Only With Your Love (27 page)

While Justin worked on the plantation, Celia
spent the entire day with Noeline in one of the slave cabins, caring for a mother and two children who had fallen ill. Justin was glad of the time spent apart from Celia. He did not want to face her just yet, not with the knowledge that he was going to lose her. Last night he hadn’t been able to stay away from her. But the more he loved her, the more important her safety had become, more important than his own life or his own needs. She would be safe with Philippe, and she would come to find contentment with him. That was all that mattered.

Risk strode in solitude from the beach on Crow Island to the fort, illuminated by the red glow of sunset. In less than a minute he was besieged by three men bent on divesting him of his weapons. He held them at bay with his cutlass. “Blast ye, keep yer paws off,” he said. “I’m here at the invitation o’ Nicky Legare, ye stupid bastards.”

Growling insults and warnings, the three of them forced him to surrender his sword, pistol, and knife, then accompanied him toward the fort. Risk adopted a cocky grin, calling out cheerfully as he caught sight of a few men who had formerly sailed with Captain Griffin. “Ahoy, ye slimy traitors!”

Roughly he was ushered inside the fort to Legare’s private rooms. He would have guessed that a man with Legare’s unimaginable wealth would surround himself with treasure and finery, but instead the rooms were painfully spare. No objects of art, beauty, or luxury adorned the place. Risk had seen prison cells that offered more comfort. It confirmed the opinion Risk had always held that the man wasn’t quite human. Legare sat on a low,
hard bench, his arms resting on a rectangular table.

“Mr. Risk,” Legare said crisply. The lamplight struck a crimson glint off the dark pupils of his eyes. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Risk gave him a mocking bow. “Aye, Griffin delivered yer kind invitation, Cap’n Legare. Now, if ye don’t mind, I’d like to see about that other victim of yer hospitality, namely Dr. Vallerand.”

“By all means, let us pay him a visit.” Legare stood up and walked to him. “And on the way, Mr. Risk, perhaps we can discuss a few things—”

“Aye, the arrangements for the exchange.”

“Perhaps first we should talk about your future.”

“Talk all ye want,” Risk said airily. “I’m hard of hearin’, meself.”

Legare opened the door, his gaze sharp on Risk’s face. “Perhaps not as much as you think. In my view, Griffin has made a poor bargain with you, Mr. Risk. You do something for him, and he repays you with nothing.”

“’Tis called loyalty,” Risk muttered.

“An expensive proposition, this loyalty. Expensive for you.”

“Ye’re wastin’ yer breath,” Risk said stiffly.

“I’m not finished yet,” Legare murmured, leading the way down to the underground prison.

Step by step, Risk followed him.

The next evening Justin went down to the bayou to wait for Risk. He had not seen Celia for twenty-four hours. She had kept a vigil all night and day with the fever-ridden mother and children in the slave cabin. In the meanwhile, Justin was certain that Risk would bring the news he
wanted, and their plans would proceed accordingly. It would be a relief to have it confirmed that his brother was alive. He loved Philippe, and would have even if his twin hadn’t been the most gentle-spirited and honorable person he’d ever known. Philippe had never been exposed to real violence before. God only knew what five months of imprisonment might have done to him. Oh, he was going to enjoy killing Legare!

Justin’s thoughts were interrupted by the awareness that Celia was coming to find him. He knew it even before he heard her footsteps and her soft voice.

“Justin…you have been avoiding me.”

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to sound brisk.

“To wait with you.”

Justin glanced at her. Although the night was cold, Celia wasn’t wearing a cloak or shawl. Her long-sleeved dress was blotched on the bodice and under the arms with perspiration. It was clear she was tired from hours of leaning over sickbeds and stirring herbs and syrups in boiling pots. An acrid medicinal scent clung to her, instead of the usual fragrant lavender. Her hair was drawn back in an uneven coiled braid, while several locks straggled over her forehead and cheeks. He wanted to take care of her, to put her in a hot bath and rub the soreness from her back. “You’re going to be cold,” he said gruffly.

“No, it was stifling in the cabin. I wanted fresh air.” But she was already beginning to shiver as the breeze blew against the damp patches on her dress. She protested as he took off his coat and put it around her. “Justin, do not,
vraiment,
I am not cold, and…oh…” The thick wool was warm from his body, and it held his scent. She
snuggled deep into the garment, making him laugh.

“Justin,” she asked, her voice muffled, “if Risk brings the news that Philippe is alive, what will we do then?”

He sobered immediately. “We’ll discuss that when we know for certain.”

“That sounds ominous,” she said.

He studied her with his dark blue eyes. “No matter what the outcome of all this is, it won’t be easy for anyone. You understand that, don’t you?”

She gave him a faltering smile. “I will be happy as long as we are together.” When it became clear he wasn’t going to reply, her smile vanished. “Justin,” she whispered, “please hold me.”

He couldn’t have refused her even if both their lives had depended on it. His arms were around her before he could even think. Her small form was made bulky by his coat. As her head rested on his shoulder, the warmth of her breath sank through his shirt to the skin beneath. She leaned against him while he gazed at the bayou.

“I kept dreaming about Philippe,” she said almost absently. “In all those dreams he was drowning and I kept reaching for him. But I could never save him.”

“You’ll have him back soon.”

“What do you mean—”

“Shhh.” Gently he pushed her away from him as a pirogue approached. It was Risk, rowing steadily, his unwashed hair covered by a kerchief. He glanced over his shoulder at both of them and grinned. Justin made his way to the bank to secure the pirogue while Risk climbed from it. His gaze alighted on Celia first.

“Is he alive?” she burst out.

“Aye,” Risk said with a chuckle. “Alive, well, an’ itchin’ for ye, darlin’.”

Justin scowled. Celia was too innocent to know that among sailors the word
itch
had a purely sexual connotation.

“Did they mistreat him?” Celia asked.

“He’s been held in one o’ the cells in the bottom o’ the fort,” Risk said, looking at Justin. “Ye know the ones. Used when the slave corrals were bustin’ at the sides an’ they needed more room. By God, he’s the spit o’ you, Griffin!”

“Did you see Aug while you were there?” Justin asked.

“Nay, I couldn’t—”

Celia interrupted in surprise. “Aug is on the island?”

Suddenly there was silence. Justin took her by the shoulders and stared down at her. “Go back to the house,” he said.

“But that is not necessary, I will be quiet, I will not say another—”

“Go back to the house,” he repeated softly, his eyes piercing. Abashed, she dropped her gaze and left, cursing herself for not having been silent.

Lysette was rocking Rafe to sleep while Evelina was playing with her dolls. Angeline, the younger daughter, was fretful and bored, and Celia decided to coax her to the parlor for storytime. A small fire crackled in the grate, lending a warm glow to the room. Angeline cuddled in her lap as they looked at a drawing in her sketchbook. It was a game they’d begun playing soon after Celia had shared her artwork with Justin, Celia sketching imaginary people and places and scenes, encouraging Angeline to help her make up stories about them. The stories forced her to concentrate
on something other than Philippe, and Celia began to relax. It was an enjoyable way to pass the time, and she delighted in the little girl’s assertiveness.

How lucky Lysette Vallerand was to have three beautiful children and a husband who loved her, and a large home and a multitude of friends and interests to keep her busy. Celia could have had such a life with Philippe. Perhaps there was still a possibility of it. But it was no longer what she wanted. She was not even certain exactly what kind of life Justin would offer her, and she didn’t care. She knew she would be loved as few women were ever loved, and that Justin would take care of her. Undoubtedly her father and family would believe she had gone mad. She had always been so quiet, so moderate and predictable in all things. The thought made her smile ruefully, and she turned her attention back to Angeline.

Justin went to the library and found his father sitting before the fire. The yellow glow turned Max’s hard face into a mask of bronze and gold.

“Philippe’s alive,” Justin said. “Jack confirmed it.”

Max inhaled sharply. “Is he all right?”

Justin’s gaze was bleak. “Considering that he’s been Legare’s prisoner all this time, probably not.”

“I’ll go to Commander Matthews now. God willing, he’ll agree to your plan.”

“Be persuasive, Father.”

“Of course,” Max said matter-of-factly, and left the library.

Justin wandered to the parlor where Celia sat with Angeline. He paused at the side of the doorway and watched unnoticed while the little girl
pointed her chubby finger at one of Celia’s sketches. “…the princess went in there,” she was saying to Celia, who lifted her blond brows questioningly.

“Into the dragon’s cave?”

“
Oui,
to find the king’s stolen treasure!”

Celia’s pencil moved busily at the side of the page, doing a quick line drawing. “Yes, but then the dragon returned, and he found her in his cave! What did the princess do?”

“She…” Angeline frowned thoughtfully. “She made a pet of him!”

“Oh, but he was a very mean dragon.”

“
Non,
it is only that he was very
sad.
”

Celia smiled and kissed the top of Angeline’s head. “Poor dragon,” she murmured.

“Yes, poor sad dragon…”

A clutching pain began in Justin’s chest as they continued the story. He had never seen Celia so tender and maternal. The extent of what he was about to lose was suddenly made clear, and it shook him badly. He wanted to give her children, he wanted a family with her, the kind of life he had never even been able to dream of before.

The story of the sad dragon was concluded, and Celia looked up to find his blue eyes on her. She shifted Angeline from her lap. “Darling,” she said to the little girl, and handed her the sketch, “why don’t you go see if your
maman
is finished with Rafe now?”

“I want to do another one.”

“After dinner, I promise.”

Giving Justin a chiding look as if she knew precisely why storytime had ended so abruptly, Angeline left the room with dragging feet.

Celia stared at his unreadable face. She wished he would come sit by her, but he remained standing,
preserving the distance between them. “I know that you and Maximilien are planning something,” she said. “I saw the two of you walking together yesterday morning. What are you going to do?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“But of course I do, I…” Celia paused as she saw how empty his gaze was. “Justin, why are you looking at me that way? What is going to happen?”

“Philippe is coming back. You’re his wife. After he’s returned here safely I’ll be gone.”

Her brow wrinkled anxiously. “Yes, and I will be going with you.”

“No.”

“
No?
Justin, you don’t mean that you would leave me here—”

“That’s exactly what I mean. When Philippe returns he’ll need you to be his wife and take care of him—”

“Yes, I want to help him. But I cannot be his wife. I am going to give him his freedom. He and Briony love each other, and I belong with you.”

“You’re married to him, Celia.”

She wanted to go to him, but her knees were too weak. “After all the things you told me, and the promises you made, you cannot try to tell me that you don’t—”

“A man will say many things when he wants to take a woman to bed.”

Celia felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “I know that you love me,” she said in a low voice.

“I thought I did. But you were right when you told me you feared you were merely a…passing fancy.” The words were said so smoothly that almost anyone would have believed him. But
nothing could hide the twitching muscle in his clenched jaw and his high color.

Celia was confused and terrified, until understanding crept over her slowly. He was trying so hard to be callous and cool, when it was only last night that he had held her in his arms and loved her as tenderly as a man could love a woman. She realized what he was trying to do now, and his reasons for it. Suddenly she got her breath back, and with it a surge of shaky confidence.

“You are lying to me,” she said.

“It’s not a lie. I’ve gotten what I wanted from you. Now I’m finished with you.”

Celia stood up and walked to him. Justin seemed to steel himself at her approach, looking like a fierce mastiff afraid of a small kitten. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“Then you’re a fool. You have a husband coming home to you, and I’m going to deliver him to you gladly. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of this game we’ve been playing.”

“You’re doing this for me. You think I’ll be safer if you leave me behind. Well, I will be—I’ll be protected and safe and
miserable.
Is that for the best? Is that what you want?” She began to slide her arms around him, but he flinched and drew back. “Think of how it will be for you, wondering every night for the rest of your life if I am alone, if I am sleeping in someone else’s arms—”

Jealous rage sparked in his eyes. “I’ll be glad to be rid of you!”

She rested her hands on his chest. “The night before last you begged me to go with you. You said you couldn’t live without me.”

“That was before I knew Philippe was alive.” Desperately Justin tried to ignore the scent of her, the soft brush of her breasts against him. But his
body betrayed him, his heart hammering, his loins filling with heat and an all-too-familiar ache.