by Lisa Kleypas
Her fingers dug into his arm more tightly. She clung to him as if he were a lifeline, and she stared at Legare with dilated brown eyes. She couldn’t have moved had she wanted to. Justin gave up trying to coax her away and turned his attention back to Legare. “You’ve taken a great risk,” he said. “I could have you arrested on the spot.”
“You would be arrested as well. You would hang as surely as I.”
“I wouldn’t mind so long as you went first.”
“Before you make any decisions, you should listen to what I have to say. I have a story to tell you, Dr. Vallerand. It begins on the deck of a captured ship overrun with buccaneers. The heroine of this tale is a lovely blond woman”—Legare smiled at Celia—“who attempts to bargain for her own life and her husband’s. She alerts us to the possibility that there is a Vallerand aboard. The name, of course, is a familiar one with all its connotations of privilege and power. Her husband is a doctor, a claim which intrigues my men and me. When he is not found among our captives, our curiosity prompts us to fish among the bodies that have been cast off the ship. The elusive Vallerand is found. Lo and behold, he is still alive.” Legare paused, observing the effect of his words.
Celia stared at Legare like a frightened rabbit. Justin silently contemplated various means of dismembering the bastard. He did not believe a word Legare was saying. “Go on,” he said flatly.
Legare resumed the story with relish. “Having decided he might be of use in the future, I cause him to be brought back to Crow’s Island and imprisoned. Being a thoroughbred of hardy stock, the captive survives his wounds. At this point I must confess that my preoccupation with many important matters—most especially finding my brother’s murderer—causes me to forget about my caged Vallerand for some months. Until an astonishing report is brought to my attention. I accompany one of my trusted gaolers down to the maze at the bottom of the fort. To my genuine surprise I am facing the image of my bearded nemesis, Captain Griffin! After some persuasion, the prisoner reluctantly admits that he has a twin brother. But then I learn of rumors from New Orleans that Philippe Vallerand has returned to his family from the jaws of death. Knowing that said Vallerand is still enjoying my hospitality, I decide to pay you a visit. Amusing tale, is it not?”
Justin looked at him, his face turning white underneath its tan, his eyes a blaze of fiery blue.
Two great tears rolled down Celia’s cheeks. “Philippe is alive?” she asked brokenly.
Legare gave her a jagged smile. “Why so distraught, madame? You seem to do well enough with either brother.”
Justin gripped Celia’s face in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “He’s lying,” he said. “Philippe is dead.”
Legare smiled. “Can you be certain?”
“What do you want?” Justin snapped.
“Most of your men have joined me, Griffin. There is nothing left of your impudent little organization. Being an intelligent man, you are aware that it would be useless to run from me. You can either wait for me to settle matters between us at the time I choose, or you can try to gain something out of it. I would be willing to make an exchange. You for your brother.”
Justin did not even notice the pain of Celia’s stabbing nails. “Even if I believed you had him, what makes you think I’d risk my own life for my brother’s?”
“On the island you agreed to fight to the death for his wife,” Legare observed, not needing to voice the conclusion that if Justin had risked his life for Celia, he would do the same for his own brother.
Justin kept all emotion from his face. “I want proof that you have Philippe,” he said. “After that we’ll talk about arrangements.”
“If you’re playing for time—”
“Nay.” Justin gestured to the crowded ballroom nearby, his mouth twisting. “It should be obvious that time is something I can ill afford. And you won’t waste it if you want me in your custody rather than the authorities’.”
“You desire proof? Send your man Risk—or anyone else of your choosing—to the island. We’ll allow him to see your brother and leave unharmed.” Legare looked from Justin’s face to Celia’s and bowed perfunctorily. “I’ll take my leave now. My compliments, madame. Bon soir.”
Justin watched Legare stroll casually out the front door. His blue eyes did not swerve from the predatory form until Legare was out of sight. Then he glanced at Celia, whose silent tears had stopped as abruptly as they had started. “He is trying to trick you,” she whispered. “Don’t let him—”
“Shhh…” Justin took her head in his hands, tilting her face up to his. He would have given his life in that moment if it would have taken away the horror in her eyes. He felt all his intense love for her well up from inside him, flowing from his body to hers, forcing out the coldness and the fear. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she gripped his wrists. The unexpected strength of her hold on him was electrifying. He didn’t know how long they stood there, didn’t care who might see them, only sank deeper into the warm closeness until he was rudely torn away by the sound of Maximilien’s grating voice.
“You found Legare, didn’t you? What did he say? Where is he?”
“Father.” Justin let go of Celia and faced Max. “He’s gone,” he said in a low voice. He did not hedge. There was no time to be anything but blunt. “He claims that Philippe is still alive. That Philippe is his captive.”
“What?” The golden eyes widened.
“Don’t do anything yet. If the naval or civil authorities become involved, Philippe will pay with his life. I have to find Risk. Celia will explain. Take care of her.”
Max swore quietly and tried to stop his son, but Justin left without another word.
Justin went on horseback to the cabin at the lake, where Risk was staying. During the journey a fine mist saturated his hair and his clothes, but he didn’t notice the damp or the cold. The cabin was dark. Opening the front door, he walked in heedlessly. The click of a revolver greeted him.
“It’s me,” he said.
Risk lit a small lamp and regarded him through the yellow-white glow, his one eye filled with a catlike gleam. He set down the revolver. “What’s happened?”
“Any word from Aug?” Justin asked brusquely.
“None.”
“Legare’s taken him into the fold?”
“’Twould seem so.” Frowning, Risk waited for Justin to explain why he was there.
“I saw Legare tonight,” Justin said, and smiled grimly as Risk stared at him in astonishment. He proceeded to describe the encounter in detail. When he reached the part about Legare’s offer for an exchange, Risk exploded.
“Aye, he’d bloody well like that! He’d like to take ye captive without givin’ ye the right to die with a sword in yer hand. An’ once Legare has ye at his mercy, ye’ll be trussed, gutted, an’ carved like a roasted fowl till ye’re beggin’ for death.”
“If Philippe is still alive, I have no choice.”
Risk shook his head. “Ye’re mad, Griffin. If he has Philippe, it’s not likely there’s much o’ the poor divvil left! ’Sides, I’d wager a fortune yer brother is at the bottom o’ the sea, not in Legare’s fort. An’ what about that pretty little hen waitin’ for ye at the plantation? In all the time I’ve knowed ye, I’ve nivver seen ye want anything like ye want her.”
Justin glowered at him. “Are you suggesting I should let my brother rot on the island so I can keep his wife?”
Risk shrugged noncommittally.
Justin’s first impulse was to blister Risk’s ears with a few choice words, but he checked himself, realizing that Risk’s perspective was the same as that of the other men he’d roved with for the past years. Take what you wanted, no matter what it did to anyone else. He himself had believed in it for a long time. But he couldn’t live like that anymore. And he couldn’t live with himself if he turned his back on his brother, his twin, even though it meant losing Celia to Philippe.
“I have to know if my brother is alive,” Justin said. “Will you go
to Isle au Corneille?”
“Aye. I’ll go to the damn island straightaway. An’ I’ll see if there’s any truth to Legare’s claim. I’ll back ye against Legare, Griffin.”
“Good.”
“But only if ye promise that afterward ye’ll be takin’ yer place at the helm o’ the Vagabond once more, an’—”
“No,” Justin said quietly. “I told you before. I’m through with it. I gave you the ship—”
“I don’t want the bloody ship!” Risk exploded. “Don’t ye see, the men won’t follow me! I’m not fit to lead ’em, an’ I’ve no wish to be! I can’t command. It’s either follow someone or give up me rovin’ for good!”
Justin stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Jack. Did you think it would go on forever?”
“Aye!” Risk burst out angrily.
Justin shook his head. “Don’t look so betrayed. You’ve profited from our ventures. Why not relax and enjoy some of the wealth you’ve gained? You could have an easy life now—”
“’Tis not a different life I’m wantin’. I want the same one. The same as it’s always been!”
“That’s not possible,” Justin said heartlessly. “We’ve both changed.”
“Nay, I’m the same,” Risk muttered. “’Tis only you that’s changed.”
Once Celia’s terror subsided she fell into an exhausted sleep, and the dream of Philippe came back. He was drowning, and she was reaching for him, and all the while Legare lurked behind her, his malevolent voice in her ear. She woke with a start.
What if Philippe were still alive? She couldn’t begin to imagine the suffering he had gone through. Poor Philippe—what if they had tortured him, starved him? He would need someone to take care of him and make him well again.
She was frightened, not only for Philippe but for herself and Justin. Legare had seemed so confident and powerful tonight, so certain that he would get exactly what he wanted. The thought of Justin at Legare’s mercy was too horrifying to contemplate. She would do anything to keep that from happening.
A swarm of worries plagued her. If somehow Philippe did come back, she would still be his wife. She would owe him her loyalty and support for the rest of her life. She would lose Justin. Celia shied away from the thought. She had cared for Philippe deeply, but there had been none of the wildness and magic, the tenderness and consuming need that Justin freed in her. Bon Dieu, how could she bear loving him and never having him, being kept apart from him forever?
She twisted in the tangled sheets, her fingers plucking fitfully at the soft linen. It was not long before dawn. When would Justin come home? And if Risk returned with the news that Legare’s claim was true, what would Justin plan to do?
The sound of uneven footsteps slipped into her awareness. Celia sat bolt upright. Closer the broken tread came, up the stairs, to the door. Her heart thundered wildly. Justin had come back to her. Leaping out of bed, she went to the door and threw herself into his arms just as he reached the threshold. He caught her with a quiet growl, lifting her until her feet left the floor. Her fingers combed through his hair while her lips moved frantically over his throat. Locked in passion and desperation, they relinquished themselves to a desire that left no breath for words.
Justin felt the warmth of Celia’s body through her thin nightgown. He pulled the garment up in huge handfuls until her hips and bottom were bare. His hand clasped over the soft roundness, pulling her loins against his. She squirmed against him, searching for a balance she could not find, and kissed his chin, his rough jaw, his mouth. Responding violently, he wedged her lips open, pulling her tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Through the layer of his breeches she felt the straining length of his arousal fitted tightly against her aching softness.
His hips nudged against hers in a slow rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue. She whimpered in her throat, caught helplessly against his hard body, pleasure rising through her in a burning tide. Realizing what was about to happen, she tried to pull her mouth free, but it was too late; the sweet convulsion had overtaken her. Gasping and shuddering, she clung to him while the maddening rhythm of his hips continued and his lips searched hotly over her neck. When the last spasm had left her body, he let her down and pulled the nightgown over her head, throwing it to the floor.
She helped him with his clothes and slipped her hand in his, leading him to the bed. His dark form towered over her, and he pushed her to the mattress, following her down immediately. She caught her breath at the exquisite agony of his ravaging mouth, the pluck of his teeth on her nipples, the wet swirl of his tongue. His hand moved between her legs, and she opened to him eagerly, welcoming his invading fingers. Bending over her, he crushed her mouth with his, absorbing her moans.
She rubbed her palms over his shoulders, her fingertips brushing over the ridges of scars and the muscled plane of his back. With a soft purr she stroked his lean hips and buttocks, letting her nails scrape until he groaned at the delicate clawing. Pulling her hips underneath his, he mounted her, holding her clasped between his powerful thighs. Trembling, she reached for him and tilted her hips to receive him. “Justin,” she gasped, “Take me now…now…”
He caught her wrists in his hands and stretched them far over her head. As she stared at him she thought dizzily that he was still as darkly savage as he had been on Isle au Corneille. His head dropped to her breasts and he kissed and suckled at her sensitive nipples until she cried out in torment. Only then did he press forward, easing into the swollen core of her body.
Breathing harshly, he pulled back a few inches and then sank deeply inside her, his face contorted, his fingers entwining in her hair. She met every lunge with her own feminine strength, gripping his back and digging her heels into the mattress. Her slim arms wrapped around him, and then her legs, and he was so completely held, possessed in her softness, that he could no longer contain the burst of his seed. The fierce excitement dissolved in a rush of fulfillment. Justin clutched her tightly, his breath coming so fast that his lungs ached.
When he had strength enough to move again, he rolled to his back, and she draped herself on top of him. He pushed her silken hair back from her face and stared into her dark eyes, wanting to say a hundred different things, but finding himself speechless. She smiled faintly and brushed a kiss on his lips. His hands slid from her shoulders to her white breasts, stroking with the lightest of touches. She straddled his thighs and leaned back in wanton invitation. Justin felt himself harden again, and he clasped her hips, positioning her over his rigid shaft. She reached down to guide him into her, and both of them stopped breathing as she slid down the full length of him.
Justin muttered her name. Her eyes half-closed as she raised and lowered herself in a compelling rhythm. Drugged by the sensual pleasure, Justin followed her languidly, savoring the movements of her lithe body. His hands roamed from her shoulders to the glinting down between her thighs, teasing and tormenting until she arched above him in a shuddering release. His own climax was not as sharp and deep as before, but longer, slower, seeming to spread from his toes to the top of his head in a fiery glow.
Celia relaxed on top of him and settled her head on his chest. “Justin,” she whispered thickly. “What will happen to us?”
“Shhh, little heart…we won’t talk about it until we know for certain if Philippe’s alive.”
“But what if he is? What will you—”
His fingers came to her lips, silencing her. She would have asked more, but he hushed her again and began an idle stroking of her neck and back. Tears slid from her eyes and fell to his chest. It felt so natural to be in his arms, but she knew it was wrong. All the other times they had been together, she had believed herself to be a widow. Now, by giving herself to Justin when she knew her husband might still be alive, she had betrayed Philippe.
“I shouldn’t love you,” she said, spreading tears and kisses across his neck, his shoulders. “I never wanted to love you.”
“I know.” He
held her tightly. “I know.”
“My feelings for Philippe were never like this, even though I—”
“No,” he murmured. “Don’t compare. It’s not fair to either of us.”
“But I want you to understand. I…I could never have loved him like this, never—”
“I understand.” He kissed her until she was quiet.
Suddenly she was exhausted, and she closed her eyes. “Don’t leave me,” she mumbled.
“Now, petite coeur…” He kissed her forehead and cuddled her until she drifted into sleep.
* * *
The sound of a bell rang through the crisp morning air. The plantation was just beginning to awaken, chores being started, food being cooked, voices calling sleepily. Justin and Max ambled away from the main house down the long plantation drive, oblivious to what was going on around them as they talked. Their long, lazy strides matched perfectly, and their dark heads were bent at precisely the same angle. They walked past the smooth lawn while the wind strew leaves about their feet.
Justin looked at the garçonnière. Celia was still sleeping. He had wanted to wake her before he left her bed that morning, but he had seen the lines of strain on her face even as she slept. She would need rest in order to face the next few days.
Max followed his gaze. “You care for her, don’t you?”
“And you disapprove.”
“No, I do not disapprove,” Max replied. “I would have put a stop to any liaison if I thought you were taking advantage of her. But that does not seem to be the case. From the moment you arrived there was…an attachment between the two of you that I did not feel I had the right to break.” Max paused and added wryly, “I have been surprised by your attraction to Celia.”
“She is a beautiful woman,” Justin pointed out.
“Yes, but hers is a quiet beauty. And her inner qualities…intelligence, kindness, dignity…no, she is not the kind I would have expected you to show an interest in.”
“It’s more than an interest,” Justin muttered.