When Strangers Marry (14 page)

Max frowned impatiently and changed the subject. “Do you plan to welcome Burr when he arrives?”

Claiborne nodded ruefully. “My speech is already written.”

“Good,” Max said dryly. “You may as well maintain the appearance of having nothing to fear from him.”

“I thought we had just agreed there was no reason to be afraid of Burr!”

“But then,” Max rejoined wickedly, “I’m not
always
right.”

*   *   *

Lysette combed through the tiny kitchen garden at the back of the house, picking herbs to be dried and used for seasoning. She sighed in frustration as she regarded the shadow her sunbonnet cast on the ground.

It was the tradition that a bride could not go calling or be seen in public for five weeks after the wedding. She was forced to stay at home while everyone else was gone. And although she longed to defy tradition, and doubtless Max would encourage her to do as she pleased, she did not care to alienate half of New Orleans so quickly. She had never been so bored. Bernard and Alexandre had been absent last night and all this morning, in pursuit of amusements that would keep them occupied until much later in the day. As usual, Max was not there. And the twins were busy inside the house with their lessons.

Irénée had left early in the morning with the cook to go to market. It was Irénée’s special pleasure to be known as
une plaquemine
, a green persimmon, or tight with her money. All the merchants had considerable respect for her ability to bargain for the cheapest prices. After talking with everyone of note in the marketplace, Irénée would return home with all the latest gossip and repeat several bits of conversation. In the meantime, there was little for Lysette to do but wait.

Her ears caught the sound of muffled whispers and stealthy footsteps approaching from the side of the house. Setting down her shallow basket, she
watched as two dark heads came into view. It was Justin and Philippe, furtively carrying some bulky object in a dripping sack. They each held one end of the huge parcel, rounding the corner and turning toward the grove of cypress trees near the bell tower. As Justin saw Lysette, he stopped abruptly, causing Philippe to bump into him. They nearly dropped the heavy sack.

Justin threw an annoyed glance at his brother. “I thought you said that no one was out here!”

“I didn’t see her!” Philippe retorted.

Lysette stared at them quizzically. “What are you carrying?”

The twins looked at each other. Justin scowled. “Now she’ll go inside and tell,” he grumbled.

Philippe sighed. “What’ll we do with her?”

Lysette stared at them suspiciously. “Are you
stealing
something?”

Justin took the heavy object in both arms and gestured to Lysette with a jerk of his head. “Kidnap her,” he said brusquely. “If we make her a part of it, she can’t tell anyone.”

“A part of what?” Lysette asked.

“Shhh…do you want us all to get caught?” Cheerfully Philippe grasped her wrists and dragged her along with them.

“You’re supposed to be studying,” Lysette admonished. “Where are we going? What is in that sack? If you
do
get into trouble, I want it to be clear that I was an unwilling partner. A victim.
Mon Dieu
, why is that dripping?”

“It’s from the kitchen,” Philippe said in a tantalizing voice.

Immediately Lysette knew what it was. “You didn’t,” she said. “No, you couldn’t have.” A huge watermelon shipped from across the lake had been soaking for hours in a tub of cold water in the kitchen. It was intended as a special after-dinner treat for the family that night. Stealing it was a serious crime, indeed. Berté the cook would have an apoplectic stroke when she discovered its disappearance. “You must wait until tonight,” Lysette said adamantly. “Stealing it isn’t worth the trouble you’ll cause.”

“Yes, it is,” Justin said firmly.

She shook her head. “Take it back now, before they realize it’s gone. Right away. Philippe, how could you let Justin talk you into this?”

“It was my idea,” Philippe said mildly.

They took cover in the trees and deposited their booty on a large stump. Lysette sat on a fallen tree trunk and watched with dismay as the twins unwrapped the glistening emerald melon. “I’ll do the honors,” Justin said, and lifted the melon, grunting slightly at its weight.

“I can’t look,” Lysette groaned, cringing in dread, and Philippe put one of his hands over her eyes as the watermelon was cracked against the tree stump. She heard a juicy splitting sound, and Justin’s triumphant chortle.

“We’ve come too far to turn back now,” Philippe commented, enormously pleased. Gingerly Lysette
pried his hand away from her face and peered at the splendid sight. Appalled as she was by the crime, she could not stop her mouth from watering at the sight of the cold red fruit.

“You should feel guilty,” she said sternly, “for depriving the rest of the family.”

“They should have known what would happen to an unguarded watermelon,” Justin retorted, pulling an ancient but carefully sharpened knife from the kerchief knotted around his thigh and hacking away at the red and green bounty. “Besides, they’ve deprived us of
lots
of things. This little watermelon only
begins
to settle the score.”

“It’s not a little watermelon,” Lysette said. “It’s a big one. Huge, as a matter of fact.”

Justin thrust a dripping wedge toward her. “Try some.”

“Are you attempting to buy my silence?” Lysette asked with a severe expression.

“It’s not a bribe,” Philippe cajoled. “Just a gift.”

“It’s a bribe,” Justin corrected. “And she’ll take it. Won’t you, Lysette?”

She was torn between principle and desire. “I don’t think I could enjoy a stolen watermelon.”

“It tastes much better when it’s stolen,” Justin assured her. “Try it.”

Reluctantly Lysette arranged her apron over her lap and took the offering. As she bit into it, the sugary juice ran down her chin, and she blotted it with a corner of the apron. The watermelon was sweet and crisp, heavenly on a hot day. She had never
tasted anything so delicious. “You’re right,” she said ruefully. “It is better when it’s stolen.”

For the next few minutes there was no conversation as they concentrated on the melon. It was only when Lysette was comfortably full and the ground around her feet was littered with crescents of rind that she glanced upward and happened to see a tall form approaching.

“Justin? Philippe?” she said slowly. “Your father is coming this way.”

“Run!” Justin said, already on his feet.

“What for?” Philippe countered, watching Maximilien. “He’s already seen us.”

Deciding to save herself, Lysette jumped to her feet and assumed a stern expression. “Now, you two,” she said loudly, “I hope that I’ve made you see the error of your ways. Because if this happens again—”

Max’s arm slid around her front, and his low laugh tickled her ear. “That was a very good try,
petite
. But your sticky cheeks give you away.”

She grinned up at him, and he brushed his mouth over hers, savoring the watermelon-sweet taste of her lips.

“Traitor,” Justin accused as he glanced at Lysette, but he was laughing with the abandon of a young boy.

Max’s warm gaze traveled over the three of them. “It seems we have a conspiracy.”

Philippe gazed at his father entreatingly. “You won’t tell Berté, will you, Father?”

“Of course not. But I fear you’ll give yourselves away by the amount of food you leave untouched on your plates tonight.”

“It’s still afternoon,” Justin said. “We’ll be hungry again by supper.”

“I have no doubt that my two growing boys will,” Max replied, and looked at Lysette speculatively. “I wonder about my small wife, however.”

Lysette gave him a sunny smile. “You will have to help me think of something. It is your duty to defend me,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“Indeed it is.” Max sat with her on the fallen tree trunk, gesturing for Justin to give him a portion of the melon.

“How did you find us?” Lysette removed her apron and passed it to the boys to wipe their hands and faces with.

“According to Noeline, you were in the herb garden. When I went to look for you, I found your basket and a set of tracks.” Max took an appreciative bite of watermelon.

Lysette saw that one of his shirtsleeves was threatening to fall down his forearm. She reached out to roll it more snugly. “And now you’re a coconspirator,” she told him.

He exchanged a smile with her. “I’m merely trying to help you dispose of the evidence.”

Nestled against her husband’s side, Lysette enjoyed the next few minutes of lazy conversation, while the boys regaled them with tales of their latest adventures in the bayou. She was touched by the twins’ obvious admiration of their father and their
desire for his approval. What moved her even more, however, was Max’s patience with them, the warm attentiveness of his manner. He was a good father, strong but undeniably loving.

Lysette tried to imagine what it might be like to have a child with Max. Her heart ached a little as she reflected that her children, just like Justin and Philippe, would have to deal with the nasty rumors and dark suspicions that people had about Max’s past. However, she would teach her children to ignore the things people might say about their father, and to love him as he deserved to be loved.

As
she
was coming to love him.

Stunned by the thought, Lysette remained very still. Yes, she thought, dumbfounded by the recognition that it was true, she was indeed falling in love with him. A tendril of fear curled through her as she reflected that she must keep such feelings private for a while. It was possible that Max would not want her love, that he would not be ready to accept it for a long time. There were too many shadows from the past…. Max could barely bring himself to discuss his first marriage with her, and he grew sullen and irritable whenever she pressed him for information.

Lost in her thoughts, Lysette did not listen to the conversation until she heard Max saying to the boys, “I assume that all lessons have been learned thoroughly, or the two of you would not have time for stealing watermelons.”

Neither of the twins met his gaze. “There was only a little left to study,” Philippe said.

Max laughed. “Then I suggest you finish it before supper. But first find some way to dispose of this mess.”

“What about Berté?” Justin asked. “She will try to kill us when she finds out.”

Max sent his son a reassuring smile. “I’ll handle Berté,” he promised.

“Thank you, Father,” the twins said, watching as Max pulled Lysette to her feet.

As they walked toward the house, Lysette remained silent, her sugar-sticky fingers clasped in Max’s. He sent her a quizzical smile. “Why have you become so quiet?”

“I was just thinking about what a wonderful father you are. It is obvious that the twins adore you. They are very fortunate to have such a loving parent.”

“They are good boys,” he said gruffly. “I’m the fortunate one.”

“You have every excuse in the world to ignore and deny them,” Lysette said, “after the terrible experiences you had with their mother. I have no doubt that you are reminded of her sometimes—Irénée says the twins have Corinne’s eyes. But you never seem to let that interfere with your feelings for them.”

Max released her hand at the mention of his first wife.

“I don’t see anything of her in them.” His tone had cooled several degrees.

“Do you ever talk to them about her?”

“No,” he said curtly.

“It might be good for them. For Justin, in particular. If you explained to him—”

“I’ve spent ten years trying to forget Corinne,” he said, looking ahead with a grim expression. “And so have they. The last thing any of us needs is to discuss her.”

“But she was their mother. You can’t ignore the fact that she existed. Perhaps if you—”

“Let the matter rest,” he said with a sudden vehemence that startled her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lysette withdrew into an offended silence, wondering if she had been wrong to bring up the subject. But if Max refused to share such a significant part of his past, the part that had changed him so drastically, how could she ever truly come to know him? She longed for intimacy with him…to have his trust, to talk freely about anything, even when the subject was painful or distasteful. Perhaps it was a mistake for her to want such unusual closeness with him. Most women would be happy merely to have an agreeable relationship with their husbands. Her own expression turned grim as she pondered how to be satisfied with what Max was willing to give and not ask for more than that.

Eventually she brought herself to speak once more. “I am sorry,” she said with difficulty. “I did not mean to provoke you.”

He gave a single nod, but did not reply.

*   *   *

Max thought he had mastered his emotions by the time he reached the library, but the tightness in his chest refused to go away. He closed the door and downed a brandy, welcoming its fiery smoothness.

For years he had been able to keep himself protected, shutting the past behind doors he had thought would never have to be opened. Feelings, needs, vulnerabilities, all seething behind the barriers he had constructed. And if just one of those doors were unlocked, the rest would follow rapidly, and he would be decimated.

He would not let that happen. But even now he could feel the splintering within himself, impossible to hold back.

Love had cost him everything before. In a way, it had been as fatal to him as it had to Corinne. His old self had died ten years ago—permanently, he had hoped. But it seemed that after all this time there was still something left of his heart, and it ached every moment Lysette was near.

Max left the plantation before supper, without telling anyone where he was going. Confronted by the sight of the empty place where her husband should have been, Lysette was too angry and upset to eat. She pushed her food around her plate while the family talked with forced animation. Living in the same house, they could not help but know that some kind of argument had taken place between Max and his wife.