When Strangers Marry (9 page)

Carefully he blotted the letter, folded and sealed it, then held it in his hands with exceeding lightness, as if it were a delicate weapon. For just an instant a long-forgotten softness appeared in his turquoise eyes, while old memories danced before him.

“Etienne?” His older sister Renée Sagesse Dubois entered the room. She was a striking woman of unusual height, admired for her self-contained ways, respected for being a dutiful wife and the mother of three healthy children.

For years she had worried over Etienne every bit as earnestly as their own mother had, and although she turned a blind eye to his misdeeds, she could not help but be aware of his true character. “What are you doing?” she inquired.

He gestured with the letter in response. “In case events do not turn out as I wish tomorrow,” he said, “I want this to be given to Maximilien Vallerand.”

“But why?” Renée asked with a frown. “What does it say?”

“That is only for Max to know.”

Renée came to stand by his chair, resting her long hand on the back of it. “Why must you duel
over that creature?” she asked, her voice for once impassioned.

“Many reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that Lysette Kersaint is the only woman I ever wanted to marry.”

“But
why
? She is not even pretty!”

“She is the most desirable woman I’ve ever known. No…I am not jesting. She is vibrant and clever and unique. I will enjoying killing Vallerand for taking her.”

“Will you be able to live with yourself if he dies?”

An odd smile shaped Etienne’s lips. “That remains to be seen. I can be certain, however, that Max will not be able to live with himself if
he
emerges the victor.” He set the letter down on the desk. “If that happens, do not forget this note. I will be watching from the grave while he reads it.”

Renée’s blue eyes crackled with anger. “I have never understood your attitude toward that cruel, embittered man. Maximilien Vallerand is not worthy of a single moment of your time, and yet you insist on risking your life to indulge his need for vengeance!”

Etienne appeared to have only half heard her. “Remember how he was?” he said absently. “Remember how everyone loved him? Even you.”

A blush edged up to her hairline, but Renée was too straightforward to deny it. Like so many other women, she had been in love with Maximilien back in the days when he had possessed a boyish gallantry that had set her heart beating all too fast.

“Yes, of course I remember,” she answered. “But
that was
not
the same man, Etienne. The Maximilien Vallerand whom you go to duel with is beyond redemption.”

Lake Pontchartrain was a shallow body of water, perhaps sixteen feet at its deepest. Nonetheless, the seemingly tame lake could turn dangerous. Sometimes a strong wind would flail the surface until the waves grew violent enough to overturn vessels and take the lives of many men.

This morning, however, the water was a glassy gray mirror poised against the pale dawn sky. Only the hint of a breeze skimmed the lake and touched the shore. The duel between Max and Etienne would take place away from the beach, on the edge of a pine forest where the ground was firm and even.

While the seconds and the group of onlookers stood by, Max and Etienne drew aside for a private meeting.

The men were similar in height and reach, both experienced and well trained in the art of swordsmanship. None of the witnesses present would dare to choose which opponent they would rather face, though several had noted that an excess of fine living would soon begin to take a toll on Sagesse’s agility, if it hadn’t already. He indulged too often in the rich wines and cuisines the Creoles loved, and led a dissipated life that would not long allow him his current preeminence as a duelist.

Etienne Sagesse confronted Max with a faint smile on his coarsely handsome face. “Vallerand,”
he murmured, “you could have found some other excuse years ago. Why did you use my little fiancée to provoke the duel? There was no need to deprive me of such a sweet tidbit.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“I suppose it might have seemed appropriate to you, but it was hardly an equal exchange. Lysette was chaste and modest, of far greater value than your harlot of a wife.”

Max drew in his breath. “I’m going to kill you.”

“As you did Corinne?” Etienne smiled casually. “I never had the opportunity to tell you what a relief that was. She was so tiresome.” He seemed to enjoy the sight of Max’s darkening face. “Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll give me the advantage by letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Max said gruffly.

They exchanged one last look before turning to take up their weapons. Max pushed away an unwanted memory that hovered entreatingly on the edge of his awareness, a memory of childhood. He wondered if Etienne had given a thought to a fact few people in New Orleans remembered—that once they had been inseparable friends.

M
ax had often pondered why Sagesse had slept with his wife, and realized the deed had been inevitable. They had been boyhood friends, had sworn to be blood brothers, but even then Etienne had also been Max’s greatest rival.

Because they were friends, Etienne struggled to subdue his jealousy. Eventually, however, as they grew into manhood, their friendship was overshadowed by too many arguments and increasing competition, and for a number of years they kept a careful distance from each other.

When Max fell in love and married Corinne Quérand, it had not taken long for the idea of seducing her to take root in Etienne’s mind. Once Etienne had succeeded, it became clear Corinne’s charm had worn off quickly. Now that Max had repaid the debt by ruining his betrothed, Etienne was
determined to settle the score once and for all. He had fancied himself half in love with Lysette Kersaint, and Max would pay for taking that away from him.

Lysette walked down the stairs after a sleepless night. The house was still, the hour too early for the twins to have awakened. There was a heavy feeling in her heart, and she could not pretend it was anything other than concern for Max. Just why she should care so much about what happened to him was impossible to explain.

Going to the morning room, she peered through the window and saw that dawn had arrived. Perhaps at this moment Sagesse and Max were dueling, rapiers scissoring and flashing in the pale light.

“By now it is over,” she heard Irénée say behind her. The older woman sat at the empty breakfast table. “It seems I have been through a hundred mornings such as this,” Irénée continued, looking haggard. “This is hardly the first duel Maximilien has fought. And he is not the only son of mine to have taken up swords. No one understands the grief a woman bears when the life of her child is threatened.”

“I do not think he will fail, madame.”

“And if he doesn’t? How much more will his heart be blackened when he tries to live with Etienne’s death on his conscience? Perhaps it would be better for him to…to lose this duel than to become so embittered.”

“No,” Lysette said softly.

The minutes seemed to drag at a fraction of their usual pace. Surely if Max were all right he would have returned by now. Lysette tried to make conversation, but after a while she fell silent and stared blankly at the cooling liquid in her cup.

“Madame!” she heard Noeline exclaim. Irénée and Lysette both turned with a start. The housekeeper stood in the doorway, her wiry arms bracketing either side of the doorframe. “Retta’s boy just ran up to say that Monsieur is coming down the road!”

“He is all right?” Irénée asked unsteadily.

“Just fine!”

Irénée jumped to her feet with surprising alacrity and hurried to the entrance hall. Lysette followed, her heart pounding with some inexplicable emotion.

Abruptly the tension was severed as Max burst through the house, his expression harsh with frustration. He slammed the massive door, scowled at the two women in front of him, and strode to the library. Irénée followed at his heels, while Lysette stood frozen in the hall.

“Max?” she heard Irénée’s muffled plea. “Maximilien? What happened?”

There was no reply.

“You won the duel?” Irénée pressed. “Etienne Sagesse is dead?”

“No. Sagesse isn’t dead.”

“But I don’t understand.”

Lysette stood in the doorway as Max went to a bookcase and stared at the colored spines of the
leather-bound volumes. “Soon after the duel began, I had Sagesse at my mercy,” he said. “His reflexes have gone soft. He couldn’t best anyone but the rankest novice.”

Max looked down at his right hand as if he still held the rapier. “Child’s play,” he continued with a curl of his lip. “I gave him a scratch, barely enough to draw blood. Then the seconds conferred and inquired if honor had been satisfied. Sagesse said no, that honor required us to fight to the death. I was about to agree, but then…”

Max groaned and swiveled around, clutching his head in his hands. “My God, I don’t know what made me do it. I wanted to kill him so badly. It would have been so easy, so
damned
easy.”

“You let it end there,” Irénée said in disbelief. “You did not kill him.”

Max nodded, his face twisting in baffled selfhatred.

“I am pleased,” Irénée told him fervently. “You did the right thing, Max.”

He made a sound of disgust. “I need a drink.” As his gaze moved to the silver tray of decanters, he caught sight of Lysette as she stood in the doorway.

They stared at each other in the highly charged silence. Lysette was at a loss for words. Clearly nothing could be said to soothe him. He was filled with masculine hostility that had been allowed no outlet. Clearly he was furious that he hadn’t been able to make himself kill his hated enemy. No doubt he considered that a sign of weakness.

Lysette, on the other hand, recognized the turn of
events as evidence that she had been right—Vallerand was not a killer, no matter what the rest of New Orleans chose to believe. “Well,” she murmured, “what next, monsieur? Will you be sensible and let the matter rest now? Probably not…you’ll do your best to find another excuse to duel with Sagesse, and perhaps next time you’ll find it in yourself to kill him. Though I doubt it. In any event, I won’t be here to see it, thank God.”

She gave Irénée an expectant glance. “If you wouldn’t mind, madame, I would like to go to the Ursuline convent now. I doubt it will be half so interesting as a stay with the Vallerands…but I daresay I wouldn’t mind a few days of peace and quiet.”

Vallerand pinned her with a surly stare that made her nerves jangle with warning. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You have an alternate plan in mind?” she asked crisply.

“You’re ruined,” he pointed out. “No one in the entire territory would have you now. Everyone believes you to be soiled goods.”

“Yes, thanks to you, marriage is no longer a choice for me. But the sisters will have me. So, if you will excuse me, I am going upstairs to pack my few things, and then I expect a carriage to—”

“You’re going to marry
me
.”

Although Lysette had half expected it, the primitive proposal—or, more accurately, the announcement—caused her heart to stop. In the midst of her alarm, a part of her was able to step back and point out that if she was clever enough, she might be able to get
something she had only now realized that she wanted.

“Indeed? How did you come up with such an absurd idea?”

“I have need of a wife.”

“Only because of what you did to the first one,” she retorted, and turned on her heel.

By the time Max was able to form a reply, she was halfway up the stairs, her legs propelling her to the safety of her room.

Max glanced at his mother with a sardonic smile. Irénée shrugged apologetically. “I do not think she is receptive to the idea,” Irénée commented.

Max laughed at the understatement, his fury seeming to abate. He walked over to her and pressed a kiss to her furrowed forehead. “Maman, you must not go around telling my prospective brides that I murdered my first wife. It does little to enhance my appeal.”

“Do you think you will be able to persuade her to marry you, Max?”

“Begin making plans for a wedding a week from now.”

“Only a week? But how could I possibly prepare…No, no, it cannot be done.”

“A
small
wedding. I know you, Maman. You could arrange it in a quarter hour if you wished.”

“But this haste—”

“Is entirely necessary. I’m afraid my fiancée’s reputation could not withstand a lengthier engagement.”

“If we could wait just a bit longer, Alexandre and
Bernard will be here. Your brothers would want to attend your wedding, Max!”

“I assure you,” he said sardonically, “my wedding will lose none of its poignancy for their absence. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll go upstairs to have a private talk with Lysette.” He paused meaningfully. “Make certain that we are not disturbed.”

The impropriety of his intent was not lost on Irénée. “Max, you will not spend too long with her alone, will you?”

“I might have to. After the confidences you shared with Lysette, it might take strong measures to convince her to marry me.”

“What kind of measures?”

A devilish smile crossed his lips. “Don’t ask questions, Maman, when you know you don’t want to hear the answers.”

Lysette leaned against the bed and watched the door intently. The handle was tried, and the lock prevented it from turning.

“Lysette, open the damned door.”

“I have not given you permission to use my first name,” she said. “And foul language hardly makes your marriage proposal more inviting.”

The door rattled more vigorously, the hinges creaking in protest. “Mademoiselle Kersaint, I have no desire to break down the door, since in all likelihood I will have to be the one to repair it. Open it, or—”

Turning the key in the lock, Lysette sent the door swinging open. “Come in.” She returned to her position
against the bed and folded her arms before her. “I can hardly wait to hear why I should accept your proposal.”

Vallerand entered the room and closed the door, his hooded gaze flickering to the bed behind her. Lysette could almost feel the force of his desire. She was actually enjoying this confrontation with the huge, aroused male before her, knowing how badly he wanted her. So he thought he would simply inform her that they would be married, and she would fall gratefully into his arms? Oh, no. If she were to accept him…and that was still very much an
if
…Max would have to convince her that he was worth the risk she would have to take.

“Mademoiselle—”

“You may use my first name now.”

“Lysette.” He let out a taut sigh. “I didn’t kill my wife,” he said baldly. There was no trace of humility in his tone, no sign of vulnerability on his face…but the mist of sweat on his forehead betrayed his agitation, and Lysette’s heart softened ever so slightly.

“Corinne was dead when I found her. I don’t know who did it. I thought Sagesse was guilty at first, but he has many witnesses to confirm that he wasn’t with her that night. All the evidence points to me. No one believes that I’m innocent. Not even my own mother. I can’t expect you to believe it, either, but I swear—”

“Of course I believe you,” Lysette said calmly.

Max looked away swiftly, but not before she saw the astonishment on his face. Although his body
was rigid, she detected the faint tremor that shook him.

Suddenly understanding the burden he had carried for so long, and the toll it had taken on him, Lysette thought compassionately of how alone he hadbeen for so many years.

“It is obvious that you’re no murderer,” she continued, giving him time to recover himself. “This morning you couldn’t even make yourself kill Etienne Sagesse in a justifiable duel. For all your posturing and snarling, I believe that you are basically harmless. But that is hardly enough to recommend you as a husband.”

“
Harmless?
” he repeated, his head jerking up. His face turned dark with a scowl.

“And untrustworthy,” she added. “Since the day we met, you have betrayed, manipulated, and lied to me.”

“The circumstances were unusual.”

“Is that an apology? It doesn’t sound like one.”

“I apologize,” he said through his teeth, approaching her.

“Very well.” Lysette gave his disheveled form a boldly appraising glance from head to toe. “Since I am optimistic by nature, I will assume that such behavior isn’t usual for you. Now please explain why I should want to marry you.”

Max contemplated her for a long time, obviously coming to the realization that bullying would not work with her. His eyes narrowed as he decided to negotiate.

“I’m a wealthy man, by anyone’s standards. As
my wife, you could have anything that you desired.”

How like a man, to think that his wealth was his primary attraction. Lysette showed no reaction to the statement. “What else?” she asked.

He moved closer with the stealth of a hungry predator. “I would take care of you. You already know that.”

The reminder of how he had cared for her during the fever softened Lysette, but she was careful not to let him see it. “What about our age difference?”

“Age difference?” His masculine pride was obviously stung.

She suppressed a smile. “There are at least fifteen years between us.”

“That’s not uncommon,” he pointed out.

That was true. Many Creole men, especially ones from wealthy families, sowed their oats for years before they finally married in their thirties or even forties. Many others lost their first and even second wives to childbirth or disease, and they married again to girls straight from the schoolroom.

“Still,” Lysette persisted, “there would be difficulties in store for a couple with so many years between them.”

“
Au contraire
. I can guarantee that I would be far more accommodating than a husband your own age. If you marry me, I would allow you a great deal of freedom.”

That was his strongest point yet, but Lysette kept her face expressionless. “Is there anything else I should take into consideration?”

He reached for her, fast as a striking panther. “There’s this,” he muttered, pulling her into his arms.

She inhaled sharply, too stunned to move. His mouth was scorching, his lips searching and pressing with gentle insistence. Lysette pushed at him just a little, and he gripped her wrists and pulled them around his neck. Her slim body was flattened against his from chest to knees, anchored by his large hand at the small of her back. The intimate taste of him, sweet and dark and male, made her feel drunk. Excitement and pleasure flooded her, and she leaned helplessly against his hard body. He tasted her upper lip and then touched the center of the lower one with his tongue, a moist silken stroke that set her nerves on fire. “Open your mouth,” he whispered, his hand cupping behind her head. “Open for me, Lysette, yes, yes….”

She was astonished to feel his tongue sliding past her teeth, exploring the inside of her mouth. A moan shivered in her throat. Kissing him was even sweeter and richer than she had imagined—and she could no longer deny to herself that she had imagined it many times. Her sensual awareness of him had begun the moment they had met and had finally expanded into something elemental…uncontrollable.