When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(92)

“I did not kill Etienne Sagesse.”

“I know that. But we will never be able to prove it, and even if we could, no one would listen. The American authorities want to show their power over the Creoles, and to take down a man of your position would make them feel as if they were finally in control of the city. We have to go. They will convict you. Don’t you understand? If anything happens to you, Max…”

“We’re not going to run. That’s no life for you, or me.”

“No!” she said, jerking away as he tried to comfort her. “No, don’t say anything else!” Rapidly she gained control of herself. “I am going upstairs to pack for both of us and the boys. Tell Noeline to have the trunks brought out. No, no, I will tell her.” She jumped back as he reached out for her. “Don’t touch me!”

“We’re staying, Lysette,” he said quietly.

She steadied her quivering chin, and rapidly considered ways to force him to go. “I am leaving for France tonight, and you can either stay and be hanged with your principles, or go with your family and be happy. It shouldn’t take you long to choose!”

Lysette began to storm out of the room, and then, lightning-swift, reappeared at the doorway. “And while you are considering your options,” she added, “you might think about the fact that by now I am very likely pregnant. Our child will need a father! And if that doesn’t perturb you…” Her eyes slitted. “Then I swear by all the saints that if you stay here to be hanged, I’ll still go to France, and find someone else to marry! Does that motivate you to come with me?”

As she left and hurried upstairs, Max sat heavily in his chair. Despite his grim worry, he couldn’t suppress a rueful grin. He could search the world over and never find a woman who understood him half so well. In a few concise sentences, Lysette had managed to hit him in every place he was vulnerable.

———

The house was still as a tomb, except for the sounds of Lysette’s hasty packing. Heavily veiled and grief-stricken, Irénée had taken Noeline with her to the cathedral, where she spent several hours taking counsel from an old, familiar priest, and praying brokenly for forgiveness for her son. She had not been able to speak to Max, or even look at him, as she left the plantation.

Of course, Max reflected, it had not crossed Irénée’s mind that he might not have killed Etienne Sagesse. For years she had lived with the belief that he had ended Corinne’s life. He wondered bleakly how Irénée could still love a son she thought to be a cold-blooded killer.

Prowling in and around the house until early evening, Max pondered the idea of escape and rejected it. Long ago he had acquired holdings in Europe, in case his property in Louisiana was ever jeopardized. If forced to flee, he had the means to keep himself and Lysette in comfortable style for the rest of their lives. But the years of exile, being haunted by his reputation, always looking over his shoulder in fear of retribution from the Sagesses or their kin… he and Lysette would never be happy. And the vendetta the Sagesses would declare would be extended to his children. His sons’ lives would be in danger, until someone paid for the crime Max was accused of. He had to stay and fight to prove his innocence.

Halting at the foot of the double staircase, he glanced at the second floor. Philippe had closeted himself in his room. After returning home and be ing told about Max’s imminent arrest, Justin had left on some mysterious errand. A maid scurried by Max and went up the stairs carrying a leather valise, while Lysette urged her to hurry. Max shook his head ruefully. No one could fault the woman he had wed for lack of spirit. He set his foot on the first step, intending to go up and put a stop to the useless packing.

He stopped at the explosive sound behind him, as Justin threw open the front door and burst into the house like a madman.

“Father!” he shouted. “Fath—” The boy skidded to a halt in front of Max, all tense, trembling energy. The drizzling mist from outside had soaked into his clothes and hair, and he stood there dripping on the rug.

Automatically Max reached out to steady him. “Justin, where have you—”

“F-following…” Justin stammered, clutching at Max’s arms, “Following U-uncle Bernard.” He tugged impatiently. “He is in town, drinking and gaming at La Sirène.”

Max was hardly surprised. “He has his own ways of dealing with family misfortune, mon fils. God knows he’s had to suffer through enough of it. Let him be. Now—”

“No, no!” Justin pulled at him tenaciously. “You have to talk to him.”

“Why?”

“There are some things you must ask Bernard.”

“Such as?”

“Ask him why he resents Lysette so much. And why he was willing to let her fall from the attic. Ask him why he stood on the gallery, watching her with Sagesse, and didn’t try to help her! Ask him where he was last night!”

“Justin,” Max said impatiently, “it is obvious that, for whatever reason, you and Bernard have quarreled. But right now there are more important—”

“No, nothing is this important!” Justin clung to him obstinately. “Ask him how he felt about my mother! And then ask what Etienne knew that made him so dangerous to Bernard!”

Max shook the boy roughly, startling him into silence. “No. Stop it!”