When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(49)

“With a croissant?”

“No, just the honey.”

Lysette’s perplexed gaze met his, and as understanding dawned, she shook her head decisively. “No, you wicked man.”

“Now,” he insisted, patting the space beside him. “You promised to obey me, chèrie. Are you breaking your vows already?”

“I promised no such a thing.”

“Yes, you did. During the wedding.”

“I crossed my fingers during that part.” Seeing his lack of comprehension, she added, “it’s what the Americans do when they don’t mean what they’re saying.”

Max threw back the covers, revealing his na**d body, and went to retrieve his giggling wife. Picking her up masterfully, he carried her to the bed, and brought the pot of honey along with them. “Do you know what Creoles do to rebellious wives?” he asked, depositing her on the mattress.

“Am I going to find out?” she asked, her face burnished with brilliant pink.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, and joined her on the bed.

———

As Lysette had expected, she was the object of unusual scrutiny when she joined the Vallerands in the morning room after breakfast. Even Alexandre, who was clearly suffering from a bout of heavy drinking and carousing in town the night before, dragged his bloodshot gaze to her face.

“Good morning,” Lysette said cheerfully.

Justin, who lounged in the corner with a sugar-dusted roll, broke the tension with his typical bluntness. “Are we trying to see how she fared the night with Father? She looks well enough to me.” It was not said in malice; indeed, there was a twinkle in his blue eyes that was impossible to resist. Lysette smiled at him even as the rest of the family reacted with annoyance, demanding that he leave the room. She touched his shoulder as he departed.

“It’s not necessary for you to leave, Justin,” she said.

“I was going to, anyway. Philippe and I have a fencing lesson in town.”

“I hope it goes well for you.”

Justin grinned, raking his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “It always does. I’m the best swordsman in town, after father. Bon matin, bellemere,” he said cheerfully, and went in search of his brother. Although Lysette smiled at his youthful bravado, the other Vallerands did not seem to find it so amusing.

“That boy…” Irénée did not finish the complaint, but her irritation was clear.

“Max should have taken a switch to him a long time ago,” Alexandre said grimly, taking a tiny sip of coffee and holding his head as if it were about to fall off. “Now the results of Max’s spoiling are becoming all too obvious.”

“Justin is trying to make himself noticed,” Lysette replied, seating herself beside Irénée. “Philippe earns attention through his good behavior. Naturally the only course left to Justin is to be bad. If we treat him with patience and understanding, I have no doubt that he will improve.” She turned to her mother-in-law, determined to change the subject. “I thought I might ride around the plantation today.”

“Have Elias accompany you,” Irénée replied. “He is a good boy, quiet and well mannered.”

“Where are you going?” Bernard asked.

She shrugged. “Perhaps toward the east, beyond the cypress grove.”

“There is nothing there to see,” Bernard replied with a frown. “Except for the ruins of the old overseer’s house.”

The group fell oddly silent at the mention of the place. Lysette glanced at Irénée, who had suddenly devoted her attention to stirring more sugar into her coffee. Pondering the reasons for such a strange reaction, Lysette realized that the overseer’s house must be where Corinne had been murdered.

“I should have thought it would have been torn down,” Lysette said.

“It should have been,” Irénée agreed. “Unfortunately, no one on the plantation, or in New Orleans, has been willing to do it. Superstition, you understand.”

Lysette understood. The Creole culture attached great importance to places where murder or death had occurred. Any token of the house— a stick, a chip of brick or molding plaster— carried with it the essence of evil. Such fragments could be used to make a powerful gris-gris that would bring death and everlasting grief to a victim. No one would care to bring a curse on himself by desecrating a place riddled with bad spirits.

“Some have foolishly claimed to have seen ghosts there,” Irénée said. “Even Justin… although I suspect he was merely out to make mischief.”

“None of the slaves will go near the place,” Bernard said. “If you tried to visit it, you wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of it before Elias refused to go any farther.”

———

It was not long before Lysette discovered that Bernard had been right. Elias, riding a placid mule behind her dappled mare, stopped short when he saw the broken outline of the overseer’s house rising before them. The structure was situated well out of sight of the main house. It was set on the edge of fields that had once been productive, but had been left untouched during the last ten years. The land was overgrown and richly green. Given enough time, the tropical climate would accomplish the destruction of the rickety overseer’s house, which had already decayed from mold, dampness, and insects.