When Strangers Marry (28 page)

“Fifty?” Lysette repeated with a laugh, having just come into the room. “That will keep you very busy indeed, Justin.”

He dropped his sneer and gave her an angelic smile. “But if I find someone like you,
petite Maman
, I’ll have only one.”

She laughed at his outrageous charm, and her smiling gaze turned to Philippe. “Tonight,
peut-être
, you will catch sight of the girl you dream of. Are you leaving in the carriage with Bernard and Alexandre?” She did not mention Irénée, who was afflicted with a touch of rheumatism and would not attend the ball.

Philippe nodded. “Yes. Father made it clear you and he were going alone in the first carriage.”

“Alone?” Justin mused thoughtfully. “Why would
Father want to be
alone
in the carriage with you, when he could have Philippe and me there? Well, I suppose he might try to—”

“
Justin!
” Philippe exploded, mortified at his brother’s impudence. He threw a pillow cushion at Justin’s head. Justin ducked it with a protest.

Lysette’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I will see you at the Leseur plantation,” she said gravely, and went back to the entrance hall, where Noeline waited with her bonnet and gloves.

Built facing one of the smaller bayous in the region, the Leseur home was large, simply designed, and stately. One side was bordered by a massive oak that was estimated to be at least three centuries old. Garlands of roses covered the house inside and out. The glitter from intricately prismed chandeliers danced in the most remote corners of the house. Guests filled the outside galleries, while servants moved among them with silver trays of refreshments.

Nearby was the
garçonnière
, separately constructed quarters for male guests or family bachelors who required privacy. Several gentlemen accompanied by personal attendants had been in the
garçonnière
since early afternoon, drinking, smoking, and discussing the latest events in the city. The ladies had been resting inside the house, and now were appearing in the ballroom in their most extravagant gowns. A special orchestra had been summoned from New Orleans to supply the music, and the lively strains of a quadrille filled the air.

“Lysette,” Max said as he helped her from the carriage, “a word of warning.”

“Yes?” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. Too innocent. “What is it,
bien-aimé
?”

“It hasn’t escaped me that Alexandre has been trying to persuade you to help him spend a few minutes alone with Henriette tonight. You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

She appeared to be surprised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Max gave her a warning glance. “If they manage to give a convincing show of indifference to each other, they’ll be married in a matter of months. If, however, they are discovered in a clandestine meeting, there will be nothing I can do to help them.”

“They won’t be caught together,” Lysette assured him.

“Alex could lose Henriette over such a trifling thing. You do not understand the extent of Diron’s pride.”

“I do, I understand perfectly.” Lysette tried to move away, but he kept his hands at her waist, staring down at her. “Max,” she protested, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Keep it that way,” he advised, and let go of her.

Max kept his gaze on Alexandre and Lysette for the next two hours, but neither of them made a move to leave the ballroom. He relaxed after a glass or two of the fine wine being served to all the guests. The vintage had been made from vineyards on the Leseur plantation.

Max congratulated Leseur, both on the excellent wine and on the match between Félicie and Paul Patrice, and the two of them engaged in a casual conversation as others joined them.

From a distance, Lysette stood with Alexandre and watched her husband with a rush of pride. Max was dressed in stark black and white, a wine glass poised between his long fingers as he conversed with the men around him. He was elegant, virile, and devilishly handsome…and he was hers.

Alexandre followed her gaze. “It’s not easy,” he remarked, “having Max as a brother.”

Lysette frowned at him, thinking of all the times she had seen Max smooth the way for his brothers, doing what he could to ensure they had whatever they desired, assuming their debts and responsibilities without one word of reproach. Alex’s statement struck her as being singularly ungrateful. “Max does many things for you,
non
?”

“He does, but for years Bernard and I had to contend with the standards Max set. Everything he did was perfect. And then, when he fell so utterly in disgrace—it was a disaster for all of us. The Vallerand name was blackened, and Bernard and I suffered, as well as Max.”

“And you resent him for that?”

“No, no. I might have, once, but not now. But Bernard…” Alexandre stopped, evidently thinking better of what he had been about to say.

“What?” Lysette prompted.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me, Alex, or I will not help you with Henriette.”

He scowled. “I was only going to say that Bernard seems to find it difficult to completely forgive Max. But then, Bernard is the next oldest son. He has always been compared to Max and found lacking.”

“That is hardly Max’s fault,” Lysette said coolly. “
Vraiment
, Alex…you and Bernard must stop using him as a convenient excuse. You must take responsibility for your own actions. Max has quite enough to contend with.”

“All right,” he said, holding up his hands in mock self-defense. “I won’t say any more. But why is it,
ma soeur
, that you are allowed to criticize Max, but you won’t let anyone else?”

She grinned suddenly. “Because I’m his wife.”

Max did not notice the exact moment when his wife disappeared. As he gradually became aware of her absence, he politely separated himself from the group in the ballroom and wandered past the open doors leading to the outside galleries. There was no sign of his wife.

“Dammit, Lysette, what are you doing?” he muttered softly. He went to the garden, knowing that if Lysette had engineered a meeting between Alexandre and Henriette, it would probably take place there.

The Leseur garden was large and intricately designed, filled with exotic trees, flowers, and plants from Europe and the Orient. Its artificial lagoons were stocked with fish and crossed by charming
bridges. An indignant peacock scuttled out of the way as Max strode through the rose-covered arch that marked the entrance to the main path. The way became darker, the lanterns more infrequent, until he reached the corridor of tall yews. A fountain of cherubs and spouting fish marked the center of the garden, from which several paths branched off.

Max cursed softly. There was little chance of finding his wife, or her fellow companions. His only recourse was to return to the drawing room and wait.

Suddenly he heard footsteps on the graveled path. Withdrawing into the shadows, he watched the approaching figure.

It was Diron Clement. Evidently the old man had noticed his daughter’s absence. He tromped past Max without seeing him. Max grimaced, taking note of the belligerent set of Diron’s head. There would be hell to pay if he found Henriette with Alexandre. The old man headed to the left, on a path which—if Max’s memory served him—led to a tiny pagoda. An unwanted smile pulled at his lips. In his younger days he had made use of the pagoda himself. He still retained a fond memory or two of the place. No, Alexandre would not conduct his tryst there. It was too obvious.

Taking a chance, Max chose the opposite direction, a path which led to a hothouse filled with exotic fruit trees. Keeping to the shadows, he drew closer until he saw Lysette standing at the corner of the hothouse. An owl hooted in the distance, and she jumped, looking from side to side.

The sight of her there, after she had promised not
to take part in any illicit meeting between Alex and Henriette, made him grin ruefully. He was going to have to teach her that she could not tweak his nose and dance away without fear of retribution.

Lysette sighed, wishing she were back in the ballroom. She wondered if Max had noticed yet that she was missing. A night owl gave a low cry, and she started a little.

Suddenly a hard arm snaked around her waist from behind. A large hand covered her mouth as she yelped with fright. She was dragged back against a surface as unyielding as a brick wall. As she pried frantically at the hand over her mouth, she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

“Had I known you desired a tour of the gardens, sweet, I would have offered to accompany you.”

Lysette sagged in relief, gasping as the hand was removed from her mouth. “Max…” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You startled me!” She dropped her forehead against his chest.

“I intended to.”

Lysette winced as she saw his ominous expression.

“Where are they?” he asked.

She bit her lip and looked at the hothouse. The door opened, and Alexandre stuck his head out. His hair was wildly mussed, and his lips were suspiciously moist. “Lysette? I thought I heard—” He froze as he saw Max. They were all silent.

Max was the first to speak. “You have one minute
to say good-bye to Henriette. Make it meaningful. Your separation may be permanent.”

Alexandre disappeared inside the building.

Lysette decided to explain as quickly as possible. She spoke without pausing for breath. “Max, they only wanted five minutes together, and I had already promised them I would help, so I couldn’t go back on my word, and if you had only seen how happy they were when I brought Henriette here, you would have understood why I had to—”

“When we get home, I’m going to take you over my knee and ensure that you will not be able to sit comfortably for a long time.”

Lysette blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’m going to enjoy it immensely,” he assured her.

Her arms dropped from around his neck. “Max, let’s discuss this….”

She paused as she realized that Max was not listening; he was gazing into the distance, his eyes alert. “What is it?” she asked.

Max yanked her against his body without warning, fitting his mouth over hers. Lysette squeaked and wriggled in surprise, but his arms were too tight, and his mouth absorbed all sound. He angled his head more deeply over hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth. His hand moved down to her bottom, cupping the soft flesh and pulling her high against the swelling bulge of his sex. Her vision blurred, and her struggles died away. Convulsively she swallowed and strained to press even closer to him. Suddenly he lifted his head, ignoring her soft protest.

“Ah…good evening, Monsieur Clement,” he said thickly.

Lysette’s head snapped around, and she saw Dion Clement’s craggy face not five feet away. His subdued glare seemed to bore right through her.

“I was told my daughter Henriette was with you, Madame Vallerand,” the old man barked. “Where is she?”

Lysette turned back to Max, glancing at him helplessly.

“It seems that we are unable to help you, sir.” Max’s thumb brushed lightly over the top of Lysette’s spine. “I came here with my wife to share a private moment.”

“Then you have not seen Henriette tonight?”

“I swear upon my honor that I have not.”

Lysette closed her eyes, hoping fervently that Alex and Henriette had the sense to stay inside the hothouse.

C
lement considered them both carefully, noting Lysette’s flustered expression and disheveled gown, Max’s unreadable face and obvious state of arousal. They had not been married long—it was hardly implausible that the couple had sneaked out to the garden in search of privacy. Giving them a last suspicious stare, he harrumphed and turned his back, walking away to renew his search for Henriette.

Lysette regarded her husband with dazed gratitude. “If you hadn’t been here, he would have found them. Thank you.”

“Straighten your gown,” he said curtly. “And take Henriette back without delay.”

The star-crossed lovers crept out of the hothouse. Lysette glanced at the girl’s guilt-stricken face and forced a reassuring smile to her lips. “
Allons
, Henriette—we must go find your
tante
, quickly.”

Timidly the girl drew away from Alexandre and preceded Lysette on the path back to the main house. Alex bit his lip, apparently wanting to call out to her, but not daring to anger his brother further.

Max watched until his wife disappeared from view, while thin vales of displeasure appeared around his mouth.

Alex gave him a mutinous glare. “Don’t you understand anything about love, Max? Don’t you know how it feels to want someone until your arms ache to hold her? Are you going to claim that had you been in my place you wouldn’t have done the same? I know how you compromised Lysette in order to force her to marry you. And I feel—”

Mockingly Max held up his hands in self-defense. “Enough, Alex. I don’t give a damn if you see Henriette or not. The risk is yours. But when you enlist the help of my wife, it is my right to interfere.”

Alexandre’s self-righteous anger vanished. “Of course,” he mumbled. “But Lysette
wanted
to help.”

“Of that I have no doubt. She is a softhearted creature, and easily entreated. It presents little difficulty to take advantage of such a generous nature,
n’est-ce pas
? Don’t involve her again, Alex—I won’t tolerate it.”

Alexandre nodded, shamed by his brother’s words. “I’m sorry, Max. All I have been able to think about is Henriette and—”

“I know that,” Max interrupted.

“You are angry with Lysette. Please don’t blame her. She only did what Henriette and I both begged her to do. You won’t punish her, will you?”

Max lifted his brows and smiled derisively. “Why, Alex…you seem to believe that my wife needs protection from me.”

Having returned Henriette safely to her aunt, who had promised she would not betray them to Diron, Lysette withdrew to a dark corner of the outside gallery. Guiltily she half hoped Max would not find her, though she knew she would have to face him sooner or later. The crowd of guests inside the house was moving toward the dining room, where midnight supper was being served. For her the ball had lost its glitter; she felt distinctly uneasy.

She had stung Max’s masculine pride, and she regretted that. Although he was an indulgent and understanding husband, he was also a Creole male, and she had gone against his express wishes. Frowning, she considered various ways to appease him.

Lysette heard footsteps, and saw a dark form approaching. “Max?” she asked, knowing that he had come to find her. The footsteps halted. She kept her gaze averted as she spoke. “Forgive me. I couldn’t bear to see Henriette and Alexandre so unhappy. But you were completely right, and I should have listened to you. Let me make amends,
d’accord
?” She approached him with a coaxing smile. “I want very much to please you,
bien—aimé—
”

She stopped with a sharp gasp as his face became visible. It was not Max. It was Etienne Sagesse.

There was a bright, glazed look in his eyes and she could smell the liquor on his breath. “What a
tempting offer,” he murmured. “I can guess how you make amends, with your sweet mouth and your clever little hands. I envy your husband, Lysette…I’ve made no secret of that.”

Lysette’s skin crawled as she saw the expression on his fleshy face. He was very, very drunk. She tried to walk around him, but he moved to block her. “Let me pass,” she said in a low voice.

“Not yet. I want a little of what you give to your husband. You were mine first, after all. You should be in my bed each night. I should be the man rutting between your legs, not Vallerand.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Lysette said shortly, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t allow him to cause a scene. It would create a scandal, and another duel. She must get away from him quickly, before someone discovered them. “I didn’t want you then, and I certainly don’t now. Get out of my way, you drunken ass.”

He smiled, his lips gleaming wetly. “What fire and spirit you have. Perhaps you are not the most beautiful woman in New Orleans, but you know how to keep a man’s cock satisfied, don’t you?” He lurched toward her. “Poor Lysette. You could have been my wife, and instead you share a bed with a murderer.”

“I think
you
killed her.”

Sagesse smiled. “No, it wasn’t I. Corinne was no threat to me. She had given me all I desired—more, actually. Aside from acute boredom, I had no reason to kill her.” His arms stretched out, and he flattened his hands against the wall above her head.

Lysette stared at him, transfixed by the expression on his face. “You know what happened to her, don’t you?” she asked softly.

His sour breath wafted against her face. “
Oui
.”

“Tell me.”

His gaze slid over her. “And if I do? What will you offer in return?”

As she remained silent, still staring at him, Sagesse reached for her breast and squeezed it roughly. Lysette struck him hard enough to turn his face to the side, then twisted past him. He caught her hair and pulled her back. She gave a muffled cry of pain and dug her nails into his hands, trying to pull her hair free.

His words struck her cheek in rapid bursts. “For once I’ll know what it is to hold you in my arms.”

“No—”

“You should have been mine.” He shoved a knee between her thighs, and his wet mouth and teeth grazed her cheek. A cry broke from her lips, and his hand covered her mouth while his other felt for her breasts. Shuddering in revulsion, she bit his hand and screamed again.

Suddenly there was a furious shout from behind her, and Lysette was yanked away with a force that snapped her head back. She stumbled as she was released, and steadied herself against a narrow wooden column. Shivering, she watched Justin launch himself at Sagesse, going for his throat. As the pair fought, Lysette flinched at the sound of each blow.

“No, Justin!” Frantically she looked for help. The guests had noticed the disturbance and a crowd gathered around them. Someone pointed to her. She drew as far back into a shadow as possible, pushing back her tumbled hair, pulling up the front of her gown to cover her breasts.

A man darted forward from the crowd and dragged Justin away from Sagesse. It was Bernard. “Calm down, you fool!” he muttered, struggling to restrain the writhing boy.

“Damn you!” Justin cursed. “Let go! I’ll tear him apart!”

Several Sagesse relatives appeared, among them Etienne’s brother-in-law, Severin Dubois. They gathered around Etienne, arguing fiercely as they began to drag him away to the
garçonnière
. Etienne’s behavior had disgraced the entire family. Humiliated, they wanted only to conceal him before more damage to their honor could be done.

Lysette shrank back in embarrassment as she felt a multitude of gazes upon her. She wished she could disappear. Did they think she had brought this on herself? That perhaps she had allowed Etienne to seduce her, as he had seduced Corinne? She started as she heard a voice close by her ear.

“Lysette?” Philippe was beside her, looking down at her with concerned blue eyes. He put an arm around her shoulders, as if he thought she might faint. She leaned against him, taking comfort in his presence. Philippe was so calm and steady…so unlike his hotheaded brother, who was still
swearing and fighting to be free of Bernard’s grasp. Following her gaze, Philippe glanced at his red-faced brother. A faint smile touched his mouth. “He will never forgive Bernard for pulling him off Sagesse,” he commented.

“I agree,” Lysette said with a shaky laugh.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded briefly. “Where is Max?”

“Someone went to find him—” Philippe broke off as the chattering crowd fell silent. The congregation parted to make way for Max as he pushed his way through their midst. There was no sound. Even Justin was still.

Max stopped, his gaze darting from Lysette’s flushed face to Justin’s. Turning, he saw Etienne Sagesse, propped up in the midst of relatives, and Lysette went cold as she saw the bloodlust in her husband’s eyes.

“Max, no,” she said sharply.

He didn’t seem to hear her as he stared at Sagesse. “By God, I’ll kill you,” he said in a murderous voice that curdled everyone’s blood, including Lysette’s. Before anyone could react, he had reached Etienne in two strides.

Lysette put her hands over her mouth to suppress a scream as she saw her husband turn into a stranger. Tearing through the Sagesses, Max leapt on the drunken man and smashed his head against the floor. It took the combined efforts of Bernard, Alexandre, Justin, and Philippe to pull him off.

Severin Dubois broke through the tumult, while
Max strained against the arms that held him back. Dubois spoke in a calm, authoritative voice that reached through Max’s blind fury. “There is no excuse for the insult to your wife, Vallerand. Etienne was entirely at fault. On behalf of the Sagesse family, I offer the humblest apologies. All I can do is swear that it will not happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” Max sneered. “Because this time I won’t make the mistake of letting him live. Get him a sword. I’ll finish it now.”

“You cannot duel with him,” Dubois countered. “He is not in a fit condition. It would be murder.”

“Then tomorrow morning.”

“It would be murder,” Dubois repeated, shaking his head.

Suddenly Etienne’s slurred voice interrupted. His relatives had helped him up from the floor. His nose was bleeding, but he made no effort to blot it. “But Max has a taste for murder.”

Max’s arms struggled against his brothers’ restraining hands. “Let me go,” he growled, but Bernard and Alex only tightened their hold on him.

“Etienne,” Dubois said sharply, “be quiet.”

Sagesse staggered forward with a half grimace that resembled a smile. “For years you’ve lied to yourself about what happened to Corinne,” he said to Max. “Why can’t you stand the truth? The pieces are all there. And yet you’ve never put them together. You could find the answers under your own roof, but
you don’t want to
.” He cackled as he saw the sudden blankness on Max’s face. “What a fool you are—”

“Etienne, enough!” Dubois snapped, taking hold of Sagesse’s collar and dragging him away.

Max stared after them as if in a dream. Abruptly he shook off his brothers’ hands and glanced around wildly for Lysette. She stood alone near the gallery railing, her hair falling from its pins in wild curls. He reached her at once and seized her narrow shoulders in his hands.

Lysette could not control her trembling. “I believe he knows who killed Corinne, Max.”

Max gripped her head in his hands and spread rough kisses of reassurance and ownership across her face. “Did he hurt you?” he asked hoarsely.

“No, not at all.”

His large hand roamed over her shoulders, back, and hips. Lysette knew that people were staring, but she relaxed against him, not caring what anyone thought. His body was rigid, his heart thundering with alarm and aggression.

“This won’t happen again,” came his scratchy whisper. “I’ll kill him if I have to.”

She jerked her head back, startled. “Don’t say that. Everything is all right, Max.”

His eyes were black and fathomless, his face pale beneath its swarthy tan. “It’s not,” he replied softly. “But it will be.”

Her lips parted to reply, but he eased her away from his body and pushed her toward Alexandre. “Take her home.”

“What are you going to do?” Lysette asked.

He refused to explain. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Come with me now,” she begged.

Exchanging a glance with Alex, he turned and left.

“Max!” she cried, following him.

Alexandre caught her arm. “Don’t worry, Lysette. Max is only going to talk with Severin and one or two of the Sagesses. I am certain that Jacques Clement will be there to help mediate.” His attention turned to Bernard, who was standing nearby. “Are you going with him?”

Bernard shook his head. “I’d be of little use,” he said, and added venomously, “especially since I wish we had let Max kill the insolent bastard.”

Justin’s voice cut through the silence. “If Father doesn’t, I will.”

They glanced at the boy, who had been forgotten in the disruption. Alex frowned, while Bernard laughed scornfully. “Little braggart,” Bernard said.

Lysette went to the boy immediately, taking his hand and pressing it between her own. “Justin, don’t say such things.”

“I watched Sagesse all evening,” he said roughly. “While
he
was watching
you
. When you disappeared, he went to look for you. That was when I followed him, and—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted gently. “Thank you for rescuing me. Now it is all over, and we can—”

“I saw him go out to the gallery,” Justin continued, his voice falling to a whisper, so that no one else could hear. He turned until his back was to the others. His intense stare did not waver from her face. “By the time I reached one of the doors, he had
taken hold of you. I ran forward, and brushed past someone who was standing at the side of the gallery. Standing and watching the two of you. It was Uncle Bernard. He wasn’t going to lift a finger to help you.”

She shook her head, not understanding what he thought was significant. “Justin, not now—”

“Don’t you understand? Something is wrong when a man won’t defend a member of his family, no matter what feelings are between them. It was not only an offense against you, but against father, and me, and—”