Only With Your Love Read online

  “There is no time.”

  Celia felt blind, unreasoning rage sweep over her. It didn’t matter that she had no right to demand that he stay. It didn’t matter that he had made no promises. All she knew was that he was leaving, and that he might not come back. And he was standing there with that matter-of fact expression and mocking smile on his lips. “You know you’re not well enough!” she cried in passionate fury. “You fool!—You can’t even walk well, and you are going out there where you’ll be hunted by everyone on both sides of the law. I hope they find you!”

  His expression changed. “Celia—”

  “If you want to die so badly, I hope they get you and…give you what you deserve! I hope you never come back. You don’t care about anyone, you’re greedy and selfish, and I hate you! I hate you!”

  She saw him moving toward her, his stride broken but swift, his face harsh. Thinking he was going to hurt her, she cowered away. He seized her shoulders in his powerful hands, holding her as if she were a rag doll. “No,” she whimpered as he bent and kissed her, his mouth hard and punishing. She sobbed angrily as his arms clamped around her back and hips, pulling her tight against him.

  “You’re going to drive me mad,” he muttered, staring down at her white face. “You already have! After that night at the lake I thought I was rid of you, but thoughts of you tormented me day and night. I made plans to come back for you. I thought if I took you one more time I’d discover you were no different from other women. And then I’d be free.” His arms tightened cruelly as Celia fought his embrace. “But then I was wounded and you were there. Every touch of yours was heaven and hell. I thought about putting my hands around your neck and throttling the life out of you—anything to stop you from becoming necessary to me. But it’s too late now. You’re mine, and you have only yourself to blame. You made yourself mine.”

  “Don’t,” she wept. “It’s not true—I won’t listen—”

  He crushed her mouth in a greedy kiss. Treacherous excitement engulfed her, and she shuddered violently. This was what she wanted, what she needed, his strength wrapped around her, his mouth on hers. Her lips parted to admit his thrusting tongue, and her arms clutched his broad shoulders.

  Suddenly Justin’s kiss turned gentle, his lips twisting over hers, his tongue teasing lightly, then sliding deep into her mouth. Celia had never forgotten the taste of him. She moaned and strained her body against him as his hand slid between her thighs, exploring through the folds of her gown. The bulging hardness of his loins pressed against her belly, and she quivered in pleasure. His dark head lowered as he bit the tip of her chin, and then his mouth glided over her white throat. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, her mind reeling at the love-words he murmured. He was shaking just as much as she was with a hunger that had no end. Both of them were possessed by a sweet madness. She had thought she would never feel it again.

  Impatiently Justin searched through her thin muslin gown, cupping her full breast in his hand, his thumb coaxing the soft nipple into a hard peak. “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.” He covered her mouth with his, drinking in her sweetness, and she responded feverishly. Her hands slipped down to his buttocks, her fingers digging into the flexed muscles. It was all he could do not to lift up her skirts and sink himself into her soft body.

  Raising his mouth with a curse, he dragged her head to his chest and held her shivering form against his. His palm was hot against her cheek, his heartbeat like thunder beneath her ear. Celia clenched handfuls of his shirt in her fists and gasped weakly. It was a long time before the frantic desire faded, leaving an ache in the pit of her stomach. She felt his hand on the side of her face, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were as blue-black as the sky, and she felt herself drowning in their darkness. “Celia,” he said hoarsely, and touched his lips to hers with incredible gentleness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed her head against his chest. He nuzzled her hair, his lips playing through the soft wisps at her temple. A cool breeze whisked across her skin, causing her to shiver. His arms tightened before he pulled away from her without a word.

  Dazed, she watched him pick up his cane and make his way toward the bayou. Never had her arms felt so empty. Her lips trembled, but she did not call after him. She was possessed by a fear greater than any she had ever known. They had not yet begun to know each other, and already he was a part of her. She was terrified that she could not survive losing him.

  “How long did he say he would be gone?” Max asked, utterly controlled, his face like granite.

  “Two or three days,” Celia said unsteadily, sitting next to Lysette. Although Celia had been careful not to reveal any of the details of her encounter with Justin, she thought that Lysette had an inkling of how she felt. Lysette was an intuitive woman, but most people were usually too dazzled by her beauty to pay heed to the sharp intelligence behind her pretty face. At the moment Lysette was looking at her with an odd mixture of sympathy and speculation. She squeezed Celia’s hand in a comforting gesture. Celia kept her gaze on Max, wondering if an explosion of anger was forthcoming. “He is in terrible danger, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he’s in danger,” Max said curtly. “The plantation is the only place he is safe. It is known around the Gulf that Legare has offered a fortune to anyone who will bring him Justin’s head in a sack. And my son’s fate will not be much different if he’s caught by the authorities. At the moment I’ve been pressing Governor Villeré to expend some of his political capital on granting a full pardon to him—a damn difficult thing to do when I can’t exactly admit that ‘Philippe’ is Justin! It does not help that Justin has decided to go gallivanting around as Captain Griffin right in the middle of this ungodly mess!”

  “Vraiment, do you really think the governor would consider pardoning him?” Celia asked in astonishment.

  “I don’t know,” Max muttered. “It’s impossible to predict. If only Claiborne were still in office.”

  “At least Villeré is a Creole,” Lysette said. “That should help our cause, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Not necessarily,” Max replied. “At present he seems to have devoted himself to the cause of limiting the immigration of ‘undesirable persons’ to the state. And my son falls well within that category.”

  Lysette frowned. “But if you prevail, Max, and the governor does pardon Justin?”

  “Then Justin will be safe from the authorities.” He gave both women a humorless smile. “Until then, however, he’ll have to continue masquerading as Philippe. Which means he had better return in time for the Duquesne ball on Saturday.”

  Lysette regarded him with a perplexed expression. “Can’t we offer some excuse for him, bien-aimé?”

  Max laughed grimly. “I was just told this evening by the Duquesnes—cousins on my mother’s side—that they are turning their ball this weekend into a celebration to welcome Philippe home. He will be the guest of honor. As they described it, all of New Orleans will attend. And expect him to make an appearance.”

  Celia heard Lysette’s gasp of horror. She stared at Maximilien, her mouth sagging open. “But…but what if Justin is not back in time?”

  “Then,” Max said darkly, “we’re all finished.”

  Late the following evening Justin had managed to assemble a dozen men whom Aug had sworn could be trusted. They met in the lakeside cabin. For various reasons none of them had accepted Legare’s invitation to throw their lots in with him. Justin was satisfied as he looked over the gathering. Among them were Duffy, a short but stocky Irishman; Tomas, a handsome mulatto; and Sans-Nez, a disfigured and surly-tempered brawler who had lost a goodly portion of his nose in a knife fight. None of them had been the ablest of the Vagabond crew, but they were the most vengeful. They had agreed to take part in the scheme not only for the chance to plunder the island, but also because they each nursed old grudges against Legare and his men.

  Sitting on the wooden chest, his long legs crossed at the ankles, Justin formed a plan with Aug while the
rest threw in their comments. It was a far more democratic system than Justin usually employed, but this was a riskier venture than any they had undertaken. If he was to lead them into such danger, it was their right to offer suggestions.

  “We’ll have to destroy Legare from the inside out,” Justin said, looking at Aug. “If you could approach him and somehow convince him you’ve decided to join his lot, you could work behind the scenes to help us.”

  Aug nodded. “I will gain Legare’s trust.”

  “I don’t know what Legare might require of you to prove your loyalty,” Justin said. “If you decide to back out—”

  “No,” Aug interrupted. “What is the rest of the plan?”

  “With your help we’ll smuggle the men onto the island and launch a surprise attack. The only difficult part will be staying hidden until the right time.”

  Sans-Nez spoke up, his face twisting with an ugly smile. “I know the underground tunnels as good as anyone. Years ago when I sailed with Legare, he had me locked up down there for weeks for taking a woman André wanted.”

  Justin nodded. “See if you can remember enough to draw a map for us.”

  “What about Legare?” Risk asked. “Who’s going to take him down?”

  Justin arched his brows and smiled mockingly. “Jack, I’m surprised you need to ask. Killing Dominic Legare will be my personal and very great pleasure.”

  Chapter 10

  The three days that followed Justin’s departure may as well have been three months. Celia could do nothing but think about Justin. She realized that he was as necessary to her as he had claimed she was to him. He had said she belonged to him…well, she had not admitted it out loud but she knew he was hers in the same elemental way. Ever since he had been brought to the plantation he had been hers to tend and take care of, hers to worry over and want.

  Theirs was an impossible match. Even so, the separation caused her to ache physically. It wasn’t a sharp pain but a dull emptiness in every part of her. She craved the sight and sound of him, his alert interest in her, his arrogant demands for her attention. She had not realized how many of her waking hours had been occupied with him.

  Her loneliness was aggravated by the way Max and Lysette relied on each other in times of trouble. They lavished affection on each other and their children, finding occasions for laughter and affection even in the midst of all their worry. One morning the couple was absent from the breakfast table, and the entire household was aware that they had decided to spend the morning alone in their bedroom. When Lysette emerged later, her face was glowing and there was a soft radiance in her hazel eyes. Celia was glad for their happiness, but it made her even more aware of her own solitude.

  At suppertime on Friday the conversation was stilted and quiet. Lysette occupied herself with Rafe, who talked to her in happy gurgles. She was trying to start the baby on solid food, but he had more interest in playing with the mashed banana than eating it. Celia forced herself to chew and swallow, but every bite of the pompano and mushrooms sautéed in wine and butter seemed to stick in her throat. Although Max seemed marvelously collected and unconcerned, he checked his watch every fifteen minutes or so, something he never did with such frequency.

  “Bien-aimé, what time does the ball begin tomorrow?” Lysette asked Max.

  It was at that moment that Justin entered the room, stopping just inside the doorway. He sniffed the air appreciatively. “Mmm…I’m starved. I hope you’ve left enough for me.”

  Max leaped up from his chair. “Were I not so relieved to see you,” he said, “I would probably be inflicting significant damage on you, my foolhardy son.”

  Justin grinned and put a protective hand over his side. “You’ll have to take your turn, Father.”

  Max pinned him with a searching gaze. “I assume your interests have been secured and there will be no more unexpected disappearances?”

  “Aye.”

  “How is the situation?”

  An unpleasant hardness crossed Justin’s face. “In the past few weeks Legare has marked Isle au Corneille as his and appropriated everything in sight. Ships, ammunition, property…No one dares to cross him.”

  “And neither will you,” Max said. “Your days as Captain Griffin are over. This little jaunt of yours might have ruined even the slightest possibility of a pardon from the governor.”

  “Pardon?” Justin laughed shortly. “If you were the closest friend of President Monroe himself you couldn’t manage that. In any event, I don’t need a pardon. Soon I’ll be leaving for good.”

  Max scowled and began to argue, but Lysette interrupted adroitly, hoping to prevent a full-blown quarrel. “Thank God you have arrived in time, Justin.”

  “In time for what?”

  Max proceeded to explain about the Duquesne ball.

  Celia set down her fork, aware that her hand was trembling visibly. She let her gaze travel over Justin hungrily. He was dirty and unshaven, the beginnings of a sunburn crossing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His vital presence affected her senses like an invigorating drug. She wanted to throw herself at him, smooth her hands over his tangled brown-black hair, hug herself to his body. But not once did he look at her. It was as if she were not there.

  “…there must be some way to avoid it,” Justin was saying to Max, who shook his head.

  “Rumors will fly if you don’t appear.”

  Justin swore and shook his head. “So be it. I’ve already thrown in my lot—no chance of retreat now. I’ll go to the ball and play the gentleman. And I’ll do it so well no one will dare suggest I’m not Philippe.” He turned his attention to Lysette. “Belle-mére, would you have Noeline send up some supper for me?” He plucked at his sweat-stained shirt ruefully. “I believe a bath and a change of clothes are in order.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lysette looked at him in concern. “How is your leg? You have not injured it again, have you?”

  “Not at all.” Justin smiled slightly. “I’m fine, Belle-mère.”

  He left without having acknowledged Celia with so much as a flicker of an eye.

  Celia felt as if all the breath had been stolen from her body. There was a sickening sensation inside her. Why had Justin ignored her? Perhaps that scene before he had left had been a game to him. Perhaps it had amused him to reduce her to such a state. Confused and miserable, she tried to appear as if nothing were troubling her. She toyed with the food on her plate and even managed to take a bite now and then. After downing an extra glass of wine, she lingered with Max and Lysette in the parlor after supper. Sitting near the fire, she warmed her slipper-clad feet. There had been no sound from Justin upstairs. They surmised he was exhausted after his three-day absence and had gone to bed.

  “You seem tired, Celia,” Lysette said.

  “Oui,” Celia murmured, staring moodily into the fire. She was not tired, she was filled with anxiety and hurt. Justin Vallerand was a monster, and she despised him. She had nothing but contempt for a man so facile with lies and empty promises! She bade the Vallerands good-night and trudged out of the main house to the garçonnière. Not wanting to face the housemaid, she went through the house by herself and entered her bedroom. The darkness made her skittish and uneasy, and she fumbled with the tiny candle of the veilleuse lamp on the bureau.

  She saw the shape of a man in the corner of the room. Catching her breath, she froze in terror. He stepped forward, and the gleam of his eyes became apparent. Her heart beat against her ribs. She stared at him as if hypnotized. “Justin?”

  He was freshly shaven, clad in a loose white shirt and dark breeches. His hair was damp and tousled, wet strands clinging to his neck. He didn’t move, but she felt crowded by the sheer size of his long, lean body. “I couldn’t look at you,” he said hoarsely. “I knew if I did I would snatch you up and drag you to the nearest bed.”

  The shadow-filled room was suddenly unreal, a place that existed only in a dream. Anticipation unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Knowing she did not have the
will to turn him away, she managed a shaking whisper. “Justin, please go. Please.”

  “No.”

  He took both her hands in his, felt how cold they were, and slipped them inside his shirt to warm them against his chest. His heart pounded heavily against her palms. With infinite care he slid his arms around her back and pulled her trembling body into his.

  Celia dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “We cannot. This is wrong, wrong—”

  “Tais-toi, mon coeur,” he whispered, and pulled out the comb that fastened her hair. The silken blond locks unraveled, falling softly down her back. His hand searched through the fine strands, his fingers curving to her skull, and he tilted her head back. He pressed his mouth to the base of her throat, then slid it up to the hollow underneath her jaw.

  The sensation of his lips on her skin sent shivers of delight through her body. Celia made a halfhearted attempt to pull away, but he kept her firmly against him. His mouth brushed over hers with tantalizing lightness. Slowly her hands inched around his neck. He nibbled gently on her lower lip, stroked it with his tongue, teased mercilessly until she was breathing fast and her hands were warm and perspiring.

  Sealing his lips over hers, Justin thrust his tongue deep into the warmth of her mouth. A groan of satisfaction came from his throat, and his head moved to change the angle of the kiss, fitting them together more securely. His fingers fumbled at the back of her gown. When the long line of tiny looped buttons proved difficult to unfasten he used both his hands to rip the garment in a swift movement, sending buttons scattering across the floor.

  Celia gasped and tried to back away, startled by his sudden roughness as he yanked her clothes down to her waist. But when her body was revealed to him he became gentle again, his lips moving over her forehead, his hand sliding over her naked breast. Lightly he squeezed and stroked the white mound, then toyed with the soft pink nipple until it tautened. She arched her back, pressing herself against his warm hand, her breath catching with pleasure as he touched her other breast. Between her thighs there was a sudden trickle of warmth, the same wetness she remembered from the other time they had been together, and she flushed with mingled shame and excitement. He murmured quietly as if he knew what was happening inside her, and his lips sought hers again. Her mouth opened, accepting him fully, and she made no attempt to stop him as she felt him pushing the rest of her clothes down to the floor.