When Strangers Marry (21 page)

Clearly he was too furious to think clearly. “Let him leave.”

Lysette scowled at him. “Between the two of you I don’t know who is more stubborn!” She hurried after Justin, while Max swore violently.

Lysette winced as she stubbed her toe on the front steps. “Ouch!” Painstakingly, she hopped to the ground. “Justin, stop this very second! Stop!”

Surprisingly, he did. He stood with his back facing her, his hands clenched at his sides. Lysette hobbled partway along the drive. “Max has been desperate to find you,” she said. “He’s had people out looking for you. He hasn’t eaten. He hasn’t slept, aside from three or four hours on the settee last night.”

“If you’re trying to make me say I’m sorry, I won’t!”

“I am trying to make you understand how worried he has been. He was terrified that something had happened to you.”

Justin snorted sardonically. “He didn’t look so terrified to me.”

“You’re not fair to him.”

“He’s not fair to me! He has to have everyone and everything under his control.”

Lysette closed her eyes and breathed a quick prayer for patience. “Justin,” she said, keeping her voice even, “please turn around. I cannot talk to your back.”

The boy swiveled to face her, his blue eyes radiant with anger.

But Lysette did not retreat. “You don’t realize how much he loves you.”

“He’s not capable of loving anyone,” Justin said roughly. “Not even you.”

Even though Lysette knew that Justin didn’t mean it, the words shocked her. “That’s not true!”

“And you’re a fool for believing in someone who murdered his wife.” The boy stared at the ground, his entire body trembling.

“Justin,” she said softly. “You know in your heart that your father never could have done it.”

“
I don’t
know that.” Justin inhaled deeply, his gaze still fixed on the ground. “He could have. Anyone could be driven to murder.”

“No, Justin.” Cautiously she approached him. “Come inside with me.” She took hold of his wrist.

Justin wrenched his arm away. “He doesn’t want me to.”

“I suppose that is why he has exhausted himself searching for you.” She refrained from touching him again. “Justin, did you stay away because you knew it would upset him?”

“No…it was…I had to get away.”

“From what?”

“From everything. I can’t do what they want. They want me to be a good boy like Philippe, and not ask questions that make them uncomfortable, and not remind them of my mother.” Justin’s eyes glistened, and he clenched his fists, struggling to master the traitorous tears. “But I am like her. I know I am.”

Lysette had to repress the urge to put her arms around him and comfort him as she would an unhappy child. She did not argue with him, knowing that he was too tired and emotional to think clearly. “Come with me,” she murmured. “Your family has worried enough. And you need to rest.” She turned back to the house, holding her breath until she heard his slow footsteps behind her.

Fearing what he might say to Justin before his anger cooled, Max avoided him for the next day. Gently Lysette pressed him to have a talk with the boy, and he agreed reluctantly that he would, immediately after his meeting with Colonel Burr.

It was nearly midnight when Max welcomed Burr into his library, knowing that Burr was expecting to win yet another wealthy patron to his side. Daniel Clark, a New Orleans merchant with a large fleet of commercial ships and warehouses, had reportedly
given Burr at least twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, and several others had matched that sum. Max did not intend to contribute a penny, but he was interested to hear what the ambitious colonel had to say.

Burr had charmed almost everyone in New Orleans—even the Ursuline nuns. He had been received everywhere with elaborate hospitality. The Catholic authorities and the Mexican Association, which had long agitated for the conquest of Mexico, had granted him their support. It was generally thought that Burr was planning an attack on the Spaniards, and that he had gained the secret support of Jefferson’s government. However, Max had heard enough confidential information from varying sources to know better. Burr was certainly not in league with Jefferson; he was forming a conspiracy for his own gain.

With deliberate bluntness, he asked Burr why he desired this private, highly confidential meeting, when Burr had nearly every man of importance in his pocket. “After all,” Max pointed out, “one more or less won’t make a difference to your plans—whatever they may be.”

“You are known as a most enterprising man, Monsieur Vallerand. I would value your political support. And frankly, you are so wealthy that I could not afford to overlook you.”

Max smiled, actually liking the man’s bluntness. “Perhaps you haven’t taken my rather blemished reputation into account, Colonel. That could be a
great liabililty to any politician who chooses to associate with me.”

Burr shrugged negligently. “I’ve heard the rumors about you, but I do not believe they would interfere with my plans.”

“Which are?” The two words seemed to charge the air with tension. For a moment there was silence.

“I think,” Burr finally said, “that you already have an idea about that.”

“Not really,” Max lied smoothly.

Refusing a drink, Burr sat in a deep leather chair and pursued a seemingly idle line of conversation. Looking handsome and mysterious, sitting outside the direct pool of light cast by a lamp, he lazily plied Max with questions about New Orleans, his family, his politics.

Max understood Burr’s dilemma perfectly. Burr had to risk revealing enough information to gain Max’s support, but not give away enough to endanger his plans. The former vice president explained that he intended to use New Orleans as a base from which to conquer Mexico and wrest the Floridas away from the Spanish—if, of course, war happened to break out between the United States and Spain.

After Burr had finished talking, Max smiled with maddening indifference. “And this will be done for whose benefit?”

As Max had expected, Burr refrained from confessing that he planned to be the sole ruler over his new empire. “Let us say that the entire Louisiana Territory will profit.”

“And your fortunes will improve as well,
n’est-cepas
?”

“So will yours,” Burr replied, “if I can count you among our group.”

Max let the moment draw out to its fullest before replying. “I find it impossible to pledge support to a cause with such nebulous outlines. Unless you can provide more details…”

Burr frowned, clearly surprised at Max’s lack of enthusiasm. “I have provided all the information I can for now. In my view, you have little reason
not
to join me.”

Max spread his hands slightly, palms up. “I have certain loyalties, Colonel.”

“Loyalties to Claiborne?”

“To the United States as well.”

“I’m afraid, Vallerand, that I don’t understand your allegiance to a country that has refused to grant your people citizenship. You should consider the interests of the territory—and those of your family—more carefully. It is clear that your loyalties are misplaced.”

“That may be proven in time. However, for now I will keep to the course I’ve already chosen. I have enjoyed our talk, Colonel, but I think it is time for you to leave.”

Burr replied with barely controlled fury. “There will come a day when you will regret aligning yourself with my opponents, Vallerand.”

After Burr left, Max released a slow sigh. He reflected that it was possible Burr would accomplish all he planned, and New Orleans would someday
be part of a new empire separate from the United States. If Max had chosen unwisely, he could lose a large portion of his wealth and property. Burr was known to be a vindictive opponent.

“He’s not very convincing, in my opinion. He doesn’t give a damn about the territory or his so-called friends. He wants power for himself.”

Hearing Lysette’s voice, Max turned with a questioning look. She stood a few feet away, wearing a lacy white pelisse that was buttoned from the neck to the floor.

“You listened,” he said wryly.

She didn’t bother to deny it. “Voices carry very easily from this room, even with the door closed. If you desire privacy, you should try the other parlor.”

Max laughed shortly. “I’ll remember that.”

Lysette frowned. “Is it possible that the colonel will succeed? Could he actually create his own empire, and make New Orleans part of it?”

“I may be underestimating him,” Max admitted. “I don’t think anyone could have anticipated his popularity, after his journey through the West. Recently Burr was heard to say that he expects that a king will someday sit on the throne of the United States. No doubt he’s already had his head measured for a crown.”

“A king? Doesn’t he believe in democracy, then?”

“No, petite.”

“Do you, Max?” she asked, knowing that many Creoles had grave doubts about the American system of government.

Max grinned and reached for her, swinging her
slight body up into his arms. “Everywhere but at home.”

She persisted in questioning him as he carried her upstairs. “Do you think you may come to regret not siding with Monsieur Burr?”

“I suppose I might, if he succeeds in taking over Louisiana.”

Lysette wondered why Max didn’t seem more concerned. “If he does, you could stand to lose a great deal, couldn’t you?”

“I’ve made provisions for any circumstance,” he said, giving her a comforting squeeze. “Don’t forget, the territory has changed hands many times before, and the Vallerands have weathered it quite well. Do you doubt my ability to take care of you?”

“No, of course not.” Lysette curved her hand around his shoulder, and with her fingertip traced a line from his ear down the side of his neck. “Max…you never told me what you and Bernard argued about, the day of the Seraphiné ball.”

He sighed tautly. “It’s too much to explain right now. I’m tired, my sweet. Tomorrow—”

“Tell me just a little bit,” Lysette coaxed.

He scowled but complied reluctantly. “Very well. After all the comments I’ve made to Bernard about assuming some responsibility around here, Bernard finally did. Much to my regret.”

“He did something wrong?”

“Worse than wrong. Something abhorrent, not to mention cruel and senseless. You’ve met the overseer, Newland? The other day Bernard ordered him to whip a slave for not working hard enough. The
slave had been ill with fever last week and was in no condition to be out in the field in the first place. So Newland disregarded the orders, and Bernard had him whipped instead. To my eternal regret, I was in town at the time—I wish to God I had been here to stop it.”

“Oh, Max,” she murmured, feeling ill.

They had reached the bedroom; Max set her on the bed. “When I found out, it was all I could do to keep from skinning Bernard alive. He sees nothing wrong in what he did. It’s clear that I can never allow him to be in charge of the plantation—and he has no real interest in it. Neither does Alex. As long as I supply my brothers with their monthly allowances, they are content to spend most of their time in town. For that matter, I’ve made no secret of my own dislike of farming.”

“I know,” Lysette said, reaching out to untie his cravat. “It’s a duty to you.”

Max sighed heavily. “My father took enormous pleasure in the sight of crops growing. He was a man of the earth—he loved plantation life in a way that I never will. Perhaps it is fortunate that he didn’t live to see that none of his sons inherited his passion for this place. I’ve entertained thoughts long before this incident with Newland and Bernard…thoughts of selling the plantation, or at least reducing its size. But those ideas seem like a betrayal of my father and all that he worked so hard to achieve.”

“And the plantation is a way of life for all the Vallerands,” Lysette commented, drawing the cravat
from his neck. “If you reject it, there will be consequences. Your friends and acquaintances may feel betrayed.”

“Oh, they will,” Max assured her grimly. “Fortunately, I’ve been used to public disapproval for so long that their opinions don’t matter.” He was very still, his eyes dark and troubled as his gaze searched hers. “But you haven’t.”

“I am strong enough to deal with any controversy,” Lysette murmured with a faint smile. “I have already become accustomed to being known as
la mariée du diable.
”

His gaze caressed her as he reached out to twine a gleaming red curl around his finger.

“You are not trapped, you know,” Lysette told him. “You don’t have to maintain this place. Do whatever you like with it. Whatever the consequences may be, I will face them with you.”

“My little rebel,” Max murmured with a swift grin, his hand playing in her hair. “I should have known that you would encourage me to make the unconventional choice. Very well, I’ll tell you the truth—I hate this damned place, for all the work it requires, the memories that it holds, and for the moral compromises it demands.”

“Are you going to sell it, then?”

“Not entirely. I’ve considered selling half of it to our neighbors, the Archambaults. They would pay any price I would name.”

“What about the slaves?”

“I don’t want to own slaves. I’m tired of clouding the issue with questions of economics and traditions
and politics.” A frown scored across his forehead as he continued. “I’ve been on the wrong side of the argument for too long—I can’t defend it with any conviction. I don’t want this way of life for myself, and I don’t want it for my children, either. God knows why I can’t share my father’s beliefs, or those of my family and friends, but…” His mouth twisted impatiently. “What I am trying to say is that I want to free the Vallerand slaves.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all. And hire the ones who decide to stay on as freemen.” Seeing Lysette’s stunned expression, he smiled wryly. “It’s been done before, actually. There is a New Orleans sugar planter of mixed race, Maurice Manville, who has freed his slaves and now pays them wages—and he makes a profit, admittedly a modest one. If I follow suit, and reduce the plantation by half, I would have far more time to give to our cypress mill and the shipping business.”