When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(89)

New Orleans was ablaze with gossip. The rivalry between Etienne Sagesse and Maximilien Vallerand was well known, but the events at the Leseur ball were outrageous. The story of Sagesse’s drunken advances on Vallerand’s red-haired wife was recounted until the wildest rumors scattered from one household to the next.

It was said that the young Madame Vallerand had been half na**d out on the gallery. One witness was certain he had heard Vallerand swear to take revenge on every member of the Sagesse family. Someone else claimed that Vallerand had threatened to strangle his second wife as he had the first, if she was ever caught even looking at another man.

As Max went to his small shipping office in town, he was well aware of scurrying excitement in his wake. Not since before his marriage had women given him such glances, as if he were some dangerous animal to be avoided. Men regarded him with measuring gazes, like boys facing the schoolyard bully. Filled with disgust, Max concluded his business as quickly as possible. Obviously, it was his lot in life to be hounded by scandal whether he deserved it or not.

When he returned to the plantation, he saw several carriages stopped on the long drive in front of the main house. It was not Irénée’s usual at-home day. Frowning, he walked in and removed his gloves and hat. There was a steady hum of voices coming from the parlor.

Before he went to investigate, Lysette appeared. “Irénée’s friends,” she whispered with a conspiratorial smile, taking his arm. “Don’t show yourself. We don’t want anyone to faint.” She led him to the library. Max allowed her to tug him forward, while he filled his eyes with the sight of her. She was dressed in a vivid blue day gown trimmed with frothy white lace.

“Your mother has had a wonderful morning,” she informed him, closing the library door. “Everyone from far and near has visited to hear her version of last night. It matters not in the least that she wasn’t even there.”

Max smiled reluctantly, reflecting that whereas any other wife would be strained and upset, Lysette was making light of the situation. He bent to kiss her, relishing the sweetness of her lips. “Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “The scandal could fade in as little as ten, twelve years.”

Lysette smiled and pulled his head down again. “We’ll just have to keep to ourselves until then.”

“Madame Vallerand,” he breathed, his lips sliding to her throat, “you could make hell itself seem appealing.”

“Wherever you go, bien-aimé, I’ll be certain to follow.”

———

Late that night Lysette was awakened as Max lifted his arm from her waist and left the bed. She mumbled in protest, missing the warmth of his body. “What are you doing?”

“I have to leave for a little while.”

“Leave?” Sleepy and irritated, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Didn’t we discuss this last night?”

“We did.” He pulled on his breeches and hunted for his discarded shirt. “And I should have taken care of my business then… but I was distracted.”

“Can’t this business be attended to in the daylight?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Are you going to do something dangerous? Illegal?”

“Not entirely.”

“Max!”

“I will return in approximately two hours.”

“I do not approve,” she muttered. “I hate it when you go out at night.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, pushing her back down, kissing her forehead. He tucked the covers around her. “When you wake, I’ll be here beside you.”

———

A light, drizzling rain greeted Lysette in the morning, and she dressed more warmly than was usually required for a September day. Her simple velvet dress was made of a rust-colored red that brought out the color of her hair. She parted her hair in the middle and gathered it loosely at the back of her head.

A faint groan came from the bed, and she looked over her shoulder at the mass of tangled sheets and long hair-dusted limbs. As he had promised, Max had returned during the night. Refusing to give any explanation of where he had been, he had shed his clothes, smothered her questions by making love to her, and promptly gone to sleep. Lysette had been irritated by his evasiveness, but also relieved to have him back.

She walked to the bed now, her hands resting on her hips. “So, you’re awake,” she said pertly.

“I’m tired,” he muttered.

“Good, I hope you’re exhausted. Maybe tonight you will stay in your own bed instead of going on some mysterious errand that you can’t even explain to your own wife.”

Max sat up, the bed linens falling to his waist as he rubbed his face. As annoyed with him as she was, Lysette could not help but appreciate the sight of his tawny, muscular body. “All right,” he muttered. “I’ll explain everything to you, as it is clear that I’ll have no peace otherwise. Last night I—”

He stopped as he heard heavy footsteps racing up the stairs.

Frowning curiously, Lysette stepped into the hallway and saw Philippe. The boy’s face was blank with panic. “Where is Justin?” he cried as soon as he saw her. “Is he home?”

“I don’t know,” she said, partially closing the bedroom door while Max pulled on a robe. “I think he is roaming about town with friends. Why? What is the matter?”