When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(48)

“A little coffee?” Lysette coaxed. “It might help your head.”

He made a gruff sound of assent. Lysette went to the silver tray on the table by the window and poured steaming liquid into a Sevres porcelain cup. Returning to him with a cup and saucer, she helped to lodge a pillow behind his back before handing him the coffee. “Alors,” she said conversationally, “now that we’ve finally slept together, perhaps I will stop finding scraps of red cloth beneath my pillow.”

Max paused in the act of raising the cup to his lips. “Red cloth?” he repeated warily.

“Oui. Noeline has been hiding them there to attract le Miché Agoussou.”

A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “The Creole demon of love. Well, you can inform her that he’s visited us with a vengeance.”

Lysette smiled, a blush rising to the freckled crests of her cheeks. “I don’t think there is any need to tell Noeline anything. The entire household seems to be aware of what happened. One of the disadvantages of living with such a big family.”

“Does the lack of privacy bother you?” he asked, having never given it a thought before.

She shrugged. “The house is large enough that I have many places to go when I wish to be alone. And I enjoy your family’s company, although it would be nice to have more women around. I think we should find wives for your brothers.”

“Neither of them sees a need to marry. They live in a well-run house, and they have all the freedom they desire. When they wish for female companionship, there are many women in town willing to accommodate them. Why should either of them want a wife?”

Lysette regarded him with indignation. “What about children?”

Max regarded her sardonically. “It’s likely that after living with the twins, my brothers have received a rather negative impression of the joys of fatherhood.”

“Not all children are like the twins.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Besides, if bachelorhood is so wonderful, why did you marry me?”

Max studied her over the rim of the porcelain cup, admiring the shape of her body beneath the cambric robe. “I think I made that clear last night.”

“Ah.” Lysette stalked over to him, her movements imbued with a new sexual confidence that sent a hum of awareness through him. God help me, Max thought wryly. “You married me for my body, then,” Lysette said, leaning close enough that he could see down the front of her gown, from the tips of her br**sts to the tiny exuberant red curls between her thighs. Max gulped the rest of his coffee, but its scalding heat was nothing in comparison to the rising temperature of his blood.

“Exactly,” he said, and she laughed low in her throat.

“Perhaps I married you for yours, mon mari.”

“I have no complaint about that,” he said, pulling her toward him for a kiss.

However, they were interrupted by a firm knock at the door. Max watched with disgruntlement as Lysette went to answer it. The intruder was Noeline, bearing a heavy-laden breakfast tray. Frowning, Max pulled the covers higher over his bare chest.

Evidently the situation met with the housekeeper’s approval. Her expression was as serene as usual, but there was satisfaction in her dark eyes as she set the tray down on a small table by the window. “Bon matin,” she said placidly. “It’s about time I found madame in here with you, monsieur.”

Lysette sat by the tray and picked up a flaky croissant, biting into it with obvious enjoyment.

“Now,” Noeline continued, “if it pleases God, there will be babies in the house again. It’s been much too long since the twins.” Having known Max since his youth, she readily exercised her freedom to say anything she liked to him, no matter how personal.

“Noeline,” Max said brusquely, “have a bath readied for me right away. I’m going to be late for an appointment in town.”

The housekeeper frowned with displeasure. “You are going out today, monsieur? And leaving a pretty wife with no babies?” As far as Creoles were concerned, it was a man’s first responsibility to give his wife children. No one in high circles or low would dispute the fact that a new husband should spend every day and night in the effort to impregnate his bride. It was, after all, the entire purpose of the honeymoon.

Max pinned the housekeeper with an ominous stare. “Leave, Noeline.”

“Oui, monsieur,” Noeline replied, unruffled, and muttered to herself as she left, “How she’s going to get babies by herself I don’t know….”

“When will you come back?” Lysette asked, drizzling honey onto her croissant.

“Early this afternoon, I expect.”

“I think I’ll go riding around the plantation today,” she said. “There are still parts of it I’ve never seen.”

“Take someone with you.”

“Oh, but there is no need—”

“Yes, there is. If you should have any difficulty— if the horse loses a shoe, or stumbles— I don’t want you to be alone.”

“All right.” Lysette tilted her head back as she popped a honey-sodden morsel of croissant into her mouth. Her enjoyment of the treat aroused him further, and he turned to his side to watch her.

“Lysette,” he said huskily, “bring that honey over here.”