Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(81)

Celia stared at Legare like a frightened rabbit. Justin silently contemplated various means of dismembering the bastard. He did not believe a word Legare was saying. “Go on,” he said flatly.

Legare resumed the story with relish. “Having decided he might be of use in the future, I cause him to be brought back to Crow’s Island and imprisoned. Being a thoroughbred of hardy stock, the captive survives his wounds. At this point I must confess that my preoccupation with many important matters—most especially finding my brother’s murderer—causes me to forget about my caged Vallerand for some months. Until an astonishing report is brought to my attention. I accompany one of my trusted gaolers down to the maze at the bottom of the fort. To my genuine surprise I am facing the image of my bearded nemesis, Captain Griffin! After some persuasion, the prisoner reluctantly admits that he has a twin brother. But then I learn of rumors from New Orleans that Philippe Vallerand has returned to his family from the jaws of death. Knowing that said Vallerand is still enjoying my hospitality, I decide to pay you a visit. Amusing tale, is it not?”

Justin looked at him, his face turning white underneath its tan, his eyes a blaze of fiery blue.

Two great tears rolled down Celia’s cheeks. “Philippe is alive?” she asked brokenly.

Legare gave her a jagged smile. “Why so distraught, madame? You seem to do well enough with either brother.”

Justin gripped Celia’s face in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “He’s lying,” he said. “Philippe is dead.”

Legare smiled. “Can you be certain?”

“What do you want?” Justin snapped.

“Most of your men have joined me, Griffin. There is nothing left of your impudent little organization. Being an intelligent man, you are aware that it would be useless to run from me. You can either wait for me to settle matters between us at the time I choose, or you can try to gain something out of it. I would be willing to make an exchange. You for your brother.”

Justin did not even notice the pain of Celia’s stabbing nails. “Even if I believed you had him, what makes you think I’d risk my own life for my brother’s?”

“On the island you agreed to fight to the death for his wife,” Legare observed, not needing to voice the conclusion that if Justin had risked his life for Celia, he would do the same for his own brother.

Justin kept all emotion from his face. “I want proof that you have Philippe,” he said. “After that we’ll talk about arrangements.”

“If you’re playing for time—”

“Nay.” Justin gestured to the crowded ballroom nearby, his mouth twisting. “It should be obvious that time is something I can ill afford. And you won’t waste it if you want me in your custody rather than the authorities’.”

“You desire proof? Send your man Risk—or anyone else of your choosing—to the island. We’ll allow him to see your brother and leave unharmed.” Legare looked from Justin’s face to Celia’s and bowed perfunctorily. “I’ll take my leave now. My compliments, madame. Bon soir.”

Justin watched Legare stroll casually out the front door. His blue eyes did not swerve from the predatory form until Legare was out of sight. Then he glanced at Celia, whose silent tears had stopped as abruptly as they had started. “He is trying to trick you,” she whispered. “Don’t let him—”

“Shhh…” Justin took her head in his hands, tilting her face up to his. He would have given his life in that moment if it would have taken away the horror in her eyes. He felt all his intense love for her well up from inside him, flowing from his body to hers, forcing out the coldness and the fear. Her eyelids fluttered down, and she gripped his wrists. The unexpected strength of her hold on him was electrifying. He didn’t know how long they stood there, didn’t care who might see them, only sank deeper into the warm closeness until he was rudely torn away by the sound of Maximilien’s grating voice.

“You found Legare, didn’t you? What did he say? Where is he?”

“Father.” Justin let go of Celia and faced Max. “He’s gone,” he said in a low voice. He did not hedge. There was no time to be anything but blunt. “He claims that Philippe is still alive. That Philippe is his captive.”

“What?” The golden eyes widened.

“Don’t do anything yet. If the naval or civil authorities become involved, Philippe will pay with his life. I have to find Risk. Celia will explain. Take care of her.”

Max swore quietly and tried to stop his son, but Justin left without another word.

Justin went on horseback to the cabin at the lake, where Risk was staying. During the journey a fine mist saturated his hair and his clothes, but he didn’t notice the damp or the cold. The cabin was dark. Opening the front door, he walked in heedlessly. The click of a revolver greeted him.

“It’s me,” he said.

Risk lit a small lamp and regarded him through the yellow-white glow, his one eye filled with a catlike gleam. He set down the revolver. “What’s happened?”

“Any word from Aug?” Justin asked brusquely.

“None.”

“Legare’s taken him into the fold?”

“’Twould seem so.” Frowning, Risk waited for Justin to explain why he was there.