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puffed on his cigar and followed his son into the house.
    Sleep came hard for Morgan that night, his father's words bringing back memories that he had thought were behind him. Apparently not, though, he admitted bitterly, as Stephanie's lovely face floated in his mind's eye. Angrily he got up out of bed and stood at the tall windows that overlooked the carriageway and drive.
    Moonlight gilded the magnolia trees in the center of the circular drive, making each leathery green leaf seem edged in silver, but Morgan was blind to the beauty of the night. He slammed his fist against the wall. How could I have been so misled by a beautiful face? Why didn't I realize that she had only been after money all along? he wondered bleakly. But while he could think of his dead, deserting wife, his grief was too deep to touch on Phillippe's death. Stephanie had been a woman grown, following her own destiny, but his little son had merely been a pawn. He had adored both his wife and his son, but his love for Stephanie had died the instant he had read her note. Love had died and left in its place an icy anger against her, which little Phillippe's death had only intensified. Faithless bitch! he cursed furiously, filled with hate for what she had done to him. Bitterly he laughed in the darkness— and papa wonders if there is any special woman waiting in New Orleans for me! I'll burn in hell before I ever believe a pair of lying eyes again, he promised himself fiercely. Never will I fall in love again. Never!

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    Morgan woke with a start, the nightmare still very real; for a moment he didn't recognize his surroundings. With a blank, uncomprehending stare he gazed around the handsome, spacious room, trying vainly to identify his whereabouts. From the elegant, expensive furnishings it was obviously a place of wealth; his eyes lingered on the crimson silk hangings of the bed before wandering to an intricately carved mahogany chest against one wall. It looked to be of Spanish origin, and with that thought memory came flooding back—he was in New Orleans, at the governor's residence.
    Arriving the previous day in the city, Morgan had wasted no time and had gone immediately to call upon Governor Gayoso in his offices. Gayoso had greeted him warmly, and upon learning that Morgan intended to be in New Orleans for some weeks he had instantly pressed an invitation upon Morgan to stay at his home. Morgan had sought politely to refuse, preferring not to be so completely under Gayoso's observation, but Gayoso had been determined, and as it would be foolish to insult one of the most powerful men in Louisiana, Morgan had eventually agreed. After all, he told himself, he did have business with the governor and what did it matter where he stayed?
    Aware of the wisdom of not instantly broaching all of his reasons for being in New Orleans, Morgan had followed Gayoso's genial lead and had settled down to enjoy a few days of the older man's company and openhanded hospitality, aware that business would be discussed only when the governor was ready. Gayoso never rushed matters, believing firmly in the concept of manana.
    Manuel Gayoso de Lemos was a slim man of perhaps fifty; his dark hair, black eyes, and swarthy complexion made his Spanish blood very apparent. He was an oddity amongst the Spanish officials in that he seldom used his power and office for gain. That is not to say all of his dealings would survive scrutiny in the bright light of day, only that he had an honor of sorts. A hard drinker, his love of liquor was legendary, and it had been his ability to drink any Natchezian under the table, as well as his lack of blatant fortune hunting, that had made him so agreeable to the people of Natchez when he had been their governor a few years before. A charming, debonair, extravagant man, Gayoso made friends effortlessly and was an excellent host.
    The evening had passed pleasantly, the food, the wines, and the company of the finest quality.