When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(7)

“And you?” Lysette asked dully, already knowing the answer.

“I would never strike a woman,” he said readily, surprising her. “No matter what the provocation.”

“That…” Her voice seemed to stick in her throat. “That is fortunate for your wife, monsieur.”

He reached out and pushed back a straggling lock of her hair with gentle fingers. “I am a widower, petite.”

“Oh.” Lysette blinked in surprise, wondering why the information caused a queer little pang in her midriff.

“Where is your stepfather staying?”

“At the home of Monsieur Sagesse.” Her attention was caught by the sudden gleam that entered his eyes.

He was silent for several moments, before speaking in a soft, almost velvety voice. “Your betrothed is Etienne Sagesse?”

“Oui.“

“And your name?” he prompted.

“Lysette Kersaint,” she whispered in defeat. “I suppose you are acquainted with the Sagesses, monsieur?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You are friends?”

“No. There is bad blood between us.”

Lysette considered the information. If Vallerand disliked the Sagesses, it would be somewhat easier to enlist his help.

“Max? Qu’est-ce qu’ il y a?“ An elderly silverhaired woman, beautifully dressed in lace-trimmed lavender muslin, entered the library. She frowned in consternation as she saw Lysette’s bedraggled form.

“This is Mademoiselle Lysette Kersaint, Maman. A visitor from Natchez. Apparently she has become separated from her family. The boys encountered her outside and brought her to me. Have a room prepared, as she will be staying with us tonight.” He gave Lysette an inscrutable gaze. “My mother, Irénée Vallerand,” he murmured. “Go with her, petite.“

Although Irénée was obviously curious, she forbore comment and extended a hand of welcome to Lysette. New Orleanians were an innately hospitable people, and she was no exception. “Pauvre petite.” She clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Come, I will have a bath readied, and then you must eat and sleep.”

“Madame,” Lysette began in a wavering voice. “I must—”

“We will talk later,” Irénée said, and moved forward to take her hand. “Allons, child.”

“Merci, madame,” Lysette murmured in agreement, and went willingly, more than eager to escape Maximilien Vallerand’s presence. She intended to regain her strength as quickly as possible and leave the plantation at the first available opportunity.

———

Two hours later, Irénée approached her son with trepidation. Max stood at the window of the library with a drink in his hand.

“How is she?” he asked without turning.

“She has bathed, eaten a little, and now is resting. Noeline put a paste on the scrapes and insect bites.” Irénée joined him at the window and contemplated the sleepy bayou. “I remember making the acquaintance of Lysette’s mother, Jeanne, many years ago. Jeanne is one of the Magniers, a fine family that once lived in New Orleans but regrettably produced no sons to carry on the name. I remember Jeanne was an exceptionally beautiful woman— it is unfortunate that her daughter has not inherited her beauty.”

Max smiled absently, recalling the girl’s freckled face, defiant blue eyes, and disheveled red braid. Clearly Lysette Kersaint was not a conventional beauty. However, there was something about her that made him want her. Not casually, not superficially, but with a hunger that pervaded his entire being. She promised something unusual: a intensity of sensation, a fulfillment that might finally satisfy the longing that had tormented him for so long.

Beneath the desire, Max had been aware of the insistent pull of curiosity. He wanted to know her, to uncover the facets of a girl more outspoken and determined and desperate than anyone he had ever met. He was going to have her. God knew she would be wasted on Etienne Sagesse.

“Do you know who she is betrothed to, Maman?” he asked.

Irénée’s fine dark brows pinched together in a frown.”Oui, she has told me about the arrangement with Etienne Sagesse.”

“Yes, the man who brought dishonor on my wife, and on my name. I think it fitting that I repay Sagesse by taking his fiancée.”

His mother stared at him as if he had become a stranger. “What do you mean, ‘taking’?”

“And then,” he mused, “a duel will be inevitable.”

“No, I will not allow it!”

He cast her a mocking glance. “How do you plan to stop me?”

“You would ruin an innocent girl merely to strike at Etienne Sagesse? Lysette Kersaint has done nothing to harm you. Would you have her on your conscience for the rest of your life?”

“I have no conscience,” he reminded her dryly.

Irénée took a sharp breath. “Max, you must not do this.”

“You would rather see her married to a man like Sagesse?”

“Yes, if the only alternative is to see her ruined by you and cast into the streets!”

As he saw the horror in her eyes and knew that she believed the worst of him, Max was bedeviled by the urge to prove her right. “She will not be cast into the streets,” he said coldly. “Of course I will provide for her afterward. A small price, considering the opportunity she has afforded me.”