When Strangers Marry (18 page)

“Don Carlos,” Max said quietly, “I hope you won’t be deceived by any claims Burr might make that he is trying to serve Spain’s interests.”

They exchanged a glance of sharp understanding. “We are perfectly aware,” Yrujo continued after a deliberate pause, “that the only interests the colonel serves are his own.”

Max decided to take another tack. “Then perhaps you can see your way clear to tell me what you know about the letter of introduction Burr has given to one of the Spanish boundary commissioners here in New Orleans, the Marquis de Casa Calvo.”

“I know nothing about a letter.”

“It is suspected that several such letters have been delivered to those who might be sympathetic to Burr’s cause.” Max studied the tip of his boot as he added, “Including Casa Calvo.” Then his golden eyes surveyed the implacable Spaniard once more.

“I am certain I would have heard of it, had Casa Calvo received one.
Lo siento
.”

The finality in Yrujo’s voice left no room for deeper prying. Max stubbed out his cigar, annoyed even though he had expected nothing more than what he had gotten. He would dearly love to know what was in that letter, to have some written proof as to Burr’s intentions.

Twilight was fast approaching as Max rode home to the Vallerand plantation. He slowed his black stallion from an easy canter to a trot when he saw an enclosed carriage stopped at the side of the road. One of the carriage wheels was broken, and only one horse was harnessed to the vehicle. There was no driver in sight. Stopping by the side of the carriage, Max saw a movement inside. He lightly fingered one of the brace of pistols he always wore when traveling.

“May I be of assistance?” he asked, reining in the stallion as it fidgeted.

A woman’s face appeared. She was young and reasonably pretty, and most definitely French, although Max did not recall having met her before. Evidently judging from his appearance that he was a gentleman and not a highwayman, she rested her forearm on the edge of the window and smiled.
“Merci, monsieur
…but there is nothing we require. Our coachman will return at any moment with help.”

“Do not speak to him, Serina,” came a voice from
inside the carriage, a strident feminine voice filled with rebuke. “Don’t you know who he is?” A second face appeared at the window.

Max stared at the woman with a slight frown, knowing he had met her before, though he was unable to remember her name. She was at least his age, perhaps a little older, her dry white skin stretched over prominent cheekbones. Her pale green eyes were venomous, and her lips turned down at the corners as if they were anchored by invisible threads.

“Don’t you recognize me?” she hissed. “No, I suppose you would not. Vallerands have short memories.”

“Aimée,” the younger woman protested softly.

With a shock, Max realized the woman was Aimée Langlois. He had known her when they had both been in their teens. He had even courted her for a time, before he had met Corinne. Back then Aimée had been lovely. He remembered having teased her, drawing elusive smiles from her, even stealing a kiss or two when her nearsighted aunt had been less than vigilant.

“Mademoiselle Langlois,” Max said with unsmiling courtesy, remembering that Irénée had once mentioned that Aimée had remained unmarried. Now, glancing at those pinched-in lips, he knew why. No man would ever have the courage—or the incentive—to kiss her. But what had wrought such a change in her? What had made her so bitter?

Still staring at him coldly, Aimée spoke to the
young woman beside her. “This is Maximilien Vallerand, Serina. The man who murdered his wife. You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you?”

Embarrassed, the girl clutched at Aimée’s forearm to quiet her. “I apologize for my sister-in-law, monsieur. It has been such an exhausting day, and we—”

“Don’t you dare offer excuses for me!” Aimée snapped, and glared back at Max. “Leave us this moment!”

Max would have liked nothing better, but they were alone and unprotected, and no gentleman would leave them in such a situation. “Permit me to wait nearby until your coachman returns,” he said. “Night is falling, and it is dangerous to—”

“
You
present the only danger to us,” Aimée interrupted. “Therefore, I would appreciate your immediate departure!”

Max gave her a curt nod. “Good evening, ladies,” he murmured, and urged the stallion away from the carriage.

Max went a bit farther along the road, and watched the vehicle until another carriage arrived for the two women. Disturbed by the encounter, he tried to force thoughts of the past from his mind, but they kept returning. He remembered the innocent days of his boyhood, the happiness he had taken for granted, the stern but comforting presence of his father, his reckless adventures with his friends, his careless assurance that he could have any girl he wanted.

Aimée’s reticence had been an engrossing challenge,
until he had been introduced to Corinne—and then he had forgotten everyone but her. Corinne had dazzled him, aroused him, made him crazy with the need to possess her.

However, soon after their marriage, the mercurial moods that Max had found so charming became much worse, and he had been at a loss to know how to deal with her. One day Corinne was vivacious, the next sullen and quiet. She might explode in fury because Max did not pay her enough attention, or she might scream at him to stop hovering about her.

Max had naively assumed that Corinne’s behavior would improve in time. Unfortunately, it deteriorated even further, until she would throw violent tantrums for no reason. When she became pregnant, she began to treat Max with active hatred.

Giving birth to the twins had nearly killed her, and she had held him responsible for it. Bewildered and hurt, he had begged her to forgive him for whatever it was he had done. Each time he approached her, she had thrown his love back in his face, until the weight of her contempt crushed him utterly. It was the last time Max had ever asked a woman for anything…until Lysette.

The thought of Lysette calmed him and eased the pain of remembering. He needed her, needed to drown himself in the pleasure of her body. As great as the physical satisfaction Lysette offered was, however, it was nothing compared to the healing power of her faith in him. She was the only person in the world who did not believe the worst of him. If anything ever happened to make Lysette doubt
him, Max knew that he would not be able to bear it. He hated depending on her so greatly, but he seemed to have no choice about it.

As soon as Max reached the house and walked in the front door, Alexandre attempted to corner him. “Max, I have been waiting for you. There is a matter I would like to take up with—”

“It’s been a long day,” Max said brusquely, shedding his coat.

“
Oui,
but—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“
Oui,
but…I have run into a few extra expenses this month….”

“Gambling debts?” Max strode to the curving staircase while Alex followed at his heels.

“I have left an accounting on your desk.”

“Perhaps you could find a less expensive habit to amuse yourself with?”

“I could,” Alex agreed readily. “In the meantime, however, will you take care of this for me?”

“
Bien sûr
,” Max assured him shortly, leaving him at the foot of the stairs. He wanted to see Lysette so badly that he was unwilling to wait for even a minute.

Alex relaxed, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he watched Max ascend the steps. “
Merci,
Max. Not long ago you would have lectured me for an hour.”

“I would now, if I thought it would make an impression.”

“I rather think that something—or someone—has done much to sweeten your temper,
mon frère.
”

Max did not pause to reply, even when Irénée’s voice floated up to his ears. “Is that Max’s voice I hear, Alex? Has he had supper? Well, why didn’t you ask? Did he look hungry?”

Striding into his bedroom, Max closed the door with his foot and dropped his coat on the floor. Lysette emerged from the adjoining garderobe, a small room used for dressing and sometimes bathing. Her eyes glowed at the sight of him.

“You have been gone for a long time,
mon mari.
” The sound of her voice dispelled his gloom immediately. It seemed that Lysette had been trying on some new gowns, for garments of silk and lace were strewn about the room, and brocaded slippers were piled in a glittering heap beside the bed. She was dressed in an ice-blue ball gown, the bodice trimmed with swaths of matching gauze. The gown was very low-cut, molding her breasts together and upward, her cleavage covered with a translucent bit of gauze that served to enhance rather than conceal the tempting little valley. She looked slim and feline, the blue silk emphasizing her eyes and making her hair gleam like living flame.

As Lysette walked to him, clearly intending to welcome him with a kiss, Max lifted his hands in a gesture for her to stay back.

“
Petite
, wait. I am dusty from the ride, and I smell of horses,” he said, smiling. “Let me see what you’re wearing.”

Lysette turned for his benefit, glancing flirtatiously over her shoulder. The gown was partially unfastened in the back, and Max let his gaze linger
on the vulnerable curve of her spine. He wanted to devour her.

“Very beautiful,” he said.

“I am going to wear this to the ball, when I meet Colonel Burr. Have you realized that it will be my first appearance as your wife?”

Max displayed no reaction, but inwardly he was troubled. Lysette couldn’t possibly be prepared for the pointed questions, the razor-sharp curiosity she was likely to encounter at the gathering. He was used to it by now, but for someone as sheltered as she had been, the experience might prove distressing.

“You should be warned about what will happen, Lysette. Yesterday was nothing compared to what the ball will be like. My fall from grace was infamous, and memories here are nothing if not long. As you know, some believe you’re married to the devil incarnate.”

Lysette considered him thoughtfully. Then she came to him, placing her slender hand on the side of his lean face. “But you are a devil. I already know that.”

Max bent and nuzzled her throat, unable to stop himself. “I don’t think I like having so much of my wife exposed to other men’s gazes,” he said, his fingertips measuring the amount of skin left uncovered by the deep neckline.

“Oh, but it is a
modest
gown. Many other women will be wearing styles far more daring.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not married to them.”

“I was not aware you had such a jealous nature,”
Lysette said, clearly pleased by his possessiveness.

She was so clean and sweet and adorable that Max picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.

“Then let me remove all doubt,” he said climbing over her, boots and all. His body crushed the shimmering material of her skirt between them. Lysette giggled at his onslaught of ardor, and wrestled with him. He subdued her easily, yanking up the hem of her gown and settling between her flailing thighs.

“Max,” she protested, breathless with laughter, “my gown, you’ll ruin it!”

“I’ll buy you another. A dozen more. Now let me have my way with you.” His teeth closed over the silk-covered peak of her breast, and Lysette stopped struggling. She was not wearing a chemise, and as he wet the thin slippery fabric with his tongue, the textured crest rose against his tongue. He rubbed his mouth over the tender point, flicked at it, nibbled, until she lay gasping beneath him.

Reaching between their bodies, he found the soft heat of her cleft and teased his finger inside her. She was wet and pliant, her body accepting him eagerly. Sliding a second finger inside, he covered her mouth with his. Lysette moaned and struggled to press closer to him, her hips arching into the warmth of his palm.

He kissed and teased her, loving the small sounds she made in her throat, the urgent writhing of her body. When he felt her tensing at the approach of a climax, he withdrew his fingers and unfastened his breeches.

Greedily Lysette reached for his cock and guided
him into place. Her body clasped him with a delicate, snug fit, sheathing him sweetly. She whimpered in pleasure as he circled and ground himself against her, burying his cock in deep slick thrusts, bringing her to a shuddering release. Obeying his gravelly murmur, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he made love to her until his passion was spent in an explosion of bliss.

On the night of the ball, Max and Alexandre occupied themselves with drinks in the library while Irénée and Lysette remained busy upstairs. “Women,” Alex grumbled, “and their primping.”

Max smiled leisurely and lifted a glass of burgundy to his lips. “Why are you so eager to arrive at the ball on time, Alex? I do not believe it is to catch a glimpse of Aaron Burr.”

“Perhaps I’ve taken an interest in politics,” Alexandre replied, and Max snorted in skeptical amusement.

He refilled Alexandre’s drink and rested his elbow on the marble mantel. “You realize, Alex, that as an unattached man, you’ll be occupied the entire evening with mothers and
tantes
parading their young charges before you. Usually you can’t abide such evenings.”

“Ah, well, I will bear it for one night.”

Max grinned, suspecting that some girl had caught his younger brother’s roving eye. “Who is she?” he asked.

Alex smiled sheepishly. “Henriette Clement.”

“Jacques’ youngest sister?” Max inquired with
surprise, remembering the last time he had seen the girl outside the milliner’s shop with her older brother. “Hmm…an attractive girl, as I recall.”

“
Sang de Dieu,
I haven’t even
danced
with her yet! Just because you’ve plunged into marriage doesn’t mean the idea holds appeal for
me.
”

Max smiled at him. “I said nothing about marriage.”

Flustered, Alex cast his mind in search of a reply, and was saved by the sound of the women’s voices. “
Bien
, they’re ready now,” he said, hurriedly setting down his glass.