When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(84)

Max congratulated Leseur, both on the excellent wine and on the match between Félicie and Paul Patrice, and the two of them engaged in a casual conversation as others joined them.

From a distance, Lysette stood with Alexandre and watched her husband with a rush of pride. Max was dressed in stark black and white, a wine glass poised between his long fingers as he conversed with the men around him. He was elegant, virile, and devilishly handsome… and he was hers.

Alexandre followed her gaze. “It’s not easy,” he remarked, “having Max as a brother.”

Lysette frowned at him, thinking of all the times she had seen Max smooth the way for his brothers, doing what he could to ensure they had whatever they desired, assuming their debts and responsibilities without one word of reproach. Alex’s statement struck her as being singularly ungrateful. “Max does many things for you, non?”

“He does, but for years Bernard and I had to contend with the standards Max set. Everything he did was perfect. And then, when he fell so utterly in disgrace— it was a disaster for all of us. The Vallerand name was blackened, and Bernard and I suffered, as well as Max.”

“And you resent him for that?”

“No, no. I might have, once, but not now. But Bernard…” Alexandre stopped, evidently thinking better of what he had been about to say.

“What?” Lysette prompted.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me, Alex, or I will not help you with Henriette.”

He scowled. “I was only going to say that Bernard seems to find it difficult to completely forgive Max. But then, Bernard is the next oldest son. He has always been compared to Max and found lacking.”

“That is hardly Max’s fault,” Lysette said coolly. “Vraiment, Alex… you and Bernard must stop using him as a convenient excuse. You must take responsibility for your own actions. Max has quite enough to contend with.”

“All right,” he said, holding up his hands in mock self-defense. “I won’t say any more. But why is it, ma soeur, that you are allowed to criticize Max, but you won’t let anyone else?”

She grinned suddenly. “Because I’m his wife.”

———

Max did not notice the exact moment when his wife disappeared. As he gradually became aware of her absence, he politely separated himself from the group in the ballroom and wandered past the open doors leading to the outside galleries. There was no sign of his wife.

“Dammit, Lysette, what are you doing?” he muttered softly. He went to the garden, knowing that if Lysette had engineered a meeting between Alexandre and Henriette, it would probably take place there.

The Leseur garden was large and intricately designed, filled with exotic trees, flowers, and plants from Europe and the Orient. Its artificial lagoons were stocked with fish and crossed by charming bridges. An indignant peacock scuttled out of the way as Max strode through the rose-covered arch that marked the entrance to the main path. The way became darker, the lanterns more infrequent, until he reached the corridor of tall yews. A fountain of cherubs and spouting fish marked the center of the garden, from which several paths branched off.

Max cursed softly. There was little chance of finding his wife, or her fellow companions. His only recourse was to return to the drawing room and wait.

Suddenly he heard footsteps on the graveled path. Withdrawing into the shadows, he watched the approaching figure.

It was Diron Clement. Evidently the old man had noticed his daughter’s absence. He tromped past Max without seeing him. Max grimaced, taking note of the belligerent set of Diron’s head. There would be hell to pay if he found Henriette with Alexandre. The old man headed to the left, on a path which— if Max’s memory served him— led to a tiny pagoda. An unwanted smile pulled at his lips. In his younger days he had made use of the pagoda himself. He still retained a fond memory or two of the place. No, Alexandre would not conduct his tryst there. It was too obvious.

Taking a chance, Max chose the opposite direction, a path which led to a hothouse filled with exotic fruit trees. Keeping to the shadows, he drew closer until he saw Lysette standing at the corner of the hothouse. An owl hooted in the distance, and she jumped, looking from side to side.

The sight of her there, after she had promised not to take part in any illicit meeting between Alex and Henriette, made him grin ruefully. He was going to have to teach her that she could not tweak his nose and dance away without fear of retribution.

———

Lysette sighed, wishing she were back in the ballroom. She wondered if Max had noticed yet that she was missing. A night owl gave a low cry, and she started a little.

Suddenly a hard arm snaked around her waist from behind. A large hand covered her mouth as she yelped with fright. She was dragged back against a surface as unyielding as a brick wall. As she pried frantically at the hand over her mouth, she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

“Had I known you desired a tour of the gardens, sweet, I would have offered to accompany you.”

Lysette sagged in relief, gasping as the hand was removed from her mouth. “Max…” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You startled me!” She dropped her forehead against his chest.

“I intended to.”

Lysette winced as she saw his ominous expression.

“Where are they?” he asked.