“I will forgive you on one condition,” she said kindly.
“Anything. Anything. Just tell me.”
“My condition is…” She leaned close to him, her lips touching his bristly cheek. “You have to do it again tonight,” she whispered, and left the bed before he could reply.
Gradually realizing that the previous night had not been the catastrophe it could have been, Max leaned back against the headboard. Relief crept through him, and he released a taut sigh.
“A little coffee?” Lysette coaxed. “It might help your head.”
He made a gruff sound of assent. Lysette went to the silver tray on the table by the window and poured steaming liquid into a Sevres porcelain cup. Returning to him with a cup and saucer, she helped to lodge a pillow behind his back before handing him the coffee. “Alors,” she said conversationally, “now that we’ve finally slept together, perhaps I will stop finding scraps of red cloth beneath my pillow.”
Max paused in the act of raising the cup to his lips. “Red cloth?” he repeated warily.
“Oui. Noeline has been hiding them there to attract le Miché Agoussou.”
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. “The Creole demon of love. Well, you can inform her that he’s visited us with a vengeance.”
Lysette smiled, a blush rising to the freckled crests of her cheeks. “I don’t think there is any need to tell Noeline anything. The entire household seems to be aware of what happened. One of the disadvantages of living with such a big family.”
“Does the lack of privacy bother you?” he asked, having never given it a thought before.
She shrugged. “The house is large enough that I have many places to go when I wish to be alone. And I enjoy your family’s company, although it would be nice to have more women around. I think we should find wives for your brothers.”
“Neither of them sees a need to marry. They live in a well-run house, and they have all the freedom they desire. When they wish for female companionship, there are many women in town willing to accommodate them. Why should either of them want a wife?”
Lysette regarded him with indignation. “What about children?”
Max regarded her sardonically. “It’s likely that after living with the twins, my brothers have received a rather negative impression of the joys of fatherhood.”
“Not all children are like the twins.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Besides, if bachelorhood is so wonderful, why did you marry me?”
Max studied her over the rim of the porcelain cup, admiring the shape of her body beneath the cambric robe. “I think I made that clear last night.”
“Ah.” Lysette stalked over to him, her movements imbued with a new sexual confidence that sent a hum of awareness through him. God help me, Max thought wryly. “You married me for my body, then,” Lysette said, leaning close enough that he could see down the front of her gown, from the tips of her breasts to the tiny exuberant red curls between her thighs. Max gulped the rest of his coffee, but its scalding heat was nothing in comparison to the rising temperature of his blood.
“Exactly,” he said, and she laughed low in her throat.
“Perhaps I married you for yours, mon mari.”
“I have no complaint about that,” he said, pulling her toward him for a kiss.
However, they were interrupted by a firm knock at the door. Max watched with disgruntlement as Lysette went to answer it. The intruder was Noeline, bearing a heavy-laden breakfast tray. Frowning, Max pulled the covers higher over his bare chest.
Evidently the situation met with the housekeeper’s approval. Her expression was as serene as usual, but there was satisfaction in her dark eyes as she set the tray down on a small table by the window. “Bon matin,” she said placidly. “It’s about time I found madame in here with you, monsieur.”
Lysette sat by the tray and picked up a flaky croissant, biting into it with obvious enjoyment.
“Now,” Noeline continued, “if it pleases God, there will be babies in the house again. It’s been much too long since the twins.” Having known Max since his youth, she readily exercised her freedom to say anything she liked to him, no matter how personal.
“Noeline,” Max said brusquely, “have a bath readied for me right away. I’m going to be late for an appointment in town.”
The housekeeper frowned with displeasure. “You are going out today, monsieur? And leaving a pretty wife with no babies?” As far as Creoles were concerned, it was a man’s first responsibility to give his wife children. No one in high circles or low would dispute the fact that a new husband should spend every day and night in the effort to impregnate his bride. It was, after all, the entire purpose of the honeymoon.
Max pinned the housekeeper with an ominous stare. “Leave, Noeline.”
“Oui, monsieur,” Noeline replied, unruffled, and muttered to herself as she left, “How she’s going to get babies by herself I don’t know….”
“When will you come back?” Lysette asked, drizzling honey onto her croissant.
“Early this afternoon, I expect.”
“I think I’ll go riding around the plantation today,” she said. “There are still parts of it I’ve never seen.”
“Take someone with you.”
“Oh, but there is no need—”
“Yes, there is. If you should have any difficulty— if the horse loses a shoe, or stumbles— I don’t want you to be alone.”
“All right.” Lysette tilted her head back as she popped a honey-sodden morsel of croissant into her mouth. Her enjoyment of the treat aroused him further, and he turned to his side to watch her.
“Lysette,” he said huskily, “bring that honey over here.”
“With a croissant?”
“No, just the honey.”
Lysette’s perplexed gaze met his, and as understanding dawned, she shook her head decisively. “No, you wicked man.”
“Now,” he insisted, patting the space beside him. “You promised to obey me, chèrie. Are you breaking your vows already?”
“I promised no such a thing.”
“Yes, you did. During the wedding.”
“I crossed my fingers during that part.” Seeing his lack of comprehension, she added, “it’s what the Americans do when they don’t mean what they’re saying.”
Max threw back the covers, revealing his naked body, and went to retrieve his giggling wife. Picking her up masterfully, he carried her to the bed, and brought the pot of honey along with them. “Do you know what Creoles do to rebellious wives?” he asked, depositing her on the mattress.
“Am I going to find out?” she asked, her face burnished with brilliant pink.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured, and joined her on the bed.
———
As Lysette had expected, she was the object of unusual scrutiny when she joined the Vallerands in the morning room after breakfast. Even Alexandre, who was clearly suffering from a bout of heavy drinking and carousing in town the night before, dragged his bloodshot gaze to her face.
“Good morning,” Lysette said cheerfully.
Justin, who lounged in the corner with a sugar-dusted roll, broke the tension with his typical bluntness. “Are we trying to see how she fared the night with Father? She looks well enough to me.” It was not said in malice; indeed, there was a twinkle in his blue eyes that was impossible to resist. Lysette smiled at him even as the rest of the family reacted with annoyance, demanding that he leave the room. She touched his shoulder as he departed.
“It’s not necessary for you to leave, Justin,” she said.
“I was going to, anyway. Philippe and I have a fencing lesson in town.”
“I hope it goes well for you.”
Justin grinned, raking his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “It always does. I’m the best swordsman in town, after father. Bon matin, bellemere,” he said cheerfully, and went in search of his brother. Although Lysette smiled at his youthful bravado, the other Valler
ands did not seem to find it so amusing.
“That boy…” Irénée did not finish the complaint, but her irritation was clear.
“Max should have taken a switch to him a long time ago,” Alexandre said grimly, taking a tiny sip of coffee and holding his head as if it were about to fall off. “Now the results of Max’s spoiling are becoming all too obvious.”
“Justin is trying to make himself noticed,” Lysette replied, seating herself beside Irénée. “Philippe earns attention through his good behavior. Naturally the only course left to Justin is to be bad. If we treat him with patience and understanding, I have no doubt that he will improve.” She turned to her mother-in-law, determined to change the subject. “I thought I might ride around the plantation today.”
“Have Elias accompany you,” Irénée replied. “He is a good boy, quiet and well mannered.”
“Where are you going?” Bernard asked.
She shrugged. “Perhaps toward the east, beyond the cypress grove.”
“There is nothing there to see,” Bernard replied with a frown. “Except for the ruins of the old overseer’s house.”
The group fell oddly silent at the mention of the place. Lysette glanced at Irénée, who had suddenly devoted her attention to stirring more sugar into her coffee. Pondering the reasons for such a strange reaction, Lysette realized that the overseer’s house must be where Corinne had been murdered.
“I should have thought it would have been torn down,” Lysette said.
“It should have been,” Irénée agreed. “Unfortunately, no one on the plantation, or in New Orleans, has been willing to do it. Superstition, you understand.”
Lysette understood. The Creole culture attached great importance to places where murder or death had occurred. Any token of the house— a stick, a chip of brick or molding plaster— carried with it the essence of evil. Such fragments could be used to make a powerful gris-gris that would bring death and everlasting grief to a victim. No one would care to bring a curse on himself by desecrating a place riddled with bad spirits.
“Some have foolishly claimed to have seen ghosts there,” Irénée said. “Even Justin… although I suspect he was merely out to make mischief.”
“None of the slaves will go near the place,” Bernard said. “If you tried to visit it, you wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of it before Elias refused to go any farther.”
———
It was not long before Lysette discovered that Bernard had been right. Elias, riding a placid mule behind her dappled mare, stopped short when he saw the broken outline of the overseer’s house rising before them. The structure was situated well out of sight of the main house. It was set on the edge of fields that had once been productive, but had been left untouched during the last ten years. The land was overgrown and richly green. Given enough time, the tropical climate would accomplish the destruction of the rickety overseer’s house, which had already decayed from mold, dampness, and insects.
“Elias?” Lysette questioned, glancing back and seeing the tense set of the boy’s thin frame. He was staring, not at her, but at the house, his eyes wide and nostrils flared.
“You want to go there, madame?” he asked softly.
“Yes, just for a minute or two,” she said, urging her horse a few steps. “Allons.”
The young boy did not move. “We can’t, madame. There’s ghosts in there.”
“I will not ask you to go in with me,” Lysette said soothingly. “Just wait outside until I return, d’accord?”
But as she met his eyes, she saw that he was deeply upset. A suspicious brightness had sprung in his eyes, betraying the fact that he was torn between his fear of going near the house and his reluctance to displease her. He remained silent, looking from her to the ominous structure before them.
“Elias, stay right here. I will be back very soon.”
“But madame—”
“Nothing will happen to me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Lysette went to the dilapidated house and tethered her horse to the cankered wooden railing of the tiny porch. Absently she untied the ribbon streamers of her glazed straw hat and set it on a swaybacked step. The house was braced a foot or two from the ground in deference to the nearby bayou’s occasional wont to flood its banks. Gingerly she set her foot on one of the steps, wondering if it would hold her weight. It creaked loudly but did not break. Cautiously Lysette went to the door, which hung askew, its edges covered with slime. An air of gloom and oppression hung around the place. It was as if the crime that had occurred there had become a part of each board and beam.
She tried to imagine what the house had been like a decade earlier, when Corinne Vallerand had slipped inside for her clandestine meetings with Etienne Sagesse. How could Corinne have betrayed Maximillien in a place so close to the home they shared? It was almost as if she had wanted to be discovered.
Pushing the door to the side, Lysette crept into the house, ducking under a mass of cobwebs. It seemed like a tomb. The room was dank and foul-smelling, its walls shaded with moss. Inches of dust and yellowish matter caked the tiny-paned windows, blocking out most of the sunlight. Spiders scuttled into the corners and cracks of the walls, fleeing from her intrusion.
Driven by curiosity, Lysette picked her way through rubble to the back room. As she looked around, the hairs on her arms stood on end. Although nothing tangible set this room apart from the other, she knew somehow that this was where Corinne had been murdered. A feeling of devastation gripped her, and she froze where she stood.
She heard footsteps, the sounds of someone kicking aside a shard of broken pottery. Her heart leapt in her throat and she turned swiftly.
“Elias?”
“No.” It was her husband, coming to the doorway of the small room, his gaze riveted on her.
Max’s features seemed to be carved in granite, but his gaze was haunted. He did not ask why she was there. He seemed to find it difficult to speak, his throat working violently. His face was pale, and she saw the remnants of horror in his eyes as memories broke from the dark corners of his mind.
Making her way to him, Lysette lifted a gentle hand to his face. Her compassionate touch seemed to unlock the barricaded words. Max licked his dry lips before speaking in a rusty voice. “I found Corinne over there, in that corner, on the floor. I knew at once what had happened… the color of her skin… the bruises on her neck. Strangling is a lot of work, I’ve heard. It takes a great deal of anger, or hatred, to kill someone that way.”
Lysette stood very close to him, stroking his chest with the flats of her hands. “I know that you didn’t do it,” she said quietly.
“I could have, though,” Max whispered. “I wanted to. Corinne did and said unimaginable things…. She made me feel poisoned. It wasn’t hard to hate her. I don’t know what I would have become, had I lived with her any longer.”
“Why was she like that?” Lysette asked softly.
“I don’t know.” His eyes were those of a drowning man. “I think there was something wrong with her, inside. There were rumors of madness in her family, but the Quérands always denied it.” His gaze arrowed to the rubble-filled corner. “When I realized that Corinne was dead, I was stunned. Sorry for her. But at the same time, part of me felt… relieved. The thought that I was rid of her, that she was gone for good…” Max stopped, his face flushing, his jaw shaking. “I was so damned glad she was dead,” he said in a raw whisper. “Feeling that way made me just as guilty as her murderer, don’t you think?”
Overwhelmed with sympathy, Lysette hugged herself against his rigid body. “No, that is nonsense. Is that one of the burdens you’ve carried for so long? Feelings are not the same as actions. You didn’t harm her. You have no reason to feel guilty.” Although Max did not respond to her touch, Lysette pressed her head to his chest. “How did you know that I was here?” she asked against his pounding heart.
Max strove to steady his voice. “My meeting in town was canceled, as Claiborne had more pres
sing business elsewhere. When I returned to the plantation a few minutes ago, I saw Elias, riding home as fast as that sorry mule could take him. He told me where you were.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to distress him. Or you. I was just curious.”
“Of course you were. I knew it was only a matter of time before you found this place. I’m going to have it torn down, if I have to do it with my own hands.”
Lysette glanced around the room, suddenly anxious to leave the ramshackle house and the ugly memories it held for her husband. “Max, take me home. Please.”
Max didn’t seem even to have heard her. “Come,” she urged, beginning to step away from him. Suddenly he startled her by seizing her, burying his face in her hair, pulling her close until her toes left the ground. A shudder wracked his body. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked raggedly. “You have to have doubts…. I’m still a stranger to you. You can’t be certain that I’m innocent. Sometimes I don’t even believe—”
“Hush, not another word,” she whispered, turning her mouth to his. “I know you. I know exactly what kind of man you are.”
Max let her kiss him for just a moment, then pulled back, clearly not wanting to share an intimate moment with her in this place. “Let’s leave,” he muttered, taking her arm.
———
Seeing how troubled and quiet Max was for the rest of the day, Lysette regretted her visit to the overseer’s house. She would never have intentionally caused him such distress. Although Max kept to himself, working in the library for the rest of the afternoon, his dark mood seemed to have infiltrated the rest of the house, the atmosphere becoming quiet and uneasy. However, no one mentioned a word to Lysette… until Bernard cornered her after dinner. They happened to pass in the hallway, as Bernard headed to the small guest house where he resided. Glancing from left to right to make certain they would not be overheard, Bernard spoke to her in a cutting voice.
“I’ll say this once, Lysette, not only for your sake but for Max’s. Rid yourself of this curiosity you have about Corinne. It is dangerous, do you understand? Leave the past alone— or it will come back to ruin you.”