Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(107)

“What is this ‘agog’?” Celia asked suspiciously.

“It means that there is an admiring crowd encamped outside the Cabildo. He is allowed no visitors—except me, of course—but many women of the town have displayed an untoward concern over his welfare. They have brought foodstuffs and bottles of wine to the building, most of which Justin has passed out to his jailers and fellow cagelings.”

“But this is absurd!” Celia exclaimed.

“More so by the hour. I have been told this morning about three different women who were supposedly seduced by him at the Duquesne ball.”

Evelina looked at him curiously. “Papa, what is ‘seduced’?”

Lysette frowned at Max reprovingly. “Hush, Evie, that is not a nice word for little girls to say.”

“Absurd,” Celia repeated, turning pink with consternation. Justin was hers, not some object of adoration for foolish women who imagined themselves in love with a fearsome pirate! She could picture Justin’s enjoyment of the attention he was receiving. He was having a high time while she was here pining for him! “Did he ask after me?” she blurted out.

Max’s ironic smile faded into a more serious expression. “In truth,” he said quietly, “he wanted to talk of nothing but you.”

Celia’s outrage died away, and she looked down at her lap, suffused with longing. “What did he say?” she asked.

“Most of it I am certain he will repeat to you in private. He does seem to expect that while he is incarcerated you are resolving matters of your own here.”

“Oh, does he?” Celia glowered at no one in particular. “I suppose he thinks it will be easy. I suppose he expects that after five months of separation I will simply march up to Philippe and tell him—”

She stopped with a gasp as she saw Philippe in the doorway. He was clad in a full-length dressing robe, his dark hair neatly brushed and his blue eyes steady on her.

“Tell me what?” Philippe asked gravely.

Celia felt her tongue freeze in her mouth. The blood rushed to her face, and she was aware that the room had become absolutely quiet. Everyone was staring at her.

Lysette was the one to break the dreadful silence. “Philippe,” she suggested softly, “why don’t you take Celia to the morning room? Neither of you have eaten. I will send Noeline up with brioches and café. You will be able to talk there without interruption.”

Celia sipped sweet black coffee out of a delicate porcelain cup, while Philippe broke open a brioche roll and buttered it. She stared at him warily, waiting for him to say something until finally she could stand the silence no longer.

Her cup clattered against the saucer as she set it down. “Philippe, we must begin to think about…about our marriage, and the situation we find ourselves in.”

A series of emotions crossed Philippe’s sensitive face—surprise at her straightforwardness, perturbation, and then determination. “I have been thinking about it,” he said. “It has not been easy.”

“No, of course not,” Celia said. “It is hardly a simple matter.”

“In some ways it is.”

Celia frowned uncertainly. “Philippe, I know you do not want to talk about what has happened, I know it is painful for you…but there are some things I must tell you.”

“About Justin?” he asked bitterly.

“About me. Philippe, please…” Celia reached out to take his hand. “For all those months I thought you were dead, I may as well have been locked in that cell with you. I did not suffer physically, but I felt such terrible grief that I wished I might die.”

Philippe stared at her compassionately. He held her hand in a strong grasp. “Celia—”

“I knew I would never take pleasure in anything again,” she continued. “I would never laugh or be happy. I was certain I would always be alone and I would never love again. And then…I reached an acceptance of your death, Philippe.”

Philippe’s expression turned cold. “I wasn’t dead,” he said tightly. Leaning across the table, his hands closed over her forearms.

“But I didn’t know that! And then Justin was brought here, so badly wounded that we all thought he might not make it through the first night. He was so different from you…so disillusioned and rough, so hot-tempered. At first I hated him. But as I helped to take care of him, it became more and more important that he live, and suddenly…” Celia paused and looked helplessly at him. His hands were uncomfortably tight on her arms. “Suddenly I wanted to be with him every minute of the day. When we were together I felt more alive than I ever had before. I suppose I knew he was falling in love with me. I could tell from the way he looked at me and spoke to me…a-and I knew he was fighting against it just as I was, but…” She drew a trembling breath. “…neither of us could stop it from happening.”

Philippe let go of her and stood up violently, jarring the table so that the coffee sloshed over the rim of the cups. “Did you let him…”

Celia bit her lip, wondering if it was his right to know, if it was even his right to ask. Legally Philippe was her husband. She had been unfaithful to him. But she hadn’t known he was alive…

Reading the answer in her confused silence, Philippe struggled to contain his feelings of rage and betrayal.