Only With Your Love

by Lisa Kleypas

“So you may have intentions toward her. But what if Philippe is alive?”

  Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground in frustration. “I wouldn’t take her away from him. And I think that ultimately she has too much honor to leave him.”

  “It is possible that Legare’s claim is just a ruse—”

  “Possible, but I don’t think so. I think Philippe is alive.” Justin’s voice was hard and determined. “Jack Risk has gone to the island to find out for certain. He’ll come here tomorrow night with the news. If they do have Philippe, I swear he’ll be brought back safely. I’ll stake my life on it.”

  “I don’t want you to stake your life on anything,” Max said swiftly, and stopped him. They faced each other. “We will find another way, mon fils.” The golden eyes were filled with anxiety and love. “Your life is as precious to me as Philippe’s.”

  Justin was momentarily taken aback. His father had always been so aloof and self-controlled. The display of emotion made him uncomfortable, elicited a yearning he had not felt since he was a boy. “There is no other way—” he began, and Max interrupted, more overwrought than Justin had ever seen him.

  “Don’t you think I understand? You are like me, Justin, more like me than Philippe. For years you’ve been driven by anger and guilt, just as I was. You’ve made the same mistakes. It wasn’t your fault that some things were easier for Philippe than you. It wasn’t your fault that I didn’t give you the guidance you needed. I was so absorbed in my own grief and bitterness that I turned my back on my sons. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

  “It wasn’t your fault that I turned out a blackguard,” Justin muttered. “I’m not like you, I’m like…her.”

  “Your mother?” Max clarified, his thoughts turning to that distant time when he had been married to Corinne. “She was selfish and scheming, Justin. But she wasn’t evil. Is that what you thought, that you were fated to be a scoundrel because you were her son? You have not one drop more of her blood in you than Philippe did.”

  “Yes, but he…” Justin shifted his weight to his good leg and averted his gaze from Max’s. “He was the good one.”

  “That is nonsense,” Max said shortly.

  “Is it? All I know is that Philippe was everything I wanted to be but couldn’t.” Justin felt heat creep up from his collar as he struggled to express what he had never put into words before. How strange, that the compulsion to make his father understand this one thing was almost as strong as the need he’d felt to tell Celia he loved her. He’d always been secretive about his feelings, afraid they would be used against him. Now it seemed confessions were being dragged from him, and he was helpless to stop it. “For a long time I didn’t understand why she was gone,” he said, “and why you had turned so cold and bitter. I thought that all of it was my fault, that if I had been good, if I had been like Philippe, she wouldn’t have been unfaithful to you. She would have cared about her family. She would still be alive and you—”

  “No,” Max said roughly. “It had nothing to do with you. Look at me!” There was a vibrant note of command in his voice that was impossible to disobey. “No matter what you did, no matter how you behaved, you couldn’t have changed anything. It was not your fault. I’ll make you believe that if I have to say it a thousand times.”

  The winter breeze wafted over them gently, filling the air with the rustle of leaves and the scent of cypress. Justin stared at his father without blinking. He felt a curious sensation of relief, and a betraying sting in his nose and eyes. Oh God. Had his self-control become so corroded? He shook off the feeling and summoned a crooked smile. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I believe you.”

  “Then you know you don’t have to redeem yourself by giving your life for Philippe’s.”

  “My motives aren’t noble. This is a matter of practicality. I’m the only one who can get Philippe out of this safely. You could comb through the civil authorities and the navy, and you wouldn’t find a man who knows one-tenth of what I do about Dominic Legare and the island.”

  “And if I gain Philippe and lose you?” Max asked.

  Suddenly Justin grinned. “You’d give a damn?”

  Max scowled and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, like a wolf with an annoying cub. The gesture coming from a man any less than Max’s size would have been ridiculous. “Yes, I’d give a damn! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Justin continued to smile. “I give a damn about you too, Father.”

  “I won’t lose you,” Max said grimly.

  “No, not if you keep from interfering.”

  Max released him reluctantly, remembering Justin’s dislike of being touched. They began to walk again, and Max said abruptly. “There is something I didn’t intend for you to know until after the matter was resolved. Now I think you should be made aware of it.”

  “What is it?” Justin asked warily.

  “Commander Matthews and Lieutenant Benedict are assembling a combined force of sailors and marines to attack the island. They’ve been planning it for some time.”

  Justin stopped in his tracks. “What? How long have you known about this?”

  “For weeks, actually.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Justin demanded angrily.

  “I didn’t feel you needed to know.”

  “Dammit, when is this little expedition supposed to occur?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “The day af—” Justin broke off with a foul oath. “The fools! There’ll be heavy loss of life. There are ships in the harbor with long guns and carronades. They’ll take out half the force before Matthews gets close enough to fire on the island!”

  “Perhaps. But Legare’s presence has become too much of a menace. They can’t allow it to continue unchallenged any longer. They feel the assistance of the army will give them the necessary strength.”

  “Have you told Matthews about Philippe? That he may be a prisoner on the island?”

  “Of course not. If I had, the authorities would have come to arrest you immediately.”

  “You’ll have to go to Matthews and Lieutenant Benedict and tell them everything, Father. About me and Philippe and the whole charade.”

  “No,” Max said decisively. “If you’re hoping to rely on their mercy, mon fils, you’ll quickly discover that there will be none for you. Come morning they’ll have you swinging from the gallows.”

  “Not if they know I can be of use to them. You must find out precisely when they plan to attack, down to the minute. Convince them to wait until after I exchange myself for Philippe. That way Philippe will be safe.”

  Max looked unimpressed. “And how will you be of any use to the naval force then?”

  “I’ll have some of my men on Isle au Corneille to protect me. Aug will smuggle them there. Then I’ll lead an attack from within the fort. Tell Matthews that we’ll set fire to the munitions warehouses and use the fort’s own cannon to take out the defenses in the harbor. We’ll weaken them from the inside. Then the naval squadron will be able to take the island without resistance. Matthews will have to agree to that.”

  Max shook his head. “There are too many opportunities for something to go wrong.”

  “There always are.” Justin glanced at him, surprised by the feeling of companionship he had never experienced with Max before. “We have to do it this way. For Philippe’s sake. Make Matthews understand that I can help him.”

  Max scowled, but he did not argue.

  Justin was relieved as he realized that his father would do what he asked. “Father…you realize that after this I’ll have to disappear for good.”

  “I’m still attempting to arrange a pardon for you.”

  “Not even you have that much money or influence. If I’m not caught, I’ll leave and hopefully be presumed dead.”

  “And we’ll never see you again,” Max said quietly.

  Justin hesitated. “No.”

  “And what
of Celia?”

  When there was no immediate reply, Max looked at his son. Justin’s face was remote and his jaw was tightly clenched. “She’ll be better off with Philippe,” Justin managed to say. “There’s only one kind of life I can offer her, and I’ve come to realize I…don’t want that for her.”

  After walking back to the main house with Max, Justin kept himself occupied with small tasks for the rest of the day, repairing a few loose boards in the bell tower and joining in the effort to clear a fallen tree that had partially blocked the drive. As he worked alongside the slaves, Justin reflected on the irony that on Isle au Corneille and among most pirate crews, men of color had freedom and authority equal to any white man, whereas here in the civilized world they were reduced to slavery. The value of a man like Aug, intelligent and perceptive, able to organize men and carry out plans with skill and inventiveness, could never be realized here. Here Aug could not sit at a table and partake of a meal with him. Their friendship would be governed by intolerable restraints devised by a hypocritical society. Justin realized that his friendship with Aug and the past few years of living and fighting alongside his crew had changed his beliefs radically.

  Although there were many freedmen in New Orleans, and it was common—even encouraged—for white men to take mulatto or octoroon mistresses, a male with any drop of Negro blood would be hanged for having an affair with a white woman. Since Justin had arrived here he had dared to ask Max if he felt there was anything wrong with such a system. To his surprise, Max had admitted uncomfortably that with his own increasing interest in his shipping business, he had recently been considering freeing his slaves. Justin hoped that he would, although he knew that it would cause trouble, even outrage, between the Vallerands and many important Creole families.

  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 fir
st.

  “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.