When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)

When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)
Lisa Kleypas



Prologue

NATCHEZ, 1805

The room was filled with the sound of fists pounding flesh. Lysette huddled in a ball with her arms covering her head, while smothered cries were torn from her raw throat. Her rebellion had been crushed until all that remained was the will to survive her stepfather’s assault.

Gaspard Medart was a short but powerfully built man, with a bullish strength that was often used to compensate for his lack of intelligence. When he was satisfied that Lysette would offer no further resistance, he straightened with an angry grunt and wiped his bloody fists on his waistcoat.

It took a full minute for Lysette to realize Gaspard was finished. Cautiously she unwrapped her arms from around her head and turned her face to the side. He was standing above her, his hands still clenched. She swallowed, tasting blood, and pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“Now you have learned the price of challenging me,” Gaspard muttered. “And from now on, each time you give me so much as an impertinent glance, I’ll repay it with this.” He held his clenched hand in front of her face. “Do you understand?”

“Oui.” Lysette’s eyes closed. Let it be over, she thought feverishly. Let it be over…. She would say or do anything just to make him go away.

She was vaguely aware of Gaspard’s snort of contempt as he left the room. Her head swam as she crawled to her bed and pulled herself to a standing position. She raised a hand to her bruised jaw, testing it gingerly. A salty taste filled her mouth, and she spat thickly. The door creaked, and she glanced toward it warily, fearing that her stepfather had returned. However, it was her aunt Delphine, who had cowered in another room during the worst of Gaspard’s rage.

Delphine was referred to by everyone as tante, one of that category of luckless spinsters who had not caught a husband in her earlier years and therefore was relegated to living on the uncertain charity of reluctant relatives. Her plump face was creased with concern and exasperation as she stared at Lysette’s battered face.

“You think I deserve to be punished,” Lysette said hoarsely. “I know you do. After all, Gaspard is the head of the house… the only man. His decisions are to be accepted without question. Isn’t that right?”

“It is fortunate that he did not do worse,” Delphine said, managing to sound both pitying and self-righteous. “I did not believe you would take it so far.” She approached Lysette and took hold of her arm. “Let me help you—”

“Go away,” Lysette muttered, shaking off the plump hand. “I don’t need your help now. I needed it ten minutes ago, when Gaspard was beating me.”

“You must accept your fate and not be spiteful,” Delphine said. “Perhaps it will not be as terrible as you anticipate, being the wife of Etienne Sagesse.”

Lysette’s breath hissed though her teeth as she climbed painfully onto the bed. “Delphine, you don’t believe that. Sagesse is a mean, self-indulgent pig, and no one with any wits would dispute that.”

“Le Bon Dieu has decided for you, and if it is His will that you be the wife of such a man…” Delphine shrugged.

“But it wasn’t God who decided.” Lysette glared at the empty doorway. “It was Gaspard.” In the past two years, he had gone through every cent of the money her late father had left them. To replenish his accounts and restore his credit, Gaspard had arranged a marriage between Lysette’s older sister Jacqueline and a wealthy old man three times her age. Now it was Lysette’s turn to be sold to the highest bidder. She had thought that Gaspard could not possibly find a worse husband for her than he had for Jacqueline, but somehow he had outdone himself.

Lysette’s husband-to-be was a planter from New Orleans named Etienne Sagesse. He had justified her worst fears during their one encounter, behaving in a condescending and crude manner, even going so far as to grope the front of her gown in a drunken attempt to feel her br**sts. Gaspard had seemed amused, proclaiming that the disgusting creature was merely full of masculine spirit.

“Lysette?” Delphine hovered over her, annoying her beyond reason. “Perhaps some cool water to bathe your—”

“Don’t touch me.” Lysette turned her face away. “If you want to be of use, then send for my sister.” The thought of Jacqueline filled her with a tremendous longing for comfort.

“But her husband may not give her permission—”

“Tell her,” Lysette insisted, lowering her head to the brocaded counterpane. “Tell Jacqueline that I need her.”

There was an unnatural silence after Delphine left the room. Licking at her swollen, cracked lips, Lysette closed her eyes and tried to make plans. Gaspard’s abuse had only intensified her determination to find her way out of the nightmare she was in.

Despite the pain of her bruises, Lysette dozed until the afternoon sun had faded and the room was dark with evening shadows. When she awakened, she found her sister at her bedside.

“Jacqueline,” she whispered, her lips pulling into a crooked, aching smile.

Once, Jacqueline might have wept over Lysette’s pain and held her close to comfort her. But the Jacqueline of the past had been replaced by a brittle, unnaturally self-contained woman. Jacqueline had always been the prettier of the two sisters, her auburn hair smooth whereas Lysette’s was frizzy, her skin pale and perfect as opposed to Lysette’s flurry of amber freckles. However, Lysette had never been jealous of her older sister, as Jacqueline had always been maternal and loving to her. More so, in fact, than their own mother, Jeanne.