When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(12)

The startling thought made her wonder how long he had been a widower, and how his wife had died. Clearly it was a forbidden subject in the Vallerand household. Even the talkative Irénée was disinclined to respond to Lysette’s questions on the subject.

Lysette offered Vallerand a tentative smile. “I suppose my stepfather was very angry when you would not let him see me.”

“Very.”

“Good.” She came to stand near him, and his height forced her to tilt her head back. Good lord, the man was huge. “Did he believe you when you told him that I was ill?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“And he left anyway?” She chewed on her lower lip and frowned. “I would have expected him to challenge you.”

“Your stepfather is trying to avoid a scandal,” Vallerand replied. “He won’t challenge me. And as long as you are in my house, no one can forcibly remove you.”

“Not even the local authorities?”

He shook his head. “I am closely acquainted with Governor Claiborne.”

She laughed briefly. “Clearly I am fortunate to have made friends with such an influential man.” Pulling the letter to Marie from her sleeve, Lysette handed the wax-sealed square to him. “My letter. Please have it delivered as soon as possible. It’s important.”

“I am aware of the letter’s importance, mademoiselle.”

Lysette regarded him quizzically, wondering why she seemed to make him uncomfortable. Perhaps he did not like her straightforward manner. She supposed he must be accustomed to the refined ladies of New Orleans, who most likely did not rampage through swamps and defy their families. “Monsieur Vallerand,” she said gently, “I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused you. In return for your hospitality, I promise to be gone as soon as possible. If my cousin Marie will not take me, I will join the Ursuline convent. You will not have to endure me much longer.”

He smiled suddenly, seeming entertained by the notion. “A nun with red witch-curls.” An odd, almost caressing note had entered his voice.

Lysette smiled self-consciously, raising a hand to her chaotic pinned-up hair. “No doubt they would insist on shaving off this appalling mess.”

“No,” he said swiftly. “It’s beautiful.”

Lysette almost took offense, thinking that he was mocking her. But as he continued to stare at her with that steady dark gaze, she realized that he was sincere. And that led to another, more startling realization… that Maximilien Vallerand was every bit as attracted to her as she was to him.

Nothing could or would come of it, of course. However, she found it interesting, all the same. A touch of heat rose in her face, and she averted her gaze hastily. “Good evening, monsieur,” she muttered, and strode away so quickly that her skirts nearly tangled around her ankles.

———

“Back again this evening?” Mariame purred, opening the door wider and welcoming Max into her white one-story house, located in the quadroon quarter of the Vieux Carré, near Rampart. Her thick lashes lowered as she concentrated on loosening Max’s starched necktie. “I thought I had satisfied all your desires last night.”

Eight years ago Mariame’s first protector had broken off their arrangement callously, leaving her and their illegitimate child with no money or home. In despair, she had been packing her belongings to move back in with her mother. When Max heard of her lover’s desertion, he did not hesitate to come to her. She was one of the most beautiful women in New Orleans, and he had long admired her.

Mariame had been openly astonished by his offer to become her protector. “Most men want virgins,” she had said. In New Orleans, there were countless beautiful young girls, most of them of mixed blood, who were trained to become mistresses of the wealthy Creole planters and businessmen who could afford to keep them. Placées, the highly sought-after girls were called, and most of them were kept in great luxury.

Max had laughed at her comment. “I don’t give a damn about virginity,” he had told her. “I want the companionship of a beautiful, intelligent woman. Name your terms, Mariame— I want you too badly to quibble over details.”

His admiration had soothed Mariame’s grief and wounded pride immeasurably. She had heard the ugly rumors about Vallerand, and had long wondered about their truth. However, as she had seen the loneliness in Max’s dark eyes and the gentleness in his manner, she had decided to trust him.

In the eight years since then, Mariame had never regretted her choice. Max was a tender lover, a generous provider, and a caring friend. Although he had taken care never to sire any children by her, he had paid for her son to be educated in Paris. The jewels and clothes he had given her through the years would be enough to keep her in luxury for the rest of her life, and she had no doubt that when he ended their relationship, he would give her an extravagant settlement.

Because Max had been kind to Mariame, she had resolved never to stand in the way of anything he wanted. When he decided to break things off between them, she would let him go without protest. She had no wish to chain him to her, and she had wisely avoided falling in love with him.

Mariame’s face lit with a smile as she wrapped her arms around Max’s shoulders. Lean-bodied and tall, she found it an easy task to rise on her toes and brush her lips against his. However, tonight Max did not respond as she had expected. He was unusually preoccupied, troubled about something.