Max’s face was at once relaxed and intent, his lashes half lowered over eyes that burned with dark heat. Lysette blinked and rubbed her wet hands over her face.
Max reached out and brushed his thumb over a water droplet that was working its way lazily down her cleavage. “Kiss me again,” he murmured.
Lysette laughed shakily and struggled to her feet, while the soaked front of her gown made her shiver. “I think you’ve had quite enough of me for today, monsieur.”
He stood in the tub, water cascading down his aroused body in shimmering streams. “If I’d had enough of you, ma petite, I wouldn’t look like this.”
Lysette whirled away with a gasp. She felt him make a swipe at her, and she eluded him nimbly. A burst of agitated giggles escaped her. “Don’t you dare, Max! Don’t touch me!”
He climbed from the tub and stalked after her, while she flew to the door. Her hand closed around the painted porcelain knob as it occurred to her that she could not run through the house in this waterlogged condition. Neither could she retreat to her room to change, as the housemaids were probably still occupied with sweeping the carpet and changing the linens. “Now, Max,” she said in a reasonable tone, still facing away from him, “enough of this. I’ll fetch you a towel and—”
His long, wet arms closed around her, and she felt the water from his chest soak through the back of her gown. Another high-pitched giggle erupted from her lips, and she damned herself for losing all traces of self-possession. “Max, you’ve made me wet all over!”
His mouth descended to the back of her neck, kissing softly. “Sweet little wife,” he whispered. “Let me have just a little more of you. I won’t break my promise, I swear. Just let me touch you. Please.”
She felt him tug at the back of her gown, and the laces gave way, releasing her confined flesh in an impetuous spill. The bodice of her gown began to slide, and before she could prevent it, the gown dropped to the floor in a wet heap. She was left dressed only in a damp chemise and stockings. Max’s hand slid over the tight curve of her bare buttocks, and she jumped at the startling touch.
He crooned wordlessly, his chest working against her back as he breathed in deep gusts. His hand glided over her hip and around to her front, his fingertips brushing across the hollow of her navel. Lysette flattened her palms on the hard wood paneling of the door. “Max,” she managed to say shakily, “you shouldn’t.”
“I’ll stop the moment you tell me to.” His palm passed lightly over the springy thatch of hair between her thighs. His teeth caught the nape of her neck lightly, and then he soothed the nip with gentle strokes of his tongue. “Don’t be afraid. I only want to please you. Dieu, how sweet you are.”
Her traitorous throat closed on a protest, while his nearness caused her body to ache in deep, intimate places. She continued to face away from him, gasping, while he eased the chemise up to her waist. He let the scorching length of his erection press high on her buttocks, the head of the shaft seeming to brand her like heated iron. Reality slid free of Lysette’s tenuous grasp, and she let herself push back against his steaming male body.
His fingers wandered through the fiery curls, softly exploring the tender feminine mound. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t make herself tell him to stop. It felt too good. He sifted through the springy triangle, until Lysette moaned and spread her legs in an involuntary plea. His mouth touched her ear and wandered to her damp cheek.
Gently his clever fingers parted her swollen lips and entered the tender cleft. “Petite, I’ve dreamed of touching you here… like this… yes, let me, ma belle….” He found the tiny peak of flesh that had begun to throb with sensation, and his wet fingertips nudged, circled, coaxed, until Lysette began to whimper and roll her forehead against the door. Her heart raced out of control, the blood pumping wildly through her veins.
“Max,” she said raggedly, “Oh, Max…”
His middle finger slipped inside her, gliding easily through the tight opening. She stiffened at the tender invasion, while a hot glow spread through her loins. “Shall I stop now?” he whispered. His finger withdrew, causing her to shudder hungrily. “Tell me, Lysette, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”
She turned to face him, her arms winding around his neck, her nipples pressing into the thick fleece on his chest. All principles had burned to cinders in the white-hot conflagration of desire. “Max, make love to me, now, please, please, please—“
“I won’t take your virginity yet.” His hand coasted down her back in a stroke that was meant to soothe, but caused her to writhe wildly. “Not until I’m certain that you truly want it.”
“I do want it,” she moaned. “I do.”
His hand slid back between her legs, his fingers returning unerringly to the place where she needed them most. “I’ll give you ease. I just wanted to make certain that you were willing.”
If she were any more willing, she would burst into flames. Her head fell back against his supportive arm while her hips squirmed in constricted circles, responding to his every caress. The sensations flared rapidly, too fast, too hot, and she cried out as her body was suddenly overtaken with rich spasms, her nerves sparking with heat, pleasure inundating every part of her until she was weak and shivering. She sagged against him, burying her face in his shoulder.
“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.
Chapter 7
Although 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.
Ir
onically, 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.”