Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(64)

Justin watched her thoughtfully, pondering the discovery that Philippe had been in love with two women, suffered doubt and indecision, and taken a girl’s innocence because he had wanted her too much to heed the warnings of his conscience. My God, he thought, we may have had more in common than I thought, mon frère.

He felt a tingling on the back of his neck and turned to find Celia standing close by. She was glaring at him. Even in the gathering darkness he could see that she was flushed.

“Eavesdropping?” he asked. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing. But I saw her kissing you,” Celia said with suppressed rage. “I saw her hands wandering all over you, and the way you merely sat there, you randy goat!”

He gestured to his cane. “I could hardly jump up and run away.”

“Do not offer me any ridiculous excuses! Do you think anyone is going to believe you are Philippe when you behave in such a manner? Philippe would never have dallied with a servant girl, and—don’t you dare smirk at me!”

“My, my, how shrewish you are tonight,” Justin said silkily. “Almost as if you were…ah, jealous?”

She looked as though she’d swallowed a bug. The struggle to control herself was plain on her face. Finally, in an icy voice she said, “I never suspected your conceit was so immense.”

He had never been as pleased by anything as he was by her jealousy. “You didn’t like to see her kissing me. Admit it.”

“I admit to being surprised that you had the gall to try to seduce her when we are trying to convince everyone that you are Philippe.”

“And Philippe would never flirt or dally with a poor Irish seamstress.”

“No, he had more honor and decency in his little finger than you have in—”

“He had honor,” Justin conceded. “He had decency. He also had an affair with the wench.”

Celia’s jaw dropped. “What?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Justin felt a tigerish enjoyment in telling her. “An affair. I don’t know when it began, but it lasted until the day he left for France to marry you. I was not trying to seduce her. She threw herself at me, thinking I was Philippe.”

“I will not listen to such lies! Oh, how low and contemptible you are, you—”

“I overestimated Philippe,” Justin mused. “It seems he wasn’t a saint after all, but a red-blooded man with flaws like everyone else.”

Celia wanted to reach out and throttle him. “You are wrong, absolument! Don’t you think that if Philippe had done something like that Lysette and Maximilien would have known?”

“Aye, that’s precisely what I think,” Justin said, becoming more serious. “Which is why you and I are going to find Lysette right now.”

“I will not go anywhere with you!”

“Then don’t,” he said indifferently. “If you’re afraid of the truth…” Shrugging, he reached for his cane and pulled himself to his feet. “But I intend to have some answers.”

Muttering in French, Celia followed him to the main house, her spine rigid with outrage. Fleetingly, the worry crossed her mind that she was every bit as upset over seeing Justin in an embrace with Briony as she was with the suspicion that Philippe had had an affair with her.

Celia had to be honest with herself. When she had seen the two dark heads together silhouetted against the violet sky, she had felt betrayed. No, it was wrong, she could not feel this way! She had no claim on Justin, nor did she want one. He was an outcast, an outlaw. In the past he had done things that were beneath contempt. If she allowed herself to feel anything for him, it could be nothing more than pity.

They reached the house, Celia noticing that Justin’s uneven gait was becoming smoother with each day that passed. How quickly he healed. It would not be long before he was well enough to leave. And then what? Maximilien had refused to discuss any plans for Justin’s departure from New Orleans, or what explanations they would give after he was gone. “It is enough that you concern yourself with the day-to-day worries of the present,” he had said when Celia had persisted in questioning him. “Leave the future to me.” There was no way of arguing against such arrogant self-confidence.

Brusquely Justin told Noeline to call Lysette to the parlor. He lowered himself onto the settee while Celia seated herself as far away from him as possible. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced at him. Although he was not smiling, the dimple had appeared in his cheek, and there was a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Why do you look so pleased?” she burst out. “You are hoping my husband was unfaithful to me. You would like to see me humiliated by his indiscretions, and you—”

“Attends,” Justin drawled, holding up his hand in a silencing motion. “If Philippe did lay with the girl—and I’d bet my good leg that he did—it was before he married you. He wasn’t your husband, and therefore he wasn’t unfaithful to you.”

“He made promises to me,” Celia said in a low, intense voice. “I waited for three years for him to come for me.”

He gave her a mocking smile. “And you expected him to be celibate all that time?”

“Naturellement! He loved me. He could have waited for me!”

“You know less about men than I thought,” Justin said, shaking his head. “Philippe was a young man in his prime, not a priest. And for that matter, I would suppose that even priests have natural physical urges. A man—or woman—can’t deny certain basic needs—”