonie seems fairly content to live in your house and eat your food, but I think it's because she hasn't any choice. Other than that, she won't accept one thing more—not for herself or for any of the others." A faint smile on his lips, Dominic went on, "After you left, maman and father came over just about every day, didn't want Leonie to pine for you and of course, Justin holds a great deal of their attention. Anyway it didn't take too long before maman decided that it was ridiculous for your wife and son to continue to wear the same old clothes that they had arrived in, and she suggested to Leonie that they go to her seamstress and have some new gowns made for she and Yvette, as well as some new clothes for Justin."

Morgan nodded his head in agreement. "I can't see anything unreasonable about that. I may not wish to be cheated out of several thousand dollars, but I have no objection to clothing her, or the others for that matter." An unpleasant smile curving his mouth he added, "I am, after all, receiving a certain amount of pleasure in return."

"You might think it wasn't unreasonable, but Leonie acted as if maman had insulted her," Dominic said dryly. "Drew herself up like a furious kitten and said in the iciest voice I'd ever heard that she didn't need
charity
from the Slades. Said that if her husband would simply pay her what was owed her, she would buy their own damned clothes—her words, by the way—and even better, they'd all leave so maman wouldn't have to be offended by the sight of them in unfashionable clothing."

Frowning Morgan asked, "Was maman tactless about it? Did she call it charity?"

Dominic shook his head. "No. Maman was tact itself—she
likes
Leonie, and Morgan, you have to remember that she—along with the rest of the family—truly believes that Leonie is your wife. Maman was only trying to help, but Leonie will have none of it." His gray eyes contemplative, he finished, "She's determined not to take a damn thing... except her dowry. Wait, I take that back—she will allow maman and father to give Justin presents, but she also puts a limit on that. Doesn't want him to become spoiled, she says."

Morgan stared at his whiskey glass for a few minutes after Dominic ceased speaking. "She doesn't seem to be precisely what one envisions as an adventuress, does she?" he said finally.

"That's what I've been telling you. She wants that damned dowry, I'll admit that, but Morgan, by heaven that seems to be the
only
thing she wants from you. She won't let us do anything for her—there's a perfectly good carriage and a spanking team to pull it, as well as a half dozen mounts suitable for a lady eating their heads off in your stables, but does she ride them? Hell, no! She takes a mule to town!"

The image brought no glimmer of amusement this time to Morgan's eyes. Slowly he mused, "She might be doing it for a purpose, did you ever consider that?"

Puzzled, Dominic demanded, "How do you mean?"

"Just that by not reaching out and taking what has been offered and by sticking so determinedly to her demand for the dowry, that she has only strengthened her position." Looking over at Dominic, he said wryly, "You already half believe her story. And by acting as one would expect a young lady in her position to behave, she makes it even more difficult to disprove her claims."

"I hadn't thought of that," Dominic admitted.

"Think about it," Morgan murmured. "If she were greedily demanding other things, taking with outstretched hands everything she could possibly get, wouldn't that tend to support my statement that she
is
a scheming adventuress intent upon blackmailing me?" At Dominic's slow nod, he went on softly, "But by appearing to
object
to maman's kindness and all the other things she could have, doesn't that distort the image? Doesn't it make you secretly admire such apparently high-principled actions?"

Dominic moved uncomfortably in his chair, not liking the picture Morgan was fashioning. And yet, every statement Morgan made could be true and Dominic felt a faint surge of resentment against Leonie. She'd almost tricked him. Thank God Morgan wasn't about to be taken in by her clever act!

There was little more conversation between the two brothers, and a few minutes later, Dominic left to seek his own bed at Bonheur, while Morgan slowly walked up to his suite and entered his bedchamber. Signs that Litchfield had been there before him were evident—a candle flickered on the mahogany dressing table; a dark blue and black brocade robe was laid neatly across the sapphire blue coverlet on his bed, and a tray with a glass and a crystal decanter of brandy was on the night table. Morgan smiled. What in God's name would he do without Litchfield?

That same thought was echoed again when he discovered the warmed water that had been left in a thick pottery pitcher on the dressing table next to the candle. Stripping off his travel-stained clothes, Morgan gave himself a hasty, refreshing wash and then with a sigh of pleasure slipped naked into his bed.

Exhaustion dragged at him like a sea-tide, but he discovered to his frustration that sleep would not come. Fragments of the conversation with Dominic buzzed around in his brain until finally he had a thundering headache.

He didn't want to think of Leonie, didn't want to begin to question his own reactions, to wonder if he had read the situation correctly, to even allow, for one tiny second, doubt in his own conclusions to creep into his mind. He believed implicitly every word he had spoken with Dominic and yet lying in the darkness of his room he found himself questioning his judgment, unaccountably wanting to find excuses for her behavior. And that, of course, infuriated him.

The news that she had done as she had threatened and laid the entire situation before a judge had shaken him as much as it enraged him. He hadn't really believed she would go that far, and it proved, at least to him, that she and those with her must feel that her story was damned near impossible to discredit. It also, he decided, revealed that they had realized that he wasn't going to be quite the easy gull they had first thought. Why else would they risk the thing being put to trial?

Morgan had no answers and after tossing restlessly, he abandoned any pretense of sleep. Shrugging into the brocaded robe, he splashed some brandy into the glass, walked over to a window, and stood staring out into the blackness of the night.

The brandy managed to relieve some of the tension that coiled inside of him and the throbbing of his temples lessened, but sleep still eluded him. He was now too tired to sleep, and while his body sagged with weariness and his eyes were scratchy from lack of rest, his brain was working furiously, unwilling to let sleep sweep over him.

Methodically, pushing aside his unwanted attraction to Leonie, Morgan went over the facts for the thousandth time, his thoughts just as confused when he finished as when he had begun. He was aware again of a nagging sense of something he
should
remember, some little, now forgotten, incident that had occurred six years ago that would give him the solution to the problem.

When he finally sought his bed, only one thing was certain: somewhere there
had
to be a man involved. That conclusion was inescapable, if only because of Justin's existence. So where was the man? And while Leonie might be perfectly capable of forging his signature, a gut feeling that couldn't be ignored made Morgan positive that a man, perhaps
the
man had forged those papers. And if that were true, where in hell was this man?

* * *

Morgan wasn't going to have to wait long before he found himself face to face with the man who had forged his signature on the marriage papers. At that precise moment, Ashley Slade was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean on a French ship sailing for New Orleans, the sole purpose of his trip to find the little bride he had wed six years ago using Morgan's name.

The reconciliation with his father, the Baron Trevelyan, had lasted just as long as it had taken Ashley to become bored. Home hardly a week, he rode his father's prize stallion into the ground, carelessly destroying the magnificent animal if only because the horse
was
the pride of his father's stables. Next he had precipitated a cold-blooded, brutal fight with his younger brother, Miles, nearly blinding that pleasant young gentleman in the process. The baron tried to make excuses , but when it was discovered some three months later that Ashley had deliberately seduced the young lady Miles had been engaged to marry, and that she had taken her life when he refused to save her from ruin was the final straw. Looking at his eldest son, his heir, with a loathing he had thought impossible, his handsome face working with both sorrow and anger, the baron had banished Ashley from the ancestral acres.

Ashley spent several months in London going through Leonie's dowry with a lavish hand, and it was only when the money was gone that he discovered that not only had he been banished from home, but that his father had no intention of either paying his mounting bills or making any sort of a settlement upon him. It was a disagreeable situation that Ashley had never envisioned.

For some months he managed to stave off his debtors and even tried his hand at card-sharking, but eventually he was forced to flee or find himself in prison. The possibility of having his father murdered in order to hasten the inheritance that would one day be his
did
cross his mind, but with regret he discarded it—the way his luck was running lately someone was certain to connect him with it.

Deciding a rich wife would be the solution to all his problems, Ashley cast his lures about, but unfortunately for him, his reputation had gone before him and the heiresses were all quickly hustled away whenever his handsome person appeared on the horizon. And after living the precarious existence of a highwayman for almost a year, Ashley finally came to the conclusion that his fortune was not to be made in England.

France called. Napoleon's star was on the ascendency and Ashley decided that any nation where a Corsican upstart could become the most powerful man in the country definitely held possibilities. Consequently in the summer of 1801, almost exactly two years after he had married Leonie under Morgan's name in New Orleans, Ashley found himself in French territory.

Due to the hostilities raging between England and France, his crossing had not been pleasant and he hadn't been certain of his reception in France, but the meeting with the smuggler who had sailed him across the channel to France proved to be propitious. The smuggler, and sometime spy for the French, Garret Penryn, was of an aristocratic background, and his history was not unlike Ashley's. Before Ashley departed the small sloop at Cherbourg, it had been decided that Ashley would turn his hand at spying.

Through Garret, Ashley was guided to the master spy, Joseph Fouche, the minister of police, and after several harrowing meetings with that ruthless, calculating gentleman, Ashley agreed to spy for France. Some six weeks later he returned to England, ostensibly a changed man.

Where before his scandalous life had been flamboyant, he now conducted his affairs with discretion; he now had money, money he claimed to have won in France; but more importantly, he seemed to have become fascinated by anyone in the military. He made it a point to make friends in high places in the Horse Guards and for several months he proved extremely adept at his new profession, supplying Garret with information about troops and supplies that was eventually relayed to Fouche in Paris.

The Peace of Amiens in the spring of 1802 annoyed Ashley—spying was proving to be a most profitable profession, but Fouche's fall from power that same year worried him. A trip to Paris was required.

Fortunately, Ashley discovered that
his
future was not in jeopardy, and more to the point, he was gratified to find that Napoleon was aware of the service he gave France.

Born with a natural grace and charm as well as a handsome person, Ashley managed, during the months that followed, to insinuate himself into Napoleon's circle, fawning and clawing his way into favor. He supplied the French government with information about the English, who now flocked to Paris during the Peace of Amiens.

The not unexpected outbreak of war between England and France in May of 1803 pleased Ashley, and he returned to England, his pockets full of French gold and his head filled with optimistic thoughts. And the future
was
very rosy for Ashley that spring—he had Napoleon's favor, an unlimited supply of gold, and the promise of further rewards in the distance.

The fact that he was betraying his own homeland bothered him not at all. He still rubbed shoulders with his old cronies and was still accepted by polite company; he was able to gamble and wench just as he always had, only now he didn't have to worry if the baron would pay for it. He lived just as he always had, the only difference being that he passed along vital tidbits of information to the French and they paid him handsomely for this service.

Morgan's trip to England might have stopped this delightful state of affairs if they had chanced to meet. Fortunately, when Morgan arrived in England, Ashley was in France, and by the time Ashley returned to his familiar haunts, Morgan had crossed to France to spy for Roxbury and England. And if Morgan had barely escaped from France with a company of dragoons at his heels, Ashley, some three weeks after Morgan had sailed away on the smuggler for America, nearly fell into the hands of the excise men sent to stop his meeting with the English smuggler, Garret. The excise men, like the dragoons, were unsuccessful in catching their quarry and the spring of 1805 found Ashley again in France, this time with the door to England closed against him.