She stopped with a gasp as she saw the two tall figures of her younger sons. Alexandre and Bernard were home.
“My sons,” she exclaimed in disbelief, “what are you doing here?”
The two tall, dark-haired brothers glanced at each other, and then back at her. Alexandre replied in a quizzical tone. “I was under the impression that we lived here, Maman.”
“Yes, but… you have returned a bit sooner than I expected.”
“We decided we had seen enough of France,” Bernard said dryly. “Those Fontaine daughters, Maman…Bon Dieu, some of our horses are more attractive than the choicest of the lot.”
“Bernard, how uncharitable! I am certain that you exaggerate.”
Alexandre was turning slow circles, gazing at the flower-bedecked house. “What is all this?” he asked in bewilderment. “Has someone died?”
———
While Lysette was safely tucked away upstairs having her hair arranged, the Vallerands drew together for a family conference in the parlor. Rumpled, dusty, and weary from the long journey, Alexandre and Bernard stared at their mother and older brother in disbelief.
“You are going to be married?“ Alexandre exclaimed, leaning his hip on the back of the settee and folding his lanky arms across his chest. He snickered and looked at Max, who favored him with a cool stare. “Of all things I had expected to find on my arrival…” For some reason, the sight of his oldest brother clad in wedding finery tickled Alex’s fancy. He had always been the most irreverent of Irénée’s sons. “Bien sûr, he’s finally been caught!” He choked with laughter, until even Bernard’s sober demeanor cracked with a smile.
“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Max said with a scowl.
Alexandre had nearly fallen to the floor by now. “I would like to know what kind of woman managed to drag you to the altar! Did she use a very big club?”
Bernard regarded Max more seriously. “Who is she? Not anyone we know, I would guess. You’ve never given a second glance to any of the women around here.”
Irénée answered for him. “Lysette is a girl of excellent family, from Natchez. Te souviens de Jeanne Magnier? Max’s bride is Jeanne’s daughter.”
“A Magnier?” Bernard repeated, looking at Max speculatively. “An attractive family, as I recall. I would wager there was little need for her to carry a club.”
Max smiled unexpectedly. “She has many virtues, beauty among them.”
“She must be remarkable indeed for you to risk marriage again,” Bernard remarked.
They were all quiet for a moment, remembering that other wedding so many years ago.
Irénée broke the spell by speaking briskly. “Lysette will make Max very happy, you will see. Finally the past is behind us.”
———
Lysette’s hand shook so badly that Max could hardly slide the gold band onto her finger. Although they both desired to be wed, the ceremony was not an especially joyful occasion. Max was tense and grim-faced, and his hand was strangely cold. Lysette had no doubt that he was remembering his first wedding, and the tragedy that had haunted him ever since. He probably feared the possibility that his second marriage would become a living hell just as the first had.
For her part, Lysette struggled to overcome her own doubts. The words she spoke would chain her forever to the man beside her. Legally Maximilien Vallerand would have the power to punish, abuse, or subject her to any whim, no matter how irrational. In the context of Creole culture, he had what amounted to the power of life or death over her.
She could only hope that her judgment of him had been correct. Perhaps she was mad, to place herself in the possession of a man she knew so little. However, she reminded herself pragmatically that most brides and grooms were virtual strangers, matches being made by parents who rarely asked for their approval.
Incense lent its sweet, pungent scent to the air as Lysette knelt before the priest and prayed for God’s blessing on the marriage. When she was finished, she placed her hands in Max’s and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
But while the ceremony had been small, the wedding feast was attended by more guests than Lysette could count. She even lost sight of Max, who was monopolized by crowds of relatives. Lysette stayed by Irénée’s side, trying to ignore the snatches of conversation she heard as the woman gossiped over her.
“Not nearly as pretty as I had expected…”
“She doesn’t look ruined, Maman.”
“That hair…”
“It will not be long before he strays…”
“… Ah, I would not be in her place for any amount of money!”
Irénée drew her to the table where the massive wedding cake, a daunting fortress of sugar and roses, towered in splendor. “It is time to cut the cake, Lysette.” Immediately the unmarried maidens gathered around them. According to tradition, each maiden was to receive a slice, which she would take home and put under her pillow along with the names of three eligible men, one of whom might then be moved to propose to her.
Lysette lifted the knife and studied the towering creation, wondering where to make the first slice. Suddenly she was aware of Max standing behind her. An excited titter ran through the cluster of girls as he placed his hand on Lysette’s back and murmured in her ear, “May I help?”
Lysette glanced at him with a half smile. With relief, she saw that his tension had faded, and his face was relaxed and smooth.
“Please do,” she invited, turning her full attention to the cake. “I don’t think this knife will be sufficient— do you happen to have a hatchet?”
He chuckled. “It is quite an impressive cake, isn’t it?” His large hand closed over hers, and he pulled her back lightly against his chest. The guests chuckled and offered encouragement as Max helped his bride cut several slices, his hand engulfing hers as he guided the knife. Lysette was intensely aware of the warmth between their bodies and the way his breath touched her neck whenever he leaned forward.
“You’re looking down the front of my dress, aren’t you?” she murmured, setting down the frosting-coated knife.
“Certainly not. I am helping you with the cake.”
Amusement rose in her chest. “Liar.”
She felt him smile against her hair. “If you are going to deprive me of a wedding night, you shouldn’t begrudge me a little peek at your breasts. And if you didn’t want me to look at them, you shouldn’t have worn such a low-cut gown.”
“I chose a low-cut gown because I hoped to divert everyone’s attention from my hair,” she said dryly. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have worked— they’re all talking about my hair anyway.”
Max touched her chin with his fingertips and nudged her face toward him. While everyone watched, he fingered one of the tiny springing curls that had erupted from the pinned-up mass of her rebellious red hair. The humidity had made it more frizzy than usual, until it appeared as if a fiery halo surrounded her coiffure. “Your hair is one of the things I find most beautiful about you.” Leaning closer, he let his mouth drift to the tender edge of her ear. “But even so,” he whispered, “I still prefer looking at your breasts.”
She laughed and pushed at him. Catching her hand, Max kissed the tip of her thumb, where a patch of frosting had collected. She suppressed a gasp as she felt his tongue remove the dab of sweetness.
“You are wicked,” she said, knowing that her blush contrasted violently with her hair.
“Let me visit you tonight. I’ll show you how wicked I can be.”
“No,” she said with a provocative smile. “I am going to hold you to our agreement. I need more time.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” He flashed her a brief grin and released her hand.
Eventually the dancing began, signaling the time when the bride was to be led to the bedchamber to wait for the “ordeal” yet to come. Traditionally the bride’s mother helped her to change into her nightgown, and then explained what would happen when the bridegroom arrived to claim his conjugal rig
hts. Irérée appeared and gave Lysette a motherly smile. “I will take you upstairs now, Lysette. Since your own mother is not here, I will be honored to accompany you to your room.”
Max reached Lysette at the same time that Irénée did. His fingers wrapped around Lysette’s as he spoke to his mother. “There is no need for you to leave the guests, Maman.”
Irénée frowned at her son. “But I must take Lysette upstairs and help her change… Max, you know very well that you must wait down here. It is the tradition.”
“I intend to break with tradition tonight,” he said.
Lysette glanced at him with a perplexed frown but remained silent.
Irénée forced a social smile to her lips, mindful of the guests’ attention on them. “Mon fils, what will all these people think if you disappear with Lysette like that?”
“They’ll think whatever they wish. They always do.”
“Maximilien,” Irénée persisted, “I will put this to you as plainly as possible. Lysette has not yet been prepared for what is to happen tonight. I have not explained anything to her.”
Max smiled faintly. “If Lysette has questions, I will be happy to provide the answers. Let us go, Maman.”
“Maximilien, this is indecent!”
Ignoring his mother’s protest, Max began to lead Lysette from the drawing room. As Irénée had warned, tongues wagged and eyes bulged. A bride and groom departing from the wedding party together was in extremely bad taste, since all the guests were aware of where the couple was headed and what would soon happen between them.
Alexandre stopped them at the door, taking hold of Lysette’s shoulders and kissing her heartily on each cheek. His dark eyes twinkled at her. “You are a most welcome addition to the family, little sister. Max should count himself fortunate that I did not meet you first.”
Lysette laughed at his outrageous charm, while Max pulled her away from his brother’s grasp with a jealous frown. He retained her hand in his as they went upstairs. Neither of them spoke until they reached the master bedroom.
“Now,” Lysette said with a quizzical smile, “tell me why you would not let your mother accompany me upstairs. I was quite looking forward to hearing her explanation of what happens between husbands and wives in bed.”
Max closed the door and untied his starched white cravat. “That’s what I was afraid of. Regardless of whether or not you allow me to make love to you, doucette, I don’t want you to be misinformed about the marital relationship by my mother.”
“After bearing three children, I think your mother must know something about it.”
“She doesn’t believe that sexual intercourse should be practiced unless it’s for the procreation of children,” he said bluntly. “She’s Catholic.”
“So are you.”
“Yes, but I’m a bad one.”
Lysette laughed. “Very well. You may educate me as you wish. Just remember your promise.”
“Of course.” He removed his coat slowly. Their gazes meshed intimately, and the silence became charged with tension. Despite Lysette’s intention to remain composed, she felt her heart beat erratically at the realization that they were now married. He could do anything he liked with her, and no one would interfere. She was fairly certain that he would not betray her trust now, when that betrayal would certainly destroy any faith she might ever have in him. On the other hand… she wouldn’t put it past him to test her a little.
Giving him a deliberately offhand smile, she played with the spill of champagne lace that trimmed the elbow-length sleeves of her seafoamblue silk gown.
After draping his coat and cravat on a chair near the hearth, Max glanced at her with coffee-dark eyes. “Do you know what happens in the marital bed, Lysette?”
“Of course. I have a married sister, remember. And one can’t help hearing things here and there.”
“Tell me what you know, then.”
She adopted an expression of deep concern. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten, Max?”
He grinned at her impudence.
“No, I merely want to hear your version, and perhaps make a correction or two if necessary.”
“Very well, I—” She stiffened as he walked toward her. Gently Max took hold of her shoulders and turned her away from him. The brush of his fingers on her back caused her breath to snag. He began to unfasten the buttons of her wedding gown. Lysette found it difficult to speak around the swallow that had lodged in her throat. “What are you doing, Max?”
“Making you more comfortable.”
“I am quite comfortable the way I am, thank you.” Her stomach quivered as she felt his fingers moving deftly along the line of tiny silk-covered buttons. “Max, your promise—”
“I agreed not to make love to you,” he said, his warm breath falling on the nape of her neck. “You didn’t stipulate that I couldn’t look at you.”
“I should think that after seeing me naked for nearly three weeks, that would be enough.”
“Since you were unconscious for most of that time, it didn’t count.”
An unsteady laugh escaped her as she heard her own words being repeated back to her. Finishing the row of buttons, Max leaned closer to nuzzle into the curly upsweep of her hair.
The bodice of her gown slipped down to her elbows, and Lysette gripped the handfuls of silk and lace over her thin chemise. Max stood so close that she could sense the heat and weight of his body, smell the alluring fragrance of his skin, the light hint of bay rum, and the crisp note of starch from his shirt. But he did not touch her.
Inhaling deeply, Lysette moved away from him, heading to the dresser where her nightclothes had been placed. As was the way of most Creole couples, they had agreed to occupy separate bedrooms.
“The marital relationship seems quite simple,” she said, somehow managing to keep her bodice up and simultaneously remove a nightgown from the drawer. As she straightened, she saw Max’s reflection in the square Queen Anne mirror on the dresser. He had removed his shoes and was sitting on the bed, thighs spread.
She concentrated on the nightgown in her hands as she continued. “The husband and wife embrace and kiss, until he becomes aroused. Then he puts his… his… male part inside her, and it is painful. After the first time, it is no longer quite as unpleasant, but it is an obligation that a wife may not often refuse. Unless she has her monthly courses, or some other illness gives her a respite from his attentions.”
“A respite,” Max repeated in a strange voice. Risking a glance at him, Lysette saw an almost comical mixture of amusement and consternation on his face.
“Well, yes. I can’t see that any woman would actually look forward to letting a man do that to her. My sister Jacqueline says that it is quite unpleasant.”
“Does your sister love her husband?”
“I don’t believe so. It was an arranged match, and they don’t suit. He is somewhat older than she.”
“How old is he?”
“About a hundred and fifty,” Lysette said glumly, and Max let out a rich laugh.
“And you were worried about our age difference?”
Lysette shrugged and smiled, unable to help contrasting her sister’s decrepit husband with the virile creature before her. “I wasn’t, really,” she admitted. “I was just trying to provoke you.”
“You succeeded,” he informed her, and she laughed.
Regarding the balled-up gown in her fists, Lysette wondered how to change clothes while preserving her modesty. It didn’t seem possible. Wryly she reflected that she had no secrets from him, anyway. Before she let herself think about it too long, she shed her wedding gown and chemise, untied her garters, and unrolled her stockings. The entire process took less than a minute, but she felt her husband’s blistering gaze on her, and it seemed an eternity before she finally donned the nightgown.
Her face was vivid red as she glanced at him.
“You’re very beautiful,” Max said, his voice hoarse.
Lysette knew that she was
hardly a raving beauty, but the way he stared at her left no doubt as to his opinion to the contrary. And she was certainly not going to argue. “Merci,” she murmured. Cautiously she came to the bed and stood beside him, raising her brows expectantly. “Well? Is my version of the marital relationship accurate, or do you wish to modify it?”
Max gestured for her to come to him. Extending one hand, he tugged her up onto the mattress, where she settled with her legs partially curled beneath her.
“There are a few things I want to clarify,” he said, lifting a hand to her hair. His fingers smoothed over the ruddy curls and found the pins that anchored her coiffure. With great care, he took down her hair and sifted through the wild mass. She could not suppress the quiver of pure bliss that went down the back of her neck. The tiny aches where the pins had pulled her hair dissolved in a tingle of comfort.
“First,” Max said, “it is not a obligation that can only be avoided in the case of illness or monthly courses. You may refuse me at any time, without having to give a reason. Your body is your own, to be shared or withheld at your discretion. I wouldn’t find it pleasurable to force myself on an unwilling partner— which leads to a second point. There are things a man can do to make the sexual act pleasant for his partner. It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable, after the first time.”
Lysette was very still, lulled by his stroking hands in her hair. “Max…” Heat blazed over her face, and she felt suffocated by embarrassment. “When we were kissing the other day… I felt you… that is, I felt your… and I don’t think…”
“Yes?” he prompted huskily at her mortified silence.
“There is no possible way that you could make it comfortable,” she blurted out.
To her everlasting gratitude, he did not laugh, but replied in a serious manner. “Lysette.” He nuzzled the top of her head and worked his way down to her ear. She felt his lips brush the tender lobe. “I think your body will learn to accommodate me,” he whispered. “Trust me about that, d’accord?“