When Strangers Marry (13 page)

“Max…take me to bed now.”

“No,” he muttered stealing a hard kiss from her damp lips. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,
petite
.”

“I would never think that. Please, Max—”

“Not when you might blame me for it later.”

Lysette was amazed that he was going to refuse her, when it was obvious that he wanted to make love to her. Did he care that much about her feelings? Her heart pounded at the thought, and she offered him her mouth again. When their lips parted, she said breathlessly, “If you’re implying that I’m not in full possession of my senses—”

“You’re not.”

“Yes, I am!”

“A good Creole wife never argues with her husband,” he informed her.

A reluctant laugh bubbled in Lysette’s throat, and she played with the hair on his chest. “Max…” She rubbed her cheek against his smooth shoulder. “Do you think the bathwater is still hot?”

“Probably.” He lifted her chin and smiled down at her. “Is it my turn to bathe you now?” he asked, and lifted her in his arms before she could reply.

A
lthough Lysette had lived in an almost exclusively female household for much of her life, she now found herself surrounded by men. It did not take long for her to discover that her male in-laws were quite different from her stepfather.

The Vallerands were no less volatile than Gaspard, but even in a temper they were soft-spoken. Unlike Gaspard and his ineffectual rantings, they knew how to wound with a few expertly chosen words, and at times the brothers were merciless with each other. When a woman was present, however, all arguments were restrained, and the conversation was steered into gentler channels.

Lysette was beginning to believe the statement Noeline made one day, that the Vallerand men were born with the knowledge of how to charm women. Since childhood, Lysette had been accustomed to
Gaspard’s poorly veiled dislike, which was why she found herself so easily disarmed by the Vallerands’ attentiveness.

Alexandre often made a great show of taking her aside to ask her advice on matters of the heart, claiming with a roguish wink that any woman who had managed to catch his brother was certainly a great authority. Bernard regaled her with tales of his travels abroad. Philippe shared his favorite books with her, and Justin accompanied her on rides around the plantation.

They were a literate family, devouring books and newspapers and boxes of periodicals imported from Europe. Lysette quickly came to enjoy the family gatherings in the parlor every evening, when they would read aloud, or play word games, or debate political issues while the twins staged inventive battles with battalions of painted lead soldiers.

Ironically, Lysette saw all the other Vallerands far more than she did her own husband. Max was constantly busy, either occupied with plantation business, his political activities, or his shipping operations. He was in the midst of negotiations to purchase another ship to add to his fleet of six, and he was adding another route to the West Indies and appointing a manager to open an office there.

In addition, he was supervising the construction of more warehouses on the riverfront. These activities occupied him for most of every day, until he returned at suppertime. In the evenings, Max relaxed with the family in the parlor, or shared a bottle of wine with Lysette in the privacy of their room.

Since their passionate interlude two weeks earlier, Max had made no further advances to Lysette. She had been tempted on occasion to ask him to make love to her, but she did not yet feel that the time was right, now more determined than ever to win his affection first. In the meantime, she enjoyed the hours that they talked and argued and flirted. The more she came to know her new husband, the more she was coming to care for him. Max was a strong man who bore his responsibilities without complaint, motivated by duty and a sense of protectiveness toward his family. However, he also possessed a ruthlessness, a dominating strength, that fascinated her. Clearly, if she were a meek and docile wife, she wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with him. But instead of being intimidated by his forceful will, she delighted in challenging him, and he knew it.

Even though they did not share a bed, Lysette was aware of Max’s comings and goings. About twice a week, he left the house at midnight and did not return until three or four in the morning. She did not believe that he was visiting a mistress. But if he was not with a woman, what in heaven’s name was he doing?

Finally Lysette decided to confront him as he returned from one of his mysterious outings. Max entered his bedroom in the middle of the night to discover his wife waiting for him, the lamp burning at the bedside. Resting on the pillows propped against the headboard, Lysette greeted him calmly.
“
Bon soir
, Max. I wonder, what could you have been doing at such a late hour?”

Max smiled wryly. “Nothing that you need to concern yourself with. Now go back to your own bed, or I’ll assume that your presence here means that you’ve finally decided to fulfill your wifely obligations.”

The threat did not deter her in the least. “You can’t dismiss me that easily, Max. If this happened on just one or two occasions, I might have overlooked it. But you have made a habit of these midnight excursions, and I want to know what is going on.”

Placing his hands on the bed, Max leaned over her until their mouths were nearly touching. “I’ve been attending to a few matters concerning my shipping operations.”

“Why can’t such work be done during the day?”

“Some business, my sweet, is better conducted at night.”

“You’re not doing anything
illegal
, are you?”

He held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a little illegal. Nothing more harmful than a cargo of silk stockings, a few cinnamon bales…and several thousand English pounds.”

“English pounds? But why?”

“The supply of hard money from Mexico was severed when the Americans took possession of the Louisiana Territory, and no one has confidence in the French and Spanish paper money that is available. I fear Governor Claiborne’s plan to distribute
American paper will have several false starts, and in the meanwhile…”

“But don’t you want to support Governor Claiborne’s efforts?”

His smile was at once casual and ruthless. “Oh, I’m under no special obligation to Claiborne. I help him when I’m able. I also help myself, when the opportunity arises.”

Lysette didn’t like the idea of her husband dealing in contraband goods, no matter how minor. “If you’re caught—”

“Come, you need to sleep,” he interrupted. “You have shadows beneath your eyes.”

“I wouldn’t, if you stayed home at night,” she grumbled, yawning hugely as he pulled her from the bed and slid an arm around her waist.

Max frowned as he walked her back to her room. “You’ve exhausted yourself the past few days. My mother tells me that you have been doing far too much. I want you to rest more,
petite
, especially in light of the fact that you were quite ill not too long ago.”

Lysette waved away his concerns. She had been familiarizing herself with the plantation and looking for ways that she could be of use. There were supplies to be ordered, bookkeeping, cooking, baking, cleaning of furniture, rugs, drapes, and linens, and endless laundering and mending. Although Lysette thought Irénée and Noeline did a commendable job in running the Vallerand plantation, she saw a few things that could be improved. However, she feared that the older women might take offense
were she to try and alter any of their longstanding habits.

“Max,” she said, slipping her hand into his large one, “I would like your opinion about something…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think that some of the ways things are done in this house are rather old-fashioned?”

He stopped in front of her bedroom. “Actually, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I suppose it’s nothing a man would give much thought to. A hundred little things, really…” It would be necessary to train at least two more housemaids to keep the huge mansion as scrupulously clean as it should be. There were sunfaded drapes and carpets in several rooms that needed to be replaced. She had discovered treasure troves of silver that hadn’t been polished in years. And from what she had observed, there were never enough fresh linens on hand. That was only the beginning of the list. At Irénée’s age, there were things she simply didn’t see. But how to address such matters without upsetting Irénée—that was the problem.

“I think I understand,” Max said wryly, taking her narrow shoulders in his hands. “Listen to me,
petite
—you have the right to turn the entire house upside down, if you so desire. Noeline will do as you tell her, even if she doesn’t agree. As for my mother, it won’t be long before she’ll appreciate having the leisure that other women her age enjoy. In the meanwhile, I have no doubt about your ability
to match her stubbornness. Handle her as you see fit, and I will support you fully.”

“But I do not wish to distress her—”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll provide her with more distress than she can bear.” He grinned suddenly. “Only her grandsons can do that.”

“All right. Thank you, Max.”

His thumbs caressed the edge of her collarbone, and he smiled lazily before brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Good night.”

She expected him to let go of her then, but he hesitated, his hands flexing on her shoulders. Lysette’s heart skipped several beats, and she could not stop the sudden wobble of her knees.

Now it would happen, the thought raced through her mind. Now he would ask to come to bed with her—and she no longer had the excuse of unfamiliarity to hold him at bay. To her surprise, she wanted him so much that it no longer seemed imperative to win his heart first. “Max…” she said unsteadily, trying to find the words to encourage him.

“Good night,” he said at the same time, kissing her forehead once more. “Get some rest,
doucette
.”

He turned and left her to wrestle with a peculiar sense of disappointment.

“Burr will arrive tomorrow, without a doubt,” Governor Claiborne said, wiping his perspiring face with a handkerchief. “Damn this heat. And I’m told that the barge he will arrive on was a gift from Wilkinson.
Our
Wilkinson!” He sent a glare out the
window as if the governor of the Upper Louisiana Territory were in plain sight.

Max settled comfortably in his chair. Amusement touched his expression. “Ours?” he repeated. “He might be
your
Wilkinson, sir, but I don’t care to claim him.”

“Blast it, how can you smile? Are you in the least bit concerned about what might happen? The two of them, Burr and Wilkinson, make a powerful pair!”

“I’m concerned, yes. But if Burr’s plans are, as we suspect, to seize the Louisiana Territory and Texas—”

“And Mexico!” Claiborne reminded him testily.

“And Mexico,” Max continued, “he’ll need considerable funds from many sources. Funds he won’t be able to get, with or without Wilkinson’s influence. The Creoles have a saying, sir:
Il va croquer d’une dent
.”

“Which means?”

“He’ll munch with only one tooth.”

Claiborne refused to smile at the quip. “There’s a possibility that Burr will procure all the money he needs from Britain. He’s become damned cozy with the ambassador from Great Britain.”

“The British won’t finance him.”

“They might,” Claiborne insisted. “At the moment the United States and Britain are hardly on friendly terms.”

“However, Britain’s current war with France means they can’t afford to back a losing cause—and Burr’s tongue is too loose for his plans to prove successful.”

“Well.” Claiborne was silent for a moment.
“That’s true enough. His enterprise depends on utter secrecy, and I have been surprised by the rumors of things he has said publicly. It is not like Burr to be quite so foolhardy with his words. Overconfident rascal!” He frowned. “If the British won’t finance Burr, he’ll turn to Spain.”

“How do you know that?”

“I and many others have suspected for some time that Wilkinson is secretly in the Spanish pay.”

“Is there any proof?”

“No, but the suspicion is not unjustified.”

“And of course,” Max said slowly, “His Catholic Majesty would like to take Louisiana back under Spanish protection. Yes, it would be logical for Spain to become a patron of Burr.”

“Wilkinson is close to the Spanish high commissioner in New Orleans, Don Carlos, the Marquis de Casa Yrujo,” Claiborne remarked. “Burr will probably spend some time with Yrujo during this visit. But none of my people have been able to get any information. At the moment, relations between the Spanish and Americans are too hostile. The quarrel over who is entitled to the Floridas might eventually start a war.”

“I am acquainted with Yrujo,” Max replied. “I’ll see what I can learn from him.”

Claiborne mopped his face yet again. “He’ll know something. The Spanish talent for intrigue is unmatched. They’re probably aware of every move Burr makes. I hope you can get Yrujo to reveal a little of what he knows, Vallerand—for all our sakes.”

“I’ll do my best,” Max said dryly.

“Good Lord, what a tangle. What kind of man could manipulate people and even countries to such an extent? Where does Burr get the ambition?” At Max’s silence, Claiborne continued as if to himself. “A close acquaintance of Burr has a theory, that Burr would not be involved in such disreputable schemes had his wife not been taken from him some years ago. She had a cancer of some sort—unfortunately, it was a long death.”

Max’s fingers began an idle tapping on the arm of his chair. “I can hardly believe that would influence his political ambitions, sir.”

“Oh, well, Burr doted on her, and when she was gone…” The governor’s eyes grew distant as he thought of his own wife, who had passed away so recently. “Losing a woman, a wife, can change everything inside a man…although you certainly would know—”

Claiborne stopped abruptly as he met Max’s emotionless stare.

There was silence until Max spoke. “There are wives,” he said flatly, “and wives. My first was no great loss.”

Claiborne nearly shivered at the coldness of the man. What boldness, to admit his dislike of the woman he had purportedly murdered. Every now and then Claiborne was forcibly reminded of what his aides had warned him, that Maximilien Vallerand was acutely intelligent and smoothly charming, but completely ruthless.

“And how do you find your second marriage?” Claiborne could not resist asking.

Max shrugged slightly. “Quite pleasant, thank you.”

“I am looking forward to meeting the new Madame Vallerand.”

Max’s brow arched at the comment. It was rare that their conversation turned to personal matters. Because their goals and political views were similar, they were on friendly terms, but they did not talk of family, children, or personal sentiments, and each was aware that he would not associate with the other were it not for political necessity.

“I expect it will not be long before I have the opportunity to introduce you,” Max replied.

Claiborne seemed to look forward to the prospect. “I must admit, I find Creole women very intriguing. Lovely creatures, and so spirited.”