When Strangers Marry (24 page)

Lysette found herself also facing challenges of a different nature. Although she and Irénée were undeniably fond of each other, there were the inevitable points of contention between a daughter
and mother-in-law. Irénée was firmly attached to the old Creole ways while Lysette embraced the changing attitudes of their small society. Irénée had never been so horrified as she was the first time Lysette invited some of the young American matrons of New Orleans to visit the plantation.

“They are nice, well-bred women,” Lysette had told her gently.

“They are
American
women! What will my friends think when they hear of this?”

“Americans are part of New Orleans now, just as much as Creoles. We share many of the same concerns.”

Irénée stared at her, scandalized. “Next you will be saying it is acceptable for Creoles and Americans to intermarry.”

“Oh,
never
that,” Lysette said dryly.

Irénée’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Does Maximilien know about this?”

Lysette smiled, knowing the older woman was planning to go to Max behind her back. “He approves of it wholeheartedly, Maman.”

Irénée sighed in disgust, silently vowing to speak to her son about the matter that very night.

But Max paid no attention to Irénée’s complaints, saying that he did not see what harm would befall them if Lysette had friendships with a few American women.

Irénée was also troubled by the way Max was indulging Lysette’s every whim, encouraging her outspokenness, talking to her about worldly subjects
wives. Worse, Max seemed to expect the entire family to pay attention to Lysette’s opinions.

Not long ago, no one would have believed that any woman would be able to manage the infamous head of the Vallerand family with such adroitness. The fact that a young, inexperienced, and fairly average-looking girl could manage such a feat was no less than astonishing.

Torn between pleasure at her son’s obvious happiness and discomfort at Lysette’s unconventional ways, Irénée wrestled with the issue before finally deciding to approach Max.

“If Lysette were a child,” she said to Max in private, “I would say that she was being spoiled. You are encouraging her to believe that she can do, say, or have anything she wants.”

“But she can,” he said evenly.

“Lysette feels free to contradict anyone she does not agree with, regardless of age or authority. A young Creole matron would
never
think of telling any man what to do. And this very morning Lysette was trying to force her opinions on poor Bernard, telling him he should work more and drink less!”

That provoked a laugh from Max. “In that case I’m afraid she was repeating
my
opinion. And you know that you agree with her.”

“That is beside the point!”

“What
is
the point, Maman?”

“For lack of a better expression, you must tighten the reins, Max. For Lysette’s sake as well as everyone
else’s. It isn’t good for her to be allowed so much freedom.”

His mouth hardened, and he gave her a perplexed stare, as if she did not understand something that should have been obvious. “Tighten the reins? I’ll do my damnedest to make her as assertive as possible. Lysette should be terrified of me, yet she somehow has the courage to face me as an equal. I don’t deserve such a gift. God knows I won’t be fool enough to throw that away. I would slit my throat before asking that she pander to the rules of our quaint little society.”

“You seem to forget, Maximilien, that your family and friends are all part of this so-called quaint society!”

“A society that deemed me an outcast ten years ago.” He paused as he saw her expression. “I’m sorry,” he said in a gentler tone. “I don’t blame anyone, not anymore. But you can’t deny that the shadow I cast falls on everyone I care for, including Lysette. Especially her.”

“That is nonsense!” Irénée exclaimed. “You have many friends.”

“Business partners, you mean. Jacques Clement is the only man in New Orleans who calls himself my friend for reasons other than financial profit. You yourself have seen the way people cross the street to avoid acknowledging me.”

“People pay calls—”

“To you. Not to me.”

“You are invited to social gatherings—”

“Yes, by out-of-pocket relatives with an eye on our money, or by those who feel they owe it to the memory of my father. When I attend such gatherings, I’m surrounded by stiff conversation and frozen smiles. You know that if I were anyone but a Vallerand, I would have been forced to leave New Orleans long ago. The gossip lingers like some slow-acting poison. And now Lysette will have to suffer for a past she had nothing to do with.”

Max fell silent for a moment, knowing that his mother did not fully understand the dread that knifed through his heart whenever he pondered this subject. The hatred and suspicions of others, formerly directed only at him, might be turned against his wife. It agonized him to know that there were possible slights in store for Lysette because she had taken his name. “It isn’t easy for Lysette, being my wife, although she’s never uttered a word of complaint.”

“Max, I think you overestimate the difficulty—”

“If anything, I’m underestimating it.”

“You must put a stop to Lysette’s unruliness now, or she will soon become unmanageable,” Irénée warned. “You don’t want her to become like Corinne, do you?”

Max lost his temper then, responding with such scathing anger that Irénée did not speak to him for days…. Irénée at last realized she would no longer be able to influence Max as she once had. He would never take anyone’s part against Lysette. And the rest of the family was forced to acknowledge that if
anyone dared to criticize Lysette, they would face Max’s certain wrath.

Utterly frustrated by Max’s behavior at one of the Vallerands’ Sunday evening soirées, Lysette took it upon herself to upbraid him in private. Max had been rude to a guest one of his cousins had brought, a visitor who was unfortunately quite voluble about his hostility toward Governor Claiborne and the Americans. Although Lysette knew that such remarks would send Max’s temper through the roof, she had sent him a beseeching glance in the hope that he would hold his tongue.

Ignoring her silent plea, Max had responded so sharply that the evening had become uncomfortable for everyone. Usually, at Creole soirees, there was music, conversation, and a little dancing, followed by refreshments at eleven o’clock, with the gathering dispersing around midnight. This one ended at ten, before refreshments were even brought out.

Determined, Lysette approached her husband in the library, where he had gone with Bernard for a drink after the guests departed. Before she could say a word, Max turned and faced her without surprise. “I’m in a bad humor,” he warned.

“So am I,” she replied shortly.

Realizing that a storm was brewing, Bernard set his drink down. “I’m exhausted,” he said uncomfortably. “Good night.”

Neither of them noticed his departure.

“There was no need to be so unpleasant to Monsieur Gregoire just because of a few remarks he made about the governor,” Lysette said in annoyance. “I’ve heard you yourself say much worse about Claiborne!”

“When I criticize Claiborne, at least I know what I’m talking about. Gregoire is an idiot.”

“Your opinion isn’t the only correct one, Max. And a man is not an idiot just because he happens to disagree with you.”

“In this case he was,” Max said obstinately.

Annoyed as she was, Lysette felt her mouth quiver with sudden amusement, and she clamped her lips together. She took another tack. “Part of being a good host is being gracious enough to overlook the ignorance of a guest so that everyone else can enjoy themselves!”

“Whose rule is that?” he asked, arching one brow.

“Mine.”

Max gave her his most authoritative scowl. “I’m master of the household, and I can do or say whatever I wish.”

Unimpressed by the display, Lysette rested her hands on her hips. “That was a good try,” she said dryly. “But you’ll have to win the argument some other way.”

Max rose from his chair, looking even larger and more towering than usual in his formal wear, his muscular legs outlined by snug pearl-gray pantaloons, his broad shoulders sharply defined in his black coat. “Are you challenging my authority?”

Lysette became aware of a change in the atmosphere, the challenge between them turning sexual in some indefinable away. Her heartbeat was suddenly spurred to a reckless pace, and she felt a ripple of pure lust as their gazes locked together. “What if I am?” she asked, her voice even softer than his. Recognizing the predatory gleam of enjoyment in his eyes, she took a strategic route to the round mahogany table in the center of the library, keeping it between them.

Max followed her without haste. “Then, as a Creole husband and head of the household, I would have to demonstrate who makes the rules…and who follows them.”

Lysette smiled provokingly as they circled the table.
“Mon mari
…you are actually quite adorable, in your own arrogant and domineering way.”

“Adorable,” he mused, moving in slow pursuit of her. “I don’t believe anyone has called me that before.”

“That is because no one else knows how to manage you.”

She heard the quick catch of laughter in his throat. “But you do?”

“Of course.”

Now there was no mistaking the heat of desire in his gaze, or the growing arousal of his body. “
Ma femme,
you need to learn a lesson,” he murmured in such a deliciously threatening manner that Lysette felt the tips of her breasts hardening in response. His gaze dropped to the silk panels of her bodice, and he noted the distinct peaks beneath the shimmering
fabric. “You had better pray that I don’t catch you before you reach that door.”

They faced each other with the table between them. Flattening her palms on the gleaming surface, Lysette leaned toward him and gazed at him steadily. “And the lesson you are referring to is that even when you are horrid, arrogant, and rude, I must tolerate it because you are the husband and therefore all-powerful?”

His eyes sparkled with dark mischief. “Yes, that one.”

“I don’t think so,
mon mari.
Since I am faster than you, I am going to make it through the door and up to my room before you have any chance of catching me. When you finally reach my door, it will be locked. And then you can spend the rest of the night in your own company. That will give you some time to contemplate your bad behavior at supper.”

His smile was distinctly wolfish. “Try,” he invited.

Lysette was gone in an instant, heading for the door in quicksilver strides. However, there were two things she hadn’t counted on…not only was she hampered by the skirts of her gown, but Max’s legs were twice as long as hers. Despite her head start, he reached the library door just as she did, and shoved it closed to prevent her escape. Gasping with laughter, Lysette let him turn her around and haul her against his body.

“It wasn’t fair,” she said breathlessly. “I’m wearing skirts.”

“You won’t be for long,” Max panted, crushing
his mouth over hers. Lysette clutched the back of his head and urged him to kiss her harder, her lips opening eagerly. His weight pressed her against the door, and she moaned at the exciting imprint of his body, the hard chest and stomach, the stiff masculine ridge that was discernible even through the layers of her gown. Kissing her ravenously, Max fumbled at the door and turned the key in the lock. He gripped Lysette’s buttocks to pull her higher and tighter against his hips. She wanted to devour him, bite, lick, kiss him, pull him completely inside herself. He was hers, every obstinate, exciting, masculine inch of him.

His mouth broke free of hers, and he pulled her toward the table like some predator dragging its vanquished prey. Lysette emerged from the hot, swirling fog of desire long enough to gasp, “Not here. Someone will interrupt.”

Max lifted her and sat her on the table, pulling up huge handfuls of her skirts. “The door’s locked.”

“They’ll still know,” she protested, pushing at his busy hands.

Too inflamed to care, Max found the ribbons of her garters, and followed the line of her bare thighs. The rasp of his callused fingers on her tender skin made her quiver with pleasure, and her thighs parted despite her will to deny him.

“Max, upstairs,” she whimpered, as he reached the tuft of cinnamon hair and parted the damp curls.

“I can’t wait,” he muttered, circling the slick nub that swelled at his light touch. His fingertip rubbed
gently over the rosy peak, and Lysette writhed in sudden desperation. She plunged her hands inside his evening coat, clawing frantically over his shirt, wild to touch his warm male skin.

Max’s mouth caught hers in another rough kiss, while he used his foot to hook a nearby chair and drag it closer. Pulling Lysette to the edge of the table, he sat and buried his mouth in the delicate folds of her cleft, his tongue searching hungrily for her intimate flavor. She bit her lip to restrain an involuntary cry, her body jerking upward into the devastating heat of his mouth. Helplessly she ran her fingers through the thick black locks of his hair, gasping as his tongue slid inside her.

“Max? Are you in there? Why is the door locked?” Alexandre’s muffled voice came through the door, and the handle clicked and rattled. Freezing, Lysette shot a horrified glance toward the sound. When it became clear that Max did not intend to respond, she tugged his head upward.

Although Max’s breathing was no less rapid than her own, he answered his brother in a voice that sounded remarkably normal. “Go away, Alex.”

“I want a drink.”

Max slid two fingers into the intimate channel of Lysette’s body, and she flushed deeply.

“Get your liquor from the kitchen,” he told his brother tersely.

“But my special brandy is in there,” Alexandre complained. “If you just let me in for a moment, I’ll get it and leave—”

“Alex, my wife and I are having a dispute. She’s
about to start throwing things.” Max’s long fingers twisted gently, causing Lysette to gasp in pleasure. “Trust me, you don’t want to be in the line of fire.” Lowering his head, he drew his tongue over the rosy peak of her sex in strokes that corresponded to the thrusts of his fingers. Lysette covered her mouth with her hand to hold in her moans. His rhythm quickened, his mouth tender and demanding, his fingers reaching unbelievably deep inside her.