When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(9)

“I do not.”

“Why do you object to the match?” Vallerand asked idly. “Many young women would be pleased to marry a Sagesse.”

“I object to everything about him. His character, his manners, his appearance, even his age.”

“His age?” A frown crossed his face.

“He is in his mid-thirties.” Lysette smiled provokingly as she added, “Quite old.”

Vallerand responded with an ironic glance, as it was obvious that he and Sagesse were contemporaries. “A man of thirty-five is hardly teetering on the edge of the grave,” he said dryly. “I would suspect that he has a few good years left in him.”

“Lysette, if you marry Sagesse, you would certainly be well provided for,” Irénée broke in. The comment earned a warning glance from her son.

“That doesn’t matter,” Lysette said. “I would rather be poor than marry a man I despise. And I have made my objections clear to Monsieur Sagesse. What I don’t understand is why he offered for me in the first place. My dowry is negligible, and although I come from a family of good blood, we are hardly aristocratic. And obviously I am no great beauty.” She shrugged. “There are dozens of other women who would serve his purpose equally well.”

“What of this cousin in Beauvallet?” Max asked. “What did you hope to accomplish by reaching him?”

“Her,” Lysette corrected. “Marie Dufour, and her husband Claude.” The Dufours were a prosperous farming family. She remembered Marie as a kind and compassionate woman who had eloped with Claude for the sake of love. “Marie and I were fond of each other as children,” she said. “I had thought that the Dufours might support me in my refusal of my stepfather’s wishes, and perhaps allow me to live with them.”

Vallerand’s face was a calm mask. “I could buy some time for you,” he offered. “Two or three days, at least. You may write a letter to your cousin, explaining your dilemma, and stay here until she replies. If she wishes to help you, I will release you to the Dufours’ guardianship before Monsieur Medart can lay a finger on you.”

Lysette frowned thoughtfully. “It won’t be long before my stepfather and the Sagesses realize that I am here. When they come for me, you won’t be able to stop them from taking me.”

“We can claim you have fallen ill after your journey through the swamp. The family physician will affirm that it is dangerous for you to be moved until your convalescence is complete.”

“But the doctor will know I am not ill.”

“He will say what I desire him to say.”

Lysette considered the proposal, while Vallerand’s keen gaze rested on her. “My mother’s presence will ensure that no harm will come to your reputation,” he said.

“Why do you want to help me?” she asked warily.

A subtle smile played at the corners of his lips. “Out of the goodness of my heart, of course.”

Lysette let out a disbelieving laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. What is the real reason? I suppose it would please you to thwart Monsieur Sagesse from having something he desires?”

“Yes,” he said smoothly, “that is precisely the reason.”

She met his shadowed gaze, perfectly aware that he was hiding something from her. “What is the cause of the bad blood between you and Sagesse?”

“Nothing that I would care to explain.” When Lysette opened her mouth to question him further, he continued brusquely, “Will you write the letter or not, Miss Kersaint?”

“Yes, I will,” she said slowly, despite the suspicion that coiled inside her. She did not want to trust Vallerand, but she had no choice. “Thank you, monsieur.”

Satisfaction flickered in his dark eyes. “You are quite welcome.”

———

Max accompanied Lysette to the library and seated her at his own desk, setting out pen holders, parchment, and ink. Standing behind her chair, he stared at the top of her head, where her brilliant hair had been pinned in a braided coil. A garish color, many would say, the tightly curled locks containing almost purple lights in the depths of red. He was fascinated by the volatile shade, by the profligate mass of curls that appeared too heavy for her slim neck to support.

The mere notions he’d had yesterday had kindled into white-hot resolution the moment he had seen her this morning. It had been years since he had wanted someone this badly. She was unconventionally, irresistibly beautiful, her allure having nothing to do with something as banal as classical proportions. Her features were strong, the lines of her cheekbones and jaw and throat drawn with decisive purity. And he had never seen anything as inviting as the generous scattering of freckles… he wanted to follow their paths all over her body, and touch his tongue to every one of them.

The fact that Lysette was too young for him did not matter nearly as much as it should have. Her self-possession was remarkable for a girl of her tender years. Clearly she was not afraid of him— she treated him as if they were equals, regardless of the years that separated them.

His pulse quickened as sexual images drifted through his mind, and he forced his attention to the task at hand. “Do you require assistance with the letter, Mademoiselle Kersaint?”

Her lush, deep-cornered mouth twitched with amusement. “I can write quite well, thank you.”