Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(103)

He laughed. “Well, there’s still reason to hope. My father isn’t finished with Governor Villeré yet. And he’s accomplished the impossible before.” His lips nudged at hers. “Kiss me,” he murmured, but her lips were pressed tightly together as she tried not to cry. “Tell me you love me,” he said against her cheek, her chin. He caught at her lower lip with his teeth. His warm breath fanned over her skin. “That’s all I care about. Tell me.”

“I love you,” she whispered, and slowly her lips parted beneath his. In the back of her mind she wondered how he could kiss her like this when they were about to lose everything. He caressed her throat with his hand, and her breath caught. Suddenly she had to pull away with a gasping cough. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I’m sorry—”

He hushed her with a low murmur and kissed her neck, and then his lips returned to hers. In consternation she thought she should convince him to go after Aug. They could escape somewhere—that was the only way for them to be together. But his arm was tight around her, his mouth gently ruthless against hers, and she could not think anymore. She let his arm support her, her head drop back, and her mouth open to his lazy exploration. There was no way of knowing how much time passed…he made her forget everything but the warm lips against hers and the stroking hand that kindled her nerves to aching delight.

She gave a muffled protest as he pulled away from her. Justin kept his hand at the back of her neck and watched as a six-man detail of sailors and marines approached them. He was faced with an assortment of bayoneted muskets. Holding his arm over his ribs, he stood up slowly and reached down to assist Celia.

Lieutenant Benedict arrived, looking determined and excited. It was not difficult to see that his pride had been wounded at having been taken in by Justin’s charade. “Captain Griffin,” he said. “It would be wise of you not to offer resistance.”

“I don’t intend to,” Justin said.

Benedict looked at Celia. “Step away from the prisoner, Madame Vallerand.”

She did not move. Justin ducked his head and touched his lips to her ear. “I love you, vas-y,” he whispered, and gave her a little push. She walked away from him with a sob. As the men moved around Justin and secured his wrists, Celia saw a tall, black-cloaked man in front of her. The rising sun was behind him, partially blinding her.

She recognized Maximilien Vallerand’s deep, authoritative voice at once. “Celia, you willful little fool…” She went to him in relief, and he placed his cloak around her, steadying her with a fatherly arm across her shoulders. He asked if she had been hurt, and she murmured something in reply, but her attention was focused on Justin. She flinched as she saw the men tug at his bruised wrists.

“Lieutenant Benedict,” Max said coldly, “you seem to need reminding that my son provided the means for you to capture this damn island.”

After that, their handling of Justin was slightly more gentle as they marched him away. He would be taken to New Orleans and imprisoned in the Cabildo, a government building with massive stuccoed arches and well-guarded prison rooms. Celia watched them with tear-blurred eyes and then turned to her father-in-law. “Max, you must help him—”

“I cannot believe you are here,” Maximilien interrupted, taking it upon himself to upbraid her. His voice was quiet and chilling. “It is beyond the scope of my imagination. You have placed yourself in danger, caused trouble for Justin, and abandoned Philippe when he needed you. I suspect my home is in an uproar and Lysette is halfmad.” It was clear that of all these concerns, the last was the most significant to Max. To him nothing was as bad as causing Lysette distress.

“It was wrong to me to leave the plantation,” Celia admitted, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “I followed you, and I shouldn’t have, and…oh, does any of that matter now? A thousand apologies from me are not going to help anyone, least of all Justin!”

Max looked at her impatient, tear-ravaged face, and sighed. “Petite bru, one way or another I will help to extricate my son from this unholy mess,” he said. “On that point you may rest assured.”

She desperately wanted to believe him. “What are you going to—”

“Your concern, Celia, would be better directed toward another problem.”

“Another problem?” she echoed. All else paled in comparison to the sight of Justin being led away.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting something. Philippe is waiting at home for you, and there is much you will have to explain to him. You are his wife, not Justin’s. You must question whether the feelings you have for Justin are worth sacrificing the kind of life you have known until now. As much as Justin may care for you, he will never be able to offer you a conventional life.”

“I love him.”

“Perhaps you do. But it is not always easy to distinguish love from…sensuality.” Briefly Max’s gaze flickered away from hers, for the comment was decidedly personal. Celia knew that Maximilien would not have undertaken such a discussion had he not felt it was absolutely necessary. “To a woman who has lived as quietly as you for most of your life,” he continued, “a man like Justin—a black sheep, someone exciting and forbidden—must be very attractive. But that attraction may not wear well over time.”

Celia stood her ground, her brown eyes unwavering. “Of course I find Justin attractive,” she said. “But I love him for many more reasons than that. I have so much to give to him, things that he needs desperately and Philippe does not.”