Deceive Not My Heart Read Free Page A

truth came out.
    Leonie had considered lying. Only she and Yvette knew the true circumstances and both had agreed that there was no reason to reveal them—it would have been most uncomfortable for Yvette, they had both decided, but only after Yvette had gently pointed out that fact to Leonie. But lying was not in Leonie's nature and she told her grandfather the truth.
    He had been astounded and then positively horrified. "Ma petite, how could you? A bastard with the blood of slaves in her veins! Have you no modesty? No shame? You should not even know of such things, much less associate with such a creature!"
    Leonie's young features had frozen. With glacial Saint-Andre arrogance she had asked, "I am to deny my own sister? You would have me do this? Bah! I think, grand-pere, that you are a fool!"
    Claude's dark face had flushed with fury and the brown eyes had been glittering with anger under the gray, bristling brows. "Sacre bleu! You dare to speak to me like this? I should beat you!"
    Leonie had lifted her chin defiantly and in a soft, dangerous voice had warned, "I would not, grand-pere, if I were you."
    Claude had eyed the stiff, angry young figure speculatively. That Leonie! And because Claude was basically a weak man, one who preferred peace at any price, he had shrugged and said, "Do as you will. But do not ask me to acknowledge the creature. I shall tolerate her presence and that is all, do you understand?"
    A brief smile had flitted across Leonie's face. "Oui, grand-pere!" Then surprising them both she had flown into his arms and pressed a rare warm kiss on his lined cheek. "Merci beaucoup, grand-pere," she had said softly, and Claude felt something catch painfully at his heart. Aware that he was a poor excuse for a mentor and guardian and awash with a sudden feeling of regret, one blue-veined hand had reached out and gently tweaked a tawny curl. "You are a minx, ma petite, and I am a reprobate—perhaps we are a good pair, oui?"
    Leonie had grinned and nodded vigorously. During the remainder of that visit there were no clashes between them. Leonie was pleased that grand-pere had proved reasonable for once, and Claude was conscious for the first time that he must begin to think of Leonie's future. But then the old lure of the gaming tables and drink had called to him, and once again he had put aside his responsibilities and disappeared down the river to New Orleans, leaving Leonie to run the plantation.
    * * *
    On this morning the outlook for the future was very black, Leonie decided as she sought out her grandfather in his bedchamber. There was, she thought glumly, nothing to do but sell off some of their land—and that, she felt unhappily, would be the death of the Chateau Saint-Andre.
    Claude himself, sitting in regal splendor in the middle of a huge bed hung with faded crimson, brocaded night curtains, was thinking much the same. With a pile of snowy white pillows at his back, he was tranquilly sipping a cup of very strong, very black coffee as he contemplated the future—or rather Leonie's future—but his thoughts were anything but tranquil.
    His days were numbered, the sands of time had run out for him; the doctor had told him so this last trip to New Orleans. With death facing him from a heart that no longer beat as it should, Claude realized that the tomorrows when he would assure himself of Leonie's future were suddenly upon him.
    He had returned to the Chateau the previous night, and after feeling his carriage shake and rattle from the ruts and dips in the long drive that led to the house, he had admitted to himself that his own selfish foolishness had brought his estate to ruin. The tattered elegance of the furnishings of the house had made it even more evident, and this morning, while staring at the worn Turkish carpet on the floor, and the old satin curtains at the French doors, he wondered how he could salvage something for Leonie.
    Marriage was the only answer. Having come to that decision, Claude