Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(44)

Abruptly Celia stopped, realizing she was smoothing Justin’s hair. She snatched her hand away. What possessed her to behave so oddly with him? Troubled, she busied herself with the salves and bottles on the bedside table.

Demons were attacking him, tearing at his flesh with long black claws, gouging out his eyes. Bound and gagged, Justin could do nothing but writhe in torment, screams bottled in his throat. There was smoke and fire all around him, and he was drifting into the very pit of hell. Suddenly there was a cool touch on his face, and a presence that drove the fiends away. He gasped with relief. The demons waited a short distance away, ready to resume their torture. He could hear their cackling as they watched him.

There was a gentle sound, an angel-whisper that promised safety and peace. Fiercely he concentrated on the unseen protector, willing her to stay beside him. The demons were coming closer, reaching out for him once more. He could not face them alone.

Celia picked up a jar of pungent salve Noeline had prepared and began to smooth it over Justin’s swollen face and cracked lips, and the places where his beard had been scorched. His lips moved, forming soundless words. “Later I will change the bandage over your eyes,” she said out loud. “I am not a doctor, mon ami, but I do believe you will see again. You are a fortunate man. Perhaps Noeline is right about the loas. There must be one on your side.”

Celia set the jar of salve down and turned back to his still form. She froze, thunderstruck by the sensation that he was aware of her. He knew she was there.

Her gaze riveted on his expressionless face. “Justin?”

Suddenly he moved. Growling, he lifted his hand to his bandaged shoulder. Celia caught at his hand, afraid he might inflict damage on himself. Her slender forearm was gripped by punishing fingers that cut off her circulation. She drew in a pained breath.

“No, let go,” she hissed, prying at his hand.

Before she could draw another breath, she forgot about her arm, forgot that he was hurting her. She began to tremble, feeling something open between them, a current of warmth like nothing she had ever experienced before. She stared at his face in astonishment. He was breathing raggedly. For a second Celia knew his emotions as if they were her own. He was afraid, alone, trapped in darkness, tormented by creatures with claws digging deep, ripping—

“No!” Frightened, Celia stumbled out of the chair, her heart thundering in her chest. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, rubbing at bruises that were already beginning to show. She turned to look at him. The fingers of his right hand were clenching and unclenching.

Unwillingly she turned back to the bed. Justin was not moving now, but she sensed his inward response to her nearness. Oh yes, he knew she was there. She passed a shaking hand over her face, pushing back the hair that had fallen over her forehead and eyes. What was happening? Surely her imagination was playing tricks on her. She wanted to escape from the room, from him. But she was strangely afraid to leave him alone.

“I have no reason to stay here with you,” she said. “I owe you nothing, and I will not…” Her voice dissolved. Unable to help herself, she sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand, stroking the back of it. His fingers closed around hers again. “Justin? Can you hear me?” Celia watched him closely, but he was subsiding into a feverish sleep.

Her gaze fell to his hand. He had long, well-shaped fingers, tanned and powerful hands that were accustomed to hard work. The backs of his hands and the knuckles were sprinkled with dark hair.

Slowly Celia looked down the length of his body, noticing that the sheet had fallen low over his hips. Color climbed high in her cheeks as she contemplated the pattern of hair across his chest and groin, scars of long-ago wounds, and hard muscles of an active man. The skin on the back of his neck was pale where his long hair had shielded him from the sun.

He was the first man she had ever been able to scrutinize in such a way. She was at once fascinated and embarrassed. She wondered if other women had found Justin Vallerand attractive. Certainly he was strong and exceedingly masculine, but not handsome in the least. She was certain he possessed not a shred of vanity, or he would have made some effort to keep his beard and hair from being so long and ragged. He was coarse and primitive. Perhaps, she thought to herself, he cannot help the way he is. A man cannot change his own nature. “I wonder if you are capable of loving anyone at all,” she mused out loud, unconsciously toying with his lax fingers. “Non, that would not be at all convenient for a pirate, would it?”

“It is Thursday morning and friends will be calling soon,” Lysette said anxiously. “Should I turn them away? What should I tell them? We cannot keep Justin’s presence a secret for long. Everyone on the plantation knows there is a stranger in the house. Soon the news will spread to town. Then there will be inquiries, and the police will take an interest, and—”

“I am aware of all that,” Max said gruffly, pulling his petite wife to his lap. “For the time being we’ll have to think of some convincing lies.”

Lysette linked her arms around his neck and sighed in frustration. “I am a poor liar, Max. One lie always leads to another, and I can never keep them all straight.”

Celia watched the pair from the corner of the library. She had just come from Justin’s room, where she had spent yet another long night. For almost a week she had occupied the chair near his bed hour after hour, insisting in her own quietly stubborn way that she was more suited to the task than the others. After all, they had their own responsibilities—Lysette and Noeline for the running of the plantation, Maximilien for his shipping business.