When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(5)

“Actually…” Philippe began, and coughed nervously. “Actually, Father…”

“It’s a girl,” Justin blurted out.

Evidently that was enough to attract Vallerand’s attention. He turned in his chair and stared at Lysette with cool curiosity.

If the devil ever decided to assume a human guise, Lysette was certain that he would look exactly like this… dark, handsome, with a bold nose, a hard sullen mouth, and wicked dark eyes. He was a rampantly masculine creature, possessing the swarthy tan and the obvious physicality of someone who spent much of his time outdoors. Although Lysette was taller than average, Vallerand’s dominating presence made her feel almost tiny. Rising to his feet, he leaned back against the desk and surveyed her lazily, seeming less than enthralled by the sight of a mud-encrusted girl in his library.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Lysette met his assessing gaze without blinking, while she considered various ways to deal with him. He did not seem to be the kind of man who would be moved by tearful pleading. Nor would he be impressed with threats or defiance. There was a possibility that he was acquainted with the Sagesse family, perhaps even was close friends with them. Her only hope was to convince him that she was not worth the trouble of bothering with.

Justin spoke eagerly before Lysette could reply to his question. “She won’t tell us, Father!”

Vallerand pushed away from the desk and approached Lysette. She was not aware of backing away until she bumped into Philippe’s solid form behind her. When Vallerand reached her, he slid his long fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face upward. Carefully he turned her face from right to left, dispassionately surveying the damage wrought from her journey along the bayou. She swallowed hard against the callused pads of his fingers. His deep chest was level with her face, the shadow of black hair visible beneath the thin lawn of his shirt.

Now that he was standing so close, she saw that his eyes were a very dark brown. She had always thought of brown as a warm color, but those eyes provided definite evidence to the contrary.

“Why take the pirogue?”

“I am sorry for that,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve never stolen anything before. But my need for the pirogue was greater than yours.”

“What is your name?” When she didn’t reply, his fingers urged her chin up a fraction of an inch higher. “Who is your family?”

“You are kind to be concerned, monsieur,” she parried, perfectly aware that kindness was the last thing that motivated him. “However, I have no need of your help, and I do not wish to trouble you. If you would release me, I will go on my way and—”

“Are you lost?”

“No,” she replied shortly.

“Then you’re running from someone.”

Lysette hesitated just a little too long. “No, monsieur—”

“From whom?”

She pushed his fingers away from her chin, while a sense of hopeless defeat began to creep over her. “You don’t need to know,” she said curtly. “Let me go.”

He smiled as if the flicker of spirit had pleased him. “Are you from New Orleans, mademoiselle?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Have you heard of the Vallerand family?”

She had, actually. As Lysette stared at the stranger’s lean, dark face, she tried to recall what had been said about the Vallerands. The name had been mentioned at the supper table, when Gaspard and his friends had discussed politics and business. Several Louisiana planters had become some of the richest men in the nation, Vallerand included. If she remembered correctly, the family owned huge tracts of land on either side of New Orleans, including the forest just beyond Lake Pontchartrain. Gaspard’s friends had said with some resentment that Maximilien Vallerand, the head of the family, was a friend and advisor to the new governor of the Orleans Territory.

“I’ve heard of you,” Lysette acknowledged flatly. “You are an important man in New Orleans, n’est-ce pas? No doubt you have many other things to concern yourself with. I apologize for my little transgression, but obviously no harm was done. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to leave.”

Holding her breath, she turned away, only to have his large hand close gently around her upper arm. “But I do mind,” he said softly.

Although his touch was light, he happened to grasp one of the more painful bruises Gaspard had inflicted. Lysette inhaled sharply and felt herself turn white, while her entire arm throbbed with agony.

Immediately Vallerand’s hand dropped, and he stared at her intently. Lysette straightened her spine, doing her best to conceal the pain he had caused. When Vallerand spoke, his voice was even softer than before. “Where were you planning to go in the pirogue?”

“I have a cousin who lives in Beauvallet.”

“Beauvallet?” Justin repeated, staring at her with contempt. “That’s fifteen miles away! Haven’t you ever heard of alligators? And river pirates? Don’t you know what can happen to you in the swamp? What do you think you are?”

“Justin,” Vallerand interrupted. “Enough.”

His son quieted instantly.

“Traveling such a distance by yourself is an ambitious undertaking,” Vallerand commented. “But perhaps you were not planning to go alone. Were you planning to meet with someone on the way? A lover?”