Max groaned and swiveled around, clutching his head in his hands. “My God, I don’t know what made me do it. I wanted to kill him so badly. It would have been so easy, so damned easy.”
“You let it end there,” Irénée said in disbelief. “You did not kill him.”
Max nodded, his face twisting in baffled selfhatred.
“I am pleased,” Irénée told him fervently. “You did the right thing, Max.”
He made a sound of disgust. “I need a drink.” As his gaze moved to the silver tray of decanters, he caught sight of Lysette as she stood in the doorway.
They stared at each other in the highly charged silence. Lysette was at a loss for words. Clearly nothing could be said to soothe him. He was filled with masculine hostility that had been allowed no outlet. Clearly he was furious that he hadn’t been able to make himself kill his hated enemy. No doubt he considered that a sign of weakness.
Lysette, on the other hand, recognized the turn of events as evidence that she had been right— Vallerand was not a killer, no matter what the rest of New Orleans chose to believe. “Well,” she murmured, “what next, monsieur? Will you be sensible and let the matter rest now? Probably not… you’ll do your best to find another excuse to duel with Sagesse, and perhaps next time you’ll find it in yourself to kill him. Though I doubt it. In any event, I won’t be here to see it, thank God.”
She gave Irénée an expectant glance. “If you wouldn’t mind, madame, I would like to go to the Ursuline convent now. I doubt it will be half so interesting as a stay with the Vallerands… but I daresay I wouldn’t mind a few days of peace and quiet.”
Vallerand pinned her with a surly stare that made her nerves jangle with warning. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“You have an alternate plan in mind?” she asked crisply.
“You’re ruined,” he pointed out. “No one in the entire territory would have you now. Everyone believes you to be soiled goods.”
“Yes, thanks to you, marriage is no longer a choice for me. But the sisters will have me. So, if you will excuse me, I am going upstairs to pack my few things, and then I expect a carriage to—”
“You’re going to marry me.”
Although Lysette had half expected it, the primitive proposal— or, more accurately, the announcement— caused her heart to stop. In the midst of her alarm, a part of her was able to step back and point out that if she was clever enough, she might be able to get something she had only now realized that she wanted.
“Indeed? How did you come up with such an absurd idea?”
“I have need of a wife.”
“Only because of what you did to the first one,” she retorted, and turned on her heel.
By the time Max was able to form a reply, she was halfway up the stairs, her legs propelling her to the safety of her room.
Max glanced at his mother with a sardonic smile. Irénée shrugged apologetically. “I do not think she is receptive to the idea,” Irénée commented.
Max laughed at the understatement, his fury seeming to abate. He walked over to her and pressed a kiss to her furrowed forehead. “Maman, you must not go around telling my prospective brides that I murdered my first wife. It does little to enhance my appeal.”
“Do you think you will be able to persuade her to marry you, Max?”
“Begin making plans for a wedding a week from now.”
“Only a week? But how could I possibly prepare… No, no, it cannot be done.”
“A small wedding. I know you, Maman. You could arrange it in a quarter hour if you wished.”
“But this haste—”
“Is entirely necessary. I’m afraid my fiancée’s reputation could not withstand a lengthier engagement.”
“If we could wait just a bit longer, Alexandre and Bernard will be here. Your brothers would want to attend your wedding, Max!”
“I assure you,” he said sardonically, “my wedding will lose none of its poignancy for their absence. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll go upstairs to have a private talk with Lysette.” He paused meaningfully. “Make certain that we are not disturbed.”
The impropriety of his intent was not lost on Irénée. “Max, you will not spend too long with her alone, will you?”
“I might have to. After the confidences you shared with Lysette, it might take strong measures to convince her to marry me.”
“What kind of measures?”
A devilish smile crossed his lips. “Don’t ask questions, Maman, when you know you don’t want to hear the answers.”
———
Lysette leaned against the bed and watched the door intently. The handle was tried, and the lock prevented it from turning.
“Lysette, open the damned door.”
“I have not given you permission to use my first name,” she said. “And foul language hardly makes your marriage proposal more inviting.”
The door rattled more vigorously, the hinges creaking in protest. “Mademoiselle Kersaint, I have no desire to break down the door, since in all likelihood I will have to be the one to repair it. Open it, or—”
Turning the key in the lock, Lysette sent the door swinging open. “Come in.” She returned to her position against the bed and folded her arms before her. “I can hardly wait to hear why I should accept your proposal.”
Vallerand entered the room and closed the door, his hooded gaze flickering to the bed behind her. Lysette could almost feel the force of his desire. She was actually enjoying this confrontation with the huge, aroused male before her, knowing how badly he wanted her. So he thought he would simply inform her that they would be married, and she would fall gratefully into his arms? Oh, no. If she were to accept him… and that was still very much an if… Max would have to convince her that he was worth the risk she would have to take.
“Mademoiselle—”
“You may use my first name now.”
“Lysette.” He let out a taut sigh. “I didn’t kill my wife,” he said baldly. There was no trace of humility in his tone, no sign of vulnerability on his face… but the mist of sweat on his forehead betrayed his agitation, and Lysette’s heart softened ever so slightly.
“Corinne was dead when I found her. I don’t know who did it. I thought Sagesse was guilty at first, but he has many witnesses to confirm that he wasn’t with her that night. All the evidence points to me. No one believes that I’m innocent. Not even my own mother. I can’t expect you to believe it, either, but I swear—”
“Of course I believe you,” Lysette said calmly.
Max looked away swiftly, but not before she saw the astonishment on his face. Although his body was rigid, she detected the faint tremor that shook him.
Suddenly understanding the burden he had carried for so long, and the toll it had taken on him, Lysette thought compassionately of how alone he hadbeen for so many years.
“It is obvious that you’re no murderer,” she continued, giving him time to recover himself. “This morning you couldn’t even make yourself kill Etienne Sagesse in a justifiable duel. For all your posturing and snarling, I believe that you are basically harmless. But that is hardly enough to recommend you as a husband.”
“Harmless?“ he repeated, his head jerking up. His face turned dark with a scowl.
“And untrustworthy,” she added. “Since the day we met, you have betrayed, manipulated, and lied to me.”
“The circumstances were unusual.”
“Is that an apology? It doesn’t sound like one.”
“I apologize,” he said through his teeth, approaching her.
“Very well.” Lysette gave his disheveled form a boldly appraising glance from head to toe. “Since I am optimistic by nature, I will assume that such behavior isn’t usual for you. Now please explain why I should want to marry you.”
Max contemplated her for a long time, obviously coming to the realization that bullying would not work with her. His eyes narrowed as he decided to negotiate.
“I’m a wealthy man, by anyone’s st
andards. As my wife, you could have anything that you desired.”
How like a man, to think that his wealth was his primary attraction. Lysette showed no reaction to the statement. “What else?” she asked.
He moved closer with the stealth of a hungry predator. “I would take care of you. You already know that.”
The reminder of how he had cared for her during the fever softened Lysette, but she was careful not to let him see it. “What about our age difference?”
“Age difference?” His masculine pride was obviously stung.
She suppressed a smile. “There are at least fifteen years between us.”
“That’s not uncommon,” he pointed out.
That was true. Many Creole men, especially ones from wealthy families, sowed their oats for years before they finally married in their thirties or even forties. Many others lost their first and even second wives to childbirth or disease, and they married again to girls straight from the schoolroom.
“Still,” Lysette persisted, “there would be difficulties in store for a couple with so many years between them.”
“Au contraire. I can guarantee that I would be far more accommodating than a husband your own age. If you marry me, I would allow you a great deal of freedom.”
That was his strongest point yet, but Lysette kept her face expressionless. “Is there anything else I should take into consideration?”
He reached for her, fast as a striking panther. “There’s this,” he muttered, pulling her into his arms.
She inhaled sharply, too stunned to move. His mouth was scorching, his lips searching and pressing with gentle insistence. Lysette pushed at him just a little, and he gripped her wrists and pulled them around his neck. Her slim body was flattened against his from chest to knees, anchored by his large hand at the small of her back. The intimate taste of him, sweet and dark and male, made her feel drunk. Excitement and pleasure flooded her, and she leaned helplessly against his hard body. He tasted her upper lip and then touched the center of the lower one with his tongue, a moist silken stroke that set her nerves on fire. “Open your mouth,” he whispered, his hand cupping behind her head. “Open for me, Lysette, yes, yes….”
She was astonished to feel his tongue sliding past her teeth, exploring the inside of her mouth. A moan shivered in her throat. Kissing him was even sweeter and richer than she had imagined— and she could no longer deny to herself that she had imagined it many times. Her sensual awareness of him had begun the moment they had met and had finally expanded into something elemental… uncontrollable.
Max claimed her with gently exploring kisses, while his hand urged her hips more tightly against his. He made a cradle of her loins, nudging the hard, unmistakable shape of his erection into the most vulerable part of her. She gasped at the rising heat that made her want to tear at her own clothes, and his, until they were both naked.
Realizing that she was about to lose all self-control, not to mention her sanity, Lysette tore her mouth from his and drew in huge lungfuls of air. His lips wandered along her throat, licking and nibbling at sensitive places. He murmured in French and English, entreaties that aroused her, promises that astonished her.
“Max…” she said breathlessly, “I’m not certain that physical attraction is a good enough reason to marry.”
“By God, it is for me,” he growled, and fastened his mouth over hers again. The taste of him was addictive. She couldn’t stop herself from responding avidly to the deep, languid strokes of his tongue. His free hand coasted over her body, moving up to the curve of her breast. The heat of his hand sank through the soft cotton, and his thumb moved in ever-diminishing circles until it reached the exquisitely hard center. He took the delicate point of her nipple between his fingers, and pleasure shot deep into the pit of her belly. Gripping his hard-muscled back with her hands, she pulled herself against him.
A groan reverberated in Max’s chest, and he swung her up suddenly, carrying her to the bed. In the few strides it took him to reach it, Lysette realized what was happening. Although her body demanded that she surrender to him right then and there, her mind recalled the reasons why it was still far too soon.
As soon as he laid her on the bed, Lysette rolled away and sat up. She held out a restraining hand as Max began to crawl over her.
“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t.”
It was amazing, in retrospect, that mere words had the power to stay him, when his gaze devoured her as if he were starved, and his body was clearly primed for conquest. However, he held still and inhaled deeply as he strove to master himself.
“If I were to accept your proposal…” Lysette paused to take a deep, steadying breath. “I would require some time to become accustomed to you before I let you into my bed. We are still strangers, after all.”
Satisfaction flared in Max’s eyes as he realized that the bargain had been struck, and that they were negotiating the fine points.
“From my perspective, petite, we are already intimately acquainted.”
She knew what he was referring to. “Since I was unconscious for most of that time, it hardly counts.”
“Very well. I will allow you some time before we share a bed. However, I reserve the right to try and persuade you not to wait.”
He reached for her again, but Lysette scooted backward and kept her knees between them. “I should also make it clear that I am not a naturally obedient sort of woman.”
A sudden smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. “I knew that from the moment I met you. In return, let me make it clear that I am a man of limited patience. Don’t test it too often, d’accord?“
“D’accord,” she agreed. Glancing down at her knees, she spoke in as diffident a tone as she could manage. “What if I should eventually bear a child? Would that displease you?”
“Not at all,” Max said gruffly, his gaze flickering to her stomach in a glance that made her spine tingle. “Although you may wish to wait for a year or so. You’ll have quite enough changes in your life to deal with.”
“I won’t have any choice in the matter, once we begin sleeping together,” Lysette said with a frown. “God decides such things.”
For some reason he looked amused. “At last, something you don’t know,” he mocked gently. “There are ways to prevent pregnancy.”
“How?”
“It’s irrelevant at the moment, isn’t it? When you invite me to your bed, I’ll enlighten you.”
He looked so disreputable and handsome, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and a smile playing on his lips, that Lysette felt a pang of pleasure deep inside. She could hardly believe that this magnificent man was going to be hers. No other woman would ever hold him in her arms or take him to her bed. Lysette intended to enchant him so thoroughly that the thought of straying from her would never occur to him. Of course, she knew that he had absolutely no intention of falling in love with her. He planned to enjoy her body and assume the role of husband without ever endangering his heart. Lysette, however, had very different plans.
Max’s eyes turned smoky. “Why are you smiling like that?”
She told him the truth. “I am thinking, Max, that before long, I am going to have you wrapped around my finger.”
The statement caused him to laugh. “Lysette,” he replied softly, “before long, I am going to be wrapped around your entire body.”
———
The Vallerand clan— not to mention all of New Orleans— reacted with scandalized delight to the news of Maximilien’s wedding. Always preoccupied with the subjects of courtship and marriage, the Creoles had already begun to make predictions about the fate of the bride. Some said the wedding would never take place, while others claimed to have heard from a reliable source that the girl was already enceinte. One thing was certain: If and when a child was born, there would be an assiduous counting of days to determine when it had been conceived.
Lysette’s genealogy was analyzed in every Creole parlor. Little fault could be found with he
r bloodlines, but that did little to quell the rumors flying around New Orleans. After all, not one member of the bride’s family would attend the wedding. Parents held Lysette’s situation up to their daughters as an example of the hazards that would most certainly befall a disobedient girl.
Owing to the events leading up to the proposal, there would not be a large wedding at St. Louis Cathedral, but rather a small affair, with only a brief religious ceremony. Still afterward there would be a large banquet at the Vallerand plantation. Everyone in New Orleans begged for invitations, unseemly rumors notwithstanding.
It was expected that the music, food, and wine at the wedding banquet would make the occasion one to be remembered for years to come. In the old days Vallerand hospitality had been known as the finest in the territory. At Irénée’s desperate petition, a celebrated old French baker temporarily came out of retirement to bake the many-tiered wedding cake.
The wedding would fall on a Monday, not a bad choice, although Tuesday was currently the most fashionable. It was considered vulgar to marry on Saturday, or Friday, usually the day on which public executions were held. As tradition demanded, Lysette was kept in strict seclusion beforehand, while everyone speculated as to what she looked like. Expectations ran high, as most decided that she must be an extraordinary beauty. Vraiment, what other kind of woman would tempt Maximilien Vallerand to marriage, after all these years?
Chapter 6
Irénée walked through the double parlors with a satisfied smile, making certain that the guests would find no flaw in her house, no fingerprints on the glass, no wilted flowers. As Creole tradition dictated, the wedding ceremony would take place in the afternoon.
The house was filled with huge garlands of roses, and the silver and crystal had been polished. The wedding cake was a splendid towering creation adorned with sugar-paste flowers so skillfully tinted that they were nearly impossible to distinguish from real ones. Now, with only a few hours remaining until the wedding, there was little to worry about.
Her smile faded slightly as she heard a minor commotion out in the hall. Certain the twins were up to some mischief, she rushed to the doorway with scolding words on her lips. “Justin! Philippe! Pas de ce charabia! Pas de ce—”