Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(55)

“Oui, Maman,” both little girls said obediently.

Celia held Rafael’s chubby form in her arms and watched Lysette apprehensively. She wished it had not been necessary to tell the children who Justin really was, but Lysette had been adamant.

“They are old enough to see that he is not Philippe,” she had said. “And they would know we were lying to them. Telling them the truth will increase the danger for Justin, but I must think of my children first. They have never had reason to doubt anything Max and I have told them. They are good girls, and they will obey me if I tell them to be quiet.”

Celia hoped fervently that Lysette was right. She smiled at the two girls as they left the room, and moved to give the baby to Lysette. Rafe, who had been fidgeting, settled contentedly on his mother’s shoulder.

“They did not seem shocked by what you told them,” Celia remarked.

“Oh, children take everything in stride,” Lysette said with a soft laugh. “It is adults who have difficulty accepting the vagaries of life.”

Celia paced to the window and back to her chair. “It has been very quiet upstairs.”

“Yes,” Lysette replied, “Justin seems to be making fewer protests with Noeline than he did with me. Of course, she is more accomplished with the scissors than I am with the razor.”

In spite of her tension, Celia smiled, remembering the yelps and protests that had filled the whole upstairs while Lysette was shaving off Justin’s beard. “Did you cut him very badly?” she asked.

“Two tiny nicks,” Lysette boasted. “Not bad at all. And taking off the beard has made such a difference in his appearance. One could almost mistake him for a gentleman. Justin’s poor face is remarkably untouched considering all the battles and hardships he has survived.” She smiled whimsically. “He looked at himself in the glass and complained that no one would think him a very fearsome pirate now.”

“Good,” Celia said in a heartfelt tone.

“He’ll feel bereft indeed after Noeline finishes shearing off all that hair.”

Celia nodded and took a deep breath, expelling it in a shaky sigh. “I wish this morning were over,” she said. “I wish Lieutenant Benedict had already come and gone.”

Lysette regarded her with a perceptive stare. “You are worried for Justin, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you?” Celia asked, flustered.

“Oui, naturellement. He is my stepson. I knew him when he was a boy, before he left home. And I do care about him. But…I learned long ago that he does not wish to form attachments to people or places. It is wise never to expect anything from him. I think that is why he chose the sea. On a ship he is constantly moving.”

“But why become a pirate?”

“Oh, I suppose it was the worst thing he could think of. It was the way he could finally prove that he was as wicked as everyone had always suspected. He had a boy’s natural instinct to misbehave, always running away from home, going where he should not, stirring up trouble. But the gossips made more of his escapades than they should have. And the fact that his twin was so quiet and responsible only made Justin’s behavior seem worse. I thought that much of his rebellion had to do with Max, that if Justin knew he had his father’s love and approval—” Lysette shrugged. “Perhaps it came too late. Even after they came to an understanding, it wasn’t enough for Justin. Max was only part of the puzzle. Justin still needed something no one was able to give him. I’ve come to believe that no one ever will.”

Their attention was caught by the sudden appearance of Noeline in the doorway. The kerchief on her head was askew, and there was a look of exasperation on her usually dignified features. “Ah ain’ never gonna have a go-roun’ like dat again,” she announced.

“It is finished?” Lysette asked.

“Oui, madame.”

“Noeline, thank you. I know that Monsieur Justin has done his best to try your patience. Where is he now?”

“In de pahlor.”

“Downstairs? How did he come all that way?”

“He is walking wid de cane dat Monsieur Victor use to carry.” Victor Vallerand had been Maximilien’s father.

“His leg,” Celia said in concern. “He may have started the bleeding again. Oh, I knew he would push, I knew…” She rushed out to the second of the double parlors that bordered the entrance hall.

She saw a tall figure standing with a cane by the window. He was dressed in a blue coat and buff-colored breeches. His thick, waving black hair was cut close to his head, and the face that turned toward her was clean and starkly handsome. Celia felt a sickening wave of dizziness. She drew closer to him, her legs trembling beneath her. His blue eyes smiled at her, and the corner of his mouth quirked disarmingly. She saw the hint of a dimple in his lean cheek. His deep voice was tinged with amusement. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

It could have been Philippe. The resemblance was so perfect that she gave a wrenching cry. What she most wanted, what she had ached for, was there in front of her—and it was an illusion, an illusion she couldn’t bear. She turned to escape, but he snatched her wrist before she moved out of reach. He kept hold even though her frantic tugging pained him. “Celia, no. Look at me!”

“I can’t,” she said, bursting into tears. “I can’t bear to see…Philippe’s face…”