Infuriated by Mercy's defection, Leonie rounded on Morgan. "How dare you order my servants about! I will tell them what I want them to do—not you!"
"You'd rather she stay and be a witness to the argument I'm certain is about to take place?" Morgan retorted, walking further into the room.
Her hands tightening on the rose gown, Leonie felt a shaft of frustration surge through her veins. Was he never wrong? she wondered. Aloud, she said, "Bah! I'm surprised you show such restraint, monsieur. Or did you do it simply to humiliate me in front of her?"
His lean jaw clenching, refusing to be drawn, he replied evenly, "What an odd assessment of my character you've made. Someday you really must tell me what I have done to make you think I would enjoy humiliating you under any circumstances."
Leonie flushed; on the defensive and not liking it at all, she asked pointedly, "What do you want? Why are you here now?"
For just a second Morgan let his eyes roam appreciatively over her silk-clad body, the soft yellow negligee clinging revealingly to her slender form. "I could say that I came to make love to you..." he said and when Leonie stiffened and backed away from him, he sighed and added, "but that isn't the case. I wanted to see that agreement you claimed I signed. The one that supposedly waivers my rights to the marriage bed."
Disappointed and yet relieved that he hadn't come to subject her to his devastating lovemaking, Leonie dropped the rose satin gown and brushing past Morgan she walked stiffly over to a small table near her bed. Opening the drawer she extracted a paper and handed it to him, uncertain how she would feel if he said he intended to abide by the agreement.
A tense silence filled the room as Morgan read the document. It stated simply that the marriage between Leonie Saint-Andre and Morgan Slade entered into on July 26,1799 was to be a marriage of convenience. Morgan Slade agreed that the marriage was to be in name only, that he would not now or in the future make any attempt to exert his conjugal rights. For a long time, Morgan stared at the bold, scrawling signature. It was his—even he could recognize that—or rather an extremely clever forgery.
Glancing over at Leonie with hard eyes, he bit out, "I might have been able to convince myself that maybe I did get drunk one night and married you—but there is no way in hell that I would have signed such a document." Not giving Leonie time to reply, he walked over to where the rose satin gown lay in a bright heap on the floor. Picking it up, he ordered, "Put it on. I want to see how you looked. I want to see if seeing you as you were when you claimed we married jars my memory."
"Monsieur, this is ridiculous!" Leonie burst out. "I do not understand what you are saying. What do you mean that I claim we are married? We are, monsieur—I have all the documents to prove it!"
"So you've said all along, cat-eyes, but there's just one thing wrong," Morgan growled, "I didn't marry you! And I'm tired of this game we have been playing the past few weeks—it's time things were settled between us. Now put on the damned gown or I'll strip you and put it on you myself."
Leonie stood resolute for a moment, but seeing the determined glitter in Morgan's eyes, she stalked over to the gown and picked it up. Giving Morgan a scathing look, she said, "Will you leave so that I may dress in privacy? I do not want your lascivious eyes on me."
Morgan smiled grimly. "If you don't hurry, you're going to have more than just my eyes on you. It wouldn't take much for me to decide that making love to you is a more enjoyable way to pass the time."
Leonie's bosom swelled with indignation and fury, and throwing Morgan a look that would have annihilated a lesser man, she turned her back to him and struggled into the rose satin gown, not bothering to remove her negligee. It didn't matter, the negligee acted as a chemise and with the sea-green eyes spitting gold flecks of fury she spun around to face him.
"There, monsieur, does this satisfy you?" she snapped, angry with herself for obeying him.
He stared at her for several seconds, noting the way the rose satin gown fit her slender body, the small breasts pushing eagerly against the smooth material, the straight, narrow skirt falling neatly to her feet and the color enhancing her complexion and tawny hair. I would have remembered her, he thought slowly, painfully. I wouldn't have forgotten her if I had ever seen her. His eyes dropped to the document still in his hands, and he asked, "If I signed this damned thing, would you please tell me, how it comes about that I am the father of a son?"
Leonie hadn't been prepared for that question. She had feared that sooner or later he would ask it, but somehow she had thought she would be better prepared when he did ask. Caught by surprise, she blenched and the expression of mingled fright and guilt that flickered in the golden-green eyes was obvious even to Morgan.
Like a beast of prey leaping for the kill, he was across the room instantly and grasping one shoulder, he jerked her up next to him. "He's not my son, is he?" he ground out, all the pain and disillusionment, as well as the fury, he would have felt had she really been his wife and betrayed him coursing through his body.
Leonie's mouth and lips were dry with fear. Not fear for herself, but fear for what he might do to Justin. Almost beseechingly she began, "Monsieur, you must listen to me! I never meant to—"
Morgan shook her like a dog with a rat, and cut her off with, "You meant to what? Foster a bastard on me? Is that what you were going to say?"
At the word bastard, Leonie's fear fled, and with blind fury she lashed out at Morgan's dark face, her small hand catching him a stunning blow at the side of his head. "You will not call Justin names!" she spat. "You leave your filthy tongue off my son or I will kill you!"
His ears ringing from the force of her blow, Morgan shook his head as if to clear it, and aware that he had allowed his emotions to rule him, that he had no right or reason to feel as he did, he released her and stepped away from her. The blue eyes hard and unfriendly, he said stiffly, "I shouldn't have called the boy that. I apologize. The argument is between us, and he shouldn't be made a part of this ugliness."
Openmouthed Leonie stared at him, unable to believe that he had apologized or that he wasn't going to toss her and Justin out into the night. Swallowing painfully, she admitted in a low tone, "I should never have told everyone he was your son, monsieur, but," the great green eyes lifted pleadingly to his, "I could not have people call him names, to laugh and jeer and call him a bastard. I could not! Not for myself, you understand, but for Justin."
Morgan saw very well, and he was conscious of an unwanted feeling of tenderness welling up inside of him for her. Fighting off the almost overpowering urge to take her into his arms and croon passionate promises of protection and comfort into her ears, he replied, "We'll leave your son out of this for the time being, but I would like to know who his father really is. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me—after all, if I'm to take responsibility for him, I think it is only fair that I know his background, don't you?"
Leonie looked away, her face flaming with shame. How could she tell him that she didn't know? How could she baldly come out with the news that Justin's father had been a stranger to her? A stranger who had raped her and carelessly taken her virginity? A stranger, she could tell him nothing about? She tried, but the words stuck in her throat and finally she got out in a low, mortified whisper. "Monsieur, I cannot tell... please do not ask me this."
A less sensitive man than Morgan would have been aware of her distress and embarrassment, and he said in a flat voice, unwilling to prolong what was obviously painful to her, "Very well, we'll leave that for now too. But I'm not moving from this room until several things are settled between us."
"What do you mean?" Leonie asked, so relieved at the moment that he was not going to pursue the painful subject of Justin's father, that she wasn't even angry... yet.
"Just this, cat-eyes—I didn't marry you, of that I'm positive. Neither did I sign any dowry agreement, nor that preposterous agreement concerning my rights to the marriage bed." His eyes blue chips of ice, he added, "If I'd seen you and married you, I would
have brought you back to Bonheur with me—I would never have left you in New Orleans and certainly I would never have allowed you to present me with another man's son!"
"I don't understand," Leonie said. "Are you going to pretend now that we never married? Is that how you hope to avoid paying the dowry back—by claiming that I am the one who is lying?"
Morgan smothered a curse under his breath and once again grasping Leonie's shoulders he shook her with a sort of frustrated gentleness. "You're a stubborn fighter, I'll give you that," he said. "But the time for fighting is over, sweetheart. I'm through playing this game and tonight you're going to tell me the truth if I have to beat it out of you."
"But I am telling the truth!" Leonie cried, her hands pushing against his chest, trying to free herself.
But Morgan's hold only increased and in a level tone of voice he said, "I made a mistake in acknowledging you and I'll admit it. It is something I should never have done, but if you think I'm going to let this situation drag on until you have firmly entrenched yourself with my family and friends you are very much mistaken."
Bewildered, confused by what he was saying, but angry too, Leonie continued to fight against him. Was he mad? she wondered. Only this afternoon he had implied he wished to make their marriage real, and yet now he was claiming he had never married her. Why had he suddenly changed?
Even Morgan couldn't have answered that question. He only knew that the situation had become intolerable. He could not and would not allow this mendacious state of affairs to continue any longer. And knowing he shouldn't have allowed things to reach this point didn't make his decision any easier. Whether it was Jason's letter or the certain knowledge that he hadn't married her that had crystallized that thought in his mind he didn't know; he only knew that he was not going to exist between heaven and hell as he had these past weeks.
Pulling Leonie's struggling body closer to his, he demanded grimly, "Are you going to tell me the truth? Are you going to admit that you've lied all along? I promise I'll not harm you or the boy, but for God's sake, have done with this travesty! My patience has run out, Leonie, and I think I should warn you that I am a dangerous man when provoked and God knows you have provoked me deeply enough."
"Monsieur, I think you are insane!" Leonie said furiously. "You accuse me of lying, when you are the one who is lying!" Glowering up at him, she spat, "Everything I have said can be proved. Ask anyone in New Orleans and they will tell you that Saint-Andres do not lie! The record of our marriage is there and yet you dare to say I lie! It is you who are lying, monsieur! You who are not telling the truth!"
Morgan had to admire her acting ability, but it also infuriated him and in a goaded tone he snarled, "Very well, cat-eyes, we'll go to New Orleans! It's there that this bloody farce started and it's there that it is damned well going to end!"
Part IV
Shadows from the Past
The love of my life came not
As love unto others is cast;
For mine was a secret wound—
But the wound grew a pearl, at last.
"The Deep-Sea Pearl"
Edith Matilda Thomas
Chapter 25
The first day in New Orleans passed swiftly for Leonie—as had the days before she and Morgan had left Le Petit. Having decided to come to New Orleans, Morgan had moved quickly. Within forty eight hours of his astonishing announcement, they were on a flatboat sailing down the Mississippi.
Mercy and Saul had accompanied them, as had Litchfield, but Morgan had been adamant about Justin's presence. His eyes hard and cold he had stated flatly, "No. Your son isn't going to come with us. He'll be perfectly content here while we are gone. And considering the situation between us, I would have thought you might think it best that he not be subjected to any unpleasantness that arises between us."
Despite grave misgivings and a mother's natural reluctance to leave her child behind, Leonie had uneasily capitulated. Justin would be better off at Le Petit, she decided unhappily.
Since their argument Morgan had become cool and aloof, as if he had retreated behind an impenetrable barrier. He was polite, very, but it was an icy politeness that froze Leonie in her tracks.
At first anger had carried her through the tense time that had followed his decision to go to New Orleans, but now her predominant feeling was confusion. Leonie was confused not only by his abrupt change in manner, but also by the ugly accusations he had hurled at her. He acted as though she had tried to trick him and there was such a note of sincere fury in his voice that Leonie was utterly bewildered. The thought had occurred to her more than once that perhaps he suffered from an occasional loss of memory. What else could explain his erratic behavior? One moment he appeared to want their marriage to be real and the next he stated forthrightly that she was a liar and an extortionist. What was one to think? Her heart wanted to believe that there was a logical explanation for his wild accusations and vacillations, but her practical head came to the unhappy conclusion that he was acting, acting the part of one wronged in order to discredit and disarm her. It was, she decided, simply another ploy of his not to pay the dowry.
And thinking that, she retreated behind her own wall of icy reserve, just as eager as Morgan to leave for New Orleans, to prove at last that she was no easy prey. Mon Dieu, but I shall show him! she vowed.
More gowns had arrived from Mrs. Dobson's before they had left Natchez. With the clothes had also come all sorts of things Leonie hadn't even thought of—satin slippers, kid boots, lacy shawls, bonnets, soaps, perfumes, pearl combs, and various other things necessary for a young matron. Noelle provided trunks and valises and Leonie had departed with a fashionable and extensive wardrobe.
Upon their arrival in New Orleans, Morgan had found a suite of rooms at a very pleasant inn south of the city. He had barely allowed Leonie to wash the travel stains from her face and change into a less crumpled gown before he had whisked her back into the city.
Having shipped a team of thoroughbreds and his curricle on the same flatboat that had brought them to New Orleans, transportation had proved no obstacle. He had helped Leonie into the vehicle, and moments later they were headed toward the St. Louis Cathedral on Chartres Street.
It was a silent ride. Leonie stared pensively at the mud-clouded waters of the Mississippi as they rode along the river road. She missed Justin and wished that he were with her. What is he doing at this moment? she wondered. Is he happy with Yvette and the others? She hoped that he wasn't missing her as much as she was missing him. Mon Dieu, but life can be very hard at times, she thought, wishing the anger that had kept her spirits up during the first few days of their journey would return.
Anger was such a comforting emotion, she mused. It could carry one through all manner of events without allowing more disturbing or painful emotions to intrude. The problem was though, that anger—at least her anger against Morgan—could never be sustained for any length of time. After a day or two stronger emotions began to erode her anger, leaving her vulnerable and unprotected from the promptings of her own heart. Resentfully she shot Morgan a look from underneath her long, curling lashes. Why does he have to hold this power over me? she asked herself crossly, not liking the way her senses responded to his presence, the way her heartbeat quickened whenever he was near, or the way her arms ached to embrace him.
Leonie sighed again. His attraction is potent, she admitted gloomily, but I would be a great fool if I even seriously considered following anything but my original plan. Her full mouth tightened. I must be strong, and no matter how much it hurts, no matter how painful it will be—for both Justin and myself—just as soon as I can make him pay me the dowry, we must escape from his spell.
But can you bring yourself to leave him? Leonie wondered. Slyly her mind taunted her: Why would you cling to a man who has proved himself to be so dishonorable? She knew the answer to that question. I love him and I am a great fool she thought disgustedly.
Morgan's emotions were not in much better condition.
At the moment he was cursing himself for having embarked upon this journey, aware that the old adage of letting sleeping dogs lie had much to recommend it.
You bullheaded ass, he thought furiously, you had to have this settled, didn't you? You had to force the issue—instead of wooing her and thanking God every day that she had come into your life... and damn the reasons!
It was the same futile argument he'd had with himself ever since he had determined upon this trip to New Orleans; time had not lessened the bitter frustration that ate at him. He wanted the truth and yet he feared it, which didn't help his lacerated emotions at all. With a feeling of dull rage he realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again. The little witch at his side had made certain of that. She had woven her spell too well for him to ever escape and he was furiously aware of it.
In an unfriendly silence they reached the St. Louis Cathedral. After tying the reins to an iron hitching post, he walked around the curricle and, in the same unfriendly silence, helped Leonie down.
Together they walked into the cathedral, its Spanish influence obvious from the round towers set on either side of the building and the Moorish arched windows and doorways. It was cool and quiet inside.
Leonie was aware of an odd feeling as she walked down the aisle with Morgan at her side. She had married this man here almost six years ago, and it was here that her infant son had been baptized. Grand-pere had been standing there, near the altar, as she and Morgan had repeated their vows and she remembered with surprise all the resentment and anger she had felt against both her grandfather and the man at her side. How long ago it all seems, she thought, as if it happened to someone else in another lifetime.
Justin's baptism was a bittersweet memory. She could remember the comforting warmth of his little body and the great squall of outrage he had given when Pere Antoine had poured the holy water on his little head. How lonely and frightened she had been that day! Grand-pere was dead, she had no money, the servants and Yvette were dependent upon her, and the small, squirming baby in her arms was her sole responsibility. At seventeen how bleak and terrifying the world had seemed, and she shivered.
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