ruddy with effort.
Carefully he blotted the letter, folded and sealed it, then held it in his hands with exceeding lightness, as if it were a delicate weapon. For just an instant a long-forgotten softness appeared in his turquoise eyes, while old memories danced before him.
“Etienne?” His older sister Renée Sagesse Dubois entered the room. She was a striking woman of unusual height, admired for her self-contained ways, respected for being a dutiful wife and the mother of three healthy children.
For years she had worried over Etienne every bit as earnestly as their own mother had, and although she turned a blind eye to his misdeeds, she could not help but be aware of his true character. “What are you doing?” she inquired.
He gestured with the letter in response. “In case events do not turn out as I wish tomorrow,” he said, “I want this to be given to Maximilien Vallerand.”
“But why?” Renée asked with a frown. “What does it say?”
“That is only for Max to know.”
Renée came to stand by his chair, resting her long hand on the back of it. “Why must you duelover that creature?” she asked, her voice for once impassioned.
“Many reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that Lysette Kersaint is the only woman I ever wanted to marry.”
“But why ? She is not even pretty!”
“She is the most desirable woman I’ve ever known. No…I am not jesting. She is vibrant and clever and unique. I will enjoying killing Vallerand for taking her.”
“Will you be able to live with yourself if he dies?”
An odd smile shaped Etienne’s lips. “That remains to be seen. I can be certain, however, that Max will not be able to live with himself if he emerges the victor.” He set the letter down on the desk. “If that happens, do not forget this note. I will be watching from the grave while he reads it.”
Renée’s blue eyes crackled with anger. “I have never understood your attitude toward that cruel, embittered man. Maximilien Vallerand is not worthy of a single moment of your time, and yet you insist on risking your life to indulge his need for vengeance!”
Etienne appeared to have only half heard her. “Remember how he was?” he said absently. “Remember how everyone loved him? Even you.”
A blush edged up to her hairline, but Renée was too straightforward to deny it. Like so many other women, she had been in love with Maximilien back in the days when he had possessed a boyish gallantry that had set her heart beating all too fast.
“Yes, of course I remember,” she answered. “Butthat was not the same man, Etienne. The Maximilien Vallerand whom you go to duel with is beyond redemption.”
Lake Pontchartrain was a shallow body of water, perhaps sixteen feet at its deepest. Nonetheless, the seemingly tame lake could turn dangerous. Sometimes a strong wind would flail the surface until the waves grew violent enough to overturn vessels and take the lives of many men.
This morning, however, the water was a glassy gray mirror poised against the pale dawn sky. Only the hint of a breeze skimmed the lake and touched the shore. The duel between Max and Etienne would take place away from the beach, on the edge of a pine forest where the ground was firm and even.
While the seconds and the group of onlookers stood by, Max and Etienne drew aside for a private meeting.
The men were similar in height and reach, both experienced and well trained in the art of swordsmanship. None of the witnesses present would dare to choose which opponent they would rather face, though several had noted that an excess of fine living would soon begin to take a toll on Sagesse’s agility, if it hadn’t already. He indulged too often in the rich wines and cuisines the Creoles loved, and led a dissipated life that would not long allow him his current preeminence as a duelist.
Etienne Sagesse confronted Max with a faint smile on his coarsely handsome face. “Vallerand,”he murmured, “you could have
Carefully he blotted the letter, folded and sealed it, then held it in his hands with exceeding lightness, as if it were a delicate weapon. For just an instant a long-forgotten softness appeared in his turquoise eyes, while old memories danced before him.
“Etienne?” His older sister Renée Sagesse Dubois entered the room. She was a striking woman of unusual height, admired for her self-contained ways, respected for being a dutiful wife and the mother of three healthy children.
For years she had worried over Etienne every bit as earnestly as their own mother had, and although she turned a blind eye to his misdeeds, she could not help but be aware of his true character. “What are you doing?” she inquired.
He gestured with the letter in response. “In case events do not turn out as I wish tomorrow,” he said, “I want this to be given to Maximilien Vallerand.”
“But why?” Renée asked with a frown. “What does it say?”
“That is only for Max to know.”
Renée came to stand by his chair, resting her long hand on the back of it. “Why must you duelover that creature?” she asked, her voice for once impassioned.
“Many reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that Lysette Kersaint is the only woman I ever wanted to marry.”
“But why ? She is not even pretty!”
“She is the most desirable woman I’ve ever known. No…I am not jesting. She is vibrant and clever and unique. I will enjoying killing Vallerand for taking her.”
“Will you be able to live with yourself if he dies?”
An odd smile shaped Etienne’s lips. “That remains to be seen. I can be certain, however, that Max will not be able to live with himself if he emerges the victor.” He set the letter down on the desk. “If that happens, do not forget this note. I will be watching from the grave while he reads it.”
Renée’s blue eyes crackled with anger. “I have never understood your attitude toward that cruel, embittered man. Maximilien Vallerand is not worthy of a single moment of your time, and yet you insist on risking your life to indulge his need for vengeance!”
Etienne appeared to have only half heard her. “Remember how he was?” he said absently. “Remember how everyone loved him? Even you.”
A blush edged up to her hairline, but Renée was too straightforward to deny it. Like so many other women, she had been in love with Maximilien back in the days when he had possessed a boyish gallantry that had set her heart beating all too fast.
“Yes, of course I remember,” she answered. “Butthat was not the same man, Etienne. The Maximilien Vallerand whom you go to duel with is beyond redemption.”
Lake Pontchartrain was a shallow body of water, perhaps sixteen feet at its deepest. Nonetheless, the seemingly tame lake could turn dangerous. Sometimes a strong wind would flail the surface until the waves grew violent enough to overturn vessels and take the lives of many men.
This morning, however, the water was a glassy gray mirror poised against the pale dawn sky. Only the hint of a breeze skimmed the lake and touched the shore. The duel between Max and Etienne would take place away from the beach, on the edge of a pine forest where the ground was firm and even.
While the seconds and the group of onlookers stood by, Max and Etienne drew aside for a private meeting.
The men were similar in height and reach, both experienced and well trained in the art of swordsmanship. None of the witnesses present would dare to choose which opponent they would rather face, though several had noted that an excess of fine living would soon begin to take a toll on Sagesse’s agility, if it hadn’t already. He indulged too often in the rich wines and cuisines the Creoles loved, and led a dissipated life that would not long allow him his current preeminence as a duelist.
Etienne Sagesse confronted Max with a faint smile on his coarsely handsome face. “Vallerand,”he murmured, “you could have
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