When Strangers Marry (20 page)

Lysette reflected wistfully that no one would consider her mother a beauty now, after the ravages of her marriage to Gaspard.

Seeing the trace of sadness in her expression, Yvonne sought to change the subject. “What splendid diamonds, Lysette! Irénée told me they were a gift from Maximilien.”

Lysette smiled, glancing down at the glittering bracelet. “My husband is quite generous.”

The older woman leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “I’m certain he is, my dear. But mark my words, your husband will be even
more
generous once you bear him children. You must conceive as soon as possible.”

Amused by the Creole preoccupation with producing babies, Lysette tried to appear suitably impressed. “
Oui
, madame.”

“As the wife of a Vallerand,” Yvonne continued with increasing enthusiasm, “you will have to set the standard for all the young Creole matrons. We have need of such good examples, with all these brazen American women moving to New Orleans!” She clucked her tongue in displeasure. “Shameless
creatures—no modesty or delicacy. Why, they think nothing of walking anywhere unescorted, and interrupting their husbands freely! Bah! It is the responsibility of young Creole women to cling fast to the old values. But until you produce children, you will have no real authority.”

“Yes, that is very true,” Irénée agreed meaningfully.

Lysette nodded gravely, while inside she wanted to laugh, fearing that she was far more like the brazen American women than the proper Creole ones. “I will pray to be blessed with children soon, madame.”

“
Bien sûr
,” Yvonne replied, satisfied that her admonition had been heeded.

They continued to chat until a flutter of excitement ran through the group of ladies and Lysette half turned to find the dark figure of her husband beside her. Max greeted the women politely and extended his gloved hand to Lysette. “I am stealing you for a dance,” he informed her.

Lysette went with him gladly, lured by the buoyant melody of a quadrille.

“I haven’t danced in a long time,” Max told her. “I am somewhat out of practice,
petite
.”

“Don’t you like to dance, Max?”

“Yes, I do. But it hasn’t always been easy for me to find partners. My wicked reputation, remember.”

“You have a partner now,” Lysette said as they took their places in the quadrille. “A most willing one.” After they danced several sets, they stopped as the musicians took a brief respite from playing.
Max drew Lysette to the side of the drawing room, next to a row of French doors that opened to the outside gallery.

As a servant passed bearing a tray of champagne, Max took two glasses of the sparkling vintage and gave one to Lysette. She accepted it without hesitation and drank thirstily, heedless of the disapproving stares from nearby matrons. It was not proper for a young woman to drink in public, even a married one. Max, however, seemed amused, as if he were being entertained by the antics of a playful kitten.

“Mmmm…I feel a bit dizzy,” Lysette said breathlessly when she finished the champagne. Smiling, Max gave their empty glasses to another passing servant.

“Some fresh air will clear your head,” he said. “Would you like to go outside?”

She gave him a suspicious glance. “Are you going to make advances on me if I do?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.

“In that case, yes.”

Adeptly Max slipped her past the French doors. Lysette laughed under her breath as he pulled her into the rustling garden, past tall yew hedges and rosemary-covered walls. She felt wicked and giddy, as if she were having a clandestine meeting with a lover. Max lifted her off her feet and whirled her around, making her giggle. Throwing her arms around his neck, she leaned against him, while a sobering thought occurred to her.

“Max…what if we had met this evening for the
very first time, and I were Etienne Sagesse’s wife?” Lysette tightened her arms a little. “I could so easily have been his bride instead of yours. If I hadn’t run away, or if Justin and Philippe hadn’t found me…or if you had decided to give me back to the Sagesses—”

“I would never have given you back. And if you had married Sagesse, I would have taken you away from him. No matter how I had to do it.”

From any other man, it would have sounded like an empty boast. From Max, however, it was entirely believable. Lysette gazed at him in wonder, his face shadowed and his head silhouetted against the hazy starlit sky. “
Mon mari
,” she said softly, “sometimes you almost frighten me.”

Max stroked her throat and let his fingers drift to the perspiration-dampened valley of her cleavage. “Why?”

Lysette’s eyes half closed as his fingers slipped inside her bodice to touch her nipple. “You are so ruthless when it comes to getting what you want. It makes me wonder if anything could ever stop you.”

“You could.” Max played gently with the soft peak of her breast until it budded against his fingers. “You know that.”

His mouth descended to her neck, and she sighed in pleasure. “Then if I ever asked you to do something against your will…you would?”

“Of course.”

Her breathing hastened as she felt the warm slide of his lips over her throat. Slipping her hand behind
his neck, she nuzzled into his thick hair. “Max…I must tell you how much I—”

She broke off, startled as a shadow disentangled itself from the tall yew shrubs. Her first thought was that it was some kind of animal, but quickly the shadow assumed the shape of a man strolling toward them. Max turned and automatically jerked Lysette behind him as he faced the approaching figure.

Lysette felt an unpleasant shock, rather like the all-over stinging sensation of barely saving oneself from a fall, when she heard the voice of Etienne Sagesse.

“Ah, Lysette,” he drawled, coming closer. It was obvious that he was drunk, his words slurred, his face puffy and florid. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,
ma chère
. But I pity you. Someday you’ll realize how much wiser you would have been to stay with me. And I’m afraid that poor Corinne would most definitely agree.”

L
ysette had known it was inevitable that she would someday come vis-à-vis Etienne Sagesse. However, no amount of expectation could have prepared her for it. She remembered in a flash the loathing she had felt for him, the fear and desperation that had driven her to take the foolish risk of traveling through the bayou alone. She did not doubt for one moment that her opinion of him had been well founded. If she had married Sagesse, he would have insulted her, condescended to her, debased her in a hundred ways. Blindly searching for Max’s hand, Lysette felt his fingers close reassuringly over hers.

“What do you want?” Max asked Sagesse curtly.

“Why, to congratulate you. Since I was not invited to the wedding, I didn’t have the opportunity before now.” Sagesse’s smile was reptilian as he regarded
Lysette’s flushed face. “You seem to be content as a Vallerand, Lysette. But as I recall, so did Corinne…at first.”

“If you want another duel,” Max growled, “you’ll have it. And this time I’ll finish it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No,” Lysette said quickly. “Max—”

“Not a challenge, but a warning,” Max said, ignoring Lysette’s outburst. His hand tightened to silence her, and she flinched as her fingers were squeezed together.

“You think you’ve won,” Etienne said to Max. “You have everything you want, don’t you? But it is only a matter of time before you lose it all—and it will be my pleasure to watch your downfall.”

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he wandered away, weaving drunkenly across the lawn.

Lysette and Max watched in silence until he disappeared. “I hope that his family takes him home before he makes a public scene,” Lysette said. “He seems to want to ruin himself. It is strange, but as much as I hate him…just now I actually pitied him.”

Max regarded her with a sardonic expression.

“Didn’t you?” she asked.

“No.”

“I think you did.” Lysette pressed against his shirtfront, breathing in his familiar scent. “We won’t let Sagesse spoil our evening, Max. Take me back inside—I want to dance again.”

Unfortunately, despite Lysette’s determined efforts to enjoy herself, Sagesse’s presence cast a pall
over the evening. He remained in the corner of the drawing room, staring at her, while the other Sagesses endeavored to keep him quiet. The guests at the ball kept glancing between the Sagesses and the Vallerands, until finally Lysette gave in and ruefully asked Max to take her home.

Max said little on the way back to the Vallerand plantation. Lysette made desultory conversation with Irénée and Alexandre, exchanging observations and bits of gossip. “How was your evening?” she asked Alexandre. “Did you approach Henriette Clement’s
tante?
”

“Oh, yes,” Alex said gloomily. “I hovered around her for at least a quarter hour, feeling like a complete fool. She seems to believe that no innocent young woman would be safe in the company of a Vallerand, even with ten chaperones present.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Lysette said dryly, and glanced at Max with a smile.
“Quest-ce que c’est?
” she asked softly, while Irénée and Alexandre became involved in a discussion of the Clements. “Still thinking about Etienne Sagesse?”

Max shook his head, staring at the scenery outside as the carriage sluggishly traveled the muddy road. “No…it has nothing to do with him, but I have a bad feeling. I’m not certain why. But I will be glad when we reach home.”

Unfortunately, Max’s premonition was proven right. As soon as they entered the house, Noeline greeted them, her usually imperturbable face set with worry. Philippe sat on one of the narrow benches in the entranceway, looking haggard.

“Monsieur, Justin has been gone all day,” Noeline told them tersely. “He did not come home to eat tonight.”

Max turned to Philippe. “Where is he?”

Philippe stood to face him with a troubled expression. “I don’t know, Father. The pirogue is gone—Justin has taken it somewhere.”

“When did you last see him?”

“This morning. Justin was boasting that he sneaked out last night after bedtime. He said he had met some of the crew of a flatboat on Tchoupitoulas Street and planned to go with them tonight. But I didn’t think he would actually do it.”

“Oh, my poor Justin!” Irénée cried in distress.

Max cursed quietly. Flatboat men lived, ate, and slept on the deck of their boats with no protection against the outdoors. Their idea of entertainment was to swill rye whiskey, brawl, and wallow in unsavory flesh houses where disease and violence were rampant. When they fought, they bit, kicked, and gouged eyes out, mutilating an opponent without mercy. By now they might have made short work of Justin.

“Which crew?” Max demanded. “Which boat?”

Philippe shook his head helplessly.

Max turned to the door, where Alexandre stood with his mouth open. “We have to find him.”

Alex backed away a step. “Oh, no. I make every effort to steer clear of such fellows. I won’t risk my neck merely to rescue your fool of a son, who doesn’t want to be found in the first place. Just go to sleep. He’ll probably be back by morning.”

“Or end up in the river with his throat cut.” Max brushed past his brother and headed outside.

“You won’t find him,” Alexandre warned.

“Oh, yes, I will. And after I make certain he’s all right, I’m going to tear him limb from limb.”

Hastily, Lysette ran after him. “Max, be careful.” He acknowledged her with a brief gesture of his hand, not bothering to look back. She bit her lip, wanting to call after him again, knowing how terrified he was for his son. Whirling around, she went back to Alexandre, gripping his arm and tugging hard. “You must go with him. You must help him.”

“I’ll be damned if I do.”

“Max needs your help,” she persisted impatiently. “Oh, be of use for once, Alexandre!”

Irénée took up the fight, helping Lysette to urge Alexandre toward the door. “Yes, you must accompany Max,
mon fils.
”

“I am tired,” he said with a scowl.

“Think of Justin!” Irénée commanded, pulling at his other arm. “He may be in trouble this very moment. He may be suffering!”

“If there is any justice he is,” Alex muttered, shaking off their hands as he hurried after his older brother.

They closed the door immediately, half afraid he would try to come back in.

“That Justin,” Irénée said sorrowfully, “will no doubt be the death of me.” She glanced at Philippe. “Why can’t he be more like you?”

Suddenly Philippe exploded. “Why does everyone
have to ask that? I am not the good one. Justin is not the bad one.”

Irénée sighed, her face creased with exhaustion. “I am too exhausted to discuss this now. Noeline, help me upstairs.”

All were silent as the two women left and headed to the curving staircase. Philippe buried his face in his hands, digging his knuckles into his eyes. Filled with sympathy, Lysette sat beside him.

“Justin is different from me,” Philippe said in a muffled voice. “Things are too slow and dull for him here. He has always wanted to run away. Most of the time he feels as if he’s living in a cage.”

“Is it because of what happened to your mother?” Lysette asked. “Because people think that Max killed her?”

“Yes, partly,” Philippe admitted with a heavy sigh. “It’s not easy being a Vallerand. Justin and I know what people think of us. We’ve heard what they say about our mother—that she was mad, or a slut, or both. And everyone in New Orleans believes that her blood is on Father’s hands.”

“I don’t believe it,” Lysette said firmly. “And neither should you.”

“Most of the time I don’t.” His haunted gaze met hers. “But Justin does, and that makes things very hard for him.”

Max and Alexandre were gone all night, returning early the next afternoon without Justin. Max was more agitated than Lysette had ever seen him. His
thoughts seemed to race faster than conversation would allow.

“No sign of him,” he said hoarsely, downing half a cup of coffee in one swallow. “We found a boatman who claimed to have seen a boy matching Justin’s description on the waterfront. God knows if he was lying. Justin might have signed on with a crew, but I don’t think he would be so damned foolish.”

“I’m going to bed,” Alex mumbled, his face pasty and eyes bloodshot.

Lysette came to stand behind her husband, her hands drifting soothingly over his taut shoulders. “Max, you need to rest also.”

He motioned for Noeline to pour more coffee. “I am leaving again in a few minutes. Bernard will go with me. I’m going to ask Jacques Clement and one or two others to help in the search.”

Lysette wished that she knew how to comfort him. “I don’t think Justin has run away,” she said, sitting beside him. “I think this is another bid for attention. He is staying away deliberately, waiting until he is certain of an uproar before he returns.”

Max held the coffee cup in fingers that trembled slightly. “When I get hold of him, he’ll have more attention than he ever bargained for.”

She took his free hand in both of hers, clasping it tightly. “I know that you’re angry with him, but I think that you are mostly afraid for him. Perhaps you should let Justin know that, when you find him.”

Max rested his elbows on the table and massaged
his temples. “Justin is too hardheaded to listen to anything I say.”

“I believe,” she said wryly, “that he has made the same remark about you on occasion.”

Max smiled faintly. “Sometimes I see myself in him,” he admitted. “But at his age I was not half so stubborn.”

“I’ll ask Irénée about that,” Lysette said, gently teasing. “I suspect she might not agree.”

Max brought her hand to his bristled face and pressed his lips against the back of it. “If I don’t find him, Lysette…”

“You will.”

The search continued for another day and night. Max enjoined most of the workers on his own trade vessels to find out what they could. A few boatmen admitted that Justin, or a boy remarkably like him, had been in their company. After a few hours of drinking and gaming, they said, he had left with a waterfront prostitute and had not been seen again. “How splendid,” Bernard had commented upon hearing this bit of information. “Now it seems we must worry about him developing a case of the clap.”

“If only that were the worst to fear,” Max had replied grimly.

After questioning dozens of men and combing through every keelboat, kentucky flat, barge, and raft in sight, the searchers were forced to temporarily disband with the agreement that they would resume the next morning. For two days and nights
Max had barely paused to rest his feet, and the strain was telling. Looking very much like the unkempt, unshaven boatmen he had associated with for the past forty-eight hours, he made his way into the house with overcautious movements, blinking hard to stay awake.

It was past three in the morning, but Lysette was waiting for him. It tore at her heart to see him so careworn and defeated. She tried to guide him upstairs, but Max refused to go to his bedroom, afraid that he might sleep too soundly. He had time for only a few hours of rest. Together Lysette and Philippe helped him to the parlor and removed his boots. He unfolded his long frame onto a settee, dropped his head in Lysette’s lap, and closed his eyes. Philippe left them, anxiously glancing back over his shoulder.

“He’s gone,” Max mumbled, turning his face against the soft line of Lysette’s thigh. “As if he’s vanished from the face of the earth.”

Lysette stroked his forehead gently. “Sleep now. It’s not long until daybreak.”

“I keep remembering when Justin was a baby. Sometimes I held him when he slept. I wanted to keep him safe and happy for the rest of his life. But I can’t keep him safe from anything.”

“Rest now. You’ll find him tomorrow,
bien-aimé
.”

As Max fell asleep, Lysette watched him for a long time. She was surprised to realize how much she had come to care for Justin and Philippe in such a short time. She shared Max’s concern for the twins, and she wanted desperately to help them find
peace. How unfair life could be, laying such burdens on the shoulders of the innocent, and letting them suffer the consequences of others’ mistakes.

Curling up beside Max, Lysette dozed lightly. The sky outside changed, darkness lightening to lavender-gray. Watching the dawn arrive, Lysette rubbed her eyes, careful not to disturb her sleeping husband.

Alertness came in a flash as she heard a scraping sound in the entrance hall. It was the front door opening. Stealthily the intruder crept into the house and paused at the parlor doorway.

It was Justin, dirty and disheveled, but looking a good deal better than Max. Silently he looked at Lysette and his father’s long, sprawling form on the settee. Lysette thought of motioning him upstairs and allowing Max to sleep, but Max would want to know about his son’s return right away. He would be furious if he did not have the opportunity to confront Justin the moment he entered the house.

“Come in,” Lysette said quietly.

At the sound of her voice, Max stirred, and she bent over his dark head. “Wake up,” she whispered. “It is over now,
bien-aimé
. He is home.”

Blindly Max twisted and sat up, shaking his head to clear away the mist of sleep. “Justin? Where have you been?”

“With friends.”

“Are you all right?” Lysette asked. “You have not been hurt?”

“Or course I am all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lysette winced, knowing that even a touch of humility
or repentance on the boy’s part would have kept Max from going off the edge. As it was, Max turned white with frustration.

“The next time you decide to leave,” he said through clenched teeth, “without letting anyone know where you’re going or when you plan to return, don’t come back.”

“I don’t have to live under your roof!” Justin exploded. “I don’t have to depend on you for anything! You want me to go? Then I will, and I’ll never look back!” He spun around and darted out the way he had come.

“Justin, no!” Lysette scrambled up from the sofa. Max did not move. She stared at him with wide eyes. “Aren’t you going to go after him?”