Only With Your Love (35 page)

“Actually—”

“Obviously I’ve interrupted a private moment,” Justin said. “I’ll leave the two of you to your…celebration. We’ll talk later, Philippe.” Before either of them could reply, he turned and strode from the library.

“Justin!” Celia called after him, but there was no response. Wildly she spun around to Philippe. “H-he misinterpreted the kiss,” she said in a panic. “He does not understand—”

“If I don’t miss my guess,” Philippe said thoughtfully, “Justin expects you to follow after him. It might be wise to do so immediately. And in the meanwhile…” He smiled, suddenly looking as eager as a boy. “I plan to pay a visit to Miss Briony Doyle.”

“Good luck,” she said breathlessly.

“Good luck to
you.
”

Rushing down the hallway, Celia caught up to Justin just as he reached the octagonal entrance hall. “Justin,
wait.
” She touched his arm. He spun around to face her, towering over her. In contrast to his icy control of a few moments before,
he was breathing fast and his blue eyes were simmering with fury. “Justin, Philippe and I were talking, and—”

“Legare was right about one thing,” he said tersely. “You seem to do equally well with either one of the Vallerand brothers.”

“What?” She gazed at him in astonishment. “Let me explain—”

“Don’t bother. It doesn’t interest me.”

“You are the most unreasonable, thick-headed—”

“I don’t blame you for wanting to keep Philippe on the line,” Justin sneered. “He’s safe, respectable—an exemplary husband. And when you find he doesn’t satisfy you in bed, you can always come visit me for a good hard—”

She slapped his face. The crack of her hand echoed in the entrance hall. “After all I’ve endured, I will not be insulted by you!”

“Oh, I’m not insulting you—”

“You jealous—”

“I quite admire your adroitness in getting what you want.”

“I am trying to tell you that Philippe and I have decided on an annulment!”

Maximilien’s deep voice boomed out from behind them in annoyance. “What is this uproar about?” He was standing with Lysette at the bottom of the staircase. “Is all this noise and commotion really necessary? I urge the two of you to settle your differences in a more circumspect manner.”

Glaring at the two of them, Justin dragged Celia into the nearby parlor and slammed the door.

Max began to chuckle. Lysette glanced at him bemusedly. “
Bien-aimé,
why are you smiling like that?”

Max lifted her up the first two steps so that they were standing nose to nose. “I am thinking of the settee you had upholstered in that slick blue damask,” he said, drawing her arms around his neck. “And wondering if they will have more success with it than we did.”

She turned pink, and then her hazel eyes widened. “Max, you don’t think they’re going to…”

Max glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, and his amused gaze returned to hers. “It has become very quiet all of a sudden, hasn’t it?”

Lysette gave him a mock frown. “Maximilien Vallerand,” she said, “your sons are turning out to be nearly as impossible as you are!”

Max grinned arrogantly. “Little one, you would not have me any other way.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, Justin turned Celia in his arms and fastened his mouth over hers. She fought him halfheartedly, still incensed by how quickly he had jumped to conclusions. He held her more tightly, his mouth devouring hers until she shivered and relented. She arched against him, pulling at the white shirt until it came free of the doeskin breeches. Her hands slipped underneath the shirt, gripping his hard, broad back.

“Don’t ever let me see you kiss another man again,” Justin muttered against her throat. “Not even a doddering old grandfather. I can’t bear it.”

“Jealous…irrational…oaf,” she accused in fitful gasps.

“Yes.” He pulled her into the shelter of his body, urging her against the taut length of his arousal. “I love you,” he said roughly. Burying his face in her neck, he yanked at the buttons on
her high-collared gown. He pulled the comb from her hair, and it fell down her back in a pale river of silk. “You’re beautiful, so beautiful…”

Flushed and dizzy, she stroked the back of his head and kissed his ear. “Not here,” she whispered. “Someone might interrupt—”

“I don’t care. I need you.” Seeking her mouth again, he explored the silky inner edge of her lips with the tip of his tongue. A soft whimper came from her throat, and he sealed his mouth over hers, his tongue reaching into her sweet warmth.

Celia tugged helplessly at his shirt until he let go of her long enough to remove it. Her fingers sank into the hair on his chest, digging into the thick wiry curls. “You did not spare me a thought,” she gasped, “with all those women bringing things to you…bottles of wine…”

“I had everyone in the Cabildo drinking toasts to your beauty.”

She gave a muffled laugh against his shoulder. “Are you truly free now? No charges, no more bounties…”

“I’m all yours.” He kissed her blond brows, her fragile eyelids. “It’s no bargain. Most people will tell you I’m a dangerous gamble.”

“And how should I answer them?”

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. “Tell them I can’t live without you.”

He lowered her to the settee and took her slippers off, then removed his own shoes. His heart began to drum heavily and he gripped her silk-stockinged legs in his hands, squeezing her ankles, calves and knees. Celia wrapped herself around him sinuously, sliding her mouth over the warm skin of his neck and shoulder, devouring his scent and taste. He pushed her to her back and eased the unfastened bodice of her gown to
her waist until her arms were trapped within the long sleeves.

Crouching over her, he tugged the top of her chemise down with his teeth. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he aroused it gently until she gasped and strained to pull her arms free. His head moved over her chest, and he murmured for her to be still. Slowly her impatience melted into languid pleasure, and she relaxed beneath him.

He stripped the gown off her, and her long-legged drawers with it, and tore the front of her chemise straight down the middle, spreading it open carefully. She unfastened the buttons of his breeches, freed his swollen arousal, and caressed him with dizzying sureness. He felt heat gather in his loins, chest, the vulnerable parts of his neck, until he had to pull her small hand away, his self-control crumbling. “Stop,” he muttered. “Too fast…wait…”

Celia lifted her silky perfumed body to his, her fingers trailing down his back in tenderly inquisitive touches. Groaning, he spread his hands over her thighs. He was more than ready to take her. He knew she could draw him inside easily, but he wanted to prolong the moment. Her kiss-reddened lips parted, and her arm curled around his neck, exerting pressure to bring his head down to hers.

Their lips blended, and suddenly he could not bear it any longer; he pushed her legs wide and entered her. The thrust drove her body several inches along the sleek surface of the cushioned settee. Gripping her more firmly, he moved again, and his knee slipped, and they both nearly slid onto the floor. Justin grasped for purchase on the slick upholstery, could find none, and cursed in a guttural tone. A small tasseled pillow was dislodged
and fell onto Celia’s face. She began to choke with laughter.

“I’m so glad,” he said, picking up the pillow and flinging it viciously across the room, “that you find this entertaining.”

“
Oui,
very entertaining.” Celia wrapped her arms around his waist. “What should I do?” she whispered.

In spite of his frustration Justin grinned at her. “Hold on to me,
mon coeur.
We’ll find a way.” He pulled her body beneath his, braced one foot on the floor, and reached past her head to grasp the arm of the settee. The position afforded him the leverage he needed, and the rhythm began, slow and deep. Her eyes half-closed, she held him more tightly.

His mouth descended on her breasts, her shoulders, her throat. Celia gasped as he moved between her thighs, as she felt herself gathering around him, and pleasure flooded through her until she couldn’t breathe. Shuddering in his arms, she sank into the flowing warmth of release. He pushed deeper and held himself there, his eyes closed, burying his deep cry in her mouth.

Afterward, tangled together, they lay there comfortably. Justin drew her long hair over his chest, toying with the golden locks. Idly Celia’s fingertip circled his flat nipple. “The annulment will take some time,” she said drowsily. “The marriage documents will have to be retrieved from France, and the Church must be approached—”

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes, as long as the thing is done properly.”

“It will be difficult in the meantime, all of us staying here together.”

Justin shook his head with a slight frown. “No, my love. I’ll be staying at a hotel in town.”

“Oh, but—”

“I can’t live under the same roof as Philippe,” he said firmly. “Or the rest of the Vallerands. They would all be watching us. The constant scrutiny would drive me mad.”

“But when will I be able to see you?” she asked in dismay.

He smiled and stroked her slender back. “Don’t worry. I’ll come courting. I’ll see you every day. We’ll make discreet arrangements to be with each other. Perhaps you’ll even find it romantic…”

“No, I will find it tiresome, skulking about, making arrangements for clandestine meetings…” She pouted and laid her head on his chest. “I want to be with you all the time.”

“Soon.” His soft laugh resounded against her ear. “
Petite coeur,
just try and stop it from happening.”

Marseilles

C
elia walked across the sand alone, luxuriating in the balmy breeze and the gentle sunshine. Far ahead of her stretched the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. In back of her was the villa with a small, palm-shaded courtyard that Justin had leased two months ago. Since there was no possibility of being observed on the private beach, she lifted the skirt of her thin white cotton dress and waded into the water, enjoying the feel of it surging around her ankles. Seagulls nearby quarreled over a small fish, squawking noisily.

Marseilles was the most enchanting place in France, she reflected, far better than Paris or even the lush chateau country in Touraine. The prosperous and busy port of Marseilles contained all the best features of a city but also provided the charm of the several fishing villages that surrounded it.

Sitting on the warm sand and dropping back on her elbows, Celia stared at the vivid water. She felt she could never tire of Marseilles. She hoped Justin would not want to leave for another
few months. But it didn’t matter, she would be sinfully happy wherever they lived.

They had married as soon as the annulment had been procured, and at Justin’s insistence had left New Orleans with equal haste. He had fretted and chafed and made no secret of his impatience to be away. Although he was now reconciled with his family, the plantation itself would always remind him of old regrets and unpleasant memories. He had wanted to make a new beginning. Philippe’s marriage to Briony Doyle took place only a few days after their departure, and Celia was disappointed to have missed it, but in a way she agreed with Justin that there had been something vaguely disquieting about having Philippe present at their wedding. It would be better for Briony not to be faced with any vestiges of Philippe and Celia’s ill-fated marriage at her wedding ceremony.

Parting with the Vallerands had been difficult. They had said their goodbyes at the plantation. Celia and Lysette had both been tearful, while Max was unashamedly reluctant to let them go. There had been an awkward moment when Justin and Philippe had not embraced in the Creole tradition but instead clasped hands in the more impersonal American style. The fact that Celia now belonged to Justin would always be a source of tension between the two of them, but she hoped that the passage of time would soften it.

Philippe had taken Celia carefully into his arms and hugged her, and when he drew back to look at her with a bittersweet smile, she had given him an answering one. They were each happy with the course they had chosen, but they would never forget the private moments they had shared in the past, or that they had once meant something
to each other. Celia noted with inward amusement that although Justin had made a great effort to suppress a jealous scowl during the exchange, he could not help clamping a possessive arm around her afterward.

In the months since their wedding Justin had changed in subtle ways, losing much of the cynicism and wariness that had been so much a part of him. He was freer to laugh and tease. At first he had hovered over her with jealous greed, as if she were a treasure that might be wrested away from him at any moment. Now he was more relaxed and assured of her love, and there was new trust between them.

The first test of their marriage had come early, during the journey to France. On the first night of the crossing Justin had come below to their stateroom after touring the deck with the ship’s captain, to find Celia gray-faced and cowering in the corner of their bunk. Alarmed, he gathered her in his arms, and she burrowed against his chest like a terrified animal seeking to hide from an unseen predator.

“
Chérie,
what is it?” he asked urgently against her hair. “Are you ill? Did something happen?” After a few minutes she managed to explain that some noises from the deck had brought back all the horror of Legare’s attack. She knew that it was not likely the same thing would happen again, but she could not subdue her sense of impending disaster.

Rocking her gently, Justin proceeded to explain why her fears were unfounded. “
Ma petite,
this frigate wouldn’t tempt a pirate at all. I should know. It is not loaded with the quantity of goods and expensive cargo that the
Golden Star
was. It has a lighter draft and that makes it faster and
less appealing to sea bandits. And the dead-works—that’s the part above the water—are built narrow, so that no one could board it easily. And it’s armed with carronades, and twenty-eight pound guns, and…”

As he continued, Celia stopped listening to his actual words and concentrated on the soothing sound of his voice. She didn’t care about all the reasons that there was no danger. She just couldn’t help remembering the
last
time she had sailed across the ocean with a new husband! Philippe had assured her with just as much conviction that it would be safe. Her anxiety lessened but did not entirely disappear. There were times when the creaking of the ship or some unexpected noise would cause her heart to throb with terror.

She heartily disliked being at sea, but she tried to conceal it from Justin, for he loved it. He loved the waves and the wind, even the storms. The strain of keeping her fear inside made her irritable and sharp-tongued.

Patiently Justin coaxed her on deck and stood with her at the rail, his arms braced around her until she stopped flinching with each crash of the waves against the hull. He took her around the ship and explained how everything worked, from the chain pumps to the spindle that turned the capstans. After that she still couldn’t profess any great enjoyment of the journey, but at least it was tolerable.

Once they had reached Le Havre and traveled to Paris, everything became wonderful. It was summer and France was lovely, the sky clear and luminous. Celia was excited to see her father, brothers, and sisters again. She had written letters to prepare them for the fact that although
Philippe was indeed alive, she was now married to his brother. She had received a torrent of shocked, disapproving, and disbelieving replies.

Now that she had introduced Justin to the Verités she was amused by their reactions. Her boisterous family actually seemed to find him intimidating. She had to admit that even dressed in the most elegant and conservative clothes, Justin still looked vaguely…well, piratical. The Verités were a pragmatic family who did not like mysteries and unanswered questions. Usually they could dissect a stranger inside a quarter of an hour. But Justin’s eyes, bluer than sea or sky, seemed to mock their indelicate prying.

By the time they left Paris, Celia’s sisters were making calf-eyes at Justin, and her brothers were repeating tales of his adventures to their friends. Her father was not so easily convinced of her new husband’s merits, but after conducting a long conversation with Justin in private, he treated him with coolness rather than open disapproval. Ruefully Celia reflected that nothing would ever please her father quite like having a doctor for a son-in-law, especially one he himself had introduced to his daughter.

When Justin expressed a desire to visit the shipyards and port in Marseilles, they set out from Paris at once. Now they had been in the port city for eight weeks, each one more blissful than the last. For the past few days Justin had spent the mornings in town, answering Celia’s questions evasively. She knew he was planning something, and she speculated idly on what it could be.

A shadow blocked the sun on her closed eyelids, and she looked up with a smile. Justin was there in trousers and bare feet, and a half-open shirt. The breeze stirred his dark hair. Lowering
his long body beside her, he swept his gaze over her appreciatively.

“You look like a little brioche,” he murmured, “warm and golden, and very tasty. I think I’ll take a bite out of you.”

He leaned over and nipped at her sun-warmed throat, making her fall back and giggle. Disregarding propriety, she had ventured out many times without long sleeves, gloves, bonnets, and frilly parasols, and her milk-white skin had turned a creamy golden color. Her hair, already pale, had lightened to the most brilliant shade of sunlight. Fashionable society decreed that women should shield themselves from the sun, but Celia did not care. There was only Justin to please.

The effect of her glittering hair and golden skin was striking. When Justin took her to the outdoor cafés in the center of town, men literally came off the streets to approach their table, even under Justin’s repressive glare. Frenchman appreciated women as much as they did wine, and considered themselves connoisseurs of both.

Celia protested breathlessly as his hand slipped inside her bodice, “Don’t, someone will see—”

“The beach is deserted,” he returned, kissing her throat. “And if someone does happen along, he’ll be French and turn a blind eye to us. The French forgive lovers anything.”

“We are not lovers, we are married, and…” She sighed in pleasure as his fingers curved over her naked breast. “Justin…” she said weakly.

“All right, I’ll defer to your modesty,
chérie.
For now.” He sat up, pulling her between his thighs so that they both sat facing the water.

She settled her back against his chest with a contented wriggle. “Do not let your hands stray,” she warned.

“I’ll try.
Pauvre chérie,
a forbearing wife married to a lecherous wolf—”

“Recently an abandoned wife,” she said.

“Ah. I wondered how many days would pass before you remarked on my absences. Almost a week. You’ve been most tolerant.”

“Well?”

Justin smiled and watched the ebb and flow of the waves, the silvery sheets of water that spread almost to their feet. He sidestepped her question with one of his own. “You like Marseilles, don’t you?”

“
Naturellement.
It is a lovely place, and the people are charming.”

“I’ve been considering…” He paused and looked down at the top of her head. “Do you like it enough to stay for a while?”

That caught Celia by surprise. Yes, she would dearly love to stay. However, she had made up her mind that she would never become an encumbrance to him, anchoring him in one place when he longed to be moving. Perhaps this was why he had been gone the past few mornings…Yes, he must be restless, he must want to leave. But he was asking how she felt because he would force himself to stay if that was what she desired.

“Well, it would be…er, interesting and…stimulating to go somewhere new,” she said.

“Oh.” Justin sounded perturbed. “I thought it might be interesting to settle here for a while.”

“
Settle?
” Celia turned around and knelt before him, peering into his face. “
Mon amour,
in your entire life you have never wanted to do such a thing. I know why you suggested it—you think that I require it. But truly my home is wherever you are, and so there is no need—”

His surprised stare turned into a grin. “I’ve
never wanted to settle somewhere before because I never had someone to settle
with.
If you don’t like it well enough here, we’ll find somewhere else.”

“But…will you not become discontented, staying in one place?”

“Actually, I’ve taken an interest in the activities at the shipyards. That is where I’ve been the past mornings. I’ve decided I would like to build a schooner. I have a particular design in mind, fine-lined, with a sharp bow that would dive through the waves and make her fly.” His blue eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “It could be a great folly, of course. But there are men able and ready to work on it here in Marseilles. And I have a yen to spend some of my ill-gotten fortune.”

“A schooner,” she said, slightly dazed. “But what about all the exotic places you wanted to visit?”

Justin put his hands at her hips and held her there, staring at her seriously. “They’ll be waiting for us whenever we wish to see them. But for now I am ready for a home, Celia. I want to belong somewhere with you and…” He glanced down her slim body and back up to her face. “And I want a family,” he said softly. “Our own family.”

“So do I.” Celia gave a trembling laugh, her chest suddenly aching with love. “But I am afraid too much domesticity all at once may choke you, monsieur.”

“I know what I want.” He arched one dark brow while the hint of a dimple appeared in his cheek. “Don’t you trust me, little heart?”

“Oh yes,” she said fervently, and threw her arms around his neck.

Justin laughed in delight and rolled over with
her, pressing her back into the warm, pillowing sand. “Then you agree to stay?”

“I agree to everything.”

He pressed a vigorous kiss on her lips. “Intrepid little wife…I’ll make you glad you took a chance on me.”

“You have,” she whispered, stroking his brown-black hair from his forehead. “You already have.”