Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(80)

Celia looked at the old doctor warily as she washed her hands. Reluctantly she complied with his request, following Madame Duquesne outside the room and closing the door. Dassin opened his medical bag and rifled through it idly. “I was foolish enough to hope that I would indeed find Philippe Vallerand here tonight,” he said in his rusty voice. “But I am not like the crowd of fools downstairs who have not seen through your ruse. You and Philippe were born into my hands. I have never had difficulty in telling the two of you apart.”

“Congratulations,” Justin said sardonically.

“Your brother was a healer. It was his love and calling. You, however—” The doctor broke off and gave a mirthless laugh. “I should have expected that you would outlive him. Bad blood. In your case it came to fruition, eh?”

“Evidently.”

“After your mother’s death I found it interesting to observe how the years of neglect caused Philippe to strive for better things, while you became nothing but a callous bully. Philippe attempted many times to convince me of your latent virtues, although I was always skeptical.”

“Are you going to keep quiet about my identity?” Justin asked impatiently, seeing no reason to dance around the question.

“Oui. But only for Philippe’s sake. I believe he would have preferred it.”

Justin went to the door. “It is fortunate for me that Philippe was well-loved by so many people.” With that, he left to find Celia.

She was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. “Does he know?” she asked.

“I’m beginning to wonder who doesn’t.”

“Will Dassin keep our secret?”

“He said he would. For Philippe’s sake.” Justin scowled and raked his hands through his hair.

“What is wrong? What did he say to you?”

Justin looked at her with narrowed blue eyes. “It’s not important.”

She studied him for a moment. In spite of his blank façade, she sensed the bleakness he felt, the guilt and hopelessness. “He reminded you of the past, didn’t he?” she asked softly. “But the past doesn’t matter anymore.” She took his arm and tugged him to a secluded corner. Standing on her toes, she wrapped her arms around him and brushed a kiss on his lean cheek. He and Philippe had been deserted by their mother and then neglected by their embittered father. How could a child not rebel in such circumstances? Being the stronger-willed of the two, Justin had been more in need of discipline and attention than Philippe, and had suffered more from its absence. “Everything is different now. Nothing you do will make me stop loving you or believing in you, nothing—”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth urgent. She pressed herself against him while he caught at her lips with softly biting kisses. “I love you,” he said raggedly, pressing his forehead against hers. “God, I hate this feeling of having so much to lose. If I could have you for the rest of my life, I’d never ask for anything else.”

“Justin,” she said weakly, and with a groan he let go of her before his desire for her flared out of control. They stared at each other with frustrated love and need.

Justin sighed tautly. “We should go downstairs. By now Father probably has Bayonne held at swordpoint. God knows, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything this night has in store for us.”

Reluctantly Celia nodded and took his proffered arm, allowing him to lead her down the curved walnut stairway. As they reached the central section of the house with its twenty-five-foot ceiling and large chandelier, Celia felt a warning chill that echoed what she had felt in the ballroom. She knew Legare was near, even before she saw him standing at the figured bronze clock which had been placed on a wooden lacquered table. It was a minute or two past midnight. Justin’s arm turned to steel beneath Celia’s fingertips. He stared at Legare’s sharp-featured face.

Legare was the first to speak. “Dr. Vallerand.” He drew out the name with cool enjoyment. His uneven teeth showed in a smile. “I have been looking for you.”

Chapter 11

Justin stared at Legare without expression. “Antoine Bayonne, isn’t it?”

Celia was vaguely aware of people crossing through the hall, music, dancing, and the laughter of the guests. All of them were unaware that the two most wanted buccaneers in the Gulf were holding a casual conversation in their midst. She stared at Legare while images flashed before her…the deck of the ship, covered with bodies…Philippe’s blood-soaked back…Andre’s bloated face…

“Go, Celia,” Justin said quietly, prying her hand from his arm. “It’s all right. Go to Maximilien.”

Her fingers dug into his arm more tightly. She clung to him as if he were a lifeline, and she stared at Legare with dilated brown eyes. She couldn’t have moved had she wanted to. Justin gave up trying to coax her away and turned his attention back to Legare. “You’ve taken a great risk,” he said. “I could have you arrested on the spot.”

“You would be arrested as well. You would hang as surely as I.”

“I wouldn’t mind so long as you went first.”

“Before you make any decisions, you should listen to what I have to say. I have a story to tell you, Dr. Vallerand. It begins on the deck of a captured ship overrun with buccaneers. The heroine of this tale is a lovely blond woman”—Legare smiled at Celia—“who attempts to bargain for her own life and her husband’s. She alerts us to the possibility that there is a Vallerand aboard. The name, of course, is a familiar one with all its connotations of privilege and power. Her husband is a doctor, a claim which intrigues my men and me. When he is not found among our captives, our curiosity prompts us to fish among the bodies that have been cast off the ship. The elusive Vallerand is found. Lo and behold, he is still alive.” Legare paused, observing the effect of his words.