Kissing her hand, he said softly, "You wound me, ma mie, but your words are my command."
Micaela snatched her hand away and, with an ill-disguised expression of irritation on her pretty face, hastily put the width of the room between them.
Glumly François had watched the interplay, well aware that Hugh's attentions had not seemed to annoy her, while Alain's obviously had. There was no denying it—there did seem to be something shimmering in the air between Micaela and the Américain, something that made him uneasy.
It was worrisome, even though he knew that nothing could come of it—by Friday night Micaela's fate would be sealed—but the situation alarmed him. Arranging a moment alone with both Jean and Alain had not been easy. But having alerted his uncle to the need for a private word, they were able to detain Alain, who was riding his own horse, from immediately following his family as their carriage pulled away. Waiting until the other guests had gone back into the house, the three men stood near Alain's horse, talking in low tones.
"I think that it would be wise if we kept an eye on Lancaster—and my sister," François said. He glanced at Jean. "After your remark this afternoon, I paid closer attention to them tonight, and it did seem to me that there is something going on between them."
Alain's face tightened. "Mon Dieu! Are you saying that having spurned me, that Micaela has developed a tendre for the Américain?"
" Non . Non. Nothing like that," François replied swiftly. "Only that..." He looked helplessly at Jean.
"He means," Jean said smoothly, "that we should be extremely careful on Friday. If Lancaster is—er—attracted to Micaela, he would naturally be aware of her whereabouts at all times—which might make her abduction from the group more difficult for you."
Alain snorted. Mounting his horse, he said, "Perhaps, it should be arranged that Lancaster is"—he paused—"oh, shall we say, unavoidably absent from Friday's pleasures?"
* * *
Despite feeling that there was some ulterior purpose behind Jean's invitation, Hugh found that he was enjoying himself immensely. The house and grounds were magnificent; Lisette was as warm and welcoming as always; his increasing fascination with Micaela refused to abate, and the growing notion of tasting that ripe, tempting mouth of hers filled him with a feeling of fierce anticipation. Jean treated him cordially and François seemed undecided whether to scorn him or charm him—much to Hugh's amusement. His status as a guest of the Dupree family and the fact that he spoke flawless French thawed the icy manner of many of the Creoles and allowed him to participate fully in the many enjoyments offered.
It was much the same for the Summerfield family. Their French might not equal Hugh's, but six months in New Orleans had enabled them to gain a smattering of the Gallic tongue. Summerfield's position on the governor's staff helped, too. The Creoles might not like being forced to accept American possession, but they were not fools either.
The riverboat ride on Wednesday and the tour of the plantation, specifically its sugar-cane operation, proved to be engrossing for Hugh, but despite his best efforts, a part of him was braced for Jean's reasons for inviting him to surface. With every passing hour, he knew that the likelihood of Jean revealing his motives became more certain, and Hugh was aware of a growing tenseness which gradually overshadowed his enjoyment.
On Thursday afternoon, while several of the others were resting up for the evening's entertainment, Jean asked Hugh for a moment in private. Hugh agreed and followed Jean to the other man's office in the small building behind the main house.
Once they were seated, Jean said bluntly, "I am sure that you have guessed that I had a specific reason for inviting you to attend the party?"
Hugh nodded.
Jean smiled crookedly. "You have had time to think about what we proposed last month. I hope that further
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