Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(66)

The two of them were left alone. “Now,” Justin said. “Why this show of outrage?”

Celia jumped up and strode to the window, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Isn’t it obvious? You know the reasons, you just want to gloat while I—”

“I’m not gloating. Come here and sit down.”

“I will not—”

“Come here,” he repeated firmly, “and sit down.” For a moment he thought she was going to refuse.

Reluctantly Celia sat a foot or two away from him. “What do you wish to say?” she asked sullenly.

“That Philippe cared for you. Enough to marry you. The fact that he had to make a difficult choice shouldn’t bruise your vanity. You should find it flattering that you were the one he finally chose.”

“My relationship with Philippe wasn’t what I thought it was. I thought he loved me completely, that there wasn’t room for another woman. There shouldn’t have been a choice. He shouldn’t have had to ask anyone for advice.” She said the word as if it were a profanity. “He should have known without question that the one he wanted was me.” Suddenly realizing how demanding and selfish she sounded, she hung her head, her hands twisting together in her lap. “After my mother died nothing was ever completely mine,” she muttered. “My father devoted himself to his practice, I spent my life taking care of the house and family. Then my sisters began attracting young men, they were called on and courted, a-and I was always overlooked, and one day I realized my youth was gone—”

Justin laughed, unable to stop himself.

Celia stiffened in outrage. “How dare you laugh. I knew I should not have told you any—”

He reached out and tangled his fingers in the curls at the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. “Your youth is not gone,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. His gaze traveled over her small face, and his voice softened. “In some ways you’re still a little girl.”

She decided he must be jeering at her. And yet she was paralyzed by his nearness, the warmth of his hand. “Do not mock me,” she managed to say.

“You would have been courted by anyone you showed the slightest interest in. But you wanted something special.” His fingers played lightly in her hair. “Philippe almost understood, didn’t he? But he couldn’t see into that last part of you, the part you keep hidden from everyone. I know exactly what you wanted from Philippe, ma petite, but you would never have had him all to yourself. Philippe was as devoted to his practice as your father was to his. He was not the kind to ignore the needs of his patients just because his wife wanted him at home. You would have had to share, and share generously. And you would have hated it. You never let him know that you felt that way, did you? Philippe married you because he thought you would be the perfect wife for a man of his profession…when the truth is you would have resented every moment he spent away from you.”

Celia lowered her head in shame, feeling exposed, as if all her sins and faults were there on her face for him to see. She thought of lying and telling him he was wrong, but she knew it would be useless. How had he been able to guess at her most private feelings? Was she that transparent to others or only to him? “That is a terrible thing to accuse me of,” she mumbled. “I would not have been so possessive and selfish…”

“It’s not terrible. Some men dream of being loved that way.”

“That girl did not love Philippe selfishly,” she said, and his hand dropped from her hair.

“No. She would have been happy with whatever he chose to give her.”

“What did she say to you when she thought you were Philippe?”

“That,” Justin said dryly, “is between her and Philippe.”

The discoveries about Philippe caused endless questions to turn through Celia’s mind that evening. She went to bed and fell into a troubled sleep, and the nightmare that sometimes haunted her came back. It was as vivid and terrifying as ever. She was leaning over the ship’s wooden rail, staring at corpses in the bloody water. Philippe was still alive, reaching up to her. But she could not help him—she could only watch in horror as he flailed and began to sink underneath the surface. Dominic Legare was behind her, his growling voice promising death, his hands reaching for her throat, choking off her screams. There was no one to help her, no place of safety, no chance of escape.

Celia woke and sat up with a gasp, finding the sheets twisted around her body. Her bedroom was quiet, dappled with shadows and moonlight. Unsteadily she wiped her tear-streaked face and took several long breaths. She tried to reason with herself. Philippe was dead, and she was safe from Dominic Legare. It was ridiculous to be afraid. Why did her own mind torture her with such images? Her wild heartbeat began to slow, and she lay down again, her teeth chattering. She could not help thinking of the first time she’d had the nightmare, and the way Justin had held her afterward. He’d been so strong and soothing…No, she told herself, don’t think about it. But the memory returned insistently.

She thought of how he had comforted her, and then had taken her in a fury of passion, possessing her body as if she had been created solely for his pleasure. Blushing with shame and arousal, she thought of his thighs straddling hers, his dark head bent over her br**sts. “Mon Dieu,” she whispered, and buried her face in the pillow, trying to go back to sleep.