Embarrassed, the girl clutched at Aimée’s forearm to quiet her. “I apologize for my sister-in-law, monsieur. It has been such an exhausting day, and we—”
“Don’t you dare offer excuses for me!” Aimée snapped, and glared back at Max. “Leave us this moment!”
Max would have liked nothing better, but they were alone and unprotected, and no gentleman would leave them in such a situation. “Permit me to wait nearby until your coachman returns,” he said. “Night is falling, and it is dangerous to—”
“You present the only danger to us,” Aimée interrupted. “Therefore, I would appreciate your immediate departure!”
Max gave her a curt nod. “Good evening, ladies,” he murmured, and urged the stallion away from the carriage.
Max went a bit farther along the road, and watched the vehicle until another carriage arrived for the two women. Disturbed by the encounter, he tried to force thoughts of the past from his mind, but they kept returning. He remembered the innocent days of his boyhood, the happiness he had taken for granted, the stern but comforting presence of his father, his reckless adventures with his friends, his careless assurance that he could have any girl he wanted.
Aimée’s reticence had been an engrossing challenge, until he had been introduced to Corinne— and then he had forgotten everyone but her. Corinne had dazzled him, aroused him, made him crazy with the need to possess her.
However, soon after their marriage, the mercurial moods that Max had found so charming became much worse, and he had been at a loss to know how to deal with her. One day Corinne was vivacious, the next sullen and quiet. She might explode in fury because Max did not pay her enough attention, or she might scream at him to stop hovering about her.
Max had naively assumed that Corinne’s behavior would improve in time. Unfortunately, it deteriorated even further, until she would throw violent tantrums for no reason. When she became pregnant, she began to treat Max with active hatred.
Giving birth to the twins had nearly killed her, and she had held him responsible for it. Bewildered and hurt, he had begged her to forgive him for whatever it was he had done. Each time he approached her, she had thrown his love back in his face, until the weight of her contempt crushed him utterly. It was the last time Max had ever asked a woman for anything… until Lysette.
The thought of Lysette calmed him and eased the pain of remembering. He needed her, needed to drown himself in the pleasure of her body. As great as the physical satisfaction Lysette offered was, however, it was nothing compared to the healing power of her faith in him. She was the only person in the world who did not believe the worst of him. If anything ever happened to make Lysette doubt him, Max knew that he would not be able to bear it. He hated depending on her so greatly, but he seemed to have no choice about it.
As soon as Max reached the house and walked in the front door, Alexandre attempted to corner him. “Max, I have been waiting for you. There is a matter I would like to take up with—”
“It’s been a long day,” Max said brusquely, shedding his coat.
“Oui, but—”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Oui, but… I have run into a few extra expenses this month….”
“Gambling debts?” Max strode to the curving staircase while Alex followed at his heels.
“I have left an accounting on your desk.”
“Perhaps you could find a less expensive habit to amuse yourself with?”
“I could,” Alex agreed readily. “In the meantime, however, will you take care of this for me?”
“Bien sûr,” Max assured him shortly, leaving him at the foot of the stairs. He wanted to see Lysette so badly that he was unwilling to wait for even a minute.
Alex relaxed, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he watched Max ascend the steps. “Merci, Max. Not long ago you would have lectured me for an hour.”
“I would now, if I thought it would make an impression.”
“I rather think that something— or someone— has done much to sweeten your temper, mon frère.“
Max did not pause to reply, even when Irénée’s voice floated up to his ears. “Is that Max’s voice I hear, Alex? Has he had supper? Well, why didn’t you ask? Did he look hungry?”
Striding into his bedroom, Max closed the door with his foot and dropped his coat on the floor. Lysette emerged from the adjoining garderobe, a small room used for dressing and sometimes bathing. Her eyes glowed at the sight of him.
“You have been gone for a long time, mon mari.“ The sound of her voice dispelled his gloom immediately. It seemed that Lysette had been trying on some new gowns, for garments of silk and lace were strewn about the room, and brocaded slippers were piled in a glittering heap beside the bed. She was dressed in an ice-blue ball gown, the bodice trimmed with swaths of matching gauze. The gown was very low-cut, molding her breasts together and upward, her cleavage covered with a translucent bit of gauze that served to enhance rather than conceal the tempting little valley. She looked slim and feline, the blue silk emphasizing her eyes and making her hair gleam like living flame.
As Lysette walked to him, clearly intending to welcome him with a kiss, Max lifted his hands in a gesture for her to stay back.
“Petite, wait. I am dusty from the ride, and I smell of horses,” he said, smiling. “Let me see what you’re wearing.”
Lysette turned for his benefit, glancing flirtatiously over her shoulder. The gown was partially unfastened in the back, and Max let his gaze linger on the vulnerable curve of her spine. He wanted to devour her.
“Very beautiful,” he said.
“I am going to wear this to the ball, when I meet Colonel Burr. Have you realized that it will be my first appearance as your wife?”
Max displayed no reaction, but inwardly he was troubled. Lysette couldn’t possibly be prepared for the pointed questions, the razor-sharp curiosity she was likely to encounter at the gathering. He was used to it by now, but for someone as sheltered as she had been, the experience might prove distressing.
“You should be warned about what will happen, Lysette. Yesterday was nothing compared to what the ball will be like. My fall from grace was infamous, and memories here are nothing if not long. As you know, some believe you’re married to the devil incarnate.”
Lysette considered him thoughtfully. Then she came to him, placing her slender hand on the side of his lean face. “But you are a devil. I already know that.”
Max bent and nuzzled her throat, unable to stop himself. “I don’t think I like having so much of my wife exposed to other men’s gazes,” he said, his fingertips measuring the amount of skin left uncovered by the deep neckline.
“Oh, but it is a modest gown. Many other women will be wearing styles far more daring.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not married to them.”
“I was not aware you had such a jealous nature,” Lysette said, clearly pleased by his possessiveness.
She was so clean and sweet and adorable that Max picked her up and tossed her onto the bed.
“Then let me remove all doubt,” he said climbing over her, boots and all. His body crushed the shimmering material of her skirt between them. Lysette giggled at his onslaught of ardor, and wrestled with him. He subdued her easily, yanking up the hem of her gown and settling between her flailing thighs.
“Max,” she protested, breathless with laughter, “my gown, you’ll ruin it!”
“I’ll buy you another. A dozen more. Now let me have my way with you.” His teeth closed over the silk-covered peak of her breast, and Lysette stopped struggling. She was not wearing a chemise, and as he wet the thin slippery fabric with his tongue, the textured crest rose against his tongue. He rubbed his mouth over the tender point, flicked at it, nibbled, until she lay gasping beneath him.
Reaching between their bodies, he found the soft heat of her cleft and teased his finger inside her. She was wet and pliant, her body accepting him eagerly. Sliding a second finger inside, he cover
ed her mouth with his. Lysette moaned and struggled to press closer to him, her hips arching into the warmth of his palm.
He kissed and teased her, loving the small sounds she made in her throat, the urgent writhing of her body. When he felt her tensing at the approach of a climax, he withdrew his fingers and unfastened his breeches.
Greedily Lysette reached for his cock and guided him into place. Her body clasped him with a delicate, snug fit, sheathing him sweetly. She whimpered in pleasure as he circled and ground himself against her, burying his cock in deep slick thrusts, bringing her to a shuddering release. Obeying his gravelly murmur, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he made love to her until his passion was spent in an explosion of bliss.
———
On the night of the ball, Max and Alexandre occupied themselves with drinks in the library while Irénée and Lysette remained busy upstairs. “Women,” Alex grumbled, “and their primping.”
Max smiled leisurely and lifted a glass of burgundy to his lips. “Why are you so eager to arrive at the ball on time, Alex? I do not believe it is to catch a glimpse of Aaron Burr.”
“Perhaps I’ve taken an interest in politics,” Alexandre replied, and Max snorted in skeptical amusement.
He refilled Alexandre’s drink and rested his elbow on the marble mantel. “You realize, Alex, that as an unattached man, you’ll be occupied the entire evening with mothers and tantes parading their young charges before you. Usually you can’t abide such evenings.”
“Ah, well, I will bear it for one night.”
Max grinned, suspecting that some girl had caught his younger brother’s roving eye. “Who is she?” he asked.
Alex smiled sheepishly. “Henriette Clement.”
“Jacques’ youngest sister?” Max inquired with surprise, remembering the last time he had seen the girl outside the milliner’s shop with her older brother. “Hmm… an attractive girl, as I recall.”
“Sang de Dieu, I haven’t even danced with her yet! Just because you’ve plunged into marriage doesn’t mean the idea holds appeal for me.“
Max smiled at him. “I said nothing about marriage.”
Flustered, Alex cast his mind in search of a reply, and was saved by the sound of the women’s voices. “Bien, they’re ready now,” he said, hurriedly setting down his glass.
Following his brother to the entrance hall, Max stopped at the doorway, still holding his drink. At first he did not see Lysette, who was standing beyond Irénée and Noeline, but then the pair moved to the mirror to inspect a coil of Irénée’s hair. He stared at his wife with open pride. Lysette was striking in an exquisitely simple amber gown, the warm color flattering her skin and vibrant hair. The low scooped bodice and high waist displayed her slender body beautifully.
Lysette possessed an astonishing composure for a girl her age, seeming calm and relaxed, her blue eyes bright with the intelligence that attracted him so strongly. Max was not ordinarily a humble man, but as he watched her come down the stairs to him, he was aware of a deep gratitude and sense of wonder. Fate had so often been unkind, but having Lysette for his wife made up for everything.
Her gaze traveled over his ruffled white shirt and starched cravat. “How handsome you are.” she said, picking a thread from the lapel of his black coat.
Max’s dark head bent, and he kissed the side of her neck. “You’ll have no equal tonight, Madame Vallerand. I’ve never seen you look so beautiful. Here, I want to give you something.” She went with him willingly as he drew her to the parlor, away from the others’ view.
He withdrew a black velvet pouch from his pocket and gave it to her. “In honor of your first ball.”
Lysette flashed him a smile. “I wasn’t expecting a gift, Max.” Unlacing the pouch, she tilted the contents into her hand. It was a set of earrings and a matching bracelet, made of diamonds set in a flower pattern. The centers of the ten blossoms were set with rose-cut diamonds, each two carats in size.
Lysette shook her head, apparently at a loss for words.
“Do you like them?” he asked.
“Oh, Max, you’re too generous. How utterly magnificent!” She slipped the glittering bracelet on her gloved wrist, and held still as Max fastened the earrings to her ears. The rich gleam of the jewels paled in comparison to her smile. She shook her head to set the dangling earrings swinging. “How can I thank you for such a beautiful gift, mon mari?”
“A kiss, to start with.” He smiled as Lysette twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his ardently. “Later,” he murmured, “I’ll tell you what you can do to earn the matching necklace.”
She blushed and laughed, and walked back with him to the entrance hall.
“Ah, let me see!” Irénée exclaimed, immediately catching sight of the finery. She took Lysette’s wrist and turned it from one side to the other, appraising the bracelet with the analytical expertise of a jeweler. “Quite exquisite, mon fils,” she said to Max. “The stones are of excellent quality.”
Alex cleared his throat noisily, alerting them to the fact that it was time to leave. “We don’t wish to be late, do we?”
Lysette took Max’s arm and murmured sotto voce, “Isn’t Bernard coming?”
Max shook his head, suddenly grim. “Bernard doesn’t usually care for these events. And he wants to avoid me this evening, as we had an argument earlier.”
“About what?”
“I’ll explain later.”
The ball was being hosted at Seraphiné, one of the plantations lining the river road. Lysette thought the main house was magnificent, with wide galleries and rows of dormer windows built out from the sloping green tile roof. The inside of the house was just as impressive, furnished with venetian chandeliers, richly colored rugs, and massive portraits of prominent Seraphiné ancestors.
Along the sides of the great dance hall, ladies fatigued by the dancing rested their feet, and the chaperones of eligible Creole girls sat to monitor their charges. Groups of young men positioned themselves nearby, most of them wearing colchemardes, small but deadly sword-canes. Hot-tempered youths were wont to quarrel at such affairs, and duels were the natural result of even insignificant disputes.
Alexandre amused Lysette by relating an account of the last ball he had attended, at which a duel had exploded in the middle of the room, instead of being conducted outside. Men had chosen sides, benches and chairs had been thrown, women had fainted, and the military guard had been forced to storm inside to quell the riot.
“What caused the duel?” Lysette asked.
Alexandre grinned. “One of the young men happened to tread on another’s toes. It was taken to be a deliberate insult, et ainsi de suite… a duel.”
“Creole men are dreadful,” Lysette said with a laugh, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. “Why do you not wear a colchemarde, Max? Don’t you intend to defend your toes if the need arises?”
“You defend them for me,” he replied, his gaze warm.
There was a ripple of murmurs and speculation as the Vallerands ventured farther into the ballroom.
Reminding herself that she had nothing to be afraid of, Lysette forced a smile to her lips. Suddenly a pair of intense, jet-black eyes stared into hers. They belonged to a small, delicate-featured man standing across the room, surrounded by a large entourage. He continued to stare at her steadily, causing a light blush to steal over her face.
“It appears,” she heard Max mutter, “that you’ve attracted Colonel Burr’s notice.”
“That is him?” Lysette exclaimed in a whisper. “But it can’t be. I expected him to be…”
“What?” Max asked, now sounding amused.
“Taller,” she blurted out, and he laughed quietly.
In the distance, Burr murmured to one of his companions. “And now,” Max said under his breath, “he is asking who you are. And if he pays too much attention to you, he’s going to have a duel on his hands. Let us hope one of his aides warns him that I’m a much better marksman tha
n Alexander Hamilton.”
Lysette blanched, recalling that Colonel Burr had reportedly forced Hamilton, a patriot who had helped write the new constitution, into a duel that Burr had been certain to win. Many had called it cold-blooded murder, for it had been known by all that Burr’s dueling skills were far superior to Hamilton’s. It was rumored that Burr had shown not one sign of compassion or regret for Hamilton’s death.
“Let’s have no more talk of duels,” she said hastily.
Before Max could reply, the mayor of New Orleans, Mr. John Watkins, appeared at his elbow. After greeting them effusively, the mayor informed them that Colonel Burr desired to make their acquaintance.
“We are honored,” Max said perfunctorily, following the mayor with Lysette on his arm.
Colonel Burr was dressed with the exquisite care of a dandy. Lysette liked the fact that although he had lost much of his hair at the front and crown, he did not wear a wig. Max had told her that Burr was at least forty-eight, but the colonel appeared much younger. His face was deeply tanned, and his smile was quick and self-assured. And those jet-black eyes were even more remarkable up close, filled with snapping energy and vitality.
Although a man of Burr’s size was physically dwarfed by Max’s superior height, the former vice president had a magnetic presence that held its own. He made a great show of kissing Irénée’s and Lysette’s hands, then looked up at Max.
“Monsieur Vallerand,” Burr said in English, “at last we meet.” He regarded Lysette with twinkling eyes as he continued. “My congratulations on your marriage, sir. Now, having seen your lovely bride, I consider you the most fortunate of men.”
Before Max could reply, Lysette answered Burr in his own language. “Your facility with words, monsieur, is quite impressive. But of course that is no surprise.”
Burr looked at Lysette with warming interest. As most Creole women spoke nothing but French, he had not expected her to understand what he had said. “May I offer my compliments on your English, madame? You speak it quite well.”
Lysette gave him a nod of thanks. “That is my good fortune, Colonel, as I was able to listen to your speech at the Place D’Armes last week without requiring translation.”