Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(49)

Celia could not hold back a spurt of laughter edged with hysteria. She covered her mouth with her hand and continued to gasp with amusement. “Ah, mon Dieu,” she finally said, wiping a tear or two from her cheeks, “I knew I had lost my mind, but until now I thought I was the only one. Did Max really say…no, I am dreaming. Oh, this is the strangest dream I have ever had!”

Max had just returned. “You’re not dreaming,” he said sardonically.

Lysette looked up at her husband, who had begun to pace around the room. “Max, what will happen now?”

“They will watch us closely. From now on they will be aware of all our comings and goings. They’ll do everything in their power to prevent a suspected pirate from eluding them.” He went to the fireplace and braced his arms on the mantel, staring into the empty hearth. “Justin isn’t well enough to travel or defend himself. I could not spirit him away from here without being caught. And even if that were possible, there is no place I could remove him to where I’d feel assured of his safety. I’d rather have him convalesce here. He’ll masquerade as Philippe until I can come up with a more permanent plan.” Max threw a glance over his shoulder, noting Celia’s stillness. “It will not last long, Celia.”

“Masquerade as Philippe,” Celia said in a voice so thick and sarcastic that she could hardly recognize it as her own. “Masquerade as my husband…a doctor…a gentleman? Justin would have a difficult time convincing people he is a human being. And how are you going to keep him hidden from all eyes? The most obvious flaw in this…this foolish plan is that twins or not, Justin does not look like Philippe!”

Max began to pace again. “Not at the moment, with that beard and absurdly long hair. But Justin and Philippe were identical twins.”

“Identical,” Celia exclaimed, startled. She looked at Lysette, who nodded slightly. “Alors, you think he can be made to look like Philippe, but what about their voices, their mannerisms, their habits—”

“We’ll keep Justin from being scrutinized too closely,” Max replied.

“Everyone in New Orleans knew Philippe,” Celia said. “He helped many people, had friends everywhere. You cannot really believe we will be able to fool them all.”

“For a short time we can.” Max came to the settee and sank to his haunches in front of her. Although his eyes were golden instead of blue, she was reminded of Philippe. Philippe had looked at people in such a way, as if he could see through all their fears and pretensions. “Celia,” Max said quietly, “It will not work without your cooperation. People will not believe he is Philippe if you are not convincing as his wife.”

“It would not work with my cooperation either,” Celia said. “I could not behave as if he were my husband. I could not regard that…that loathsome beast with any sort of wifely affection, and furthermore—”

“Celia.” Max took one of Celia’s hands, holding it firmly. “I rarely ask anyone for anything.” His voice was deep and mesmerizing. “I am not the kind of man who enjoys being obligated to others. But there is nothing I will not do to protect my family. Justin is my son every bit as much as Philippe was. In the past I made terrible mistakes that they both suffered for. As a boy Justin would never accept anyone’s help even when he needed it desperately. I will not fail him now. If Philippe were alive, I know he would ask you to help his brother. I am asking you in Philippe’s stead. Help Justin, not for his sake but mine.”

Celia swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away from him. “I do not want to,” she muttered.

“But you will?” Max prompted.

No wonder he was known as a persuasive man. He had a talent for putting things in a way that made it impossible to refuse. “Yes,” Celia said reluctantly. “Because you and Lysette have been kind to me. I owe it to both of you, and to Philippe.” She pulled away from him and stood up, finding that her knees were weak. “I am going back to the garçonnière to think in private,” she said.

Lysette came up to her and hugged her. “Thank you, Celia.”

Nodding briefly, Celia left the room.

Max came up behind Lysette and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her small head. Lysette covered his arms with hers and snuggled back against his chest. “Bien-aimé,” she whispered, “do you think it will work?”

He sighed against her red hair. “My sweet, ask me anything but that.”

An hour and a half later Celia came back into the house. The sounds of murmured conversation emanated from the dining room, and the scents of fish and cornmeal were in the air. She wondered how the Vallerands could sit down to dinner after what they had been through. Her own appetite was completely gone. Moodily she went to the double staircase and stood at the bottom, resting her hand on the balustrade.

She felt a pull from upstairs, a force that compelled her feet to move before she even realized she was climbing the stairs. She felt as if there were fine cords pulled taut inside her body. The palm of her hand was slick against the balustrade. Hot and cold shivers raced down her spine. Justin was waiting for her. He knew she was coming upstairs, she was certain of it.

She walked softly down the richly carpeted hallway, stopping at the open door of his room, her wide brown eyes focusing on the figure in the bed. Justin was sitting up, his bandaged face turned in her direction. She had not betrayed her presence by the slightest sound, but he was as aware of her as if he had seen her.