When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(53)

The cheering lasted through the speech’s prelude, but gradually Lysette could hear Aaron Burr’s voice again.

Lysette strained farther out of the window. Women scolded their husbands for staring at the flame-haired girl, youths abandoned their quarreling and watched her closely, old women gossiped while old men wished aloud that they were but a decade or two younger.

Standing a few feet away, Max became aware of the growing disturbance, and followed the gazes of those next to him. He sighed ruefully as he saw his wife leaning halfway out of the carriage in an effort to get a better view of Aaron Burr. Sensing her husband’s gaze, Lysette glanced over at him guiltily and disappeared like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Smothering a laugh, Max went to the carriage, opened the door, and reached inside. “Come here,” he said, hooking an arm around her waist and swinging her to the ground. “Just don’t complain when everyone stares at you.”

“Mon Dieu,” Max continued beneath his breath as he heard Burr’s inflammatory words. “He’s treading on the edge of treason. He can’t think that Jefferson will turn a deaf ear to such statements.”

Lysette stood on her toes. “I can’t see anything,” she said. “What does he look like?”

“You’ll meet him later,” Max promised. “We’ll be attending a ball held in his honor next week.”

“We are?” She frowned at him. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I just did.”

They listened until the crowd showed signs of becoming unmanageable. Tempers always ran hot under the Louisiana sun, and inhibitions were weakened from the drinking and feasting that had already begun. And the sight of Lysette was attracting too much attention. People were staring and pointing openly, eager young men were gathering in groups, and boys were overheard daring each other to run up and touch a lock of her fiery hair.

“It’s time to leave,” Max said wryly, drawing his wife to the carriage. “Or in another few minutes I’ll be forced into a score of duels over you.”

———

Partly for his own reasons, partly as a favor to Claiborne, Max arranged a private meeting with the Spanish minister in New Orleans, Don Carlos, the Marquis de Casa Yrujo. Since Aaron Burr’s arrival in town yesterday, there had been many comings and goings between the Spanish officials residing in New Orleans. Max hoped he could persuade Yrujo to reveal some pertinent bit of information about Burr’s coconspirator, General Wilkinson.

Yrujo was an experienced diplomat. His sharp brown eyes, set deeply in his lean, olive-skinned face, gave nothing away. Despite the half hour of verbal fencing that had taken place, Yrujo had not said anything that exposed Governor Wilkinson as a Spanish agent, nor revealed what he knew of Burr’s treasonous conspiracy. However, there was no doubt in Max’s mind that Yrujo knew a great deal.

“To me it is an interesting puzzle, how Claiborne managed to enlist your support, Vallerand,” Yrujo remarked in a congenial way as the two men talked over drinks and thin black cigars. The conversation was coming to a conclusion as both realized that neither was going to learn anything from the other. “I have never believed you to be a fool,” the Spaniard continued. “Why, then, do you ally yourself with a man whose control over the territory is about to be stripped from him? You have much to lose.”

“Stripped away by whom?” Max countered, exhaling a channel of smoke to the side.

“My question first, por favor.”

Max’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Claiborne has been underestimated,” he said casually.

Yrujo laughed, openly scoffing at the answer. “You will have to do better than that, Vallerand! What has he promised you? I suppose the retention of land grants that should have been abolished when the Americans took possession. Or perhaps you are merely hoping to store up political influence. Do you think it wise to bet that the Americans will be able to prevent the secession of Louisiana?”

“My question now,” Max said. “Whom do you think is going to strip away Claiborne’s control over the territory?”

“Colonel Burr, of course. The fact that he is hoping for disunion is no secret.”

“Yes. But Burr is doing more than merely hoping.“ Max watched closely for Yrujo’s reaction.

The Spaniard’s expression gave nothing away. “That, my friend, is something no one knows for certain. Not even I.”

Max knew that was a lie. If Wilkinson was conspiring with Burr and remaining secretly in the Spanish pay, Yrujo had definite knowledge of Burr’s intentions.

Leaning forward in his chair, Max renewed the verbal assault. “Recently, Don Carlos, you refused to give Colonel Burr a passport to Mexico. Obviously you had misgivings about allowing him inside Spanish territory. What made you suddenly so suspicious of Burr?”

“I have always exercised caution in my dealings with the man,” Yrujo said abruptly.

“Not so. You once granted him permission to enter the Floridas.”

The Spanish minister laughed heartily, but there was little amusement in his eyes. “Your sources, Vallerand, are better than I suspected.”

Silently Max drew again on his cigar, wondering how much Yrujo really knew. Burr and Wilkinson intended to secure the Floridas for themselves and were undoubtedly trying to keep their true purposes from the Spaniards, who would never voluntarily relinquish the territory. If it were taken from Spain, Yrujo would be held responsible. That prospect had to alarm him.