Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) (5 page)

Micaela thought her heart would stop beating when she glanced up and saw that it was Hugh Lancaster standing in front of her. She had hoped that when they next met she would not find him so troublingly attractive, but looking into that dark face, snared by those too-knowing gray eyes, she realized that her hopes had come to naught. Wearing a dark blue coat which expertly fit his splendid physique and a pair of pale gray breeches which shamelessly clung to his long, muscled legs, he was, Micaela realized, appallingly attractive. Angry and ashamed of herself, she kept her gaze half-averted, as if by not looking at him she could convince herself that he was
not
quite the most fascinating man she had ever met.

There was a flurry of greetings and polite exchanges. Hugh's lips quirked in a sardonic smile at the air of reserve which overcame Micaela once she had recovered her surprise. Her nose was not exactly tilted as if she smelled something offensive, but very near. Unlike her mother, who was plainly pleased to see him.

Hugh was so busy covertly studying Micaela's charming profile that he was barely aware of the conversation going on between Lisette and Jasper. It wasn't until Lisette said with amusement, "So,
Monsieur
Lancaster, you and
Monsieur
De Marco will join us for dinner tomorrow night,
oui
?" that he was recalled to himself.

Recovering himself quickly, he murmured, "Dinner? Tomorrow night? It shall be my pleasure."

"Bon!"
Lisette said with a twinkle in her dark eyes. "We shall expect you at seven o'clock tomorrow evening."

Hugh and Jasper bowed again. "Indeed you shall," Hugh said. "But for now, may we escort you to your destination?"

Micaela, whose pulse had been acting erratically ever since she had first glanced up and met Hugh's glinting gray-eyed glance, said stiffly, "That will not be necessary,
monsieur
—we are almost there."

"Ah, but I would be gravely remiss if I did not see you safely to where you are going. Just consider,
mademoiselle
—you might be accosted by someone—ah—objectionable." Hugh drawled, enjoying the vexed flush which stained Micaela's cheek.

Micaela's bosom swelled with indignation.
Dieu!
The
Américain
was arrogant! A
Creole
would have graciously accepted the dismissal and would never have continued to insinuate himself where he was plainly not wanted. Smiling sweetly, she murmured, "But
monsieur,
you forget, this is still a city of Creoles, and
Maman
and I are not worried about being confronted by someone who would be so rude and overbearing as to force himself upon us." Her eyes sparkling with the light of battle, she added, "New Orleans is not like your rough
Américain
cities—our Creole gentlemen know how to take care of their own."

Hugh grinned. "Well, that certainly put me in my place, did it not?"

Micaela's eyes dropped, and she replied demurely, "One hopes so,
monsieur,
one sincerely hopes so."

"Micaela!" Lisette burst out, a thread of laughter in her voice. "Do not be rude!"

Micaela's gaze met Hugh's dancing gray eyes. "Oh," she asked, all innocence, "was I rude?"

Hugh shook his head, the expression in his eyes making Micaela breathless. "Rude?" he murmured as he caught her hand in his and dropped a chaste kiss on the soft skin. "Oh, no, never rude... provoking, perhaps?"

Her skin prickling as if she had grabbed a nettle, Micaela snatched her hand away and decided that the
Américain
was utterly detestable. Her emotions in turmoil, she was relieved to hear Lisette say, "We thank you for your offer of an escort,
messieurs,
but our destination is just a few more doors down the street. Good day to you both."

Conscious of the tall
Américain'
s amused look, Micaela was grateful when she and Lisette swept past the two gentlemen and continued on their way. It didn't help her frame of mind that it took until they reached
Madame
Hubert's shop for her heart to return to its normal beat. Unable to help herself, just as she was to enter the shop, she risked a glance over her shoulder in Hugh's direction. To her chagrin (and delight?) he was still staring at her. A flush stained her cheeks when he smiled knowingly and tipped his hat at her. Muttering under her breath, her nose went up in the air, and she sailed into the shop.
Merci!
But he was arrogant!

Jasper had watched the exchange with interest, and as he and Hugh resumed their journey, he said slyly, "Now if you were to marry a Creole... perhaps, even Micaela Dupree, it would be a good business decision,
oui?"

Hugh looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Micaela Dupree? Nonsense! I think you have stood in the sun too long, my friend, and it has fried your brains."

"Hmm, you think so? I do not,
mon ami."
Jasper went on imperturbably, "Think of it. She is lovely, unmarried... and she will control ten percent of the business when she marries, and will gain another five percent when the sad day comes and her charming mother has passed on. When she marries, her shares will no doubt be managed by her husband... what if she was to marry that lout Husson, hmm? Marriage to Micaela Dupree would be a great coup for you—you would control fifty-five percent of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree. No one could gainsay you."

"You forget," Hugh said softly, "that with my stepfather's remaining ten percent I
already
control the firm."

"Ah, yes, this is true... but suppose your wise step-papa were to remarry? He is not an old man, despite his protestations to the contrary—not yet fifty, did you not say? He could marry and leave his shares to a new wife—or even father a child."

Hugh shrugged. "The shares belong to him—what he does with them is his business."

"Oui,
but if you were to marry
Mademoiselle
Dupree... it would not matter
what
your esteemed step-papa did with his shares, would it?"

Annoyed with this conversation, Hugh sent his friend a dark look. "I may or may not marry Miss Summerfield, but I can practically guarantee you that the
last
woman I would be likely to marry is Micaela Dupree. And her shares be damned!"

Chapter 3

The offices of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree were on Decatur Street, the warehouses on Tchoupitoulas Street at the riverfront. That afternoon, having seen his few belongings delivered and settled at Jasper's town house, Hugh made his way to Decatur Street alone.

Jasper had wanted to accompany him, but Hugh had declined his company. "It will be better if I go by myself," he had said, as they had risen from the table. "For the time being it might be better if you do not champion my cause quite so obviously."

"As you wish,
mon ami."
A sheepish grin had crossed Jasper's face. "It is just as well—I promised some friends that I would attend a cockfight with them this afternoon if the weather was pleasant."

Hugh had shaken his head in mock dismay. "And the business, what about it?"

Jasper had smiled sunnily back at him. "But you are here now—you shall see to it."

Laughing, Hugh had departed, wondering how anything was ever accomplished in New Orleans, considering the Creole preoccupation with pleasurable pursuits.

As he reached his destination, the sun was still shining, but its luster had dimmed, and there was a faint chill in the air.

The offices of Galland, Lancaster and Dupree were housed in one of the few buildings which had escaped the periodic fires which swept through the city, and retained much of the early French construction. The handsome pale yellow stucco structure was built long and low. Stepping through the stout wooden double doors, Hugh was pleased to see the place busy, clerks and accountants bent industriously over their ledgers and papers.

The head accountant, a fussy little Frenchman by the name of Pierre Brisson, glanced up, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of Hugh. Springing to his feet, he laid down his quill and hurried over to greet Hugh.

"Monsieur
Lancaster! This
is
a pleasant surprise. No one mentioned that you were expected in the city and would pay us a visit. Please, please allow me to escort you to the owners' offices."

Hugh waved him away with a smile. "That shan't be necessary, Brisson. I would like to look around on my own, if you do not mind." Raising his voice, he said, "I'm afraid, you shall see a great deal of me from now on. I am moving to New Orleans and intend to be here most days."

Hugh was aware of the startled murmur as his news was assimilated, but no one seemed particularly alarmed by it... which was what he expected. Whoever was stealing from Galland, Lancaster and Dupree, and he was very certain that someone in the firm was, was being clever about it. He hadn't expected that his announcement would flush out his quarry. He had hoped, however, that someone might betray a little dismay at his announcement and give him some direction in which to search. No one had.

He moved along the wide, desk-lined aisles, halting to talk to first one man, then another, introducing himself to any new faces that had not been there during his last trip to New Orleans in September. Brisson tended to hover around him, but since he hadn't expected to find out anything today, Hugh put up with the fellow's nervous fawning.

Approaching a fresh-faced young man near the rear of the room, Hugh's gaze ran thoughtfully over him when he learned that his name was Etienne Gras. So this was the young man Jasper was attempting to befriend. He was surprised to learn that Etienne had worked for the company for nearly three years... yet they had never met. Odd.

As if he guessed Hugh's thought, Etienne smiled, and said, "I have long wanted the honor of meeting you,
Monsieur
Lancaster, but each time you have visited here I was at one of the warehouses, inventorying and recording the latest shipments."

Hugh nodded. "And that is your job? Inventorying the goods upon arrival?"

"Among others," Etienne answered.

Hugh stood talking to the young man and several others for a few moments before he allowed Brisson to escort him to the private offices. Looking around the spacious room, Hugh snorted. The room looked like a leisured gentleman's study—
not
an office.

Faint sunlight from a window at the rear of the room brought out the shades of russet and green of the fine carpet which lay upon the floor. Several comfortable brown leather chairs and small tables were scattered about, newspapers and leaflets strewn across them. Idly lifting one of the leaflets, Hugh's lips twisted—as he expected, the leaflet announced a cockfight. God forbid that the Duprees should read anything that pertained to business.

Continuing his appraisal of the office, he noted a mahogany sideboard sitting against one wall, the top littered with crystal bottles holding a variety of spirits. A gilt-framed mirror hung above the sideboard, and several hunting prints adorned the remaining walls. A pair of doors opposite each other gave entrance, Hugh remembered, to twin private offices. It was a pleasant room, and Hugh did not object to working in pleasing surroundings, but from the bare, gleaming expanse of the impressive desk which was situated at the far end of the room, it was clear that Jean and François seldom used it, and then certainly not for
work!

Hugh said nothing for several seconds, then he turned and said, "Those doors lead to the other offices, am I correct?"

"Oh,
oui, monsieur
," Pierre said. "There is one on either side of this room. When they were here, this was
Monsieur
Galland's office, and the Duprees were on either side of him." He coughed slightly. "Of late
Monsieur
Jean and
Monsieur
François have been using this office exclusively."

"Well, not any longer," Hugh said decisively. "Have a locksmith in—I want all the locks changed, and I am to have the only keys." He smiled down at Brisson's worried features. "Do not worry, I shall inform the other owners of the change."

Timidly Brisson asked, "Does this mean that you shall be here regularly,
monsieur?"

"Every day," Hugh said with relish.

A smile lit Brisson's sallow features. "Ah,
bon, Monsieur!
I have often wished that the other..." He stopped, not wishing to appear disloyal, and added hastily, "It will be, er, convenient to have one of the owners regularly on the premises."