Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(54)

Celia swallowed back tears of relief. She had not known until this moment how afraid she had been that his sight might not come back. “Oh, I’m so glad…I thought…I was afraid…” She stopped in confusion, intensely aware of his riveting blue eyes.

He had not taken his gaze from her face. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”

Her heart began a heavy thudding rhythm. She should get up from the bed and put some distance between them. But she continued to sit there, caught in the grip of a strange confusion. She bent her head, her gaze falling on his large hand as it rested close to her hip. He was not touching her but she felt him staring at her.

“Y-your father told me that Lieutenant Benedict will see you tomorrow,” she stammered. “You will have to make him believe you are Philippe.”

“You’ll have to help me.”

“I…I don’t think it will be possible. I don’t think we will be able to convince anyone…”

Justin waited patiently for her to finish.

“I cannot pretend that you are my husband,” she whispered.

Justin wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her soft skin under hands, her small body next to his. But it was not his right, and here in these civilized surroundings his usual techniques of force and conquest could not be used. Here he could not take something—or someone—just because he wanted to.

“I understand,” he said slowly. He had never been good at situations such as this. He had never taken an interest in analyzing feelings, his own or anyone else’s. He judged others by their actions and what his own instincts told him. “It’s repellent, isn’t it,” he continued, “to make a mockery of Philippe’s death this way. If I don’t manage to betray my identity, you’ll have to discard your black gowns. I’ve robbed you of the mourning period you’re entitled to. You’ll have to lie to everyone you know and convince them of your joy at having your husband returned to you. And you’ll have to pretend that the man you hate the most is the man you love. You’re wrong if you think I’ll get any enjoyment out of it. I’m aware of all the offensive aspects of this charade. If it weren’t necessary to save my own skin I’d have refused to do it. God knows it won’t be easy to play Philippe. I’m a proficient liar, but how to portray all that honesty and decency…Bien sûr, it taxes even my fertile imagination.”

“You mock Philippe for his goodness,” she accused in a low voice.

“Not at all. When I was younger, yes.” He smiled briefly. “It infuriated me, the way he could walk away from an insult or a challenge. I was never able to resist a fight even when I knew it was senseless.”

She raised her luminous eyes to his. “Why did Philippe never mention you to me?”

Justin gave a sardonic laugh. “I’m hardly someone to boast of, ma petite.”

“Philippe should have told me. Having a pirate for a brother is not something that can be kept a secret for long!”

“Oh, Creoles can keep secrets for generations, unlike the French. Perhaps it’s the Spanish influence. Spaniards are very good at intrigue. Philippe may have thought—and rightly so—that it would be years before you found out about me.” He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes with a grimace. His face was lined with strain.

“You should sleep now,” she said softly. “You must be well-rested for tomorrow.”

“I’m nothing if not well-rested,” he returned, his eyes still closed. “It’s all I’ve done since I was brought here.”

Celia stood up from the bed. “I will tell Maximilien and Lysette that you have recovered your sight. They will be very happy.”

“More likely relieved.”

“Yes, that too.” She leaned over him to adjust the pillows behind him, as she had hundreds of times before. But this time was different…this time his eyes flickered open to watch her, and the moment was startlingly intimate. She pulled back quickly. Everything was different now that he could see. The helplessness was gone. His wounds would heal, and he would be as he was before. And there was no question that he would leave as soon as he was able, never to be seen by his family again.

“You always smell like flowers,” he murmured. “It’s like…violets, or…”

“Lavender.”

“Lavender,” he repeated. He turned his head and fell asleep, clearly exhausted. Celia watched him for a long time. Why had Justin turned out so different than Philippe? She had tried to find out the answer, but no one would explain it to her. There had to be a reason; something had to account for one brother being the pride of the family and the other a disgrace. She wondered if Justin and Philippe had hated each other. Wouldn’t Philippe have told her of the existence of his twin had he felt any sort of affection for Justin?

“Oh, Philippe,” she whispered to herself, “would you have wanted me to help him? Or would you turn in your grave if you knew?”

Lysette smoothed her daughter’s red hair, looking seriously into the small faces so like her own. Angeline was perched on her lap, while Evelina sat on the arm of her chair. “So you see, mes anges, it is like a game. We are going to pretend that he is Uncle Philippe, just for a little while. And we must not tell anyone about our game.”