When Strangers Marry (2 page)

Now that he was standing so close, she saw that his eyes were a very dark brown. She had always thought of brown as a warm color, but those eyes provided definite evidence to the contrary.

“Why take the pirogue?”

“I am sorry for that,” she said hoarsely. “I’ve never stolen anything before. But my need for the pirogue was greater than yours.”

“What is your name?” When she didn’t reply, his fingers urged her chin up a fraction of an inch higher. “Who is your family?”

“You are kind to be concerned, monsieur,” she parried, perfectly aware that kindness was the last thing that motivated him. “However, I have no need of your help, and I do not wish to trouble you. If you would release me, I will go on my way and—”

“Are you lost?”

“No,” she replied shortly.

“Then you’re running from someone.”

Lysette hesitated just a little too long. “No, monsieur—”

“From whom?”

She pushed his fingers away from her chin, while a sense of hopeless defeat began to creep over her. “You don’t need to know,” she said curtly. “Let me go.”

He smiled as if the flicker of spirit had pleased him. “Are you from New Orleans, mademoiselle?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Have you heard of the Vallerand family?”

She had, actually. As Lysette stared at the stranger’s lean, dark face, she tried to recall what had been said about the Vallerands. The name had been mentioned at the supper table, when Gaspard and his friends had discussed politics and business. Several Louisiana planters had become some of the richest men in the nation, Vallerand included. If she remembered correctly, the family owned huge tracts of land on either side of New Orleans, including the forest just beyond Lake Pontchartrain. Gaspard’s friends had said with some resentment that Maximilien Vallerand, the head of the family, was a friend and advisor to the new governor of the Orleans Territory.

“I’ve heard of you,” Lysette acknowledged flatly. “You are an important man in New Orleans,
n’est-ce pas
? No doubt you have many other things to concern yourself with. I apologize for my little transgression, but obviously no harm was done.
Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to leave.”

Holding her breath, she turned away, only to have his large hand close gently around her upper arm. “But I do mind,” he said softly.

Although his touch was light, he happened to grasp one of the more painful bruises Gaspard had inflicted. Lysette inhaled sharply and felt herself turn white, while her entire arm throbbed with agony.

Immediately Vallerand’s hand dropped, and he stared at her intently. Lysette straightened her spine, doing her best to conceal the pain he had caused. When Vallerand spoke, his voice was even softer than before. “Where were you planning to go in the pirogue?”

“I have a cousin who lives in Beauvallet.”

“Beauvallet?” Justin repeated, staring at her with contempt. “That’s fifteen miles away! Haven’t you ever heard of alligators? And river pirates? Don’t you know what can happen to you in the swamp? What do you think you are?”

“Justin,” Vallerand interrupted. “Enough.”

His son quieted instantly.

“Traveling such a distance by yourself is an ambitious undertaking,” Vallerand commented. “But perhaps you were not planning to go alone. Were you planning to meet with someone on the way? A lover?”

“Yes,” Lysette lied. Suddenly she was so tired and thirsty and distressed that silver sparks danced before her eyes. She had to get away from him. “That is exactly what I have planned, and you are
interfering. I will not stay here any longer.” Blindly she spun around and headed for the door, consumed with the desire to escape.

Vallerand caught her instantly, one long arm sliding around her front, the other grasping her nape. Lysette clenched her teeth and let out a dry sob, knowing that she had finally been defeated. “Damn you,” she whispered. “Why won’t you just let me go?”

His soft, deep voice tickled her ear. “Easy, I won’t hurt you. Be still.”

He glanced at the twins, who were watching the pair of them with fascination. “Leave, both of you.”

“But why?” Justin protested hotly. “We were the ones who found her, and besides—”

“Now. And tell your
grand-mère
I wish her to join us in the library.”

“He has my belongings!” Lysette said, throwing an accusing stare at Justin. “I want them back!”

“Justin,” Vallerand said in a low voice.

The boy grinned, pulling the knotted handkerchief of coins out of his pocket and tossing it to a nearby chair. He slipped out the door before his father could reprimand him.

Left alone with Vallerand, Lysette twisted helplessly in his grasp. He contained her easily. “I told you to be still.”

She went rigid as she felt him tug the hem of her shirt upward, exposing the tender flesh of her back. “What are you doing? Stop that! I will not be abused like this, you high-handed, arrogant—”

“Calm yourself.” He stuffed the hem of the shirt
into the back of her collar. “You have nothing to fear. I have no interest in your…” He paused and added sardonically, “Feminine charms. Besides, I usually prefer my victims to be somewhat cleaner than you before I molest them.”

Lysette gasped and dug her nails into his hard forearm as she felt the touch of his hand on her back. The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck rose and prickled in response to the brush of his fingers. Deftly he located the tail end of the binding cloth that had been tucked underneath her right arm.

Realizing that no amount of resistance would stop him from doing as he wished, Lysette spared herself the effort of fighting him. “You are no gentleman,” she muttered, flinching as he loosened the binding.

The comment did not deter him. “That is true.” He unwound the coarse length of cloth that had flattened her breasts beneath the shirt.

Despite her distress over being stripped half naked by a stranger, Lysette could not prevent a sigh of relief as the tight, itching binding was removed from her sore back. Cool air swept over her moist skin, making her shiver.

“Just as I thought,” she heard him murmur.

Lysette knew exactly what he was seeing, the week-old bruises left from Gaspard’s beating, the welts of insect bites, the mess of smarting scratches and scrapes. She had never been so humiliated, but somehow, as the silence lengthened, she stopped caring what he thought. She was too weary to stand on her own. Her chin lowered until her cheek rested
against his shoulder. She couldn’t help noticing his fragrance, the scent of clean male skin mingled with the hints of horses and tobacco. The utterly masculine smell was unexpectedly appealing. Her nose and throat opened, drawing in more, while she began to relax against the solid weight of his body.

A strange shiver went through her as his fingertips descended to her back, moving in a delicate trail over her spine. She wouldn’t have expected such a large man to have such a light touch. It became hard to think, the entire scene covered in a thick fog that promised oblivion. She struggled to stay conscious, but she must have fainted for a few seconds, because she had no memory of him pulling her shirt back down over her back, and yet suddenly she was covered and he had turned her to face him.

“Who did it?” he asked.

She shook her head and spoke through dry, cracked lips. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Mademoiselle, you are in no condition to defy me. Don’t waste my time, or yours. Just tell me what I want to know, and then you can rest.”

Rest
. The word made her entire being surge in longing. Clearly he was not going to let her go, and there was little point in resisting him. Later, she promised herself. Later she would consider what to do next and make a new plan. In the meantime, she had to regain the strength she had lost.

“My stepfather did it,” she said.

“His name?”

Tilting her head back, she stared into his dark
eyes. “First promise me that you won’t send word to him.”

A brief laugh caught in his throat. “I’m not going to bargain with you,
petite
.”

“Then you can go to hell.”

His teeth flashed in a grin. Clearly he was amused rather than annoyed by her defiance. “All right, I promise that I will not send word to him. Now tell me his name.”

“Monsieur Gaspard Medart.”

“Why did he beat you?”

“We have come from Natchez for my wedding. I despise my fiancé, and I have refused to honor the betrothal agreement my stepfather made.”

Vallerand’s brows raised slightly. Until a Creole girl was wedded, her father—or stepfather—was considered to be her master, every bit as much as her husband would be. To defy a parent’s wishes, especially in the area of marriage, was unthinkable. “Most people would not censure a man for disciplining a rebellious daughter in such circumstances,” he said.

“And you?” Lysette asked dully, already knowing the answer.

“I would never strike a woman,” he said readily, surprising her. “No matter what the provocation.”

“That…” Her voice seemed to stick in her throat. “That is fortunate for your wife, monsieur.”

He reached out and pushed back a straggling lock of her hair with gentle fingers. “I am a widower,
petite
.”

“Oh.” Lysette blinked in surprise, wondering
why the information caused a queer little pang in her midriff.

“Where is your stepfather staying?”

“At the home of Monsieur Sagesse.” Her attention was caught by the sudden gleam that entered his eyes.

He was silent for several moments, before speaking in a soft, almost velvety voice. “Your betrothed is Etienne Sagesse?”

“
Oui.
”

“And your name?” he prompted.

“Lysette Kersaint,” she whispered in defeat. “I suppose you are acquainted with the Sagesses, monsieur?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You are friends?”

“No. There is bad blood between us.”

Lysette considered the information. If Vallerand disliked the Sagesses, it would be somewhat easier to enlist his help.

“Max?
Qu’est-ce qu’ il y a?
” An elderly silverhaired woman, beautifully dressed in lace-trimmed lavender muslin, entered the library. She frowned in consternation as she saw Lysette’s bedraggled form.

“This is Mademoiselle Lysette Kersaint, Maman. A visitor from Natchez. Apparently she has become separated from her family. The boys encountered her outside and brought her to me. Have a room prepared, as she will be staying with us tonight.” He gave Lysette an inscrutable gaze. “My mother, Irénée Vallerand,” he murmured. “Go with her,
petite.
”

Although Irénée was obviously curious, she forbore comment and extended a hand of welcome to Lysette. New Orleanians were an innately hospitable people, and she was no exception. “
Pauvre petite
.” She clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Come, I will have a bath readied, and then you must eat and sleep.”

“Madame,” Lysette began in a wavering voice. “I must—”

“We will talk later,” Irénée said, and moved forward to take her hand.
Allons
, child.”

“
Merci
, madame,” Lysette murmured in agreement, and went willingly, more than eager to escape Maximilien Vallerand’s presence. She intended to regain her strength as quickly as possible and leave the plantation at the first available opportunity.

Two hours later, Irénée approached her son with trepidation. Max stood at the window of the library with a drink in his hand.

“How is she?” he asked without turning.

“She has bathed, eaten a little, and now is resting. Noeline put a paste on the scrapes and insect bites.” Irénée joined him at the window and contemplated the sleepy bayou. “I remember making the acquaintance of Lysette’s mother, Jeanne, many years ago. Jeanne is one of the Magniers, a fine family that once lived in New Orleans but regrettably produced no sons to carry on the name. I remember Jeanne was an exceptionally beautiful woman—it is unfortunate that her daughter has not inherited her beauty.”

Max smiled absently, recalling the girl’s freckled face, defiant blue eyes, and disheveled red braid. Clearly Lysette Kersaint was not a conventional beauty. However, there was something about her that made him want her. Not casually, not superficially, but with a hunger that pervaded his entire being. She promised something unusual: a intensity of sensation, a fulfillment that might finally satisfy the longing that had tormented him for so long.

Beneath the desire, Max had been aware of the insistent pull of curiosity. He wanted to know her, to uncover the facets of a girl more outspoken and determined and desperate than anyone he had ever met. He was going to have her. God knew she would be wasted on Etienne Sagesse.

“Do you know who she is betrothed to, Maman?” he asked.

Irénée’s fine dark brows pinched together in a frown.“
Oui
, she has told me about the arrangement with Etienne Sagesse.”

“Yes, the man who brought dishonor on my wife, and on my name. I think it fitting that I repay Sagesse by taking his fiancée.”

His mother stared at him as if he had become a stranger. “What do you mean, ‘taking’?”

“And then,” he mused, “a duel will be inevitable.”

“No, I will not allow it!”

He cast her a mocking glance. “How do you plan to stop me?”

“You would ruin an innocent girl merely to strike at Etienne Sagesse? Lysette Kersaint has done nothing
to harm you. Would you have her on your conscience for the rest of your life?”

“I have no conscience,” he reminded her dryly.

Irénée took a sharp breath. “Max, you must not do this.”

“You would rather see her married to a man like Sagesse?”

“Yes, if the only alternative is to see her ruined by you and cast into the streets!”

As he saw the horror in her eyes and knew that she believed the worst of him, Max was bedeviled by the urge to prove her right. “She will not be cast into the streets,” he said coldly. “Of course I will provide for her afterward. A small price, considering the opportunity she has afforded me.”

“Her stepfather will certainly challenge you.”