Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  The sound of an opening door behind her decided the question. Without thinking, her mouth dry as dust, Leonie simply leaped blindly through the doorway of the room nearest her. Pray God it is empty, she thought earnestly.

  Chapter 5

  It wasn't. But Leonie didn't know that as she stood with her back against the door, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

  The room was in darkness, a pitch-black gloom meeting Leonie's gaze. She let her breath out in a long, shuddering sigh, giving up a small prayer of thankfulness that her luck had held and she had found herself in an empty room. An empty room with a pair of French doors, which seemed to offer an avenue of escape. She had just taken one step towards the doors when a man's voice froze her in her tracks.

  "I was wondering if Gayoso had forgotten about me," Morgan said lazily as he reached out to touch Leonie, thinking she was the woman that Gayoso had offered.

  Sleep had been the only thought on Morgan's mind when he had entered his room, but after stripping off his evening clothes and lying naked on the bed in the darkness, he had found his thoughts straying down a forbidden path. Stephanie's face swam in front of his eyes, her mouth laughing at him, her body taunting him, and then horrifyingly, Phillippe's dead form was suddenly there before him. With a curse, he had risen from the bed and slipped on his black velvet robe.

  A stiff brandy from the decanter on a small table near the French doors did little to soothe the ache in his heart or to calm his anger against his dead wife. With a vicious movement he poured another brandy and swallowed it swiftly, the slow burn of the liquid as it slid down his throat helping to drive out the unwanted memories.

  Sleep was impossible and needing some way to vent the bitter emotions that ate at his vitals, he wished for the first time that he had told Gayoso to send a woman. A woman had caused his pain; another woman could give him temporary oblivion.

  He had just set the brandy snifter down and had walked across the room to put on some clothes and go in search of company, when Leonie had entered the room. Morgan had no clear picture of her, just a glimpse of tawny hair and a firm bosom bursting from the confines of the dark gown she wore. It was enough, though, in his present state of mind—whores did have their uses, he thought cynically as he walked towards the woman and had spoken the words that sent Leonie's heart leaping in her throat.

  Precisely what he had meant, Leonie wasn't certain—she only knew she wanted out of this room and out of the governor's residence immediately! Clutching the reticule tightly in her hand, she made a desperate attempt to bluff her way clear. Stammering in her nervousness, she blurted out, "Oh! M-m-monsieur, y-y-you frightened me! I-I-I think I must be in the wrong room. I-I-I shall leave at once."

  Morgan's hand reached out of the darkness and lightly touched Leonie's shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. He felt the start she gave and he laughed softly, "Don't be nervous, petite, I won't hurt you. And believe me, if Gayoso sent you, you are in the right room." He started to turn away from a paralyzed Leonie, saying, "Let me light a candle so we have some idea who we're talking to."

  Leonie's strangled, "Don't!" stopped him instantly.

  Swinging back to her in the darkness, he put his hands on either side of her shoulders and murmured softly, "Well, that's fine with me, if you prefer it." His voice suddenly growing husky at the memory of the sight of those tempting white breasts above her gown, he said, "You prefer to remain a mystery woman, then?"

  Leonie swallowed painfully, too conscious of the man in front of her and of his hands that could so easily hold her prisoner. Still fencing for time, still not quite certain where this curious conversation was leading, she muttered, "Believe me, monsieur, I am a mystery woman, and I shall always be one. If monsieur will allow me, I—" Leonie had intended to inform Morgan that she would leave, but Morgan wasn't interested in talking and his mouth found hers.

  Leonie's mouth was soft with surprise and astonishment as Morgan's lips slowly explored hers, but then as the impact of what he was doing exploded through her brain, she jerked her head back and burst out with a shocked, "Monsieur! What do you think you are doing?"

  If Gayoso hadn't implied he would send a woman to his room, if Morgan's head had been clear of the alcohol he had consumed during the evening, and if he hadn't just been thinking of his dead wife, the fact that this woman was acting oddly for a whore might have occurred to him. But as it was, he was certain she was merely playing a game with him, teasing him for her own purposes, and jerking her into his arms he said against her mouth, "I think we've wasted long enough on the introductions. Remain a mystery if you wish, but for God's sake quit acting so damned coy!"

  Leonie didn't have time to give her indignant reply, for Morgan's mouth came down on hers once more and this time there was no escape, his lips ruthlessly parting hers as his tongue, like a dart of flame, plundered her unprepared mouth. Stunned by the intimacy of the kiss—nothing in her life, so far, having given her any indication that this was the way of a man with a woman—Leonie stood momentarily motionless, her hands trapped between their bodies. She had never had this close contact with a man before in her life, and as Morgan's mouth possessed hers, his hands holding her prisoner against him, she became conscious of a number of things about a man. For one thing, he was infinitely stronger than a woman, which she discovered instantly when she tried to free herself from this unwelcome embrace; for another, he smelled faintly of tobacco and brandy, and for another, soft hair grew on his muscled chest—she could feel it brushing her breasts where they rose above her gown.

  As this stranger in this darkened room of the governor's residence hungrily possessed Leonie's mouth, his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her even closer to his warm body, and his other hand slid up her neck, his fingers deftly undoing the pins that held the tawny mane captive. Released from its confines the bright hair cascaded down around her shoulders, and leaving her mouth for a moment, the man buried his face in the sweet-smelling strands of hair.

  "Lovely, lovely," he murmured into the soft curls, his hand gently, persuasively kneading her neck. His lips traveling back across her cheek, searching for her mouth, he muttered, "Jesus! Am I grateful that Gayoso sent you to me! Come along, sweetheart, let's see just how pleasantly we can spend the rest of the evening."

  Most of what this unknown man said made little sense to Leonie, and she was so frightened and bewildered by what was happening that for just a few minutes she had been paralyzed with shock, her brain numb with fear. But when he suddenly swept her up in his arms and began to carry her across the room, she was instantly galvanized with terror and determination. "Non! Monsieur put me down! There is some mistake... you do not understand," she cried, some of her fear evaporating as her ready temper rose.

  The man laughed. "The only mistake, petite, would be if I didn't do precisely what I intend to. And the only thing I don't understand is why you persist in this game." He kissed her hard on the mouth and added, "But it is a delightful game; play it if you wish."

  The darkness of the room hid their features from one another, Leonie was aware only that the man was tall and strong, his skin was warm to her touch, and his voice was cultured and deep. A pleasing voice, she would have thought under different circumstances, but just now, when one of his hands strayed to her breasts and took shocking liberties, she was both frightened and furious. As for Morgan, he had an advantage over Leonie—he had seen a brief glimpse of her hair and body before she had entered the room, though he had no idea what her face looked like. She was soft, she was small, and the feel of her in his arms was incredibly desirable, his body hardening as she struggled against him.

  One hand slipped inside the neckline of her gown and, finding her nipple his fingers gently rolled and caressed it, the feel of a man's hand on her breast sending an odd quiver through Leonie's entire body. "Mon Dieu!" she gasped. "What are you doing to me?"

  Morgan laughed, and leaving her nipple his fingers were suddenly busy with the fastenings of
her gown. Before Leonie guessed what he was about, she discovered her gown was being swiftly and efficiently taken off.

  Everything was happening too fast for her to comprehend; new emotions were fighting with the urge to escape and the fear of discovery. She was frightened, she was angry, and she was being plunged into sensations she wasn't prepared for. And being Leonie she reacted the only way she knew how—she fought.

  Unfortunately, her opponent was too intent upon possessing the firm young body that strained against his to question her struggles and he was far too strong to be stopped by her frantic thrashing and poundings. His robe had joined her gown and chemise on the floor by the bed and in a matter of seconds his hard warm body was pressed intimately against Leonie's.

  For Leonie it was a disturbing experience. She was frightened, she was furious, her emotions were in a jumble—one part of her curious at her body's reactions to the intimacies this strange man was taking, another part of her horrified and repulsed, and yet another part strangely aroused by his touch.

  What precisely went on between a man and a woman had never been explained to Leonie. Who had there ever been to tell her—the cook at Chateau Saint-Andre? Her grandfather? But that didn't mean she didn't have some idea what was happening. She had grown up exploring the swamps near Chateau Saint-Andre and she had seen the spring matings of the animals that inhabited the watery woodlands, as well as the procreation of the livestock at the plantation. But that scant knowledge did nothing to prepare her for what this stranger was doing to her.

  His mouth seemed everywhere, even on her breasts, and his hands were even more bold and brazen as they roamed her body. Her struggles to free herself seemed to please him rather than the opposite; as she arched up against his chest to escape the caress of his hand, it traveled down her back to curve around one firm buttock and pull her even closer to him. With amazement and shock Leonie felt a warm shaft of flesh press insistently against her stomach, and despite the welter of emotions that rioted in her breasts, she felt a queer jolt of pleasure shoot through her veins. What is happening to me? she wondered in a daze. And then she stiffened with shock when one of his hands slipped between her thighs and touched her gently there, where her thighs joined her body.

  Morgan was a practiced lover and knew what he was doing, and as his fingers caressed and explored Leonie there, a small pant of pleasure and surprise escaped from her. "Ah, monsieur..." she cried softly, and Morgan knew he couldn't wait much longer before taking her.

  His lips caught hers in a deep, probing kiss and gently he shifted his weight, his knees nudging hers apart as his body slid between her thighs. His hands lifted her hips slightly, and then with a groan of pleasure, he buried himself in the soft, warm flesh of the woman beneath him.

  Leonie felt one sharp stab of pain, which instantly subsided into a dull ache as the man moved upon her, his body thrusting urgently into hers. Stunned, unable to believe what was happening to her, she lay with an unnatural placidness beneath him, so staggered and devastated by what was taking place that she could no longer fight this unknown man who had just taken her virginity.

  That the woman didn't respond while he took his pleasure came as no surprise to Morgan—few whores did more than just lend their bodies for a man's use, and he assumed that was what this particular whore was doing at the moment. But her body was so warm and sweet that he didn't want to believe that of this one, and with a strange compulsion his lips crushed hers even more passionately, his hands tightening with exquisite enjoyment around the firm young hips.

  The initial shock and horror of this forceful taking of her body was fading, and when Morgan's hands tightened around her hips, Leonie began to struggle once again, her body surging up to meet his, to throw him off of her if she could. Frantically she tried to free her mouth, twisting her head from side to side, but it was no use; then furiously she beat her small fists against his bare shoulders, but that too was no use.

  For Morgan, the thrashings of the warm, silken body beneath him were suddenly more than he could bear, and with a long, shuddering moan, he released himself into the woman. Satiated and yet curiously dissatisfied, he slid off her body, wondering if he would ever again experience the exquisite fulfillment that had been his during the first years of his marriage. Then his mouth hardened and he cursed under his breath. God damnit! Would he ever stop thinking of Stephanie?

  And because he was angry and disgusted with himself, his voice was harsh as he said, "You can leave now. There is some gold on the chest near the door, you can have it all."

  Leonie was already in motion before Morgan spoke and she slid from the bed, scrambling frantically around in the darkness for her clothes. Finding them, she dragged on the clothes with shaking fingers and wasted a moment longer groping around for her reticule with the precious vowels, which had fallen to the floor when this abominable blackguard had swung her up into his arms. As for his gold... with glittering sea-green eyes, she stalked to the chest and reached for the coins. Her fingers closed around the gold and with short, jerky movements she came near the bed again.

  She could barely make out his dark shape as he lay on the bed, but taking good aim, she flung the coins with all her might in the direction of his face and spat, "Keep your damned gold! You haven't enough to pay me for what you did!" Then spinning on her heels, she tore over to the French doors, wrenched them open, and ran out into the night.

  The coins stung as they hit his face, and with a snarl of pain and growing anger, Morgan sprang up and raced to the French doors through which the woman had disappeared. She was nowhere in sight as he looked out into the courtyard, and shaking his head, he walked slowly back to his bed. Who could understand women? he thought with puzzlement. The amount of gold on the chest had been more than generous so it wasn't because he had underpaid her. So why?

  Almost absently he lit a candle that was on a small table near his bed and surveyed the room. His robe lay in a black heap where he had thrown it, but it was the gleam of the fine gold chain against its darkness that drew him. Bending over he picked up the chair and discovered an intricate, unusually fashioned crucifix hanging from it.

  Thoughtfully he regarded it, and remembering the struggle as they had undressed, he decided it must belong to his little whore. He smiled, remembering her fit of temper, and was intrigued in spite of himself—whores did not refuse money, and few wore costly gold crucifixes. He came to the conclusion that he would like to see this increasingly fascinating little creature who had briefly shared his bed.

  He turned away, intending to snuff out the candle, when his gaze fell upon the bed, his eyes widening with shock as he surveyed the telltale bloodstains. Well, I'll be damned, he thought half-angrily. A virgin! No wonder she didn't take the gold!

  Then he frowned. What the hell was Gayoso doing providing virgins for casual guests? And why had the girl agreed to it, only to throw his money back into his face?

  The thought that he had so carelessly taken the girl left Morgan unsettled and vaguely regretful. He hadn't been particularly brutal in his lovemaking, but if he had known she was a virgin, he might have taken more time and been less concerned with his own pleasure. And then again, if he had known, he might not have taken her at all—virgins being firmly connected in his mind with marriage. He was not the type of man to roam the countryside with a view to deflowering every maiden who appeared on his horizon. If anything he held the opposite view—an experienced woman was far less trouble and could give a man a far more enjoyable evening. No, Morgan did not hunger after virgins, his one virgin until tonight having been his wife, and he would have been perfectly content to keep it that way.

  Feeling somehow that he had been betrayed, Morgan snuffed out the candle and went back to bed. Jesus, but I'll be glad to leave here and see Jason tomorrow! And Gayoso is going to have some explaining to do, he thought sleepily.

  But in the morning when Morgan woke, he discovered that Gayoso was never going to explain anything to anyone again—the governor
had died during the night.

  Dumbfounded and disturbed by the news, any thought of a novice whore vanished from his mind. Feeling decidedly de trop in the face of Gayoso's unexpected and tragic death, as soon as he had paid his condolences to the governor's grieving widow, Morgan had vacated the premises and headed immediately to the Beauvais townhouse on the chance that Jason was staying in the city. He wasn't, but that news didn't perturb Morgan—he had been fairly certain that his friend would be at the Beauvais plantation. Without further waste of time, he hired a carriage and made arrangements for his things to be picked up at the governor's residence and delivered to the Beauvais plantation. Then riding a hired hack, he set out for Beauvais.

  A long drive, lined with moss-hung oaks, led to Beauvais, the trees ending suddenly before the tall, white-columned mansion. At Morgan's arrival, a small Negro boy ran up and grabbed the reins of his horse, holding the animal as Morgan dismounted.

  After tossing the boy a coin, Morgan asked, "Is Mr. Savage at home?"

  Before the boy could answer, another voice rang out, "Mon Dieu! You certainly took your sweet time getting here!"

  His dark face lit by a grin, Morgan turned to find his friend Jason Savage standing at the top of the broad steps that led to the cool galleries of the house. Morgan nodded his head ruefully, admitting, "I know, I know. But damnit, Jas, I made the mistake of calling upon Gayoso as soon as I reached the city, and what does he do but insist I stay with him for a few days." His grin fading, he said bluntly, "He's dead. He apparently overindulged himself with liquor last night and died. It gave me a shock, I can tell you!"

  "What?" Jason cried, his lean face revealing the shock of Morgan's news. "But he can't be. I spoke with him only last week."

  "I know," Morgan said. "But it's true. I was with him last night playing cards, and he seemed fine then." His expression distasteful, he added, "Our friend Wilkinson was there and I'll admit there was some heavy drinking, but nothing that seemed more than usual to me." He shook his head. "One never knows though, does one?"