Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(112)

Afterward, tangled together, they lay there comfortably. Justin drew her long hair over his chest, toying with the golden locks. Idly Celia’s fingertip circled his flat nipple. “The annulment will take some time,” she said drowsily. “The marriage documents will have to be retrieved from France, and the Church must be approached—”

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes, as long as the thing is done properly.”

“It will be difficult in the meantime, all of us staying here together.”

Justin shook his head with a slight frown. “No, my love. I’ll be staying at a hotel in town.”

“Oh, but—”

“I can’t live under the same roof as Philippe,” he said firmly. “Or the rest of the Vallerands. They would all be watching us. The constant scrutiny would drive me mad.”

“But when will I be able to see you?” she asked in dismay.

He smiled and stroked her slender back. “Don’t worry. I’ll come courting. I’ll see you every day. We’ll make discreet arrangements to be with each other. Perhaps you’ll even find it romantic…”

“No, I will find it tiresome, skulking about, making arrangements for clandestine meetings…” She pouted and laid her head on his chest. “I want to be with you all the time.”

“Soon.” His soft laugh resounded against her ear. “Petite coeur, just try and stop it from happening.”

Epilogue

Marseilles

Celia walked across the sand alone, luxuriating in the balmy breeze and the gentle sunshine. Far ahead of her stretched the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. In back of her was the villa with a small, palm-shaded courtyard that Justin had leased two months ago. Since there was no possibility of being observed on the private beach, she lifted the skirt of her thin white cotton dress and waded into the water, enjoying the feel of it surging around her ankles. Seagulls nearby quarreled over a small fish, squawking noisily.

Marseilles was the most enchanting place in France, she reflected, far better than Paris or even the lush chateau country in Touraine. The prosperous and busy port of Marseilles contained all the best features of a city but also provided the charm of the several fishing villages that surrounded it.

Sitting on the warm sand and dropping back on her elbows, Celia stared at the vivid water. She felt she could never tire of Marseilles. She hoped Justin would not want to leave for another few months. But it didn’t matter, she would be sinfully happy wherever they lived.

They had married as soon as the annulment had been procured, and at Justin’s insistence had left New Orleans with equal haste. He had fretted and chafed and made no secret of his impatience to be away. Although he was now reconciled with his family, the plantation itself would always remind him of old regrets and unpleasant memories. He had wanted to make a new beginning. Philippe’s marriage to Briony Doyle took place only a few days after their departure, and Celia was disappointed to have missed it, but in a way she agreed with Justin that there had been something vaguely disquieting about having Philippe present at their wedding. It would be better for Briony not to be faced with any vestiges of Philippe and Celia’s ill-fated marriage at her wedding ceremony.

Parting with the Vallerands had been difficult. They had said their goodbyes at the plantation. Celia and Lysette had both been tearful, while Max was unashamedly reluctant to let them go. There had been an awkward moment when Justin and Philippe had not embraced in the Creole tradition but instead clasped hands in the more impersonal American style. The fact that Celia now belonged to Justin would always be a source of tension between the two of them, but she hoped that the passage of time would soften it.

Philippe had taken Celia carefully into his arms and hugged her, and when he drew back to look at her with a bittersweet smile, she had given him an answering one. They were each happy with the course they had chosen, but they would never forget the private moments they had shared in the past, or that they had once meant something to each other. Celia noted with inward amusement that although Justin had made a great effort to suppress a jealous scowl during the exchange, he could not help clamping a possessive arm around her afterward.

In the months since their wedding Justin had changed in subtle ways, losing much of the cynicism and wariness that had been so much a part of him. He was freer to laugh and tease. At first he had hovered over her with jealous greed, as if she were a treasure that might be wrested away from him at any moment. Now he was more relaxed and assured of her love, and there was new trust between them.

The first test of their marriage had come early, during the journey to France. On the first night of the crossing Justin had come below to their stateroom after touring the deck with the ship’s captain, to find Celia gray-faced and cowering in the corner of their bunk. Alarmed, he gathered her in his arms, and she burrowed against his chest like a terrified animal seeking to hide from an unseen predator.

“Chérie, what is it?” he asked urgently against her hair. “Are you ill? Did something happen?” After a few minutes she managed to explain that some noises from the deck had brought back all the horror of Legare’s attack. She knew that it was not likely the same thing would happen again, but she could not subdue her sense of impending disaster.

Rocking her gently, Justin proceeded to explain why her fears were unfounded. “Ma petite, this frigate wouldn’t tempt a pirate at all. I should know. It is not loaded with the quantity of goods and expensive cargo that the Golden Star was. It has a lighter draft and that makes it faster and less appealing to sea bandits. And the dead-works—that’s the part above the water—are built narrow, so that no one could board it easily. And it’s armed with carronades, and twenty-eight pound guns, and…”