Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(108)

Celia sat rigidily in the chair, not looking at him.

“I should have expected it,” Philippe finally said. “By the time Justin was sixteen he had already become an expert at seduction. He must have found an innocent like you easy prey.”

Stung by his condescension, she stood and faced him. “I was entirely willing. I wanted to be with him because I love him.”

“No,” he said with conviction. “You are too inexperienced to know the difference between love and passion.”

“And was Briony Doyle as well?”

Philippe looked as if she had struck him. “What?”

Sorry for her impetuous remark, Celia spoke more softly. “I am aware of the relationship you have with Briony. I know that it began before you came to France to marry me, and that you chose me over her because you considered me more suitable.”

“That is not—”

“I saw you with her last night in the garden.” She watched as the color crept across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “You love her, Philippe. You could find such happiness with her, a happiness beyond anything we could ever find together.”

Philippe strode to the window and stared out at the cloud-misted sky. He gripped the window-sill. “I chose between the two of you once,” he said. ‘I wanted you, Celia. For many reasons. One of the most important was that I loved you. I still love you.”

“But you love her too.”

“In a different way.”

In spite of her tension, Celia smiled wryly. “Perhaps you could explain to me which way you love me and which way you love her.” She did not intend to sound sarcastic, but that was how Philippe heard it.

“You never spoke like that before,” he said flatly. “Justin’s influence, I suppose.” He turned and leaned against the window frame, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and resting his weight on one leg. “Come here,” he said quietly.

She complied, standing a foot or two away from him. He did not reach out to her, merely stared at her intently.

“One of the many differences between my brother and me,” he said, “is the way we view duties and obligations.”

“Are you saying you consider me a duty? An oblig—”

“Let me speak,” he said firmly. “We are married, Celia. Nothing has changed that. You’re still legally my wife. Haven’t you considered that we have an obligation to honor the vows we took? For better or worse? Circumstances have altered the course of our lives, but the original reasons for marrying each other still exist. We are alike in many ways. We will be able to find contentment with each other.” He paused and added emotion-lessly, “And so…I am willing to forgive your…indiscretion. I want you to be my wife.”

Celia regarded him with amazement. This was not proceeding at all as she had expected. “But don’t you want more than mere contentment?” she demanded. “I do!”

“You think that this wild, passionate kind of love will last forever. But it burns out quicky, Celia. What you feel for my brother will not endure…It will seem magical, wondrous, for only a short time, and then it will dwindle to nothing.”

“How do you know that?”

Philippe’s face hardened, reminding her momentarily of Justin. “My father married my mother because she was an exciting woman he felt great passion for. But when the embers faded, there was no real foundation for their marriage…and the situation ended in adultery and tragedy. Justin and I both suffered the consequences of it for years.”

“But…that is not the same as this at all!”

“To me it is exactly the same. I love my brother, but I know exactly what he is, Celia. He’s never had a long-lasting relationship in his life.”

Celia did not try to argue with him on that point—he was convinced he was right. But she believed in Justin and knew how desperately he loved her. She tried to turn away from Philippe. He caught her hands and kept her there, wanting her to face him. “Philippe,” she said warily, “you are brothers. It is only natural that you might feel some sense of competition with him—”

“This isn’t about that,” he snapped. “This is about the fact that I care for you!”

“And I care for you, Philippe.” She bent a determined stare on him. “But that is not an adequate reason to keep me as your wife! The truth is that you are madly in love with Briony Doyle, and you are too stubborn to admit it.”

“I am trying to do what is best for all of us—”

“Don’t!” Celia stared at him pleadingly. “Philippe, I know how important duties and obligations are to you. But what if there weren’t any to consider? What would you choose if you could have whatever you wanted?”

“I’ve told you what I want.”

“Choose for yourself only, Philippe. For once in your life be selfish. Pretend there are no rules, no responsibilities. Pretend there is no marriage between us. You are free to have your heart’s desire. What do you choose? Whom do you choose?”

Philippe was silent, his face blank.

“Why did you arrange to meet with Briony in the garden last night?” Celia asked. “Because you couldn’t help yourself. You long for her, you love her…and in your heart you want to believe it will last.”