Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(105)

Philippe had been her first love…but she understood now that she had cared for him as a beloved friend. There had been an element of restraint between them that no amount of time or affection would have erased. She would always care for Philippe, but she would never be able to love him as she did Justin.

His face was relaxed in slumber, a softer, less chiseled version of Justin’s. Unable to help herself, she leaned over and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Philippe,” she whispered, and his eyes opened. The depths of blue were soft and warm, not the shockingly vibrant shade to which she had become accustomed.

Philippe inhaled sleepily, blinking as he looked at her. Seeming to realize that she was not part of a dream, he sat up and stared. “Celia?”

She smiled at him, thinking he might reach for her, but instead he continued to stare. Awkwardly she leaned foward and hugged him, and his arms went around her. “All these months I thought you were dead,” he said unsteadily, and she put her head on his shoulder and wept.

Chapter 14

After Celia’s tears had dried, she felt more at ease with Philippe, but not for long. The outburst of emotion had not cleared the air at all, and the conversation was guarded and strained. Celia felt that her husband was relieved to see her, but that did not change the fact that there were many obstacles between them.

Sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed, she tried to explain why she had not been there to greet him and tell him everything that had occurred. “What of Justin?” he asked.

“He killed Dominic Legare—”

“Good,” Philippe said in a low, savage voice.

“And I think he is well enough, except for a few minor injuries. But they took him away to prison. I…I am afraid of what may befall him next. They’ll want to punish him. He may be executed—”

“No. Father won’t let that happen.”

Celia looked into Philippe’s clear blue eyes, and she could not help but believe him. Once, a long time ago, she had told him he had the eyes of an angel. How, after all he had gone through, could he still have such a gentle gaze?

Lysette had shaved his beard and cut his hair, revealing the clean lines of his face. It was unnerving to look at him and see shades of Justin. Most people would claim that Philippe was the more handsome of the two. His face was like a perfect work of art, elegant and kind and open. She could not imagine his lips quirking with Justin’s sardonic sneers, his eyes hot with malice, passion, or wild excitement. Justin, on the other hand, would always have the air of a loner, and he possessed an untamable quality that was an integral part of his character.

“Philippe,” Celia said softly, “could you try to tell me about the past few months?”

She was compelled to ask. Perhaps if Philippe showed signs of needing her, if he would share the pain he felt with her and let her help him, it might reawaken the old feelings.

But Philippe shook his head. “I can’t,” he said huskily. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He diverted her by asking what it had been like for her in New Orleans since their forced separation. Celia began to describe the emotions she had felt in the months following his supposed death, but then she saw the gathering bleakness on his face. Searching for more lighthearted subjects, she managed to amuse him with a few tales of her encounters with his family and friends.

Suddenly there came an awkward silence. Celia realized with dismay that she could think of nothing to say.

She looked at him uncomfortably and wondered what they had found to talk about in France, and in all those letters they had written. Conversations had not been this difficult with him before, had they? She realized she was perched on the chair…when had she retreated to it from the edge of the bed? Taking his hand in hers, she pressed it gently, and Philippe grimaced as he felt the traces of salve Noeline had put on her palms.

“Ugh,” he said with a laugh, pulling his hand away from hers, “why are your hands slippery?”

Celia flushed slightly. “I am sorry,” she apologized. “I scraped them while I was…It is just medicine Noeline put on them.”

“Don’t smear it on the sheets.”

Justin would not have worried about a little salve, or the sheets. Justin would have made her laugh by reacting as if she were grieviously wounded, and then he would have showered her with kisses…She shoved the traitorous thoughts from her mind.

Philippe settled back against the pillows, his smile dissolving. “I am tired,” he murmured.

“I will let you rest, then. Perhaps you will have more strength for talking tomorrow.”

Philippe looked at her gravely. “Yes. There are things we have to settle.”

“Tomorrow.” Celia stood up and leaned over him, kissing his cheek. “Bonne nuit, Philippe.”

Distraught, Celia went downstairs and left the main house without saying good-night to any of the Vallerands. She needed to be by herself and think. She did not believe Philippe had been deliberately cool to her. He did not know how to talk to her any more than she knew how to talk to him. She fervently wished she had been able to detect some sign of his real feelings for her. It would be so much easier to sort things out if she knew what he wanted and expected!

Celia walked along the path to the garçonnière at an unhurried pace, lost in thought. Even if she could never have Justin, she wanted an annulment. She did not think Philippe would want to stay married to her, especially not when Briony was available to him. It would be wrong to attempt a marriage with Philippe, who would forever remind her of his brother. But she did not want Philippe to feel as if she were deserting him. He would have to be satisfied that severing their marital ties would bring them both happiness.