Deceive Not My Heart

by Shirlee Busbee

  Snatching up his robe where it had fallen earlier, he shrugged into it and sparing one last look at Leonie, he left the room in a black mood. Why, he wondered grimly, is it my fate to fall in love with deceitful women?

  The question remained unanswered the remainder of the long night and when Morgan did finally fall asleep, he slept only fitfully, images of Leonie and Stephanie drifting in and out of his dreams. Even more disturbing was the return of the nightmare he hadn't experienced in years—he was filled with fear and he was riding desperately up the Natchez Trace, knowing that his son's life was hanging in balance. And as always in his recent nightmares, as he approached them, to his horror and pain, when he moved the still forms to discover their identities, the woman had Leonie's sweet face and the dead child lying at her side was Justin.

  A moan of anguished denial broke from him and Morgan woke up to find himself safely in his own bed, his body bathed in perspiration, his heart beating as if it were going to burst from his chest. Knowing it was foolish, and yet unable to deny the impulse he slid from the bed and walked into Leonie's rooms, a sigh of relief escaping as he stared at her sleeping form. Still driven by the reality of the dream, he left her room and quickly found his way to the nursery, where Justin lay sleeping in childish abandon.

  With a hand that shook slightly, Morgan reached out and touched the dark, tousled curls, aware that Justin had come to mean a great deal to him.

  The nightmare having faded, Morgan walked slowly back to his own rooms and this time when he slept, he slept dreamlessly, deeply, for the first time in weeks at peace with himself.

  If Morgan had momentarily found peace, the opposite was true for Leonie. Waking with soft, yellow rays of sunlight spilling into her room, she was both pleased and inordinately disappointed to find herself alone in the big bed. Gently her hand touched the snowy pillow where Morgan's head had rested and then angry with herself for giving in to a stupid rush of love for him, she jerked her hand away.

  Sitting bolt upright in bed, she rang for Mercy, pulling on the velvet bellrope with unnecessary violence. When Mercy arrived a few minutes later, her mood was not helped by the knowing glance Mercy gave the bed, the tangled sheets, as well as Leonie's naked state and the torn nightshift which clearly revealed that something had transpired during the night.

  A sly smile curving her full pink mouth, Mercy murmured, "And did Miz Leonie sleep well last night?"

  Leonie glared at her and muttered, "I want a bath, Mercy... and no prattling from you."

  Unruffled by Leonie's manner, Mercy chuckled and disappeared. Knowing the gossip Mercy would gaily spread as she oversaw the preparation for the bath, Leonie could have sworn with frustration and embarrassment.

  But there was nothing she could do about it and she grabbed the torn shift and bundled it into an unrecognizable knot. Feeling slightly better, she waited for her bath, wondering what the day would bring and, more importantly, how she would react when she saw her husband.

  That night had effectively destroyed whatever defenses she had been able to erect against him. Frightened of becoming his plaything and yet loving him, Leonie viewed the future with both terror and anticipation. Thinking of last night, remembering the touch of his hands on her body and the drugging sensuality of his kisses, she sighed with a mixture of pleasure and shame. I must not let that happen again, she decided unhappily.

  Mercy's return with the news that her bath was ready temporarily banished Leonie's troubled thoughts. Slipping into the brass tub of hot, soapy water, she forced herself not to think of last night. And yet when Mercy would have added some rosewater to the bath, Leonie said sharply, "Non! Not that one." Realizing that Mercy was staring at her in astonishment, she added hurriedly, "I think I would prefer lavender, it is less overpowering, don't you think?"

  Mercy shrugged her plump shoulders and did as she was told. Uh-huh. Miss Leonie was in a most peculiar mood this morning.

  Avoiding the quizzical expression in Mercy's gaze, Leonie silently finished her bath. Rising from the water, she was equally silent as Mercy handed her a fluffy white towel and began to briskly rub her dry.

  It was only when Mercy resignedly handed her the old yellow linen gown that Leonie spoke. Her voice filled with bitterness, she muttered, "At least you'll be happy—Monsieur has ordered several new gowns for me. They will be arriving sometime today and tonight, for once, you shall have a choice when it comes to selecting what I shall wear for the evening."

  Mercy's round, black face was instantly wreathed in smiles, but Leonie did not share her pleasure in the new clothing and after dragging on the old yellow gown and having her hair brushed, she left the room for the breakfast parlor in a belligerent mood. Her temper wasn't helped by the unwelcome knowledge that she had made no real effort to stop Monsieur Slade from having his way with her the night before.

  And I will call him monsieur! she thought with a tightening of the soft mouth, recalling with shame the way he had forced her to say his name. He is an unfeeling monster, she decided. Morgan had ruffled her fierce pride badly and she was determined to be as obstinate and stubborn as possible. He is not going to charm me.

  Sailing into the breakfast parlor ready to do battle, she suffered a check when she discovered the room was empty. A short conversation with the butler elicited the information that Monsieur Slade seldom ate breakfast, preferring a tray sent to his room.

  "And Mademoiselle Yvette?"

  "I believe that the mademoiselle is indisposed this morning," the butler returned.

  Instantly concerned, Morgan's tactics flying from her mind, she swept from the room and hurried up the stairs in search of Yvette. Entering Yvette's room a few seconds later, she was alarmed to find that young lady still abed.

  Crossing the charming room with its green and yellow decor, she swiftly approached the bed. "Ma petite! What is this I hear, that you do not feel well?" Leonie inquired anxiously.

  Propped up with several plump pillows, her face paler than usual, Yvette smiled wanly at Leonie. "It is nothing. I think perhaps something that I ate last night disagreed with me. I will be better tomorrow, you'll see."

  Laying her hand across one of Yvette's, Leonie peered closely at Yvette's features. "You are not lying to me?" she asked suspiciously, well aware that Yvette was perfectly capable of doing just that if she thought it would keep her from worrying.

  Yvette smiled weakly. A faint sparkle in the beautiful brown eyes, she murmured, "No, I am not lying." And when Leonie still looked unconvinced, she added, "Truly, Leonie! I am just a trifle indisposed. Tomorrow I shall be up and about. Do not worry so."

  It was easier for Yvette to say it than it was for Leonie to do it, but after several minutes more conversation with Yvette, Leonie was finally convinced that there was nothing seriously wrong with her half-sister. Sitting on the edge of Yvette's bed, Leonie stayed for quite some time. She told her of the new clothing that would be arriving and suggested that tomorrow Yvette might like to select several things for herself.

  Yvette looked hesitant and Leonie scowled at her fiercely. "You will share these things, Yvette! I do not want to hear any nonsense from you about how monsieur is my husband and that he doesn't need to provide for you, too."

  There was a note in Leonie's voice that made Yvette glance at her intently. "You did not want him to buy you anything, did you?" she asked shrewdly.

  Leonie avoided answering. "Bah! It doesn't make any difference what I want."

  Her lovely face worried, Yvette leaned forward. "Leonie," she began slowly, "I haven't wanted to intrude, but I can't help wondering if you are happy here. You have been acting very strangely. Are you sorry that you came to find Monsieur Slade?"

  With difficulty Leonie choked back a bitter answer and made some reply. But later after she left Yvette's room the question came back to haunt her. Was she sorry she had found Morgan Slade? She knew the answer to that question in her heart, and miserably she admitted that no matter what happened in the future, she wouldn'
t have missed knowing Morgan Slade for anything in the world.

  Chapter 23

  The clothes arrived that afternoon, and watching Mercy blissfully shake out and admire the delicate chemises, lacy nightgowns, and silky peignoirs, Leonie was hard pressed to remain indifferent to the lovely things scattered across the room. At least a half-dozen fashionable gowns were spread across the bed; the elegant amber-bronze ball gown had been reverently laid on a chair. There were several other articles of feminine apparel which had been included, but it was the filmy undergarments and nightwear which held the black woman's attention, and Leonie could have boxed Mercy's ears for the sly glances she sent her way.

  "My, my," Mercy exclaimed for the tenth time, "ain't we goin' to be fine! Uh-huh. Yes, indeedy, we is goin' to be fine!"

  Leonie shrugged and said tartly, "We is not going to be anything if you don't start putting some of this away!"

  Mercy shot her a look. "Somethin' sure is bitin' you, Miss Leonie."

  Aware that her resentment had nothing to do with Mercy, Leonie forced a smile and said lightly, "Oh, stop chattering and put those things away."

  "What? Before I've had a chance to inspect them?" Morgan asked from the connecting doorway.

  At the sound of his voice Leonie spun on her heels, her heart pounding. She had not seen him all day and if she hadn't known better she would have thought he was avoiding her. Not only had he not joined her in the breakfast parlor, he had sent word that he would also not be in for lunch, requesting a tray in his office.

  Leonie had debated the wisdom of bearding him there, but remembering the last time she had entered his office, she had decided against it. Consequently, she had spent a frustrating day, bottling up all the hot, angry words she longed to hurl at him. It hadn't helped to know that all she had to do was walk across the expanse of lawn that separated his office from the house to face him. Angry with herself for being a coward and furious with him for placing her in that position, her simmering temper was not the least bit soothed by her heart's reaction to his unexpected presence. He was so handsome in his bottle-green jacket and buff breeches. A crooked smile was curving his mouth and there was a mocking gleam in the blue eyes, almost as if he were aware of the frustration that had eaten at her all day and was laughing at her.

  Leonie took a deep breath as her hands unconsciously clenched into fists. With as much calm as she could muster, she said to Mercy, "Please leave us, Mercy. I wish to speak alone with Monsieur Slade."

  Morgan's eyes narrowed at the word monsieur. Walking slowly into the room, he agreed, saying, "Yes, do leave us, Mercy. I must teach my wife the proper way to say my name."

  Leonie flushed and Mercy, a speculative glint in her eyes, laid down the frothy confection of lace she had been holding and left the room.

  Alone, facing him, Leonie discovered that the abuses she had yearned to heap upon his head were scattering before the reality of his powerful presence. He has become so dear to me, she thought painfully; I love him and yet I must not! He is a blackguard, a man without honor who is not to be trusted and yet...

  Fighting the urgings of her heart, she was finally able to revive the rage she had kept tamped down, and glaring up at him, she said stiffly, "Monsieur, we must talk! This situation is intolerable and I will not allow it to continue."

  "My sentiments precisely," Morgan returned, as he flicked a finger through the pile of filmy garments Mercy had left on a small velvet sofa.

  The wind unexpectedly taken out of her sails, Leonie gaped at him, and then recovering herself, she asked suspiciously, "What do you mean by that? Are you going to repay my dowry?"

  Morgan regarded her thoughtfully. As if choosing his words with care, he said slowly, "I might. It depends on what you're willing to give in return."

  A frown creased her forehead. "I don't understand. I already have given you what was required—my hand in marriage."

  "But suppose," Morgan asked quietly, "I wanted you and Justin to stay with me?"

  Her heart knocking painfully against her ribs, an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, Leonie regarded him dumbly. She longed to shout out a joyous, unreserved yes, but caution held her back. Was this another trick? Was he only attempting to disarm her in order to gain some advantage?

  Leonie's distrust was not without foundation. The men in her life had done nothing to make her trust the male of the species. And Morgan's recent actions had done nothing to change her opinion. Why now should she consider for one moment the possibility of staying with him?

  Quite simply because her heart was blind to all reason. She loved this bewildering man, and more than anything she did indeed wish to be his wife. But her practical nature and her sensible mind were in direct and violent conflict with the demands of her wayward heart.

  Almost despairingly she got out, "Monsieur, I must have time to think. You have asked me no easy question and before I give you an answer, it is imperative that I consider many things."

  It was not the reply that he wanted and with a sinking heart she watched the way his face changed, the shuttered expression that came down over his proud features, and the cold glitter that entered the dark blue eyes.

  "I see," he said calmly, furious and yet almost relieved at her fencing. He hadn't meant to even mention a permanent arrangement, and if he was furious at Leonie for her reluctance to commit herself, he was equally furious at his own lack of control. Fool! he berated himself. Did you really think that last night changed anything? My God, how could you have been so stupid as to let the passions of the flesh blind you to reality? A bitter smile on his mouth, he made a bleak promise not to make that mistake again. And if it is love I feel for her, he thought viciously, I'll damn well kill it.

  All day long he had fought that particular battle within himself, fighting against the attraction he felt for her, trying to convince himself that he did not love her, that the admission he had made to himself last night had been some wild aberration brought on by the pleasure of her body. But when he had entered her room and had seen her, all his resolve had gone flying and he had spoken without thinking. Something that won't happen in the future, he decided grimly, his pride as well as his heart smarting under her rebuff. And the thought occurred to him again that perhaps there was a real husband lurking in the background. He found the idea unbearable, and conscious of an ugly jealousy, he turned away from her and walked over to the chair where the amber-bronze gown lay in regal splendor.

  "You'll wear this tonight when we attend the ball for Burr?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  "Ball? What ball?" Leonie inquired, her emotions thrown into confusion by his abrupt change of topic.

  Morgan cocked an eyebrow at her, and then realizing that he hadn't mentioned the fact that his mother had accepted the invitation for them, he smiled faintly and said, "My lamentable memory again, I'm afraid. There is a ball being held tonight to honor Aaron Burr, our ex-vice-president, and we are expected to attend."

  "Oh, but—" Leonie began to protest.

  Morgan stopped her by interrupting and saying, "We will attend, my dear, and I will accept no excuses." A sardonic expression on his face, he added, "I think it is time we made our first public appearance and put an end to the wagging tongues, don't you?"

  Her features stormy, Leonie returned, "Bah! What do I care about wagging tongues?"

  Morgan strode over to her and said in a dangerous tone, "You may not, but my family has had to put up with a great deal of scandal they could have well done without. Our argument aside, I believe you owe it to them to make some amends. Attending this ball will do much to stop speculation, and Leonie," he finished with a hard glint in the blue eyes, "we are going to the ball tonight."

  Rebellion sparkling in her eyes, Leonie debated the wisdom of defying him, but something about the set of his jaw made her decide that this was not the time to declare war. With a meekness that was a direct variance with the expression on her face, she capitulated. Shrugging a shoulder,
she turned away from him and said, "Oh, very well, monsieur, I will go to your silly ball. And I will behave very prettily. Does that satisfy you?"

  A sudden hint of laughter in his voice he reached out and spun her around. "Cat-eyes, I thought last night you had learned my name. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to say it so soon... or is it you would like another lesson?"

  Leonie spluttered, but Morgan's mouth effectively stopped further speech as his lips came down hard on hers. He kissed her thoroughly and only when Leonie was limp in his arms did he lift his mouth from hers. He looked down into her bemused face and murmured, "Does that make you remember? Can you say Morgan, or must I give you further lessons?"

  The sea-green eyes spitting golden flecks, Leonie glowered up at him, but aware of what would follow if she continued to defy him, she muttered, "I have not forgotten, mon—M-M-Morgan."

  Morgan sighed. "Pity," he said regretfully. "You are such a delightful pupil."

  Leonie blushed and Morgan laughed aloud. Flicking a careless finger down her hot cheek, he said, "There are things I must do before this evening, so for the time being, my prickly little cat, I shall leave you to preen amongst your spoils." Before Leonie could think of a scathing reply, he turned and left the room.

  Furious with her own helplessness, Leonie stamped her foot in rage, wondering if she dared to ignore his command to attend the ball. Remembering the hard blue eyes and unyielding chin she decided against it—the uneasy feeling that it would be foolish indeed to ignore what he had said was too persistent.

  Consequently, trying very hard to remain unmoved and indifferent to the excitement that was coursing through her veins at the idea of attending her first ball, she permitted Mercy to have full rein. And when the grinning black woman finally stepped back and turned Leonie in the direction of the tall mirror at one end of the room, Leonie's breath caught in her throat.