Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3)

by Busbee, Shirlee

  Already excited and eager for his touch, with every probing kiss he bestowed, she became even more deeply aroused. His mouth seemed to be everywhere, and he made it clear that she pleased him immensely, his husky words of delight building the aching heat within her into a powerful inferno. He was seducing her, she thought giddily, with not only his touch, but his eyes and his words, making her aware of her body in a way that she had never known possible. Her breathing was labored, every inch of her skin on fire where his lips had touched. When his mouth slid even lower across her stomach, when his hands parted her thighs and his wickedly searching lips found her, his tongue seeking the most secret part of her, her reaction was everything that Hugh could have wished.

  Micaela felt as if she had been seared by fire—a flame so sweet and so intense that she arched up uncontrollably, her fingers clutching his dark head, pulling him and his exquisite exploring mouth closer to her. What he was doing was unthinkable, surely depraved, but she found that she could not stop him, that she did not want to stop him....

  Her scent was in his nostrils, her taste upon his tongue and lifting her hips, Hugh continued his leisurely, explicit explorations between the soft, delicate folds of flesh. A feral smile curved his lips when she let out a shaken moan, and his hands tightened on her hips when she jerked and trembled under his bold caresses.

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, gripped by the most incredible sensations-she had ever experienced, Micaela writhed beneath his caresses. She was feverish and trembling, frightened and thrilled by what he was doing, her nerves seeming to coil and bunch in the most exciting way possible. She felt on the brink of some new and terrifying discovery, and when it happened, when pleasure such as she had never even dreamed exploded through her, she jammed a fist in her mouth to muffle the scream which rose up inside of her.

  Hugh felt her response, heard the hushed scream of delight, and a tight smile crossed his face. He kissed her throbbing flesh one last time and eased up over her damp body. Taking her fist from her mouth, he said, "I want to hear you, my love. I want, I need to know that I have pleased you. There will be no more secrets between us." His warm glance traveled down her generous curves revealed in the pale glow of the sunlight which dappled the room. "You are incredibly lovely. And always remember that the sight of your body gives me great pleasure—never be ashamed of what nature gave you." He kissed her and murmured against her mouth, "Remember, too, that I want your hands on me—that my body is yours to explore at will. I want you to drive me mad with your touch." Brushing back a tendril of hair that had fallen across her brow, he stared down into her stunned, sated eyes.

  A wicked glint suddenly lit his gaze. "Of course, if you would rather follow Tante Marie's dictates..."

  Almost too weak to move, loving him more than she had thought possible, Micaela ran a caressing finger down his lean cheek. "I think," she said softly, "that Tante Marie has absolutely no idea what she is talking about."

  "Excellent!" Hugh said as he angled himself between her legs. He kissed her hungrily, and, when her arms went around his neck and her body eagerly arched up to meet his, Hugh knew a sweet joy. His wife loved him—and just as important—wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Chapter 22

  If Hugh and Micaela thought that they had been happy before, that afternoon showed them the error of their thinking. Micaela discovered for the first time, truly discovered, the joys that could be found in the marriage bed with a loving, virile husband. And Hugh? To his ever-expanding delight, Hugh discovered again the passionate, sensual creature he had only glimpsed the day that he had been shot.

  It was late afternoon before they finally rose from Hugh's bed and Hugh proceeded to scandalize Micaela—but not to any great degree—by joining her in a freshly prepared tub. Bathing with her husband, she discovered, could be most invigorating. With more than a little regret, they finally dressed and descended the staircase to see how their guests had fared.

  Of François and Alain there was no sign, but they found Lisette, John, and Jean sitting on the shady side of the house in several comfortable rocking chairs which, at Micaela's request, had been rescued from the pile of old furnishings left stacked in one of the barns and newly repainted a gleaming dark green. From the expressions on the three faces, it was apparent that they had been discussing something serious, but at the sight of their hosts, they began to smile and talk animatedly about the coming wedding. Hugh eyed them. If he did not know better, he would think that there was a plot of some sort under way, at the very least a secret between the suspiciously bright and suddenly voluble trio.

  But as the evening passed, Hugh forgot about his earlier observations and set himself out to be an exemplary host, considering that he had abandoned his guests all afternoon to dally in bed with his wife—something he planned to do again at the first possible moment. Down the long expanse of the table, he glanced at her, a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. The sultry look she returned and the promise in that dark-eyed gaze almost made him choke on his wine. Had he, he wondered with a pleasurable ache in his loins, created an insatiable wanton? He certainly hoped so.

  Too preoccupied with thoughts of what he would like to do with Micaela as soon as they could decently bid their guests good evening, Hugh only noticed in passing that Alain's presence had not seemed to have lightened François's mood. If anything François seemed more tense and somber. But having other things on his mind, Hugh promptly pushed further speculation away. There was only one person who held his attention, and if she did not stop throwing him those come-hither glances, he was going to shock everyone by acting the part of the libertine with his very own wife.

  After dinner, Alain and François had made plans to visit with some friends who lived on the next plantation over. Their absence was welcomed by everyone—Hugh and Micaela because it meant that they could escape upstairs earlier and the other three because it gave them an opportunity to have a particularly sensitive conversation with their hosts.

  The five of them, escaping the heat of the house, were sitting out under a pair of magnolia trees, the sweet scent of the blossoms lingering in the warm air. To keep the mosquitoes at bay, several small pots of brimstone had been lit, and it seemed to be an effective deterrent against the swarming pests. A lantern had been hung in each tree and they shed flickering circles of light in the darkness. There was a welcome breeze from the river's direction, and the croak of frogs and the occasional roar of a bull alligator drifted through the night.

  The conversation was desultory at first as they sat in the dancing shadows, watching the lightning bugs flit in the distance. But as the minutes passed Hugh became aware of a note of strain in Lisette's voice. John glanced at her. Covering her hand with his, he leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Lisette shook her head vehemently.

  Jean was also looking at her with an encouraging expression on his face. Hugh's eyes narrowed. What the devil?

  Her mother's growing strain had not gone unnoticed by Micaela, who asked, "Maman, are you all right? Do you have the headache?"

  Lisette looked across the brief shadowy expanse which separated them, Micaela's face a pale, sweet cameo in the faint light from the lanterns. "No," she said slowly. "I feel fine." She glanced uneasily between John and Jean, and, at some unspoken signal between them, she took a deep breath and declared solemnly, "I have something to tell you—something that will shock you. It is a secret I've held for over twenty years."

  John's hand tightened on Lisette's. Staring at them, Hugh suddenly had an inkling of what Lisette was going to say—something he should have suspected the minute he had heard the tale of the long-ago love affair between the pair of them and saw that elusive dimple of Micaela's. Rising to his feet, he went to stand near Micaela's chair, his hand lying protectively on her shoulder.

  Unaware of the tension invading the others, Micaela glanced up at Hugh and smiled. Affectionately she rubbed her soft cheek against Hugh's warm hand before looking back at her mother and askin
g, "What is it, Maman? What could you possibly tell me that would shock me?" She laughed. "Especially something that happened before I was born." The instant the words left her mouth, Micaela felt a stab of unease. Lisette's affair with John Lancaster had happened before she was born... and it had ended an indecently short time before her mother had married Renault.... Her eyes suddenly fixed on the couple across from her, she demanded, "What? Tell me!"

  Baldly, Lisette said, "Renault Dupree is not your father. I was pregnant when I married him. John Lancaster is your father."

  Micaela gasped, and Hugh's hand closed around her shoulder. Unconsciously, her hand joined his, and she clung to him as if he were the only stable thing in her universe.

  The silence which followed Lisette's confession was deafening as Micaela stared first at her mother and then at John Lancaster. With pain in her gaze, she finally looked at Jean. "You knew?" she asked.

  Jean nodded, his face grave.

  She swallowed with difficulty as the real meaning of Lisette's words pounded in her brain. She had lived a lie her whole life. Papa was not Papa. Jean was not her uncle. The Dupree blood, the ancestors that she had thought were hers, were not. Had never been. She was a bastard child, only Lisette's providential marriage having saved her from disgrace and shame. Too stunned even to cry, Micaela sat there, staring dazedly into the darkness.

  It was John Lancaster who broke the uncomfortable silence. "We do not intend for this to become public knowledge," he said gently. When Micaela stiffened and looked at him incredulously, he said hastily, "Not because I would not be proud and honored for everyone to know that I have such a lovely daughter, but because I do not want you to suffer the humiliation and pain that would arise if everyone knew the truth."

  "It is no one's business," Jean murmured quickly, "but ours. We five are the only people who know the truth and will be the only ones who ever know the truth." When Micaela's features remained frozen, he added quietly, "We meant you no harm, petite, by telling you—we felt it was only fair for you and Hugh to know the identity of your real father." He smiled fondly at Micaela. "This really changes nothing, ma chérie. I trust that you will still consider me your uncle—I know that I will always think of you as my niece."

  Micaela nodded numbly in his direction, her thoughts and emotions spiraling dizzily through her brain. Some of the first shock was leaving, and there was curiosity in her gaze when she looked at John Lancaster. He was her father, she thought stunned. This tall, likable Américain with the whimsical smile was her father.

  "How long have you known about me?" she asked in a small voice.

  A tender, eager smile crossed John's face. "Not as long as I would have wished." He flashed a warm glance at Lisette's taut face. "Your mother, for obvious reasons, did not tell me until this afternoon. It was," he said softly, "the most wonderful news I could ever have received, next to your mother agreeing to marry me." He sighed. "I just wish that I had known sooner—we missed a great deal, you and I. But I am hoping that you will allow me privately to take up the duties and delights of fatherhood and that perhaps eventually you will look at me with affection." Their eyes met. "I do not intend to force myself upon you. We shall move slowly into our new relationship, you may set the pace. The last thing that I want is to make you uncomfortable or miserable. I, we, all want only your happiness."

  Micaela smiled. He was charming, this father of hers, she admitted with a funny little spurt of pleasure. She felt so strange, not exactly excited, not precisely sad, certainly confused and perplexed, but not in a painful way any longer. With every passing moment, her initial dismay and hurt was fading. John Lancaster was her father! Somehow that knowledge did not displease her. The more she considered it, the more she liked the idea. Her father was not dead—he was sitting right across from her. And he was going to marry her maman in just a few weeks.

  "Are you very angry with me?" Lisette asked, her eyes filled with anxiety. "I-I-I never meant to lie to you—it was just that it seemed best for you, for all of us, if you believed Renault was your father." A tiny sob came from Lisette. "Oh, petite, please do not hate me! I did not mean to harm you."

  Micaela's heart melted at her mother's distress. Slipping across the short distance that separated them, she sank to her knees by Lisette's chair. Smiling up at Lisette, she said simply, "Maman! How could I hate you or condemn what you did? It did not harm me. You did what you thought was right at the time." She looked over at John Lancaster and sent him a dazzling smile. "It is a good thing that you are marrying my maman—when I call you 'Papa' no one will wonder at it!"

  "Oh, ma chérie!" Lisette cried, hugging Micaela. "I have been so afraid. It has been a terrible burden."

  "But one you no longer have to carry by yourself," Micaela murmured. "We will all share it now, oui?"

  Misty-eyed, Lisette nodded, John's hand held tightly in one hand, Micaela's in the other.

  With a twinkle in his eyes, Hugh walked over to the trio. Helping his wife to stand, he glanced at John. "I seem to remember," he said lightly, "saying something to the effect that I was glad you had not married Lisette, that if you had, my adorable wife would not have been born. It seems that I must rephrase that statement and thank you most sincerely for having had the foresight to have created the woman I love more than I can say."

  Micaela beamed up at him. "What a handsome thing to say, mon amour."

  Hugh grinned at her. "I am a very handsome fellow, remember?"

  "Bon!" Jean said with a note of relief. "It seems that we have managed to cover the rough ground lightly enough, and I, for one, think some brandy would not come amiss right now." He smiled. "A celebratory partaking, of course."

  * * *

  Later that night, as they lay in bed together, Micaela asked softly, "You do not mind that your stepfather is my papa?"

  Hugh chuckled and pulled her closer. "Mind? Sweetheart, when are you going to learn that I think you are perfect. That it doesn't matter a damn to me who your parents are. All I care about is that I have you. You are my wife and I love you and you love me. Nothing else matters."

  Pleased and extremely gratified, Micaela kissed him. She started to speak and then, as if deciding against something, snuggled down next him. But Hugh had seen her expression, and, nudging her slightly, he murmured, "What? Is there something else on your mind?"

  Micaela sat up and stared down into his beloved features. "We talk about many things," she began carefully, "and there are now few secrets between us, but the one thing you never talk about to me, is the very thing that brought us together—the troubles at our company."

  Hugh looked uncomfortable. "I did not want to worry you," he offered lamely.

  Micaela snorted. "You forget that it is my company, too, mon cher. That whatever happens to it affects me greatly. Should I not know what is going on—what you have found out, or have not? And how serious the problem is? Or how you intend to correct it? You tell me nothing, yet my future, our future, is linked to the affairs of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. Do you not think that now that we have resolved our personal problems, it is time that we resolve the difficulties of the company?"

  Hugh was quiet for a long time, turning her words over in his head. What Micaela had said was true. Everything. She was right—there should be no secrets between them... not if their marriage was to become a true partnership.

  "Trust you to put your finger directly on the delicate issue," he said ruefully. Having conceded the wisdom of her words, he proceeded to tell her everything that he had discovered; the method that had been used systematically to rob the company, and his suspicions that one of the owners might be behind it all.

  "Even my oncle or François?" Micaela asked, shocked at such a thought.

  Hugh shrugged. "It is possible. I no longer think your uncle is involved, although I did in the beginning. And as for Jasper—I never did suspect him."

  "But you still suspect François?"

  "Unless I am mistaken, he still owes Husson a large sum
of money. And one way to pay off his debts would be to help himself to the company's goods. It is not implausible."

  "But unlikely!" Micaela said stoutly, unwilling to believe that François would stoop to stealing from his family.

  "Not really. He probably would not even consider it stealing—merely taking what is already his."

  "You believe this?"

  "I hope that I am wrong. I would like," he answered grimly, "for Husson to turn out to be our thief. It would make things so much tidier."

  Micaela looked troubled. "I do not want to believe that François would do such a thing, but I cannot deny that there might be some truth in what you say. François is very spoiled—his wishes have been seldom thwarted—and unfortunately, I could see him justifying his actions. But I cannot see him committing cold-blooded murder, nor," she added frankly, "being brazen enough to steal the vast amounts that have been stolen lately. A little pilfering, oui, but not—" She glanced at Hugh. "Do you really think that Alain could be behind everything—the thefts and"—she shuddered—"poor Etienne's murder?"

  "You know him better than I—what do you think?"

  Micaela's face became thoughtful. Uneasily, she remembered the look in Alain's eyes the night he had forced himself upon her. It had been a most unpleasant look, and there had been something, something extremely ugly and brutal about his actions that night. Slowly she nodded. "I think that in the right circumstances, Alain would make a bad enemy, that he might very well be capable of committing murder."

  "So what do we do? Cast him out of our house? Accuse him?"

  Micaela sent him a look. "Casting him out of our house or accusing him of being a thief and a murderer without proof would only provoke another duel, and I will not have you risking your life so foolishly." She kissed him soundly. "I do not intend to become a young widow."