by Lisa Kleypas
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.
Others say it is your happiness
I say it is your sorrow
When we are enchanted by love
Farewell to all happiness…
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.
There was nothing keeping him here. Except Celia. A self-mocking smile twisted his lips.
After he vanished from her life she would be safe and content. This was what she was meant for, being surrounded by family, respected by friends, secure in the knowledge that each day would be as well-ordered as the last. She would never want to leave everything that was familiar.
Justin’s smile died away. Distractedly he raked his hands through his short hair until it stood on end. His entire being rebelled against the newfound feelings, but he could not seem to get rid of them. The realization was infuriating. His mother had shown him that women could never be trusted. He had always regarded them as entertaining creatures to be used for pleasure and then discarded.
Where Celia was concerned, however, he was driven by something he didn’t understand. If it were only physical desire, he could have found someone else to satisfy his need. There were other women more experienced, more seductive, women who affected the senses like the finest liquor. But his hunger for Celia was more than that. It had not begun on Crow’s Island or even at the lakeside cabin, but during his illness. He knew he couldn’t have survived the fever and wounds without her. For the first time in his life he had relied on someone else, on the fine-tempered strength of a woman half his size. She had fought for him; she had reached into his very dreams to pull him away from death. A link had been forged between them, and now she was part of him, haunting his thoughts, tormenting him. He tried to imagine never seeing her again, living out his life half a world away from her. Silently he damned her and himself.
A quiet splash from the bayou drew his attention. Justin drew back into the shadow of the tree, listening intently. A low, warbling whistle floated to his ears. Justin grinned. He peered at the approaching pirogue and its two passengers, waiting until it had reached the bank. Softly he spoke from the darkness. “A fine thing to dump a helpless man into the laps of the Vallerands.”
Risk stepped from the pirogue to the muddy bank, easing his way toward the direction of the voice. “’Tis a ghost I’m hearin’, to be sure.”
Justin was heartily glad to see Risk—and Aug, who was tethering the pirogue to the bank. “Hello, Jack.” He approached Risk, and the younger man seized him in a rough embrace punctuated by a hearty clap on the back.
“My God, man, the look o’ ye!” Risk exclaimed, standing back to survey him. “Scraped clean an’ smellin’ pretty. An’ not long ago ye were totterin’ on the brink o’ the grave!”
Justin smiled slightly. “You could have left me for dead, Jack.” His expression sobered. “Once again I owe you my life.”
“An’ I won’t be lettin’ ye forget it.”
Aug came to join them, and Justin exchanged greetings with him, clasping hands briefly. “Griffin,” Aug said, “once again you have cheated the devil.” His teeth showed in a smile. “Even he would not have you, eh?”
Justin smiled ruefully and shook his head, studying the pair of them. He was troubled by what he saw. Even in the worst of times Risk had never lost his roguish air, but it was gone now, replaced by a sharp, hunted look. And there was an unfamiliar tenseness about Aug, for all that he tried to k
eep his dark face expressionless.
“So they’ve pieced ye back together again,” Risk observed. “Soon ye’ll be as fit as before, I’ll warrant.”
Justin gestured with his cane. “The leg isn’t good.” He sent a brief grin to Aug. “But for your handiwork I might be balancing on a wooden peg right now.” He turned his attention back to Risk. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“Ye won’t like it,” Risk said gloomily. “With the navy gunboats crawlin’ all over the water, there’s been idle time aplenty for Legare an’ all his rovers. Legare’s claimin’ Crow’s Island as his own. We’ve been tryin’ to empty the last of our warehouses before he gets his paws on our spoils. I’ve got goods stashed right an’ left—God knows what to do with most of it.”
“What about the crew?”
“No one knew if ye were dead or alive. The men have scattered, some o’ them layin’ low, while others…” Risk paused, then continued grimly, “They went to throw their lots in wi’ Legare, rotten bastards. Ye’ve got to take matters in hand, Griffin, an’ soon. Our tidy little business has got its guts ripped out, an’ all its legs in the air. A bit o’ resurrectin’ is needed.”
Justin contemplated the situation. Shadows from the trees played over his averted face. He was surprised by his own hesitancy. A month ago he would have thrown himself wholeheartedly into preserving his small kingdom of rascals and scavengers. It was all he had ever had, all he’d wanted. Before, he wouldn’t have needed to think twice. But now…
“Maybe we shouldn’t resurrect it,” Justin said slowly. “Maybe we should just clean up the remains.”
“An’ then what?” Risk asked, puzzled. “Start from scratch?”
Justin looked at him then, and grinned recklessly. He felt an unexpected lightness and freedom, as if he were casting off a burden that had been strapped to his back for years. “The Vagabond is yours, Jack. Take it with my blessing.”
Risk’s mouth dropped open, and his one eye squinted in surprise. “Sweet Jesus, man, do ye know what ye’re sayin’?”
Justin nodded firmly. “I’ve tweaked the devil’s nose one too many times. I’m not fool enough to think my luck will hold forever. I’ve enjoyed the hell out of our roving, but it’s time for me to stop.”
Risk stared at him wildly. “Come to yer senses, man! Ye were born a wanderer, a rover, like the rest of us. What else is there?”
Justin shrugged. “Even if I wanted to continue as before, it wouldn’t be possible. My leg will never be what it was.”
“Ye can’t stay here. Is that what ye’re plannin’?”
That provoked a low laugh from Justin. “I’m not a fool. After I even the score with Legare I’m going to disappear.” He laughed. “God, I never thought I’d take to the idea of settling somewhere, but suddenly it holds a strange appeal. I’m beginning to want things I’ve always had contempt for. I can see you don’t understand. Well, you will someday—if you live long enough.”
Risk stared at him incredulously. “What’s happened to ye? Aug, damn yer scaly hide, say something to him!”
“It is finished,” Aug said quietly, his ebony eyes fixed on Justin’s face.
Justin nodded briefly, knowing that Aug understood the nature of the change inside him. It boiled down to a matter of caring whether he lived or died. Now that he had begun to care about his own life, he would stop taking chances, his instincts would soften, his aggressiveness would be tempered by a concern for safety and self-preservation. The crew would not want to follow such a man. They needed a ruthless leader, one with no vulnerability.
“There’s only one thing I have left to do,” Justin said. “I’m going to repay Dominic Legare for what he did to my brother.”
Aug replied with no hesitation. “I will help you.”
Justin looked at Risk questioningly.
Risk swore. “So will I,” he said sullenly. “That’s three of us against Legare’s hundreds.”
That brought a smile to Justin’s face. “Any other malcontents who’d care to join us?”
“With luck we could gather p’raps a dozen. ’Tis a nasty business Legare runs, but the profits are tidy an’ the men follow him like sheep.”
Justin nodded matter-of-factly. “Then we’ll begin by—” He stopped, his instincts warning him of someone’s approach even though there was no sound. His gaze flickered around the area. There was a rustle from the woods behind them. Someone was about to intrude on their gathering. Justin signaled for Risk to creep behind their uninvited guest, while he and Aug slipped back into the shadows. The cautious steps drew closer.
A dim shaft of light fell across Celia’s white face and pale hair. “Justin?” she called softly, bewildered, turning in search of him. Suddenly she heard feet trampling the underbrush behind her. “Justin?” There were footsteps all around her, closing in rapidly. She gave a sob of fright. Wildly she ran a few steps, only to stop short at the sight of Aug’s threatening visage. Gasping, she backed away, her pulse racing. “Jus—”
“I’m here,” his voice interrupted, and she turned toward the sound. Justin was a few feet away, wearing an expression of annoyance. “Right here.”
“Oh—” She stumbled to him, seeking the safety of his arms. They closed around her, warm and comforting.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked curtly.
“I-I saw you walking away from the house earlier,” she stuttered, huddling against his chest. “I did not kn-know that anyone else was here, I…” She was breathing so hard she could barely speak.
“Why did you follow me?” Although his tone was harsh, his hand was gentle as it rubbed up and down her back, soothing her shudders.
“I…wanted to tell you something…”
“If I ever again catch you wandering around the plantation alone, out of sight of the main house, there’ll be hell to pay. I’ll beat you, comprends?” He smoothed her hair and straightened her collar. “It’s dangerous for you to venture out here alone, especially down by the bayou. Don’t you know what kind of human filth makes its way to and from the river at night? They’d snap up a little treat like you in the blink of an eye. What if you’d come across some of Legare’s men? What if—”
“I didn’t think,” Celia said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
“Well you should have,” Justin scolded gently, and would have continued had he not suddenly become aware of Risk’s and Aug’s astonished gazes. They had never seen him behave this way with anyone before. He looked at them over Celia’s head, his brows lowering in a challenging scowl.
Risk’s green eye widened, and he snorted in disgust. “Jesus, now I’m understandin’,” he muttered, looking betrayed. “’Tis all because of a woman. As bloody simple as that.”
“There’s nothing simple about it,” Justin replied, toying with a lock of Celia’s shining hair.
“For this ye’re givin’ up everything?” Risk demanded. “She’s only a woman—why, there are hundreds like her, thousands, everywhere! Tell him he can’t do this, Aug!”
Aug looked at Justin thoughtfully as he answered Risk. “There is a saying…you must tie your handkerchief to fit your head.”
Risk sputtered in indignation. “What the hell does that mean?”
Justin laughed. “It means circumstances change. And so do people.” He silenced Risk’s grumbling with a warning glance. “Enough, Jack. Go to the pirogue and wait for a minute. Madame Vallerand and I require some privacy.”
“’Tis come to that now, has it?” Risk muttered as Aug dragged him down to the bank of the bayou. “Privacy. Now he wants privacy…”
Left alone with Justin, Celia stared at him anxiously, rubbing her upper arms as if to ward off a chill. Earlier she had been too frightened to think, and she had run into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She had come in search of him in order to talk about what he’d said before, to tell him that he was right—she had wanted things of Philippe that he would never have been able to giv
e her. And there was something between her and Justin, something she could deny no longer.
“Now,” Justin said. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”
Celia shook her head hastily. “Nothing. Nothing important. I am sorry I intruded. I did not intend to.”
He studied her in a leisurely way. “Actually your interruption was convenient. I want you to give my father a message.”
“What message?”
“Tell him I’ll be gone for the next few days. I’ll return no later than Friday.”
She flinched as if he had struck her. “Gone…but you cannot, you—”
“I don’t have a choice. In my absence my…business seems to have fallen apart. There are some things I have to salvage.”
“You cannot go,” she said frantically. “You are not well enough. This is only the fourth week since you came here! You could not protect yourself. Legare is looking for you. He will find you, and—”
“He won’t.”
“He did before, and you almost died! Is your greed so great that you must risk your life for the sake of money and property?”
“It’s not just that. If I’m going to take revenge on Legare for Philippe’s death, I need to find out how many men and supplies are available. I want to assess the situation for myself.”
“And then?”
“Then Aug and Risk and I will come up with a plan and set it in motion. It’s going to take a little time. I’ll return in two, maybe three days.”
Celia recoiled from the unpleasant reminder. When Justin had been ill, she had taken care of him with the sole intention of making him well enough to go out and kill Dominic Legare. But even if Justin succeeded, he would probably lose his own life in the endeavor. It was too dangerous. Legare was too powerful and well-protected. And now…now she wanted Justin alive more than she wanted Legare dead.
“Killing Legare will not do anything for me, or for anyone else,” she said. “It seemed necessary before, but now—”
“It’s still necessary.”
“You must wait. You must stay here and allow some time to pass before you—”