Free Love Be Mine (The Louisiana Ladies Series, Book 3) by Shirlee Busbee Page B

certain?"
    Hugh nodded. "Yes. In rallying the others, one said as much."
    The remainder of the journey to the house was made in grim silence by the two men. Only after he had assured himself that Hugh had not been badly injured did Jasper's tense features relax. Handing Hugh a glass of port as they made themselves comfortable in his study, Jasper observed, "You are very fortunate—it could have been much worse."
    "I know—if you had not happened along..." Hugh smiled crookedly and raised his glass. "To you, my friend. You may have saved my life. Certainly you saved me from a vicious beating."
    Jasper shrugged. "It was nothing—I am your friend—you would have done the same for me."
    Hugh nodded. A dangerous gleam suddenly lit his gray eyes. "But," he said softly, "someone else is definitely not my friend. And I intend to find out who."
    * * *
    Hugh found himself tossing sleeplessly in his bed that night, thoughts of Micaela drifting tantalizingly through his mind—when he was not considering the implications of the attack on him earlier this evening. Staring at the canopy over his head, he finally admitted that events were not following any path he had ever considered.
    When he had left Natchez such a short time ago, he'd had his entire future mapped out. He would settle in New Orleans, resolve the trouble at Galland, Lancaster and Dupree and, after a suitable courtship, marry Alice Summerfield and set up his nursery. He would be a loving father and a kind husband, and he would settle sedately into the life he had chosen for himself. It was a future that he had looked forward to and had been confident would be his.
    But after seeing Micaela this afternoon and realizing with the suddenness of a lightning bolt that he would gladly, no eagerly, give up a great deal to possess her, he felt badly shaken. And the knowledge that someone hated him or feared him enough to arrange what would have been a brutal beating infuriated him as much as it mystified him. Was it simply the Duprees venting their spleen at his refusal to sell out to them? Or something more sinister that he had not yet considered?
    Sleep was impossible. Swearing in two languages, he got out of bed and yanked on a black-silk robe. Entering the adjoining sitting room, he walked over to the sideboard and from a crystal decanter of brandy poured a half snifter of the amber-colored liquor.
    His features grim, he wandered about the dark sitting room, absently swirling his untasted brandy. Since he was in no mood just yet to dwell on the attack, he let his thoughts drift to Micaela—as if he could stop them.
    Perhaps, he thought reluctantly, even if he forgot about the wild notion of trading his shares for her hand in marriage, marrying Micaela Dupree was not quite the insane idea it had first appeared. There would be, he admitted wryly, several advantages. He would have aligned himself with one of the most respected and aristocratic families in New Orleans. Jasper would certainly be ecstatic, he conceded ruefully. But looking at it pragmatically, it would keep the business totally within the control of the current partners... and allow him to have Micaela in his bed—a notion which crept with increasing frequency through his dreams of late.
    On the other hand, he reminded himself coolly, it would create a whole host of new problems—especially if his suspicions proved correct and it turned out to be either Jean or François, or both, who were stealing from the company. With Micaela as his wife, he would find it awkward to accuse her brother or her uncle of thievery—or of hiring someone to beat him soundly. Certainly prosecuting them would be out of the question. A tempting vision of Micaela suddenly floated before him. But there would be, he admitted to himself as he took a sip of his brandy, advantages....
    Hugh shook his head disgustedly. He wasn't seriously considering marrying Micaela Dupree, was he? She made her opinion of him clear, and he wasn't fool