Only With Your Love (20 page)

Justin broke in. “Why are you upset? He chose you, didn’t he? You got what you wanted. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“It is not! If Miss Doyle and I had been equal in name and position, I would have been the second choice!”

He scowled in impatience. “You don’t know that.” Looking at Lysette, he lifted his brows questioningly. “How many people knew about their…ah, liaison?”

“No one except the family. Philippe conferred with Max about what to do, and Max told him—”

“You mean he married me because of his
father’s
advice?” Celia demanded, her voice rising with the fury of a scorned woman. “How long did it take him to make this decision? How much deliberation and
conferring
did it take before he finally came to France to marry me? I waited for three years! He wasn’t waiting for the war to end, he was taking his time about deciding which woman to marry!”

Lysette winced and sent a look of appeal to Justin.

Justin nodded slightly, his gaze flickering to the doorway and back to her in a silent command for her to leave. “Thank you for explaining things,
Belle-mère.
”

“Do you think Briony will divulge what she knows?” Lysette asked.

“No.”

“I pray that she will not.” Lysette sighed and retired gratefully.

The two of them were left alone. “Now,” Justin said. “Why this show of outrage?”

Celia jumped up and strode to the window, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Isn’t it obvious? You know the reasons, you just want to gloat while I—”

“I’m not gloating. Come here and sit down.”

“I will not—”

“Come here,” he repeated firmly, “and sit down.” For a moment he thought she was going to refuse.

Reluctantly Celia sat a foot or two away from him. “What do you wish to say?” she asked sullenly.

“That Philippe cared for you. Enough to marry you. The fact that he had to make a difficult choice shouldn’t bruise your vanity. You should find it flattering that you were the one he finally chose.”

“My relationship with Philippe wasn’t what I thought it was. I thought he loved me completely, that there wasn’t room for another woman. There shouldn’t have been a choice. He shouldn’t have had to ask anyone for
advice.
” She said the word as if it were a profanity. “He should have known without question that the one he wanted was me.” Suddenly realizing how demanding and selfish she sounded, she hung her head, her hands twisting together in her lap. “After my mother died nothing was ever completely mine,” she muttered. “My father devoted himself to his practice, I spent my life taking care of the house and family. Then my sisters began attracting young men, they were called on and courted, a-and I was always overlooked, and one day I realized my youth was gone—”

Justin laughed, unable to stop himself.

Celia stiffened in outrage. “How dare you laugh. I knew I should not have told you any—”

He reached out and tangled his fingers in the curls at the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. “Your youth is not gone,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. His gaze traveled over her small face, and his voice softened. “In some ways you’re still a little girl.”

She decided he must be jeering at her. And yet she was paralyzed by his nearness, the warmth of his hand. “Do not mock me,” she managed to say.

“You would have been courted by anyone you showed the slightest interest in. But you wanted something special.” His fingers played lightly in her hair. “Philippe almost understood, didn’t he? But he couldn’t see into that last part of you, the part you keep hidden from everyone. I know exactly what you wanted from Philippe,
ma petite,
but you would never have had him all to yourself. Philippe was as devoted to his practice as your father was to his. He was not the kind to ignore the needs of his patients just because his wife wanted him at home. You would have had to share, and share generously. And you would have hated it. You never let him know that you felt that way, did you? Philippe married you because he thought you would be the perfect wife for a man of his profession…when the truth is you would have resented every moment he spent away from you.”

Celia lowered her head in shame, feeling exposed, as if all her sins and faults were there on her face for him to see. She thought of lying and telling him he was wrong, but she knew it would be useless. How had he been able to guess at her most private feelings? Was she that transparent
to others or only to him? “That is a terrible thing to accuse me of,” she mumbled. “I would not have been so possessive and selfish…”

“It’s not terrible. Some men dream of being loved that way.”

“That girl did not love Philippe selfishly,” she said, and his hand dropped from her hair.

“No. She would have been happy with whatever he chose to give her.”

“What did she say to you when she thought you were Philippe?”

“That,” Justin said dryly, “is between her and Philippe.”

The discoveries about Philippe caused endless questions to turn through Celia’s mind that evening. She went to bed and fell into a troubled sleep, and the nightmare that sometimes haunted her came back. It was as vivid and terrifying as ever. She was leaning over the ship’s wooden rail, staring at corpses in the bloody water. Philippe was still alive, reaching up to her. But she could not help him—she could only watch in horror as he flailed and began to sink underneath the surface. Dominic Legare was behind her, his growling voice promising death, his hands reaching for her throat, choking off her screams. There was no one to help her, no place of safety, no chance of escape.

Celia woke and sat up with a gasp, finding the sheets twisted around her body. Her bedroom was quiet, dappled with shadows and moonlight. Unsteadily she wiped her tear-streaked face and took several long breaths. She tried to reason with herself. Philippe was dead, and she was safe from Dominic Legare. It was ridiculous to be afraid. Why did her own mind torture her with such images?
Her wild heartbeat began to slow, and she lay down again, her teeth chattering. She could not help thinking of the first time she’d had the nightmare, and the way Justin had held her afterward. He’d been so strong and soothing…
No,
she told herself,
don’t think about it.
But the memory returned insistently.

She thought of how he had comforted her, and then had taken her in a fury of passion, possessing her body as if she had been created solely for his pleasure. Blushing with shame and arousal, she thought of his thighs straddling hers, his dark head bent over her breasts. “
Mon Dieu,
” she whispered, and buried her face in the pillow, trying to go back to sleep.

The next day she stayed in the
garçonnière.
She occupied herself with her sketches and watercolors, but her artwork was not as calming as usual. In the middle of the cool, blustery afternoon she took a walk in the garden and encountered Justin, who was exercising his leg.

“I wondered when you’d come out of hiding,” he remarked. His blue eyes traveled boldly over her close-fitting gown of gray muslin and ruby velvet. Although the gown was high-necked it displayed the fullness of her breasts, and it clung to her waist and hips as she walked.

“Hiding?” Celia repeated coolly, ignoring his masculine inspection. “I was not hiding.”

“Then why did you have breakfast and lunch in the
garçonnière?
”

“Because I wished to be alone.”

“You were hiding from me.”

“I was avoiding you. I do not happen to find your company enjoyable, much as that may surprise you! But I suppose you do not believe it.”

He smiled slowly. “Not entirely.”

“I suppose you think that when you leave I’ll throw myself into your arms and beg you to take me with you.”

“Not at all. You’ll stay here and be a
tante
to Lysette’s children until you’re old and gray. You’ll be a model of propriety. They’ll find it impossible to believe you were ever young. After a few decades have passed your misadventures with me will be nothing but a distant memory. You’ll be quiet and contented, respected by everyone who knows you.”

“It doesn’t sound like such a dreadful fate.”

“For you it would be.”

“Oh?” She gave him a haughty stare. “What kind of life do you think would be better for me?”

“I offered it to you once.”

He had offered to make her his mistress and take her around the world. He had thought she would jump at his promises of homes and jewels and fine clothes, as if she were nothing but an expensive whore. “Your offer was an insult!”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted such an arrangement with.”

“Are you making the offer again?” she sneered.

“As I recall, I never withdrew it.”

“You are mad if you think I would consider—”

“You’ll consider it,” he said. The amusement left his gaze, and his eyes flashed dark and blue. “Before I leave for good I’ll make certain of that.”

She froze as he walked toward her with his faulty steps. “No,” she whispered. His hands clenched at her waist.

“Little fool. You know there’s something between us that no one else would begin to understand. Something you never had with Philippe.”

She slapped his face and wrenched herself
away from him, breathing choppily. Her palm was tingling from the force of the blow, and she saw that she had left a red mark on his cheek. She was shocked at her actions, horrified by how easily he had caused her to forget herself. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Justin’s intensity faded. He surveyed her with his familiar insolence. “All that fire,” he said softly. “That night at the lake you nearly burned me alive.”

“After what I’ve done for you I deserve better than your crude remarks!” She heard him laugh as she whirled and tried to leave, but then he caught her hand.

“Celia, wait—”

“Leave me alone!”

“You’re right, you deserve much better than that. Forgive me.” Faced with her glare, he enfolded her small hand in both of his. “I won’t mention that night again.”

“
Bien!
Now leave me in peace a-and take your offer with you!”

His blue eyes were remorseful. “I shouldn’t have teased you. I behaved badly.”

“You
always
behave badly.” But she stopped trying to pull away from him.

He smiled at her, and his gaze fell to their joined hands. When he looked back at her face, there was a new seriousness in his tone. “Let me walk with you.”

“
Non,
you should go inside and rest—”

“Please.”

Suddenly she was disarmed and flustered. His hands were warm and strong around hers. “Please,” he repeated quietly, and she could not resist.

They walked the length of the three-acre garden.
Justin exerted himself to be nice, nicer than he ever had been to her before. He entertained her with stories of pranks he and Philippe had pulled, charming her out of her uneasiness and making her laugh. He glanced at her frequently, and in spite of herself she could not stop herself from comparing the way he looked at her to the way Philippe had. Philippe had been quietly confident and very certain of her. But there was a searching quality in Justin’s gaze, as if there were a thousand things about her that he had yet to discover. The reference he had made before to the night they had been together had truly distressed her…and yet, he was the only man in her life who had ever seemed to consider her a passionate woman. And somehow being thought of in that way was not altogether unpleasant.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he told her when they were almost back at the main house, and she looked at him in surprise.

“I wonder if it is wrong to laugh, to enjoy anything, when I am mourning Philippe. Sometimes I feel guilty even for smiling when he is not here to share—”

“No,” Justin murmured. “Philippe would want you to come to an acceptance of his death and then go on. There are years ahead of you that should be lived, not spent in regret and sorrow. He would want you to be happy.”

Celia looked up at him wonderingly. “Why are you being so kind?” she half-whispered.

He took her face in his hands. “I’m not being kind. I’m never kind.” He stared into her eyes, and then glanced down at her throat, where a telltale pulse was throbbing violently. Her small hands fluttered up to his wrists, trying to pull them away. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to
kiss you.” He grinned mischievously. “Unless you ask me to.”

Suddenly she laughed, and shook her head within the frame of his hands. “Let go of me, you buffoon.”

He chuckled and dropped a kiss on the top of her head before she could twist away. “There—I can’t seem to help myself with you.”

Late in the evening Justin made his way to the bank of the bayou. Since he had been able to walk on his own he had gone to wait there for a few minutes each night, suspecting there would soon be some word from Risk.

The bayou was quiet, the moss-draped cypress rustling with the softest of breezes. Snowy egrets and wild geese settled in their camps for the night. Slowly the filtered sunlight dissolved, leaving the surface of the water like onyx. The lemon trees on the plantation sent their citrus fragrance through the air. He heard the distant sound of a Negro woman singing, her crooning low and plaintive. The song was a Creole lullaby he remembered from childhood.

The sound drifted into silence. Leaning his weight against a tree, Justin stared into the water with narrowed eyes.

Time was running out. He was healing quickly, and the danger for him increased each day that he remained here. No one would continue to believe the story that he was Philippe for much longer—the
gossip and suspicion in town were spreading rapidly. Although Max was confident in his own power to protect his son, Justin knew he was not safe—from the authorities, or from Legare. He had to disappear and hide somewhere until he was well enough to go after Legare.