Deceive Not My Heart Read online

  For just a moment she thought about the marriage that Claude was so set on. What would that accomplish, she wondered scornfully. Absolutely nothing but to waste more good money! Mon Dieu, but I could shake grand-pere! If he thinks I will tamely submit to his dictates... ha! Briefly she imagined herself and the unknown Monsieur Slade standing before the priest as he read them their vows. Grand-pere would be there, Yvette, Monsieur Slade's family, and perhaps a few of the good sisters from the Ursuline convent would also be witnesses. But witness to what? Leonie giggled, picturing the expression on everyone's face when she threw herself on the mercy of the startled priest and begged dramatically for sanctuary for herself and Yvette! She smiled to herself, the green eyes dancing with amusement. And I'd do it, she vowed passionately. If grand-pere forces me to, I shall do it!

  The problem of the detestable marriage solved for the moment, Leonie once again turned her thought to her most pressing problem. Knowing, in view of their exchange this afternoon, that her grandfather was going to gamble with a reckless abandon tonight, if for no other reason than to prove to her that no one told Claude Saint-Andre what to do, she must think of a way either to stop him or to find a method of redeeming the vowels he would sign.

  There must be a way, she thought, unwilling to admit to defeat. A timid knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and scowling she snapped, "Who is it?"

  The door opened slightly and Yvette peeked her dark head around the edge, "It is only me. Has your grand-pere gone?"

  Leonie made a face and muttered, "Oui! And a good thing too—he is impossible today!"

  Yvette sent her a gentle smile. "I think he is always impossible! What did he do this time?"

  Leonie made some reply, but she did not tell Yvette the real reason, just as she had not told Yvette of her grandfather's ultimatum. She had not held back the information from any attempt to deceive Yvette, but rather to protect the girl. Yvette was such a sweet, unassuming soul that if she had the slightest idea that Claude was using her as a weapon against Leonie, she would promptly remove herself from Claude's area of influence. And to do what? Leonie had thought affectionately, find herself in practically the same situation that I am trying to keep her from. Non! Yvette must not know. I will think of something!

  Yvette's presence in New Orleans had been tacitly and mutually agreed upon between Leonie and her grandfather. Neither one trusted the other not to take advantage of Yvette's unprotected state while the two principals were away from the plantation. At the moment, Yvette represented a treasure to Leonie and Claude, and neither one was about to leave it lying carelessly about for the other to snatch away. At least with Yvette here where she could see her at any time, Leonie felt a little safer. If Claude did try anything underhanded she would know immediately, but if Yvette had been left at Chateau Saint-Andre, it might be days before Leonie would learn that her grandfather had spirited the girl away—something Leonie wasn't about to let happen.

  She thought for a moment of warning Yvette, but afraid Yvette would do something noble and completely unnecessary, Leonie stilled the words and continued to hide the true state of affairs from her half-sister. Besides, there was the fact that she didn't want to alarm Yvette and have Yvette spend the following days fearing the outcome of the latest battle between Leonie and her grandfather. If only Yvette were more like me, Leonie decided regretfully, we could give grand-pere a fight he would remember for a long time.

  Yvette took a chair opposite Leonie's and asked earnestly, "Leonie, what is it? I know you are hiding something from me. What did you two argue about this time?"

  "Money, as usual. I cannot seem to make grand-pere understand that he is driving us deeper into debt. That if only he would stop gaming, we would not be in such straightened circumstances," Leonie answered, glad that she could tell part of the truth.

  "And did he listen?"

  Leonie shrugged her slim shoulders. "He listened and then stalked out in a black fury! He still thinks that one of these days he will begin to win." Cynically she added, "When one needs to win, one never does. And when one has all the money they could wish for... then one wins!"

  A depressing silence fell between them, but as Leonie's spirits were never dampened for more than a few minutes, she suddenly jumped up from her chair and said briskly, "Bah! What silly little fools we are to sit around looking so gloomy! Come, let us go out into the courtyard—the sun is shining, and I'm certain I can wheedle some lemonade and pralines out of Bertha in the kitchen."

  A few minutes later the two of them were seated under the huge, old pecan tree that shaded the bricked courtyard, and sipping the cool, refreshing lemonade and nibbling at the rich, sugary pieces of praline candy, Leonie instantly felt more confident than she had in days. Startling Yvette, who was staring dreamily off into space, she said suddenly. "I shall follow him tonight!"

  "Your grand-pere?" Yvette asked. And at Leonie's vigorous nod, she asked with bewilderment, "But why? What can you do?"

  Leonie slowly bit into the brown sugar confection. "I don't know," she answered honestly, "but I simply cannot sit here and let him continue to do as he pleases. I must find a way to stop him from throwing away what little money we have left."

  "But, Leonie, you can't go about following your grand-pere like a shadow! Something could happen to you—he goes places that you should not even know about, much less see. He is gone all night—you cannot mean to roam the streets of New Orleans by yourself after dark! It is dangerous!" Seeing that her proper and common-sense words were having no affect on her volatile half-sister, Yvette asked desperately, "What do you think you can accomplish? What good can come of your rash actions? What do you think you can do?"

  Leonie's face was set in stubborn lines and grimly she replied, "I'll think of something—I have to!"

  Chapter 4

  Despite Yvette's pleas and arguments to the contrary, Leonie remained adamant in her determination to follow her grandfather that night. Nothing Yvette could say dissuaded Leonie and finally in exasperation Yvette had cried angrily, "You are very like your grand-pere! You are just as stubborn and selfish as he is!"

  Leonie had considered the remark seriously for a few moments and then returned thoughtfully, "Non. Stubborn, yes! But selfish, no."

  Her temper roused as it seldom was, Yvette had glared at Leonie and with a very good imitation of Leonie's own expression of disgust, she had muttered, "Ah, bah! Do it then, see if I care." And with her head held high she had marched out of the room.

  Yvette's unexpected fit of temper did not distress Leonie—she was as aware as her half-sister of the danger involved in what she planned to do, and she didn't blame Yvette for being furious. But it has to be done, Leonie told herself resolutely. We can afford no further debts!

  She had changed her gown for one of dark brown cotton, deciding that if she was to be lurking in the shadows at the governor's residence she would be better off in darker clothes. Unfortunately, like so many of Leonie's gowns, this one too had been outgrown. Her firm young bosom rose above what had once been a demure neckline; it seemed if she took a deep breath her breasts would burst from the material. Her hair was still neatly coiled and pinned to the top of her head, but she had removed her slippers in anticipation of following her grandfather when he left the house.

  It was a common practice for the ladies of New Orleans to walk barefooted through the muddy or dusty streets until they reached their destination. Once there, servants would wash and dry their feet, and then the ladies would put on their silken stockings and delicate satin slippers to dance the night away. Leonie had no intention of dancing, but she was definitely aware of the wisdom of going barefoot—there had been a thundershower earlier and the black loam of the streets would be like thick grease.

  Leonie's estimation of her grandfather's reaction to their conversation earlier in the day had been entirely correct, and he had spent the remaining hours until he left for the governor's residence at Toulouse and Levee Streets, drinking and brooding i
n a small, shabbily furnished room at the rear of the house.

  By the time Claude, nattily attired, as always left the house a few hours after sunset, he was in a dangerous frame of mind and full of the bravado found so easily in a bottle of fine French brandy. He owed money all over New Orleans—the tradesmen were beginning to object to more credit and even his devoted tailor had suggested recently that some payment be made on his bill. But Claude was confident tonight—soon their trials would be over! Leonie watched him go from her window on the second story of the house, the expression on her young face grim and determined.

  Aware that his destination was the governor's residence just a short distance from their own house on Toulouse Street, Leonie did not immediately follow her grandfather but let several hours pass before she snatched up her old reticule and slipped out of the house. It was a little unnerving, even she would admit, to walk alone down the streets of New Orleans after dark; the only light, and frail light it was, came from an occasional oil lamp that had been hung from wooden posts at the order of Gayoso's predecessor, the Baron de Carondelet. Fortunately this was an area of fine houses and respectable people and she arrived at the Gayoso residence without incident.

  Unlike Claude having reached her destination Leonie did not enter Gayoso's house from the front; instead, moving like a small shadow in the darkness of the warm, muggy night, she prowled around the back alley searching for an entrance to the rear of the building. She eventually found one through the governor's stables. Creeping silently and breathlessly between the rows of restive horses, and cautiously pushing open a door at one side of the stables, she found herself, to her immense satisfaction, in a small courtyard at the side of the house.

  Having come this far without any unpleasantness and unchallenged, Leonie sighed with relief and leaned back gratefully against one of the cool walls of the courtyard, her heart thumping just a little at her brazen actions, one slim hand unconsciously clasping her mother's gold crucifix. If she were caught lurking like a criminal in Governor Gayoso's courtyard... Mon Dieu, it didn't bear thinking about! Impatiently Leonie pushed aside any thought of failure, and keeping herself in the shadows, she inched her way nearer to the house.

  The governor's courtyard was not large, compared to the rambling courtyard at the Saint-Andre townhouse, but the house itself was easily three times the size of the Saint-Andre residence; and looking at its sheer size and the lights that streamed out into the darkness from the various windows, Leonie felt her heart sink. The one-story structure resembled a commodious inn more than a dwelling, and the narrow courtyard where Leonie stood ran along one side; against the other was a low gallery screened by latticework. How was she to find out in which room her grandfather was gaming—and what good would it do her?

  Slightly daunted by these uncertainties, Leonie hesitated, actually considering going no farther. Should she continue... or go back to the townhouse and accept defeat? Non! she thought vehemently. She would not give up without having at least attempted to do something! What she was going to do was the problem.

  Edging closer to the house, her dark brown gown blending easily into the shadows of the narrow courtyard, Leonie stopped when she reached the corner of the house, her eyes giving the silent courtyard a quick, uneasy assessment. Bon! All was well... so far.

  Having come this far, there was nothing else to do but continue, she told herself sternly and approached the first window. Carefully she peered around the edge of it and was uncertain whether she was disappointed or cheered to see two women seated comfortably on a sofa busily plying their needles.

  It was the third window that brought her at last to the room where the gentleman of the house and his guests were enjoying their cigarillos, whiskey, and cards. Leonie felt her heart leap in her breast when she peeked in and saw her grandfather facing her direction, as he sat at a round, mahogany table concentrating on the cards he held in his hand. Even though this was the room she had been looking for, it was a shock, and a small exclamation of surprise escaped her lips.

  The window was open, and a tall, black-haired gentleman with his back to Leonie suddenly lifted his head and asked in a deep voice, "Did you hear something?"

  All three of the other men, including Leonie's grandfather, glanced up from their cards, and after a long, agonizing moment for Leonie, Gayoso said lightly, "You are hearing things, amigo. Or do you think to distract us from our cards, si?"

  The tall man laughed, "Hardly! You are too clever for that ploy, I can assure you."

  The gentlemen then went back to the game, and with a silent sigh of relief Leonie sank down to the ground outside the window. Now that she had found her grandfather, what was she to do—burst in and demand that Gayoso and his friends not continue to accept his company? she wondered half-hysterically.

  Still, Leonie was feeling just a little pleased with herself at having succeeded so effortlessly in discovering her grandfather's whereabouts in the governor's residence. And now all that remained was for her to come up with some plan to accomplish—what? She bit her lip, and then squirmed around and took another peek, just as her grandfather pushed across a slip of paper to a smiling Gayoso.

  Her sense of pleasure evaporated and she felt a spurt of rage dart through her, as she noticed the pile of vowels in front of the governor and the unpalatable fact that her grandfather was very drunk indeed. The Governor's face was in profile to her, but Leonie decided there was something sinister about his smile and had a sudden urge to throw something at him.

  She sank back down again, trembling with anger. It was robbery! All three of those men at the table with her grandfather knew he was in no condition to play cards for money and yet they allowed him to do so. It was criminal! She looked again and was further infuriated to see another vowel from her grandfather join the previous one. Covertly she eyed the pile of papers and money in front of the governor. How much of it was her grandfather's? And more importantly, how was she going to get it back?

  Frowning she glared around the shadowy courtyard, as if an answer to her question were out there taunting her in the darkness. After several minutes of wild schemes and improbable plans she came to one desperate decision—I shall steal the vouchers from the governor! He is stealing from grand-pere and it is only fair that I steal them back! I shall do it!

  Having come to a decision, she settled back against the wall of the house, aware that the party must disperse before she could even attempt her reckless plan. She would have to discover where the governor put the vowels and then at the first opportunity, nip into the house, steal them and depart—all undetected, she admitted glumly; not an easy task. But Leonie was determined and so she sat like a still little shadow and waited impatiently for the gentlemen to end their evening. Occasionally she would risk a glance through the open window, and it seemed, at least to her, that every time she did, her grandfather was pushing another vowel across the table to the blandly smiling Gayoso. Zut! Do they never tire of this silliness? she asked herself disgustedly, as the hour drew near to midnight and still they showed no signs of growing weary of cards and liquor.

  As the hours slowly passed, her lids grew heavy and she had to suppress a mighty yawn more than once. Sleepy and just a little bored, her thoughts drifted from the coming theft of the vowels and she wondered if her grandfather had indeed spoken to Monsieur Slade. Was he one of the men in the room? She took another glance inside the room, deciding that the florid, bluff, heavyset man across from Gayoso could not possibly be Monsieur Slade—he was too old, at least forty... and fat! But the man with his back to her, was he possibly Monsieur Slade?

  He was tall and his shoulders were broad. His hair was black, his head well-shaped—what Leonie could see of it—and his voice was deep and pleasant. She chewed at her lip a while and then decided against him. Non, he was not Monsieur Slade. And her reasoning? Last night Monsieur Slade had stopped the party when it became obvious her grandfather was too drunk to continue, but tonight, when her grandfather was just as obvious
ly too drunk to continue, this man did not.

  Leonie's reasoning was drastically wrong, because the dark-haired man with his back to her was, indeed, Monsieur Slade. And his reasons for not stopping the gaming were simple—upon closer association it was easily discernible that Claude Saint-Andre was clearly a habitual drunk, a compulsive gambler, and a man who did not take kindly to the interference of strange young men, if his sometimes belligerent attitude this evening was anything to go by.

  Ordinarily, though, Morgan still might have made some effort to see that Saint-Andre was not taken advantage of by Gayoso, but his mind was on other things. More specifically his thoughts were dwelling on the bluff, heavyset man that Leonie had so unflatteringly dismissed only moments before—General James Wilkinson of the United States Army.

  Wilkinson's inclusion in the evening's entertainment had been a decidedly unpleasant surprise for Morgan. He had not been aware that the general was in New Orleans, and if he had known he certainly would not have accepted Gayoso's invitation, knowing full well that eventually it would result in a social meeting with Wilkinson—a meeting Morgan would have done much to avoid. He might have a certain wariness in dealing with Gayoso, but so far as Wilkinson was concerned, Morgan trusted the man no further than an inch; in fact he cordially disliked the general for a number of reasons. If some of Gayoso's dealings didn't bear close scrutiny, there wasn't one of Wilkinson's schemes and double-dealing that didn't eventually produce a noxious odor.