Only With Your Love (28 page)

She pressed her warm mouth against his, and he inhaled sharply. The tip of her tongue investigated the seam of his closed lips, and her slim arms encircled his neck. His body stiffened. It took all of his concentration to keep from crushing her to him. Damn her, this wasn’t happening the way he had intended! “I don’t love you,” he said, beginning to push her away. “I don’t—” She took advantage of his parted lips to fasten her mouth to his, and began a gentle search for his tongue. All his wild emotions reared against their restraints. Suddenly he quivered and clamped his arms around her, his control snapping like a brittle twig. Hungrily he molded her to the rigid bulge of his loins, the expanse of his chest, and his greedy open mouth. And she told him without words that whatever he wanted, she would give him.

Frustrated, agonized, he shoved her away, muttering curses under his breath.

Her dark gaze was gently mocking, and full of triumph. “I suppose next you’re going to claim that all you feel for me is lust, not love?”

Justin was silent, his chest moving up and down rapidly. He looked as though he would like to throttle her.

“I am not a child who cannot make decisions for herself,” Celia said. “I am a woman, and I have decided to take my chances with you. If you leave me, I will spend the rest of my life searching for you.” She tilted her head as she peered at his dumbfounded face. “
Alors,
you might as well tell me what you are planning, or I will find out for myself and—”

He snatched her by the shoulders and shook
her roughly before pulling her face-to-face with him. Her hair tumbled free of its tortoiseshell comb and spread around her shoulders. Her toes dangled six inches from the floor. Justin’s snarling visage was so close to hers that their noses almost touched. Shocked into silence, she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Stay at home,” Justin said slowly, deliberately. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay out of this.”

Her face whitened. “You are hurting me!”

His cruel grasp did not slacken. “It’s not just your choices and your life I want to protect, it’s Philippe’s. And my own. Do you want to be responsible for my death?”

“No,” she whispered, and gulped painfully, her eyes turning glassy.

Justin groaned. “Damn you, don’t start that!”

“I’m afraid.”

He set her down and pulled away, although it was agony to let go of her.

“You are going to exchange yourself for him, aren’t you?” She sniffled. “Exactly as Legare planned it. When will it be? Soon? Tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it going to happen?” As he remained silent, she smiled bitterly. “
Where?
It won’t make any difference if you tell me. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to think I could stop you. I just want to know. I have the right to know.”

He looked away from her, and dragged his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Devil’s Pass,” he muttered.

By now Celia was familiar enough with the terrain around New Orleans to know the name. It was a narrow stretch of swamp located between
the river and the lake where she had spent the night with Justin all those months ago. Occasionally the small channel was used by travelers and had to be cleared of the swamp sand and debris that threatened to choke it off.

“Is that where Legare wants the exchange to take place?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She wiped away tears of fright. “It’s all going the way he planned, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make it through this, Celia.”

“How will I know? Even if you live, you won’t come back for me, will you?”

Justin didn’t answer.

Celia bit her lip to keep back a sob of anguish. “Why did you tell me now instead of tomorrow?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t we have had one more night?”

“Because…” Justin paused and thought of lying to her, and found that he couldn’t any longer. “Because then I wouldn’t have a chance in hell of leaving you,” he said hoarsely.

Celia knew she could not stop him from doing as he wished. She should accept his decision with dignity, but instead she was reduced to pleading. “Don’t leave me, Justin, you don’t have to.”

“You’ll have Philippe,” he said.

Celia was overwhelmed with despair. He was going to leave her, and he thought he was doing it for her own good. “No, I won’t,” she sobbed. “Don’t you understand
anything?
” She was humiliated by her own helpless crying, but she could not stop it. Brushing by him, she strode rapidly down the hall, heading out of the main house to the privacy of the
garçonnière.

*   *   *

Max waited patiently in the parlor of the Matthews residence until the commander joined him. Some men would have donned a dressing robe for such a late and informal meeting. Matthews came downstairs wearing his military coat, breeches, and shoes. His short but stalwart form was impeccably turned out. The only thing missing was his wig. He passed his thick, square hand over his balding pate, smoothing the short gray strands back over his head. Then he approached Max with a frown.

“Monsieur Vallerand,” he said, “I trust you have good reason to call at such an unconventional hour.”

“I do indeed,” Max replied, shaking the commander’s hand. “Forgive me for disturbing your night’s rest, but I had no other choice.”

Matthews gestured for him to sit down, and Max complied. Were the commander a Creole, he would have offered a drink or a cigar, but that was not the American way. From his familiarity with Americans, Max knew better than to expect the kind of hospitality that his own culture was renowned for.

The commander had come from a privileged family in Pennsylvania, compiled an exceptional record in the Tripolitan war, and served in the Navy Department in Washington, D.C. Since the recent war with the British, Matthews had been assigned to New Orleans. He had encountered only frustrations and obstacles in his efforts to deal with the Gulf pirates. Unfortunately, he seemed to feel that the local Creoles’ lax attitude toward smuggling had been responsible for much of his failure so far.

“Monsieur Vallerand,” Matthews said, “I’ve no doubt that what I’m about to say will sound
rude. But it is my experience that Creoles never go directly to the point of a conversation, and I am hoping that will not be the case with you. I am tired, monsieur, and I will be quite busy for the next few days. Therefore I hope you will endeavor to tell me the purpose of your visit as concisely as possible.”

“Certainly,” Max replied politely. “I have come to discuss the attack on Isle au Corneille.”

Matthews’ face turned white, then purple. “The attack, the…the…No one is supposed to know about that! Who…How…”

“I have my sources,” Max said modestly.

The commander’s eyes bulged and his chin quivered. “You double-dealing Creoles and your intrigue and your spies. I demand to know the person or persons who gave you information that threatens the security of the government, the navy, the state—”

“Commander Matthews,” Max said, “I have lived in New Orleans all of my life. Throughout the years I have made it my business to know what goes on here. And it was obvious you would have to take a stand against the pirate threat sooner or later.”

There was utter silence in the room. Max met the commander’s challenging stare with an implacable expression.

“What have you come here for?” Matthews asked bluntly.

“To ask if you would consider delaying the attack.”

“
Delay
it? Why in the name of all that’s holy would I consider that? Good God, man, to hear such a thing from you, after your son was victimized by those devilish bastards—”

“He is still being victimized by them,” Max said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“They still have him. My son Philippe is still on the island.”

“What kind of rot is this? If your son is still on Isle au Corneille, then who has been living with you for the past—” Suddenly Matthews’ jaw dropped open.

“My other son. Justin. Otherwise known as Captain Griffin.”

The commander stared at him in icy fury. “By God, he’s going to hang for this! And perhaps you along with him!”

“Before you make any decisions,” Max said calmly, “you may want to hear me out. I have an offer for you—”

“Bribery won’t work with me!”

“My son has offered to help in the attack on Legare. He claims that before your forces arrive he can dismantle most of the island’s defenses.”

“I don’t believe it. Even if he were able to accomplish such a feat, why would he? Why should I trust him? Or you, for that matter?”

“Because he and I want the same thing,” Max said gravely.

“And what is that? To make fools of the navy?”

“To save Philippe. Surely by now you understand the Creole sense of blood and loyalty. I would give my life in exchange for any member of my family. In that respect Justin is no different than me or any other Creole.”

Matthews’ hard stare relented. “I’ll hear you out, Vallerand. I don’t promise to agree to anything. But I will hear you out.”

“That is all I ask,” Max replied with relief.

C
urbing his impatience, Justin hovered at the side of the parlor and averted his eyes as Max said goodbye to Lysette. Three days had passed since the Duquesne ball. Tonight the exchange for Philippe would be made. If everything was going according to plan, by now Aug had smuggled a dozen men onto Isle au Corneille. In a matter of hours Justin would gain Philippe’s safety and be taken to the island where he would send Dominic Legare to the devil.

“You had better return in one piece,
bien-aimé,
” Lysette warned, smoothing the lapels of Max’s coat. She had utter faith in her husband’s strength and resourcefulness, but that would not prevent her from worrying about his safety. “It is a great trial to have you as a husband, but I have become rather accustomed to you. And I would prefer to keep you at least a few years more!”

Max grinned and brushed a kiss on her lips. “Just keep the bed warm for me, little one.”

“At least you will have Alex along to watch over you,” she grumbled, and pulled away. She went to Justin and hugged him quickly. “Be careful, Justin. My only comfort is that you seem to have as many lives as a cat.”

“It’s Philippe you should be concerned about,” Justin said grimly. “God knows what hell he’s been through.”

“We will take care of him, Celia and I…” Lysette looked around as if just becoming aware of Celia’s absence. “Where is she?”

“In the
garçonnière,
” Justin answered. Neither he nor Celia had wanted a farewell scene of any kind.

Lysette met his eyes with a pitying, questioning glance. “Justin, I do not know what is between the two of you, but—”

“Nothing,” Justin said curtly.

Lysette was kept from pursuing the matter by Alexandre’s arrival. She went to her husband as he pulled on a heavy black cloak. “Max, when will you come back?”

“First Alex will bring Philippe home,” he said, kissing her gently. “I will return later.”

“How much later?” Lysette asked suspiciously. Her hazel eyes narrowed. “You are not planning to be with Commander Matthews’ expedition when it attacks the island, are you? I will not have it! There is no need for you to do such a thing, your place is here—”

Max gestured for Alex and Justin to leave and then began to back out of the room after them. “I’ll be safe aboard a gunboat,
petite.
”

“You are not needed in the attack as much as you are needed here. You have three young children to consider, not to mention a wife—”

“And a son in danger,” he said, slipping into the entrance hall.

Lysette called after him anxiously. “Maximilien Vallerand,
ecoutes-moi bien
—if you are hurt in any way whatsoever I will never forgive you!” She
heard his soft laugh, and she stamped her foot in frustration as he left the house.

Celia knelt by the bed and tried to pray, but her concentration was broken by nagging thoughts. She combed through every recollection of the previous day, everything Justin had said to her.

You have a husband coming home to you…Philippe is coming back…I’m finished with you…After he’s returned here safely I’ll be gone…

She thought of Risk and how strangely buoyant his manner had been, considering the fact that Justin’s would soon be in Legare’s hands. But then, she had the feeling that Risk did not value human life as others did.

Justin…Philippe…

“Dear Lord,” she whispered through dry lips, “please don’t let anything happen to him…protect both of them…please…”

She buried her head in her arms. She remembered Justin’s face just before she had left him, the hunger in his gaze, the harsh set of his mouth. No matter what he had said, she knew he wanted her. He wanted a lifetime with her, he wanted to be free to love her. But she would never see him again.

A soft sound broke through her agonized thoughts. She lifted her head and looked around the room. Nothing but the sigh of the breeze against the window. Justin was out there, riding through the night. Minute by minute she was losing him.

“Come back to me.” She wasn’t certain if she spoke aloud or was merely hearing the echo of her own thoughts. “Come back, come back…”

She thought of his blue eyes, and her chest ached. She felt as if she were drowning in ice-cold
water that froze her veins and forced all the air from her lungs. And then…then…she was in the middle of her nightmare again, the ship and the water, and Philippe drowning before her eyes. Only this time it wasn’t Philippe, but Justin. Legare was holding her, laughing in triumph while she reached for Justin. Justin was dying, slipping away from her, sinking beneath the water…

“No!” Celia raised herself from her knees and stood up, gasping unsteadily. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she brushed them from her cheeks.

Something terrible was going to happen to Justin.

She felt the danger drawing around him. He was being led deeper inside a trap. Something would go wrong with his plan. There was no explaining how she knew, all she could do was trust the feeling she had inside. She had to warn Justin. Chances were that she wouldn’t be able to find him, but she had to try. Rushing from the room, she hurried toward the stable.

The meeting point, Devil’s Pass, was a section of swamp between the river and Lake Borgne, roughly ten miles from the Vallerand plantation. If trouble arose during the exchange, it would be easy to disappear into the nearby salt marsh with its numerous bayous, channels, and coves. From there it was an easy journey to the archipelago, the stretch of water studded with islands including Isle au Corneille. The pirate island was a day’s travel away.

During the ride, with the wind rushing against his ears and the horses’ hooves creating a thundering rhythm, something of the old recklessness came over Justin. He experienced the peculiar
freedom of a condemned man—nothing he said or did mattered now; he was in the hands of fate. In the cold night air, suddenly the past weeks seemed like a dream, the memories blurred. He was almost back where he’d begun. But he was different now. His luck, that invisible aura of protection he’d had ever since he could remember, was gone. He was keenly aware of its absence.

Strangely Justin was not afraid; he was filled with unfocused tension that felt like anger. It was directed toward everyone, even Celia. He was not grateful for the brief taste of happiness she had offered him. Given what was to happen, it would have been better if he’d never known her.

The irregular shoreline was covered with shells, swamp sand, and live oak trees. Risk joined them in the cover of the woods, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed the threesome dismounting from their horses. “A skulk o’ Vallerands,” he said quietly, his green eye alive with interest and irreverence. Justin knew that to Risk the situation, with all its danger and possible complications, was the highest entertainment.

Justin glanced across the channel, only about a hundred yards wide. “Have you seen them yet?” he asked.

“Aye, but they’re keepin’ their arses well out o’ sight now. Look alive—Legare’s had them compass the area round about.”

“What about Philippe?”

“Yer brother’s with ’em. Looks fair, standin’ on ’is own.”

Noticing that Risk’s inquiring stare was directed toward Alexandre, Justin gestured toward him briefly. “My Uncle Alex.”

Risk chuckled. “Damned if I knew ye had an
uncle.” He met Alex’s cool stare with a jaunty smile.

Alex slid a sidewise glance to Justin. “So this is the kind you’ve chosen to keep company with for the past years, Justin?”

“Risk is a cut above most of the company I’ve kept,” Justin said dryly.

Risk produced a length of rope and approached Justin, his carefree manner evaporating. “They want yer hands tied. One o’ the conditions,” he muttered. “I row ye across at the same time they row Philippe.”

Everyone was quiet. Slowly Justin put his arms behind his back. Risk bound his wrists securely. Max watched the procedure closely, his eyes on Risk’s averted face. Max spoke then, his voice low and soft. “Why is it that I don’t trust you, John Risk?”

Justin’s head snapped up, and he scowled at his father.

Max’s stare was unrelenting. “I’m aware that you consider him a friend, Justin—”

“I’d sooner question
your
loyalty than his,” Justin growled, fiercely defensive. He would never forget that Risk had lost an eye for him. “What reason have you to doubt him?” he asked. “Your infallible instincts?…
Bien,
that’s a good enough reason for me to mistrust a man who’s saved my life a dozen times, isn’t it?”

Max frowned and turned away, contemplating the smooth water.

Celia dismounted from her horse and led it into the woods. She had pushed herself and the horse as hard as she could. The closer she got to Devil’s Pass, the stronger her sense of danger grew. Every nerve was prickling with fear. She followed
the deep tracks left in the soft ground by the horses’ hooves until she heard the quiet murmur of voices. Cautiously she dropped the reins and drew closer to the water, wary of stumbling into the middle of a dangerous situation.

She leaned against a sturdy tree trunk and peered through an opening in the thicket. The white light of the three-quarter moon filtered through the curtain of mist that hung over the swamp. Everything was quiet except for the small ripples against the shore and the dip of oars into the water. From her vantage point, Celia could see everything: the two sides of the channel, Legare’s men standing on one shore, Vallerands on the other. Legare was not visible, but Maximilien was. He stood with his feet slightly apart and his hands clenched. The exchange had already begun. Pirogues were being rowed away from the shallow banks, two figures in each small vessel.

Mesmerized, Celia watched and chewed the inside of her lower lip. Justin sat with his hands tied behind his back while Risk rowed him across the water. His head was turned toward the other pirogue. Celia knew he was staring anxiously at Philippe to ascertain his brother’s condition. The vessels passed within ten yards of each other. How odd and dreamlike it was, the pirogues gliding across the water, one taking away the man she loved, the other bringing back a husband she had thought was dead.

Her nails dug into the tree bark. That shaggy bearded figure, bound and gagged…could it really be Philippe? He looked exactly as Justin had five months ago, except that his hair and beard weren’t as long, and his skin appeared eerily pale. The sight of him sent a chill down her spine. Part
of the past she had thought was gone forever was now returning.

She remembered how she had thought of Philippe as a prince who would sweep her off to some enchanted land. It had been like a fairy tale come true. He was a kind, loving man. It was not his fault that she had discovered needs in herself that only Justin could fulfill. How unfair, how wrong that any of this should have happened to Philippe! Guiltily she thought that now they would seem like strangers to each other. But he was her husband. In the eyes of the church or any moral person, it was her duty to stay with him if that was what he wanted.

Justin moved his gaze from the bank where they were headed, his eyes unfocused. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply.

Risk glanced at him, rowing mechanically. “What is it?” he asked in a low voice.

Justin wanted to look behind them, but he didn’t dare. For the first time in his life he was so alarmed he had trouble speaking. He felt that Celia was somewhere nearby and he was helpless to do anything about it. “Celia’s here,” he said.

“Celia?” Risk looked startled. “Have ye seen her? Where?”

“I don’t know, back there…” Justin felt the blood pumping through his body. “After you hand me over to Legare, go back and find her. Make certain nothing happens to her.”

“There’s a look about ye…” Risk murmured, staring hard at Justin. “I’ve nivver seen ye afraid before, Griffin.” Then he shook his head and spit.

The bow of Philippe’s pirogue approached the land, and Max clambered into the knee-deep water.
Ignoring the warning from the lout who pulled at the oars, Max reached into the pirogue and lifted his son from it bodily. The craft bobbed violently, and Philippe’s legs splashed in the ice-cold water. After helping Philippe up the bank, Max pulled off the gag that had kept him silent while Alexandre cut the rope that had secured his arms. Gasping, Philippe stared at him with bewildered blue eyes.

Only the eyes were recognizable to Max. Every other resemblance to his elegant, impeccably groomed son was obscured by the long hair and beard, and the tattered, roughly made garments that Max would not have tolerated on one of his slaves. His cheekbones stood out like knifeblades and his skin was gray-white.

Max reached for him and held him tightly. “My God, Philippe,” he said hoarsely, his arms strong and secure around his son. They were both silent for a moment, and then Philippe pulled away, twisting to see Justin being dragged out of the pirogue on the opposite side of the channel.

Philippe turned back to Max. “Why?” he asked desperately. “Why did you let Justin do it?”

“It’s all right,” Max said. “We have a plan—”

“No, no, you’ll never win against Legare! He’ll kill Justin…He’ll…” Philippe’s thin, ragged form swayed, and Max braced him up.

“I’ll see to your brother,
mon fils,
” Max soothed. “Everything will be all right. Alex will take you home now,
d’accord?
Go with him. Lysette is waiting and so is Celia.”

“Celia?” Philippe repeated numbly.

“Didn’t Risk tell you when he visited the island that she is alive?”

“I didn’t believe…”

“It is true,” Max reassured him quietly. “She is alive and well, Philippe.”

Philippe slumped in exhaustion and murmured something incoherent. Max looked at Alexandre. “Get him whatever he wants, Alex. And send for Dr. Dassin.”

“What about Risk? Isn’t he rowing back here?”

Max’s gaze shot to the other bank. “I don’t know what that little one-eyed whelp is doing,” he muttered.

Justin fell to his knees as he was shoved to the ground. Someone cuffed him on the side of his head, making his vision blur and ears ring. When the sparks cleared away, he saw Legare standing in front of him, his lips drawn back in a saw-toothed smile. “By God, I’ve dreamed of this,” he said, and struck him again.