When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(11)

“I insist on seeing her now,” Medart said.

“Certainly.” Max began to rise, then questioned, “I assume you have had the fever before?”

“Non.”

“You had better not visit her, then. If your exposure results in fever, it could be life-threatening to a man of your age.”

“Perhaps,” the tante interceded hastily, “we should return tomorrow after the doctor has seen her, Gaspard.”

Irénée lent her persuasive voice. “I assure you, Monsieur Medart, we will take excellent care of her.”

“But the imposition…” Delphine said, her large frame jiggling as she made a helpless gesture.

“It is not an imposition,” Irénée replied firmly. “Not at all. All that matters is Lysette’s welfare.”

“I have no proof that she is even here!” Medart cried.

“She is here,” Max assured him.

Medart scowled. “I am aware of your reputation, monsieur. And I know that you are the enemy of Lysette’s betrothed. If you are hatching some kind of plot, I will make you pay!”

Irénée leaned forward and said with conviction, “I promise you, Monsieur Medart, that your stepdaughter will be safe with us. No harm will come to her.” She glanced at Max and added with a steely edge to her tone, “I will make certain of that.”

After further persuasion, the Medarts left, seeming to realize that they had no other choice. Max let out a hearty sigh of relief at the sound of their carriage wheels on the drive outside. “Despicable people,” he muttered.

Irénée pursed her lips in displeasure. “They know that we are lying, Max.”

He shrugged. “They can’t do anything about it.”

“I would have given Lysette over to them gladly if it weren’t for the bruises on her back. I have no wish to abandon her to more of Monsieur Medart’s discipline.”

“Now the rumors will begin,” Max muttered with dark satisfaction. “I would give a fortune to see Sagesse’s face when Medart tells him that I have her.”

“Lysette would be safer with Etienne than she is with you,” Irénée accused. “At least he has marriage in mind for her!”

“She’ll find a liaison with me far more agreeable than marriage to him.”

“What a bitter, cruel man you have become,” Irénée said in wonder. “And how disappointed your father would be to see it.”

Stung, Max sent her a sullen glare. “If he had gone through what I have, he would probably react the same way.”

“That shows how little you knew him,” Irénée shot back, and left the room with her spine stiff.

———

Although Irénée was disgusted with her eldest son, she had not yet given up on the possibility of his redemption. While she had breakfast in her room, she discussed the situation with the housekeeper, Noeline. A slim, attractive woman who possessed innate practicality and a penchant for speaking her mind, Noeline had been the housekeeper at the plantation for the past fifteen years. As Irénée had expected, no detail of their houseguest, or Max’s intentions toward her, had escaped Noeline’s observant gaze.

“I can’t believe that he truly means to ruin her,” Irénée said, lifting the china cup to her lips. “She is a decent young woman, and she hardly deserves to be caught in the middle of my son’s feud with Etienne Sagesse.”

Noeline’s coffee-colored features were expressionless, but a rueful gleam entered her eyes. “Monsieur Vallerand wants revenge against Sagesse too much to think about anyone else.”

“I suppose so,” Irénée said reluctantly. “But Noeline, I can’t believe that Max would be so wicked as to deliberately seduce an innocent girl.”

“He’s not wicked,” Noeline replied, moving to the dressing table and straightening the tiny flasks and brushes into neat rows. “He’s just a man, madame. And you can’t keep a man from a pretty girl like that, any more than you could tie up a hound with a string of sausages.”

“Do you think Lysette is pretty?” Irénée frowned thoughtfully. “I must admit, at first I didn’t think so. But it seems that the longer I know her, the more attractive she becomes.”

“She’s got something Monsieur likes,” Noeline observed dryly. “He sizzles like a pan of cracklings every time she comes in the room.”

“Noeline,” Irénée chided, laughing into her teacup.

The housekeeper smiled as well. “It’s true, madame,” she insisted. “And when he looks at her, he’s got more on his mind than revenge. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

———

When Lysette was assured that her stepfather had left the estate, she went to find Vallerand. He had just finished a cigar and a drink on the front porch, a wisp of smoke rising lazily from a crystal dish. His attention was focused on a magnificent thoroughbred that a stableboy was bringing from the stables. It appeared that Vallerand was going to ride to town.

Hearing Lysette’s light footstep on the porch, Vallerand turned toward her. His gaze was heavy-lidded, his mouth holding an almost surly curve that did something very odd to her insides. He made her want to shock him, catch him off guard…. She wondered crazily what he might do if she simply walked over and kissed his hard, tempting mouth, and tugged the crisp white cravat from his neck. No man had ever affected her this way before. She wanted to feel the shaven scrape of his cheeks, and genty rub her lips over his, and feel his hot breath against her skin. He seemed to take himself a bit too seriously, as if he badly needed something— or someone— to tease and disarm him. If she were his wife, she would do something about that.