When Strangers Marry (10 page)

Max claimed her with gently exploring kisses, while his hand urged her hips more tightly against his. He made a cradle of her loins, nudging the hard, unmistakable shape of his erection into the most vulerable part of her. She gasped at the rising
heat that made her want to tear at her own clothes, and his, until they were both naked.

Realizing that she was about to lose all self-control, not to mention her sanity, Lysette tore her mouth from his and drew in huge lungfuls of air. His lips wandered along her throat, licking and nibbling at sensitive places. He murmured in French and English, entreaties that aroused her, promises that astonished her.

“Max…” she said breathlessly, “I’m not certain that physical attraction is a good enough reason to marry.”

“By God, it is for me,” he growled, and fastened his mouth over hers again. The taste of him was addictive. She couldn’t stop herself from responding avidly to the deep, languid strokes of his tongue. His free hand coasted over her body, moving up to the curve of her breast. The heat of his hand sank through the soft cotton, and his thumb moved in ever-diminishing circles until it reached the exquisitely hard center. He took the delicate point of her nipple between his fingers, and pleasure shot deep into the pit of her belly. Gripping his hard-muscled back with her hands, she pulled herself against him.

A groan reverberated in Max’s chest, and he swung her up suddenly, carrying her to the bed. In the few strides it took him to reach it, Lysette realized what was happening. Although her body demanded that she surrender to him right then and there, her mind recalled the reasons why it was still far too soon.

As soon as he laid her on the bed, Lysette rolled
away and sat up. She held out a restraining hand as Max began to crawl over her.

“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t.”

It was amazing, in retrospect, that mere words had the power to stay him, when his gaze devoured her as if he were starved, and his body was clearly primed for conquest. However, he held still and inhaled deeply as he strove to master himself.

“If I were to accept your proposal…” Lysette paused to take a deep, steadying breath. “I would require some time to become accustomed to you before I let you into my bed. We are still strangers, after all.”

Satisfaction flared in Max’s eyes as he realized that the bargain had been struck, and that they were negotiating the fine points.

“From my perspective,
petite
, we are already intimately acquainted.”

She knew what he was referring to. “Since I was unconscious for most of that time, it hardly counts.”

“Very well. I will allow you some time before we share a bed. However, I reserve the right to try and persuade you
not
to wait.”

He reached for her again, but Lysette scooted backward and kept her knees between them. “I should also make it clear that I am not a naturally obedient sort of woman.”

A sudden smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. “I knew that from the moment I met you. In return, let me make it clear that I am a man of limited patience. Don’t test it too often,
d’accord?
”

“
D’accord
,” she agreed. Glancing down at her
knees, she spoke in as diffident a tone as she could manage. “What if I should eventually bear a child? Would that displease you?”

“Not at all,” Max said gruffly, his gaze flickering to her stomach in a glance that made her spine tingle. “Although you may wish to wait for a year or so. You’ll have quite enough changes in your life to deal with.”

“I won’t have any choice in the matter, once we begin sleeping together,” Lysette said with a frown. “God decides such things.”

For some reason he looked amused. “At last, something you don’t know,” he mocked gently. “There are ways to prevent pregnancy.”

“How?”

“It’s irrelevant at the moment, isn’t it? When you invite me to your bed, I’ll enlighten you.”

He looked so disreputable and handsome, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and a smile playing on his lips, that Lysette felt a pang of pleasure deep inside. She could hardly believe that this magnificent man was going to be hers. No other woman would ever hold him in her arms or take him to her bed. Lysette intended to enchant him so thoroughly that the thought of straying from her would never occur to him. Of course, she knew that he had absolutely no intention of falling in love with her. He planned to enjoy her body and assume the role of husband without ever endangering his heart. Lysette, however, had very different plans.

Max’s eyes turned smoky. “Why are you smiling like that?”

She told him the truth. “I am thinking, Max, that before long, I am going to have you wrapped around my finger.”

The statement caused him to laugh. “Lysette,” he replied softly, “before long, I am going to be wrapped around your entire body.”

The Vallerand clan—not to mention all of New Orleans—reacted with scandalized delight to the news of Maximilien’s wedding. Always preoccupied with the subjects of courtship and marriage, the Creoles had already begun to make predictions about the fate of the bride. Some said the wedding would never take place, while others claimed to have heard from a reliable source that the girl was already
enceinte
. One thing was certain: If and when a child was born, there would be an assiduous counting of days to determine when it had been conceived.

Lysette’s genealogy was analyzed in every Creole parlor. Little fault could be found with her bloodlines, but that did little to quell the rumors flying around New Orleans. After all, not one member of the bride’s family would attend the wedding. Parents held Lysette’s situation up to their daughters as an example of the hazards that would most certainly befall a disobedient girl.

Owing to the events leading up to the proposal, there would not be a large wedding at St. Louis Cathedral, but rather a small affair, with only a brief religious ceremony. Still afterward there would be a large banquet at the Vallerand plantation. Everyone
in New Orleans begged for invitations, unseemly rumors notwithstanding.

It was expected that the music, food, and wine at the wedding banquet would make the occasion one to be remembered for years to come. In the old days Vallerand hospitality had been known as the finest in the territory. At Irénée’s desperate petition, a celebrated old French baker temporarily came out of retirement to bake the many-tiered wedding cake.

The wedding would fall on a Monday, not a bad choice, although Tuesday was currently the most fashionable. It was considered vulgar to marry on Saturday, or Friday, usually the day on which public executions were held. As tradition demanded, Lysette was kept in strict seclusion beforehand, while everyone speculated as to what she looked like. Expectations ran high, as most decided that she must be an extraordinary beauty.
Vraiment
, what other kind of woman would tempt Maximilien Vallerand to marriage, after all these years?

I
rénée walked through the double parlors with a satisfied smile, making certain that the guests would find no flaw in her house, no fingerprints on the glass, no wilted flowers. As Creole tradition dictated, the wedding ceremony would take place in the afternoon.

The house was filled with huge garlands of roses, and the silver and crystal had been polished. The wedding cake was a splendid towering creation adorned with sugar-paste flowers so skillfully tinted that they were nearly impossible to distinguish from real ones. Now, with only a few hours remaining until the wedding, there was little to worry about.

Her smile faded slightly as she heard a minor commotion out in the hall. Certain the twins were up to some mischief, she rushed to the doorway
with scolding words on her lips. “Justin! Philippe!
Pas de ce charabia! Pas de ce
—”

She stopped with a gasp as she saw the two tall figures of her younger sons. Alexandre and Bernard were home.

“My sons,” she exclaimed in disbelief, “what are you doing here?”

The two tall, dark-haired brothers glanced at each other, and then back at her. Alexandre replied in a quizzical tone. “I was under the impression that we lived here, Maman.”

“Yes, but…you have returned a bit sooner than I expected.”

“We decided we had seen enough of France,” Bernard said dryly. “Those Fontaine daughters, Maman…
Bon Dieu
, some of our
horses
are more attractive than the choicest of the lot.”

“Bernard, how uncharitable! I am certain that you exaggerate.”

Alexandre was turning slow circles, gazing at the flower-bedecked house. “What is all this?” he asked in bewilderment. “Has someone died?”

While Lysette was safely tucked away upstairs having her hair arranged, the Vallerands drew together for a family conference in the parlor. Rumpled, dusty, and weary from the long journey, Alexandre and Bernard stared at their mother and older brother in disbelief.

“You are going to be
married?
” Alexandre exclaimed, leaning his hip on the back of the settee and folding his lanky arms across his chest. He
snickered and looked at Max, who favored him with a cool stare. “Of all things I had expected to find on my arrival…” For some reason, the sight of his oldest brother clad in wedding finery tickled Alex’s fancy. He had always been the most irreverent of Irénée’s sons. “
Bien sûr
, he’s finally been caught!” He choked with laughter, until even Bernard’s sober demeanor cracked with a smile.

“I fail to see what is so amusing,” Max said with a scowl.

Alexandre had nearly fallen to the floor by now. “I would like to know what kind of woman managed to drag you to the altar! Did she use a very big club?”

Bernard regarded Max more seriously. “Who is she? Not anyone we know, I would guess. You’ve never given a second glance to any of the women around here.”

Irénée answered for him. “Lysette is a girl of excellent family, from Natchez.
Te souviens de Jeanne Magnier?
Max’s bride is Jeanne’s daughter.”

“A Magnier?” Bernard repeated, looking at Max speculatively. “An attractive family, as I recall. I would wager there was little need for her to carry a club.”

Max smiled unexpectedly. “She has many virtues, beauty among them.”

“She must be remarkable indeed for you to risk marriage again,” Bernard remarked.

They were all quiet for a moment, remembering that other wedding so many years ago.

Irénée broke the spell by speaking briskly. “Lysette
will make Max very happy, you will see. Finally the past is behind us.”

Lysette’s hand shook so badly that Max could hardly slide the gold band onto her finger. Although they both desired to be wed, the ceremony was not an especially joyful occasion. Max was tense and grim-faced, and his hand was strangely cold. Lysette had no doubt that he was remembering his first wedding, and the tragedy that had haunted him ever since. He probably feared the possibility that his second marriage would become a living hell just as the first had.

For her part, Lysette struggled to overcome her own doubts. The words she spoke would chain her forever to the man beside her. Legally Maximilien Vallerand would have the power to punish, abuse, or subject her to any whim, no matter how irrational. In the context of Creole culture, he had what amounted to the power of life or death over her.

She could only hope that her judgment of him had been correct. Perhaps she was mad, to place herself in the possession of a man she knew so little. However, she reminded herself pragmatically that most brides and grooms were virtual strangers, matches being made by parents who rarely asked for their approval.

Incense lent its sweet, pungent scent to the air as Lysette knelt before the priest and prayed for God’s blessing on the marriage. When she was finished, she placed her hands in Max’s and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

But while the ceremony had been small, the wedding feast was attended by more guests than Lysette could count. She even lost sight of Max, who was monopolized by crowds of relatives. Lysette stayed by Irénée’s side, trying to ignore the snatches of conversation she heard as the woman gossiped over her.

“Not nearly as pretty as I had expected…”

“She doesn’t
look
ruined, Maman.”

“That hair…”

“It will not be long before he strays…”

“…Ah, I would not be in her place for any amount of money!”

Irénée drew her to the table where the massive wedding cake, a daunting fortress of sugar and roses, towered in splendor. “It is time to cut the cake, Lysette.” Immediately the unmarried maidens gathered around them. According to tradition, each maiden was to receive a slice, which she would take home and put under her pillow along with the names of three eligible men, one of whom might then be moved to propose to her.

Lysette lifted the knife and studied the towering creation, wondering where to make the first slice. Suddenly she was aware of Max standing behind her. An excited titter ran through the cluster of girls as he placed his hand on Lysette’s back and murmured in her ear, “May I help?”

Lysette glanced at him with a half smile. With relief, she saw that his tension had faded, and his face was relaxed and smooth.

“Please do,” she invited, turning her full attention
to the cake. “I don’t think this knife will be sufficient—do you happen to have a hatchet?”

He chuckled. “It is quite an impressive cake, isn’t it?” His large hand closed over hers, and he pulled her back lightly against his chest. The guests chuckled and offered encouragement as Max helped his bride cut several slices, his hand engulfing hers as he guided the knife. Lysette was intensely aware of the warmth between their bodies and the way his breath touched her neck whenever he leaned forward.

“You’re looking down the front of my dress, aren’t you?” she murmured, setting down the frosting-coated knife.

“Certainly not. I am helping you with the cake.”

Amusement rose in her chest. “Liar.”

She felt him smile against her hair. “If you are going to deprive me of a wedding night, you shouldn’t begrudge me a little peek at your breasts. And if you didn’t want me to look at them, you shouldn’t have worn such a low-cut gown.”

“I chose a low-cut gown because I hoped to divert everyone’s attention from my hair,” she said dryly. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have worked—they’re all talking about my hair anyway.”

Max touched her chin with his fingertips and nudged her face toward him. While everyone watched, he fingered one of the tiny springing curls that had erupted from the pinned-up mass of her rebellious red hair. The humidity had made it more frizzy than usual, until it appeared as if a fiery halo surrounded her coiffure. “Your hair is one of the
things I find most beautiful about you.” Leaning closer, he let his mouth drift to the tender edge of her ear. “But even so,” he whispered, “I still prefer looking at your breasts.”

She laughed and pushed at him. Catching her hand, Max kissed the tip of her thumb, where a patch of frosting had collected. She suppressed a gasp as she felt his tongue remove the dab of sweetness.

“You are wicked,” she said, knowing that her blush contrasted violently with her hair.

“Let me visit you tonight. I’ll show you how wicked I can be.”

“No,” she said with a provocative smile. “I am going to hold you to our agreement. I need more time.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” He flashed her a brief grin and released her hand.

Eventually the dancing began, signaling the time when the bride was to be led to the bedchamber to wait for the “ordeal” yet to come. Traditionally the bride’s mother helped her to change into her nightgown, and then explained what would happen when the bridegroom arrived to claim his conjugal rights. Irérée appeared and gave Lysette a motherly smile. “I will take you upstairs now, Lysette. Since your own mother is not here, I will be honored to accompany you to your room.”

Max reached Lysette at the same time that Irénée did. His fingers wrapped around Lysette’s as he spoke to his mother. “There is no need for you to leave the guests, Maman.”

Irénée frowned at her son. “But I must take Lysette upstairs and help her change…Max, you know very well that you must wait down here. It is the tradition.”

“I intend to break with tradition tonight,” he said.

Lysette glanced at him with a perplexed frown but remained silent.

Irénée forced a social smile to her lips, mindful of the guests’ attention on them. “
Mon fils
, what will all these people think if you disappear with Lysette like that?”

“They’ll think whatever they wish. They always do.”

“Maximilien,” Irénée persisted, “I will put this to you as plainly as possible. Lysette has not yet been prepared for what is to happen tonight. I have not explained
anything
to her.”

Max smiled faintly. “If Lysette has questions, I will be happy to provide the answers. Let us go, Maman.”

“Maximilien, this is indecent!”

Ignoring his mother’s protest, Max began to lead Lysette from the drawing room. As Irénée had warned, tongues wagged and eyes bulged. A bride and groom departing from the wedding party together was in extremely bad taste, since all the guests were aware of where the couple was headed and what would soon happen between them.

Alexandre stopped them at the door, taking hold of Lysette’s shoulders and kissing her heartily on each cheek. His dark eyes twinkled at her. “You are
a most welcome addition to the family, little sister. Max should count himself fortunate that I did not meet you first.”

Lysette laughed at his outrageous charm, while Max pulled her away from his brother’s grasp with a jealous frown. He retained her hand in his as they went upstairs. Neither of them spoke until they reached the master bedroom.

“Now,” Lysette said with a quizzical smile, “tell me why you would not let your mother accompany me upstairs. I was quite looking forward to hearing her explanation of what happens between husbands and wives in bed.”

Max closed the door and untied his starched white cravat. “That’s what I was afraid of. Regardless of whether or not you allow me to make love to you,
doucette
, I don’t want you to be misinformed about the marital relationship by my mother.”

“After bearing three children, I think your mother must know
something
about it.”

“She doesn’t believe that sexual intercourse should be practiced unless it’s for the procreation of children,” he said bluntly. “She’s Catholic.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but I’m a bad one.”

Lysette laughed. “Very well. You may educate me as you wish. Just remember your promise.”

“Of course.” He removed his coat slowly. Their gazes meshed intimately, and the silence became charged with tension. Despite Lysette’s intention to remain composed, she felt her heart beat erratically at the realization that they were now married. He
could do anything he liked with her, and no one would interfere. She was fairly certain that he would not betray her trust now, when that betrayal would certainly destroy any faith she might ever have in him. On the other hand…she wouldn’t put it past him to test her a little.

Giving him a deliberately offhand smile, she played with the spill of champagne lace that trimmed the elbow-length sleeves of her seafoamblue silk gown.

After draping his coat and cravat on a chair near the hearth, Max glanced at her with coffee-dark eyes. “Do you know what happens in the marital bed, Lysette?”

“Of course. I have a married sister, remember. And one can’t help hearing things here and there.”

“Tell me what you know, then.”

She adopted an expression of deep concern. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten, Max?”

He grinned at her impudence.

“No, I merely want to hear your version, and perhaps make a correction or two if necessary.”

“Very well, I—” She stiffened as he walked toward her. Gently Max took hold of her shoulders and turned her away from him. The brush of his fingers on her back caused her breath to snag. He began to unfasten the buttons of her wedding gown. Lysette found it difficult to speak around the swallow that had lodged in her throat. “What are you doing, Max?”

“Making you more comfortable.”

“I am quite comfortable the way I am, thank
you.” Her stomach quivered as she felt his fingers moving deftly along the line of tiny silk-covered buttons. “Max, your promise—”

“I agreed not to make love to you,” he said, his warm breath falling on the nape of her neck. “You didn’t stipulate that I couldn’t
look
at you.”

“I should think that after seeing me naked for nearly three weeks, that would be enough.”

“Since you were unconscious for most of that time, it didn’t count.”

An unsteady laugh escaped her as she heard her own words being repeated back to her. Finishing the row of buttons, Max leaned closer to nuzzle into the curly upsweep of her hair.

The bodice of her gown slipped down to her elbows, and Lysette gripped the handfuls of silk and lace over her thin chemise. Max stood so close that she could sense the heat and weight of his body, smell the alluring fragrance of his skin, the light hint of bay rum, and the crisp note of starch from his shirt. But he did not touch her.