Only With Your Love (14 page)

“Yes, I have,” Lysette admitted. “But that does not mean you must exhaust yourself taking care of him.”

Celia schooled her features into impassiveness. “Justin is your stepson. You have the right to say what must be done with him. If you wish me to stay away from him, that is what I will do.”

“No, I am not talking about—” Lysette stopped and scowled mildly. Both of them were aware that they were on the brink of an argument. “I have no desire to bicker with you, Celia. All I am doing is trying to make you understand that you do not have to tire yourself nursing him, not when there are others capable of carrying the burden.”

“I understand that.”

“Good.”

“
Bien.
”

They had exchanged a glance of annoyance, and Celia had returned to Justin’s room, relieved that Lysette was not going to stop her. Day by day it was becoming more important that she stay with Justin and watch over him every minute. He seemed to know when she was there, seemed to recognize the sound of her voice.

Celia dragged her attention back to the present, listening to Lysette’s conversation with Max. “What are we going to tell people,
bien-aimé?
” Lysette asked. “The minute they think we have something to hide, they will suspect it has to do with Justin.”

“I have a plan,” Max said slowly, “but it isn’t
a good one. If we have to resort to it, there will be danger for all of us. And I doubt we’d have a chance in hell of pulling it off. I need time to think of something else.”

Lysette and Celia exchanged a worried glance. Then Lysette turned back to her husband. “Time,” she said, “is something we do not have, Max.”

“
C’est vrai,
” Celia agreed with a frown of worry. “Perhaps you should tell us about this plan you have conceived. Perhaps we should consider…”

She paused as an odd feeling shook her. Struggling through layers of darkness, an image rose up before her…it was Justin. Turning pale, she clenched a fold of her skirts in her hand and walked rapidly to the doorway. “Excuse me. I am going to look in on Justin,” she said. She strode toward the wide double staircase and began to run, her feet flying up the steps.

Slowly Justin awakened, wondering where he was. What had happened to him? He was on a bed with sheets and pillows, a novel occurrence for him. He was surrounded by darkness. The air was scented with bitter herbs and freshly washed linen. Groaning faintly, he tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. He lifted his hand, surprised at the weakness of his limbs. He was never weak.

Beginning to gasp with effort, Justin put his hand to his face and felt heavy bandages over his eyes. The realization panicked him. There had been a battle…gunshots…Legare’s victorious face, a sword pushing into his side…Risk’s anxious pleading…He had known he was dying. His body hurt, and he couldn’t move his leg, couldn’t even feel it. Had it been amputated? He fumbled with the bandages, needing to rip them
away and see for himself what was wrong. Pain stabbed between his eyes, and his head began to swim.

“No, no.” A soft, urgent voice fell on his ears. Suddenly there was a woman beside him. Her cool hands took hold of his, pulling them down to the mattress. He tried to push her away. “Let your eyes stay covered,” she soothed. “They must heal. Rest now.
Doucement,
you are all right.”

All at once he remembered the angel in his dreams. It was her voice, her light hand on his head, her presence beside him. “My leg,” he managed to say hoarsely.

“It is healing,” she murmured, blotting away the sweat that stood out on his forehead. “You will be able to walk on it again.”

“Hurt…” He tried to tell her that his head felt as if a red-hot poker were being driven into it. She seemed to understand. A strong, slender arm slid underneath his neck, propping him up. The side of his face brushed against the tender resiliency of a woman’s breast, and he was surrounded by a delicate flowerlike fragrance. The rim of a glass was pressed between his teeth. At first he choked on the acrid taste of willowbark that had been stirred into the water.

“No…”

“Just a little,” she coaxed. “A swallow or two.”

Seeking to please her, he forced himself to drink. All too soon she lowered his head back to the pillow, and he was deprived of the comfort of her arms. He felt the last of his strength drain away. “Are you real?” he managed to ask.

“
Bien sûr,
of course I am real.” She stroked his hair with light fingers.

After a moment he felt her moving away.
“Stay,” he croaked. But she left, as if she had not heard him, and he could not say another word.

A full day passed, but Celia did not return to Justin’s room after the fever had broken. His need for her was over. His wounds were free of infection and he would begin to recover his strength. If the Vallerands had been puzzled by her concern for him before, they were frankly dazed by what they saw as her sudden lack of interest now. In a matter of hours she had apparently gone from obsession to indifference, and they did not know what to make of her. “I am tired,” she had explained, unable to tell them that she was afraid of facing Justin when he was fully conscious.

Celia was distraught over what had happened when he had awakened. She kept remembering the scene over and over, and the awful, aching tenderness that had possessed her. She remembered the heaviness of his head on her arm, the obedient way he had taken the medicine she had held to his lips, the scratchiness of his voice as he demanded that she stay. She had
wanted
to stay, to stroke and soothe and comfort him. It was impossible that she could feel such a thing for that filthy pirate, and she had to avoid him until she was able to control her emotions.

That evening she accidentally overhead Lysette and Maximilien discussing her abrupt change in attitude as they sat alone in the parlor. Celia was just coming in from a walk in the garden to have dinner with the family. Hearing her name, she stopped inside the front entrance hall, her ears pricking.

“It is not that I dislike her,” Lysette was saying, “I just do not understand her. I can never be certain of how she truly feels.”

There was the sound of Max’s husky laugh. “It’s not necessary for you to understand her,
petite.
And I would wager Celia herself doesn’t know how she truly feels.”

“She claims to hate Justin. But if that were true she would not have wanted to tend him during the fever.”

“One thing is obvious,” Max said thoughtfully. “Something transpired between them that they’re both determined to keep secret.”

Celia felt her cheeks turning red. Maximilien was a perceptive man, and he had a fair idea of what his son was capable of. Did he suspect they had been intimate, with or without her consent? Mortified, she slipped out the front door, intending to walk around the house to the
garçonnière.

There was a carriage coming down the long drive to the plantation, elegant but modestly fitted. Celia paused to watch its approach. The passenger of the vehicle emerged without the help of the attending footman and strode up the front steps of the main house with the brisk precision of a military officer. He was an American. Although he was out of uniform, she recognized him from the memorial service they had had for Philippe. If she remembered correctly, the young man was Lieutenant Peter Benedict, the assistant to Commander Matthews, the master-commandant in charge of the naval station in New Orleans.

Benedict seemed surprised by her presence on the front porch. “Madame Vallerand.” He took her bare hand in his gloved one and bowed his head over it politely. “A pleasure to see you. You may not remember me.”

“
Oui,
I remember you, Lieutenant Benedict,” she said, looking at his boyish face. It was the sensitive
visage of a man of earnest disposition, one who paid strict attention to his duty and protocol. As she met his warm brown eyes, she recalled that Benedict and Commander Matthews had been appointed by the president to deter the pirates in the Gulf. Locating a stray pirate, especially one of Justin’s reputation, would be a considerable feather in the lieutenant’s cap. Had Benedict heard any of the rumors about their houseguest? Had he come to find out if it was Justin?

“I am here to call on Monsieur Vallerand,” Benedict said, giving her a searching stare.

Celia did her best to look unconcerned. “This is a social call, Lieutenant?”

“I hope so, madame.” He took a step toward the door, then stopped as she did not move.

Just then Noeline opened the front door and regarded the visitor impassively. “Welcome, monsieur,” she said, her gaze darting from Benedict’s serious face to Celia’s anxious one.

“Lieutenant Benedict,” the man introduced himself. “I am here to see Monsieur Vallerand.”

Noeline appraised him, looking unimpressed. “Come inside, lieutenant,
s’il vous plaît.
I go see if Monsieur Vallerand have time for you.”

“Tell him it would be in his interest to see me,” Benedict said. “I am here on behalf of Commander Matthews.”

They walked into the entrance hall, the mahogany paneling and benches gleaming from a recent polishing. Celia decided to leave the lieutenant by himself and find some way to warn the Vallerands of the danger. She followed Noeline toward one of the double parlors, pulling nervously on the long sleeves of her black gown.

Max emerged from the parlor, raising his eyebrow as he saw their somber faces.

Unconsciously Celia took hold of his arm. “Monsieur,” she whispered frantically, her fingers digging into his wrist. “Your son is in danger. The visitor—he is from the naval station. He must have heard something. What should we tell him? What should—”

“Shhh.” Max patted her hand lightly before prying it off of his arm. He looked over her head at the young naval officer who was straining indiscreetly to hear them. “I will take care of it,” Max said to Celia. “Go to Lysette, hmm?”

“All right,” Celia replied inaudibly, while Max stepped forward to greet Benedict with the handshake that Americans preferred in their social and business dealings.

Lysette was in the parlor giving instructions to Noeline. “Have Mary bring some
café,
” she was saying. “Not as strong as usual—the Americans like it watery. And bring something to pass around, some cakes or
langues de chat.
” She noticed Celia standing nearby and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not wrinkle your forehead so,
chérie.
It makes you appear worried.”

“I
am
worried.”

“But why? Max will not let anything happen to Justin.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Celia, you must place your trust in us.
Maintenant,
whatever Max says, you must not contradict him. And try not to appear surprised,
d’accord?
”

“
D’accord.
” Celia peered at her closely. “Do you know what it is he plans to do?”

“I have my suspicions—” Lysette began, and
was forced to stop as the two men entered the room.

Lysette welcomed the lieutenant with a dazzling smile. He took her hand with reverence, seeming tongue-tied for the moment. Lysette was one of New Orleans’ reigning beauties, and her effect on men young and old was always the same. She was lovely even clad in mourning, her crimson hair and white skin gleaming radiantly against the severe black of her clothes.

“Lieutenant, how very nice of you to call,” Lysette said.

“I am sorry, madame, to disrupt your evening.”

“
Non, non,
it has been far too long since we have spoken. How is Commander Matthews? All is well at the naval station, I hope?
Bien,
that is good to hear. With the skill and intelligence of men such as you and the commander, I feel certain the pirates will soon be driven from the Gulf.”

“
Au contraire,
” Max interrupted brusquely, “Governor Villeré believes the pirate problem is worsening.”

Benedict bristled. “Were we supplied with sufficient men and equipment, Monsieur Vallerand, our forces would be more effective against the brigands. But the people of New Orleans do all they can to encourage the pirate trade. Indeed, they welcome the contraband goods being smuggled into the city.”

“The naval station seems to be adequately supplied—” Max started, and Lysette interrupted hastily, knowing her husband’s enjoyment of political disputations.

“
Mon Mari,
perhaps we should not begin to debate the matter at this time. Do be seated, everyone.
Mary will bring refreshments soon.” She settled gracefully on the settee, and they all followed suit. “Lieutenant,” Lysette said lightly, “do tell us what prompted this call.”

“I came to inquire as to your family’s welfare,” Benedict replied.

“You did? How kind of you.”

Benedict waited for some further comment but encountered only silence. Three pairs of eyes were focused on him. He cleared his throat and continued. “Commander Matthews has expressed a similar concern, hence my visit. In the last few days we have heard rumors…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at them expectantly. No one said a word. The lieutenant was forced to break the silence again. “This morning, Monsieur Vallerand, I happened to encounter your brother Alexandre and his charming wife Henriette in town—”

Henriette, Celia thought anxiously, the woman who loved to gossip.

“—and she relayed some rather interesting information,” Benedict said.

“I’m not surprised,” Maximilien replied calmly. “Henriette has often been known to do that.”

“Yes, well, she told me that the rumor is true.”

Max’s fingers began an idle tapping on the arm of his chair. “And this rumor is…?”

“That you have a houseguest who is ailing. Not just
any
houseguest.”

Celia clenched her hands in her lap. She felt the blood draining out of her face. After all the time she had spent caring for Justin, he would be taken away. The authorities would be cruel to him. He was still weak, and it would not take much for his wounds to reopen. The scene from this morning flashed before her once again, his head cradled in
her arm, his trusting obedience, and husky voice asking,
Are you real?