They froze as they heard a weak cry from upstairs. Suddenly their father emerged from the library, brushing by them without a word. He went up the stairs two at a time. The twins glanced at each other in surprise.
“Do you think he cares for her?” Philippe asked.
Justin’s young face hardened in contempt. “He’s only concerned that she’ll die before she is of any use to him.”
“What do you mean?” Suspecting that his brother was hiding something from him, Philippe caught him by the sleeve. “Justin, what do you know that I don’t?”
Justin took his arm free impatiently. “I won’t tell you. You’d only try to defend him.”
———
Irénée tried in vain to quiet the girl who twisted and turned in the throes of violent delirium. “Pauvre petite,” Irénée exclaimed under her breath. Nothing would bring tranquillity. The girl would neither drink nor rest, and no medicine would stay down long enough to do any good. Wearily Irénée slumped in the chair by the bed, watching Lysette’s restless twitching.
“Don’t… don’t let him… oh, please, please…” The thin voice rose and fell monotonously.
Slowly Irénée began to reach for the sponge and basin, hoping to cool the fever with more water. She fell back in surprise as her son appeared in the darkened room.
“Max?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing? It’s not proper for you to be here. She’s not dressed.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
He swatted aside the filmy folds of the baire and sat on the edge of the bed. His dark head bent over the girl’s writhing form.
“Max, this is indecent,” Irénée protested. “You must leave.”
Ignoring her, Max pulled away the knotted mass of sheets from Lysette’s sweating body. Her damp chemise was transparent as it clung to her skin, doing nothing to conceal her nakedness. Max’s face was taut and harshly drawn as he pushed back Lysette’s matted hair and lifted her into his arms. All the force of his will was focused on the shivering figure folded against his chest. “Shhh,” he whispered against Lysette’s temple, cupping her head in his hand. “Rest against me. Yes. Hush, petite. You’re exhausting yourself.”
The girl clung to him and muttered incoherently.
Shifting her higher against him, Max reached for the wet sponge. He drew it over her face and chest, squeezing until the cool water ran in rivulets over her skin and soaked his own clothes. “Lysette, be still. Let me take care of you. Sleep. You’re safe, machère.”
After a while the stroking and the quiet words soothed the girl, and she went limp against him. He took the cup from the bedside and pressed it to her lips. She choked and tried to resist, but he coaxed and urged and insisted until she swallowed some of the medicine.
Gently Max eased her back to the mattress and covered her with the sheet. He glanced at his mother’s astonished face. “Tell Noeline to bring fresh linens,” he said. “She can help me change the bed.”
Irénée finally found her voice. “Thank you for your help, Max. I will see to her now.”
Max picked up a comb from the night table and began to work on the mass of snarls in Lysette’s hair. “You are exhausted, Maman. Go get some rest. I’ll take care of her.”
Irénée did not know how to reply to such an outrageous statement. “What? What a ridiculous suggestion. Completely out of the bounds of propriety. Besides, men don’t know anything about nursing. It is a woman’s concern. There are duties required—”
“A woman’s body is hardly a mystery to me. As for nursing the fever, I took care of the twins when they had it. Remember?”
That silenced Irénée for a few seconds. “Indeed, I had forgotten,” she admitted. “You were very good with the twins when they were ill. But they were your sons, and this an innocent girl….”
“Do you think I’m going to ravish her?” Max asked with a twisted smile. “Even I am not that degenerate, Maman.”
“Mon fils,” she asked suspiciously, “why do you wish to take this upon yourself?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I have a vested interest in her welfare. Now go and rest. I’m capable of looking after her for a few hours.”
She stood up reluctantly. “I will tell Noeline to take your place.”
However, Max did not allow Noeline or anyone else to replace him. From that moment on, he spent every minute by Lysette’s bed, his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows as he labored to break the girl’s raging fever. He was inexhaustible and astonishingly patient.
Irénée had never heard of even a husband doing as much for a wife. It was all too shocking. She was dismayed, but unable to think of a way to intercede. She had no control over Max. Perhaps if his brothers had been home they would have volunteered to coerce him from the sickroom, but day after day went by without their arrival— and Max remained in the girl’s bedchamber as if it were his right.
———
A wolf prowled through Lysette’s dreams, stalking until she ran and stumbled to the ground. He loomed closer, his teeth gleaming as he crouched over her prone body, and suddenly he was ripping her to pieces. She screamed as she felt herself being savaged and torn apart. Suddenly the wolf was gone, banished by the sound of a low voice. “I’m here… it’s all right. Shhh… I’m here. I’m here.”
She was surrounded by sweltering heat that scorched her skin and blistered her lungs. Crying out in agony, she fought to escape it. She felt a cool hand stroke her forehead. Restlessly she sought more. “Please,” she gasped, and groaned with relief as the life-giving caress returned, coolness moving over her body, easing the unbearable fire.
The wolf eyes were watching again, glowing devilishly in the darkness. She whirled away in panic and came up against a man’s hard chest and taut arms. “Please help me—”
“You’ve been promised to me,” she heard the voice of Etienne Sagesse, and she looked up at his face in horror. Desire flickered bright in his heavy-lidded eyes, and his lips shone with moisture. She twisted away from him and came face-to-face with her stepfather.
Gaspard’s face was blotched with rage. “You will marry him!” He struck her and raised his hand again.
“Maman,” she cried, seeing her mother nearby, but Jeanne backed away, shaking her head.
“Do what your beau-père says. You must obey him.”
“I can’t….”
The hard rim of a cup pressed against her lips, and she recoiled from a bitter taste. A steely arm behind her shoulders would not let her retreat.
“No,” she choked, her head falling back against an unyielding shoulder.
“Don’t fight me, petite. Drink it all. Good girl… just a little more.” She opened her mouth with a gasp, obeying the gentle prompting.
She saw the dark shape of a man moving through a thick mist. He would help her… he must. Frantically she chased after him, ran and ran until her way was blocked by a tall iron gate. She grasped the bars and shook them violently. “Wait! Let me in! Wait….”
The wolf was behind her. She could feel him drawing near. His low snarl pierced the misty night. Terrified, she tugged at the gate, but it would not open. Powerful jaws closed around her neck.
“Hush. Be still, you must rest.”
“Don’t let him hurt me….”
“You’re safe in my arms, ma chère. Nothing will hurt you.”
A wet cloth stroked over her back, legs, neck, arms. Again the cup was raised to her mouth. “Once more,” came a quiet command. “Once more.”
She submitted while the wolf circled around her stealthily. He snatched her up greedily in his jaw, dragging her into the shadows while she cried in terror for him to stop… but he would not let her go… he would never let her go….
———
Lysette emerged from layers of darkness, struggling upward until she broke through the surface of a deep, dreamless sleep. She was lying on her stomach in a dimly lit room, an amber glow coming from a lamp in the corner. Blinking, she shifted toward the light and re
sted her cheek on the mattress. Her body and head and arms were as heavy as if they had been weighted with bags of sand. Long, cooling strokes moved over her back, and she made a faint sound of gratitude.
A gentle hand descended to the side of her face, testing the temperature of her skin. “You’re much better now,” came a familiar voice. “The fever has broken, thank God.”
Lysette’s eyes flew open in astonishment as she recognized the voice. “Monsieur Vallerand?” she asked groggily. “Oh, no. It’s you.“
Amusement curled through his quiet voice. “I’m afraid so, petite.“
“But… but…” She floundered into aghast silence. Who had let him into her sickroom? Surely he had not taken care of her while she was ill. Fragments of memory floated through her tired brain… the coaxing voice, the strong arms, the gentle hands that had tended to her most intimate needs. She could not believe it.
It dawned on her that she was naked in bed, with a light sheet draped low over her hips, her back completely exposed. It was too much to comprehend… she couldn’t think of how to react.
“I’m not dressed,” she said plaintively.
Vallerand leaned over her. His shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, the neck open to reveal the startling wealth of black curls on his chest. His tanned face was unshaven, his jaw covered with heavy bristle, and his hair was disheveled. The dark eyes were undercut with deep shadows.
Carefully he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound all that apologetic. “It was easier to take care of you this way.”
She stiffened at the touch of his finger on the hot curve of her ear.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I’m hardly going to molest a woman in your condition.” He paused before adding, straight-faced, “I’ll wait until you’re better.”
Despite Lysette’s consternation, a gurgle of amusement escaped her. “How long have I been ill?” she asked thickly.
“Almost three weeks.”
“Oh, mon Dieu,” she said, her mouth going dry. She lurched to her side, fumbling with the sheets, her entire body turning crimson as she realized her breasts were exposed.
Vallerand didn’t seem to notice the display as he helped her to turn over. Deftly he pulled the sheet over her chest and tucked it beneath her arms. Lysette stared at his dark face in bewilderment as he arranged the pillows behind her with the expertise of a seasoned nurse.
Seeming to understand her needs without being told, he brought a cup to her lips, and Lysette drank thirstily, letting the cool water ease her parched mouth and throat. When the cup was removed, she settled against the pillows.
“I don’t understand why your mother allowed you to take care of me,” she said hoarsely.
“Maman didn’t approve,” Vallerand admitted, straightening the covers around her. “But she was exhausted after the first few days of nursing, and I was very stubborn.” He smiled wryly. “And later she sadly decided that since you were probably going to die anyway, it didn’t matter who took care of you.”
Lysette absorbed his words, filled with a deep inner certainty that she would have died without his inexhaustible, patient, all-encompassing care. “You saved my life,” she said faintly. “Why?”
His fingertip trailed over her freckled cheek. “Because the world would be a much darker and duller place without you, ma chère.“
Lysette watched passively as he straightened the articles on the bedside table. Remembering the day she had fallen ill, when she had found the unsent letter to Marie, she recalled that she had good reason to be angry with him. However, that issue could wait until later. No matter what else Vallerand had done, he had seen her through a terrible illness, and for that she owed him her gratitude.
“If I send for some broth, will you try some?” he asked.
The thought made Lysette grimace. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but no.”
“Just a little.” Clearly he was going to pressure her until she relented.
She frowned and sighed. “A very little.”
After Vallerand called for Noeline and requested the cup of broth, he returned to the bedside. Lysette toyed listlessly with the edge of the sheet and glanced at him, her gaze traveling from his fur-covered chest to his bristled face. “You’re the hairiest nurse I’ve ever seen,” she said.
He grinned, his teeth white in his swarthy face. “You can’t afford to be particular,” he informed her. “Until you’re better, petite, you’re going to have to tolerate me.”
———
When Lysette had recovered enough to desire a change of scene, Max carried her to the downstairs parlor. The stronger she became, the more troubled Lysette was about their developing intimacy.
In the past three days she had tried to put some distance between them. She no longer allowed him to help bathe her or comb and braid her hair, and only Noeline and Irénée were permitted to help her dress.
However, as Max lifted her in his arms and carried her downstairs, the treacherous feelings of closeness remained. It did not help that he was being so gentle and attentive. She could almost let herself forget that he had betrayed her and was certainly planning to manipulate her further.
Reminding herself that she could not let herself be stupid enough to trust him again, Lysette gave him a suspicious frown.
“What is it?” he asked, shifting her slight weight in his arms. “Are you uncomfortable?”
“No,” she replied, keeping her arms linked around his neck. “I am merely wondering what your game is, monsieur.”
He gave her a blank look. “Game?”
Lysette rolled her eyes at the show of innocence. “The game I have become a pawn in. The one you are playing with Etienne Sagesse. Clearly you had no intention of letting me appeal to my cousin for refuge. You wanted to keep me here, and you’ve succeeded. Now tell me what your plan is.”
“We won’t discuss that until you’re better,” he muttered.
“You may as well admit it,” she said. “I’ve already figured out what you want, and how you plan to get it.”
“Oh?” A hot flicker entered his eyes. “Tell me what you think I want.”
Before Lysette could answer, he set her carefully on the settee, and Noeline was there to drape a lap blanket over her knees.
Vallerand began to release her, and Lysette felt a painful tug on her scalp. A few strands of her hair had caught in one of his coat buttons. Realizing what had happened, he and Lysette reached for the button at the same time. Their fingers caught together, and Lysette recoiled in confusion.
The warm puff of his breath against her cheek unloosed a blaze of sensations that stunned her. With a dreamlike slowness she let her hands fall, while her heart hammered in her breast. Carefully Vallerand freed the tiny snarl of hair, dismantling the silken bond that had held them together. His scent floated to her nostrils, the intoxicating salty maleness that made her want to press her open mouth to his skin. Her response to him was so carnal and deep that she shrank away from him, shocked at herself.
Vallerand continued to lean over her, one arm braced on the back of the rosewood settee, the other hand resting close to her hip. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, mistaking the alarm in her gaze.
“Afraid of you?” she whispered dazedly. “You’re the last man in the world I would be afraid of.”
The words seemed to jolt him. His breath quickened, and he stared at her as if he didn’t dare believe her.
Irénée entered the room, her voice penetrating the spellbinding silence. “Lysette, how do you feel this morning?”
Max’s peculiar expression vanished. “She’s fine,” he said curtly, striding to the door. “I’ll be in the library.”
As he left, Irénée looked after him and shook her head. “He has behaved so oddly of late.”
Lysette sighed, reflecting that her illness had been only a temporary reprieve from whatever plans Maximilien had concocted. “Madame,” she said slowly, “certainly you must know that M
onsieur Vallerand never sent the letter to my cousin Marie.”
Irénée frowned. “Lysette, we should wait until you are stronger to discuss—”
“He planned to dishonor me, didn’t he?” Lysette laced her fingers together over her midriff. “Well, I have been here long enough to ensure that my reputation is in shreds, regardless of your presence. My guess is that no one would believe I could stay under Maximilien Vallerand’s roof for this long with my honor intact. Will Sagesse demand a duel now? That is how any Creole would respond, n’est-ce pas? Obviously it has all turned out the way your son wanted.”
Irénée was silent for a long time. “Lysette,” she finally said, “it is still not too late for you to be returned to Sagesse. If that is what you wish, I will see that it is done.”
Lysette shook her head. “Good Lord, no. I would become a streetwalker before I went back to him.”
The older woman was clearly startled by the frank statement. She was spared from replying by Noeline’s arrival in the doorway. “Madame,” the housekeeper said, rolling her eyes heavenward, “it is Monsieur Medart— he wants to take Mademoiselle Lysette away with him.”
Chapter 4
Lysette damned her own physical weakness as her stepfather and Tante Delphine entered the room. The impulse to leap from the settee and run was uncontrollable, but she knew she wouldn’t make it five yards before collapsing.
“Lysette,” Gaspard said calmly, a smile on his lips. The expression in his eyes, however, was one of undiluted hatred. Her marriage to Etienne Sagesse was the only thing that stood between him and financial ruin, and she had almost succeeded in sabotaging his plans. “You are fortunate, you foolish girl. Sagesse still wants you, regardless of all that has happened. The marriage will take place as planned. Now that you are better, you will come with me.”
“The marriage will never take place,” Lysette said. “I would have thought that would be clear to you by now.”
“Lysette,” Tante Delphine exclaimed, hurrying forward in a display of maternal affection. “There, there, enfant. We have come to take care of you. Certainly you do not wish to be a burden to these strangers any longer. I would have expected you to be more considerate than that.” She caressed the side of Lysette’s face with her plump hand and tucked the lap blanket more tightly around her.