Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(82)

“I saw Legare tonight,” Justin said, and smiled grimly as Risk stared at him in astonishment. He proceeded to describe the encounter in detail. When he reached the part about Legare’s offer for an exchange, Risk exploded.

“Aye, he’d bloody well like that! He’d like to take ye captive without givin’ ye the right to die with a sword in yer hand. An’ once Legare has ye at his mercy, ye’ll be trussed, gutted, an’ carved like a roasted fowl till ye’re beggin’ for death.”

“If Philippe is still alive, I have no choice.”

Risk shook his head. “Ye’re mad, Griffin. If he has Philippe, it’s not likely there’s much o’ the poor divvil left! ’Sides, I’d wager a fortune yer brother is at the bottom o’ the sea, not in Legare’s fort. An’ what about that pretty little hen waitin’ for ye at the plantation? In all the time I’ve knowed ye, I’ve nivver seen ye want anything like ye want her.”

Justin glowered at him. “Are you suggesting I should let my brother rot on the island so I can keep his wife?”

Risk shrugged noncommittally.

Justin’s first impulse was to blister Risk’s ears with a few choice words, but he checked himself, realizing that Risk’s perspective was the same as that of the other men he’d roved with for the past years. Take what you wanted, no matter what it did to anyone else. He himself had believed in it for a long time. But he couldn’t live like that anymore. And he couldn’t live with himself if he turned his back on his brother, his twin, even though it meant losing Celia to Philippe.

“I have to know if my brother is alive,” Justin said. “Will you go to Isle au Corneille?”

“Aye. I’ll go to the damn island straightaway. An’ I’ll see if there’s any truth to Legare’s claim. I’ll back ye against Legare, Griffin.”

“Good.”

“But only if ye promise that afterward ye’ll be takin’ yer place at the helm o’ the Vagabond once more, an’—”

“No,” Justin said quietly. “I told you before. I’m through with it. I gave you the ship—”

“I don’t want the bloody ship!” Risk exploded. “Don’t ye see, the men won’t follow me! I’m not fit to lead ’em, an’ I’ve no wish to be! I can’t command. It’s either follow someone or give up me rovin’ for good!”

Justin stared at him through narrowed eyes. “I can’t do this anymore, Jack. Did you think it would go on forever?”

“Aye!” Risk burst out angrily.

Justin shook his head. “Don’t look so betrayed. You’ve profited from our ventures. Why not relax and enjoy some of the wealth you’ve gained? You could have an easy life now—”

“’Tis not a different life I’m wantin’. I want the same one. The same as it’s always been!”

“That’s not possible,” Justin said heartlessly. “We’ve both changed.”

“Nay, I’m the same,” Risk muttered. “’Tis only you that’s changed.”

Once Celia’s terror subsided she fell into an exhausted sleep, and the dream of Philippe came back. He was drowning, and she was reaching for him, and all the while Legare lurked behind her, his malevolent voice in her ear. She woke with a start.

What if Philippe were still alive? She couldn’t begin to imagine the suffering he had gone through. Poor Philippe—what if they had tortured him, starved him? He would need someone to take care of him and make him well again.

She was frightened, not only for Philippe but for herself and Justin. Legare had seemed so confident and powerful tonight, so certain that he would get exactly what he wanted. The thought of Justin at Legare’s mercy was too horrifying to contemplate. She would do anything to keep that from happening.

A swarm of worries plagued her. If somehow Philippe did come back, she would still be his wife. She would owe him her loyalty and support for the rest of her life. She would lose Justin. Celia shied away from the thought. She had cared for Philippe deeply, but there had been none of the wildness and magic, the tenderness and consuming need that Justin freed in her. Bon Dieu, how could she bear loving him and never having him, being kept apart from him forever?

She twisted in the tangled sheets, her fingers plucking fitfully at the soft linen. It was not long before dawn. When would Justin come home? And if Risk returned with the news that Legare’s claim was true, what would Justin plan to do?

The sound of uneven footsteps slipped into her awareness. Celia sat bolt upright. Closer the broken tread came, up the stairs, to the door. Her heart thundered wildly. Justin had come back to her. Leaping out of bed, she went to the door and threw herself into his arms just as he reached the threshold. He caught her with a quiet growl, lifting her until her feet left the floor. Her fingers combed through his hair while her lips moved frantically over his throat. Locked in passion and desperation, they relinquished themselves to a desire that left no breath for words.

Justin felt the warmth of Celia’s body through her thin nightgown. He pulled the garment up in huge handfuls until her h*ps and bottom were bare. His hand clasped over the soft roundness, pulling her loins against his. She squirmed against him, searching for a balance she could not find, and kissed his chin, his rough jaw, his mouth. Responding violently, he wedged her lips open, pulling her tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Through the layer of his breeches she felt the straining length of his arousal fitted tightly against her aching softness.