Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(47)

Noeline appraised him, looking unimpressed. “Come inside, lieutenant, s’il vous plaît. I go see if Monsieur Vallerand have time for you.”

“Tell him it would be in his interest to see me,” Benedict said. “I am here on behalf of Commander Matthews.”

They walked into the entrance hall, the mahogany paneling and benches gleaming from a recent polishing. Celia decided to leave the lieutenant by himself and find some way to warn the Vallerands of the danger. She followed Noeline toward one of the double parlors, pulling nervously on the long sleeves of her black gown.

Max emerged from the parlor, raising his eyebrow as he saw their somber faces.

Unconsciously Celia took hold of his arm. “Monsieur,” she whispered frantically, her fingers digging into his wrist. “Your son is in danger. The visitor—he is from the naval station. He must have heard something. What should we tell him? What should—”

“Shhh.” Max patted her hand lightly before prying it off of his arm. He looked over her head at the young naval officer who was straining indiscreetly to hear them. “I will take care of it,” Max said to Celia. “Go to Lysette, hmm?”

“All right,” Celia replied inaudibly, while Max stepped forward to greet Benedict with the handshake that Americans preferred in their social and business dealings.

Lysette was in the parlor giving instructions to Noeline. “Have Mary bring some café,” she was saying. “Not as strong as usual—the Americans like it watery. And bring something to pass around, some cakes or langues de chat.” She noticed Celia standing nearby and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not wrinkle your forehead so, chérie. It makes you appear worried.”

“I am worried.”

“But why? Max will not let anything happen to Justin.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Celia, you must place your trust in us. Maintenant, whatever Max says, you must not contradict him. And try not to appear surprised, d’accord?”

“D’accord.” Celia peered at her closely. “Do you know what it is he plans to do?”

“I have my suspicions—” Lysette began, and was forced to stop as the two men entered the room.

Lysette welcomed the lieutenant with a dazzling smile. He took her hand with reverence, seeming tongue-tied for the moment. Lysette was one of New Orleans’ reigning beauties, and her effect on men young and old was always the same. She was lovely even clad in mourning, her crimson hair and white skin gleaming radiantly against the severe black of her clothes.

“Lieutenant, how very nice of you to call,” Lysette said.

“I am sorry, madame, to disrupt your evening.”

“Non, non, it has been far too long since we have spoken. How is Commander Matthews? All is well at the naval station, I hope? Bien, that is good to hear. With the skill and intelligence of men such as you and the commander, I feel certain the pirates will soon be driven from the Gulf.”

“Au contraire,” Max interrupted brusquely, “Governor Villeré believes the pirate problem is worsening.”

Benedict bristled. “Were we supplied with sufficient men and equipment, Monsieur Vallerand, our forces would be more effective against the brigands. But the people of New Orleans do all they can to encourage the pirate trade. Indeed, they welcome the contraband goods being smuggled into the city.”

“The naval station seems to be adequately supplied—” Max started, and Lysette interrupted hastily, knowing her husband’s enjoyment of political disputations.

“Mon Mari, perhaps we should not begin to debate the matter at this time. Do be seated, everyone. Mary will bring refreshments soon.” She settled gracefully on the settee, and they all followed suit. “Lieutenant,” Lysette said lightly, “do tell us what prompted this call.”

“I came to inquire as to your family’s welfare,” Benedict replied.

“You did? How kind of you.”

Benedict waited for some further comment but encountered only silence. Three pairs of eyes were focused on him. He cleared his throat and continued. “Commander Matthews has expressed a similar concern, hence my visit. In the last few days we have heard rumors…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at them expectantly. No one said a word. The lieutenant was forced to break the silence again. “This morning, Monsieur Vallerand, I happened to encounter your brother Alexandre and his charming wife Henriette in town—”

Henriette, Celia thought anxiously, the woman who loved to gossip.

“—and she relayed some rather interesting information,” Benedict said.

“I’m not surprised,” Maximilien replied calmly. “Henriette has often been known to do that.”

“Yes, well, she told me that the rumor is true.”

Max’s fingers began an idle tapping on the arm of his chair. “And this rumor is…?”

“That you have a houseguest who is ailing. Not just any houseguest.”

Celia clenched her hands in her lap. She felt the blood draining out of her face. After all the time she had spent caring for Justin, he would be taken away. The authorities would be cruel to him. He was still weak, and it would not take much for his wounds to reopen. The scene from this morning flashed before her once again, his head cradled in her arm, his trusting obedience, and husky voice asking, Are you real?