Deceive Not My Heart (41 page)

It didn't take Ashley very long to discover precisely
who
had betrayed him, and the knowledge that Morgan seemed to have bested him once more infuriated him and made him long to get the better of his detested cousin just once.
Someday,
he vowed viciously,
someday, my dear cousin, you will pay dearly for disrupting my life and my fortune.
The loss of his lucrative bargain with the French was a blow to Ashley's future, but he was resourceful and immediately reestablished himself within Napoleon's circle, the desire for revenge against Morgan momentarily put aside.

It was an unpleasant shock for Ashley to discover that the French were no longer receptive to his advances, and of course now there was no longer an unending flow of money—he no longer had anything that the French wanted. Fouche was once again in power, though, and Ashley quickly offered his services in helping to ferret out English spies in France. Ever the cynic, Fouche accepted his offer.

Eventually Ashley would have outlived his usefulness and probably would have ended up with a dagger in his back, except for two events.

The first came about quite by accident some weeks later, when he trailed a suspected English informant to the Loire Valley. The gentleman Ashley followed happen to visit with friends who owned a magnificent estate nestled against the gentle rolling hills, and like the good spy that he had become, Ashley grew curious about them. It was then that the first hint of the fortune that might be his came to light. The estate was named simply Chateau Saint-Andre and that name struck a cord of memory within Ashley. More questions revealed that the family had all died during the Terror, but one old woman vaguely remembered that a branch of the family had gone to America... to Louisiana.

Unable to believe what this might mean, Ashley retreated to a nearby country inn to do some deep thinking. Was it possible that the little chit he had married in the summer of 1799 was the heiress to this estate? And if she was, if he could prove it, how would that benefit him?

It was true that Napoleon, in an effort to weld the remaining aristocracy to him, to lure back the emigres who had fled to England, had been restoring many of the grand estates confiscated during the Terror. Perhaps the great man might be willing to do the same for an emigre to America. Especially one married to a man who had proved himself a loyal patriot of Napoleon's new France....

Deciding he needed more information, the suspected spy for the moment forgotten, Ashley discreetly questioned the inhabitants of the small village near the Chateau Saint-Andre searching for some proof of his suspicions. He found it finally in an old family Bible.

It was a miracle the Bible had survived, and it was only the fact that it had fallen into the hands of one of the loyal members of the Saint-Andre household that it had not been destroyed when the family had been dragged to the guillotine. The Comte Saint-Andre's valet had managed to save a few things from the house that terrible day and one of the things he had saved had been that Bible in which were recorded the births and deaths in the Saint-Andre family for the past hundred years.

Ashley wasn't interested in the past; it was the last entry that riveted his attention, the last entries that dealt with the branch of the family which had emigrated to America. Staring at the spidery, black ink in which Leonie's name and birth were recorded, Ashley's pulse quickened.

By God, what luck! The little bitch
was
the last Saint-Andre! And he had married her! Under Morgan's name it was true, but
he
had been the one to marry her, not Morgan!

Gaining possession of the Bible proved a bit of a problem; the old valet, while willing to show it to this handsome gentleman, wasn't about to relinquish it. Ashley tried cajolery, bribes, and finally threats. Nothing worked, so he simply stole it.

The Bible safely in his possession, Ashley forced himself to turn to the task at hand—the possible spy staying at the Chateau Saint-Andre. But it was the family who lived at the chateau which now interested him. They would, Ashley reflected coldly, have to be displaced in order to smooth the way for his wife's claim to the estate.

Ashley found out little more on this trip. His quarry left for Paris the next day and Ashley had no choice but to follow him.

In Paris, Ashley reported to Fouche that he had come up with nothing new, and Fouche was not pleased. He was even less pleased when Ashley brought up the subject now dearest to his heart.

Fouche looked across at Ashley with cold eyes as they sat in his office. "Do you really expect me to believe that you are married to this Leonie Saint-Andre? And more importantly do you really expect that Napoleon is going to turn over to you an estate that has already been given as a reward to someone else? Especially to you—an
English
traitor?"

Ashley flushed and his lips tightened. "Napoleon thinks highly of me! And if I can prove that she is my wife, that she is the rightful heiress to the estate, why wouldn't he return it to her? He's returned several other such estates to the legal heirs."

"But not," Fouche said dryly, "estates that have already been disposed of. Forget it! Put your mind to business or you might find that I have no use for you."

Doggedly Ashley argued, "Suppose it turns out that the people who now own it are spies? That they and that young fool I followed are really, as we suspect, working for the English? What then?"

Fouche smiled thinly. "That would indeed put a different complexion on the matter."

And that was Ashley's second stroke of luck. With information which he obtained through bribery and murder it was discovered that the new possessors of the Chateau Saint-Andre, the family Cloutier, while not spies for the English, were part of an underground group who were planning to assassinate Napoleon.

Almost triumphantly he laid the evidence on Fouche's desk and murmured, "And now what do you say about my wife's claim?"

Fouche sent him a cool, considering look. "I would say, Monsieur Ashley, that
if
you can present Leonie Saint-Andre here in France, with proof that she is whom you claim—the last Saint-Andre
and
your wife—then perhaps it is possible that out of gratitude, our glorious Emperor might indeed bestow upon her the estates that had belonged to her family."

Ashley had smiled and bowed. "I leave tomorrow for America and when I return, I shall have everything that you require—the woman and the proof of my marriage and her identity.
Bonjour,
monsieur."

And so, about the time that Morgan had returned to Le Petite from Baton Rouge, Ashley had already been at sea for almost three weeks. Ashley's destination was America, his only purpose once he reached New Orleans, to find Leonie Saint-Andre and take her back to France with him. At least the finding of Leonie Saint-Andre was his only purpose until he remembered that he still had a score to settle with his cousin. Perhaps, he thought slowly, while in America, I might find a way to arrange an unpleasant surprise for Morgan.

Chapter 20

When Leonie learned the next morning that Morgan had returned, she was assailed with a curious rush of pleasure. Instantly, she quelled the emotion and reminded herself sternly that Morgan was her avowed enemy and that he wasn't going to be exactly pleased when he discovered that she had struck the first blow in the battle between them by laying the matter of the dowry before a judge.

And yet, even knowing that, she couldn't quite control her wayward heart, and with fingers that trembled slightly, she dressed that morning with special care, a new sparkle in her sea-green eyes. Realizing why she was taking such care with her appearance, she immediately stopped Mercy from completing the elaborate arrangement of her curls and glared in the mirror.
Mon Dieu, but I am a fool!

Ignoring Mercy's protests, she jumped up from the dressing table stool and smoothed down her gown. "I've changed my mind—I don't want you to put my hair up after all," she said, angry with herself for caring how she looked to Morgan.

She had put on the pretty lavender gown which she usually wore in the evenings, not wanting to greet her returned husband in the yellow gown she had worn so often, but her anger with herself was such that she almost even changed into the old yellow gown. Only Mercy's shriek of outrage stopped her.

Flustered at her own contradictory actions, she dismissed the maid and crossly undid Mercy's half completed work with her hair. Brushing the thick wavy mass, she made a face in the mirror. Bah! What did it matter whether her hair was fashionably arranged or not? Who would care?

Putting down the brush and feeling more in control of herself she readied herself to leave the sanctuary of her room, aware that she had dawdled overlong in the hope that she could quash the maddening bubble of excitement lodged in her chest. It apparently wasn't going to go away, but with a toss of her head, she marched from the room.

Meeting Morgan with Justin in his arms just outside the door to her rooms did nothing to restore her equilibrium. Her breath catching in her throat at the unexpected sight of him, she barely managed to stammer, "M-m-monsieur,
bon jour!"
Then feeling foolish she rushed on, "Mercy told me that you had returned. Did you enjoy your trip?"

Morgan hadn't known what his reactions would be when he saw Leonie again, but he had been fairly certain that anger would definitely be one of his emotions. What he hadn't expected was the painful tightening of his chest and the shocking feeling as if his heart had suddenly ceased to beat.

When he had finally fallen asleep, he had slept deeply and soundly, waking to the exuberant greeting Justin usually reserved for his mother. As soon as Justin had learned that his papa was home he had burst into the room, confident of his welcome, and had proceeded to jump and bounce on Morgan's big bed with such cheerful enthusiasm that Morgan pushed aside the thought of further sleep.

Justin was so patently delighted to see him that Morgan stilled the reprimand which had hovered on his lips and instead had found his arms full of a squirmy little boy. Hugging Morgan in a stranglehold, Justin had confessed disarmingly, "Ah, papa, I have missed you
so!"

A rush of emotion so fierce that it frightened him surged through Morgan's body as Justin hugged him, and hugging the child back he was conscious of how wonderful that warm, wiggling small form felt in his arms. How wonderful and how
right!
And in that moment he stopped fighting. Stopped trying to find reasons for keeping himself at a distance. Momentarily, he stilled the black suspicions that swirled in his brain and let himself be charmed by Justin.

And as he dressed, with Justin chatting merrily on a stool nearby, watching every move Morgan made, it occurred to him he could simply stop fighting the entire situation. Why not give in, and see where it led? He was so
damned
tired of looking for hidden snares, of seeing something sinister in everything that Leonie did.

Why
not
give in to the attraction he knew existed between them? And, he reflected sardonically as he shrugged into a form-fitting coat of tobacco brown, wouldn't a seeming capitulation throw his little wife into disorder?

The decision had seemed so simple when he had made it that morning and yet now that he had set the plan in motion, now that he was on the brink of carrying it out, he had second thoughts. Leonie was so appealing and enchanting as she stood there before him, the tawny curls tumbling carelessly about her slim shoulders and the green eyes so beguiling between the thick silky lashes, that for at least a second, Morgan's mind went blank. Blank except for the startling knowledge that he was, he very much feared, on the brink of falling in love with this infuriating little baggage.

Unconsciously clasping Justin tighter in his arms, he said slowly and truthfully, "No, I didn't enjoy my trip." Sending her a searching glance, he added, "It would have been much more pleasant if you and our son had been with me."

Leonie's eyes flew to his, puzzlement obvious in their depths. The deep blue eyes met hers steadily and she was suddenly aware of the thick, pounding beat of her heart. Shaken by what his words might mean, she swallowed and hastily looked away from his compelling gaze, saying hurriedly, "Justin missed you. Not a day went by that he didn't wish that you were home."

Justin nodded in happy agreement, his little arms squeezing Morgan's neck.
"Oui!
Papa I
did
miss you so much!"