When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(94)

“Where is Monsieur Vallerand?” Renée demanded without preamble. Lysette could not help staring in amazement. From what she remembered during her brief stay with the Sagesses so many months ago, Etienne’s sister had possessed an icy composure that had been unshakable. At the moment she seemed to be an entirely different woman, flushed and trembling with emotion. “I must speak to your husband,” Renée said rapidly, refusing to go into the parlor. “Immédiatement.”

“I am afraid he is not here,” Lysette said.

“Where is he? When will he return?”

Lysette gave the older woman an assessing glance, wondering if the Sagesses had sent her for some malicious purpose. “I do not know,” she said truthfully.

“I have something for him. Something from my brother.”

“What is it?” Lysette did not bother to hide her mistrust.

“A letter. Etienne wished it to be given to Monsieur Vallerand when he died.”

Lysette nodded coolly. No doubt the letter was some last bit of insulting nonsense. Only Etienne would find a way to taunt Max from the grave. “If you wish to leave it with me, I will see that my husband receives it.”

“You do not understand. It tells everything, all about the past… the affair…everything.”

Lysette’s eyes widened. “Let me see it.” She hastily snatched it from the other woman’s hands before it could be offered. Turning away, she read the scrawling lines rapidly, a few of them seeming to leap from the page.

What a blind fool love makes of you, Max. I understand you well enough to know you would rather shoulder the blame for a crime you did not commit than believe your own brother was capable of such betrayal.

… I gave you what you wished… I watched you wallow in self-delusion, while I …

Lysette broke off and looked at Renée. “Bernard?” she said wildly.

Renée regarded her with reluctant pity. “So the letter claims. After Corinne’s affair with Etienne ended, she began a liaison with Bernard. She admitted as much to Etienne, and also told him of her plans to expose her affair with Bernard, if Bernard did not agree to run away with her.”

Lysette scanned the rest of the letter frantically.

… there is no doubt that Bernard found the idea of doing away with Corinne much more appealing than enduring her companionship in a lifetime of exile. Given the same choice, I might have strangled the bitch myself. But making it appear as though the cuckolded husband had done the deed… that was a master touch worthy only of a Vallerand.

“Etienne writes that your husband was a fool for not considering the possibility of an affair between Corinne and Bernard,” Renée said. “Etienne scorned Maximilien for ignoring what he could have seen, if he’d only cared to look.”

“But Max believed that Bernard was very much in love with someone else.”

“Yes, an American girl.”

“Bernard made her pregnant, and she ran away— oh, what was her name—”

“Ryla Curran,” Renée interrupted. “In the letter Etienne makes a different claim. Bernard was interested in the girl, but never had an affair with her.”

“How did Etienne know?”

“Because it was Etienne, not Bernard, who seduced her.” Renée smiled bitterly. “Unfortunately she wasn’t the first young girl Etienne ruined— or the last. But it served Bernard’s purpose to pretend that he had been Ryla’s lover— people were less likely to suspect the true nature of his relationship with Corinne.”

Lysette went cold, wondering what it would do to Max to discover what his brother had done. Her mind reeled. “Bernard killed Etienne,” she said.

“I believe so. Of course, there is no proof, only—”

“He did!” Lysette insisted. “Bernard must have been convinced the night of the Leseur ball that Etienne would not keep his silence much longer, not with his drinking, and… yes, Bernard must have killed him! Only, for this second murder, Max will pay in full measure.”

“Do not panic,” Renée said. “There is time. All that is necessary is to show the letter to the authorities when they come for your husband.” Her lips thinned. “Unless Maximilien has already fled the territory. Has he?”

Lysette responded with a scathing glance.

Renée began to ask something else when they were distracted by a sudden intrusion.

“Max?” Lysette asked, whirling around. “Where—” The words died away on her lips.

Justin was leaning against the doorframe, gasping and panting, having run for miles without stopping. His face was bluish white under its tan, and his forehead was bruised and bloody. Every inch of him was soaked and spattered with mud. “I need help. Where is Alexandre?”

“With Henriette and the Clements,” she answered automatically. “Justin, what—”

The boy interrupted her with a hoarse call toward the stairs. “Philippe! Philippe, come here!”

Philippe appeared at the top of the stairs, took one look at his brother, and began to hurry down. Justin glanced beyond Lysette to Renée Dubois. “How neighborly of you,” he said, his mouth spasming with hatred. “Keeping my stepmother company while your husband and your brothers butcher my…” Dizziness overtook him, and he sagged against the doorway, holding his head. “My father,” he finished with a gasp, and reached out to Lysette as she went to support him. He held her tightly, oblivious to the mud on his clothes and hands. “They took him,” he gasped, struggling to stay conscious. “I don’t know where. They’ll kill him. Oh, God, they might have already.”