Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(84)

Max followed his gaze. “You care for her, don’t you?”

“And you disapprove.”

“No, I do not disapprove,” Max replied. “I would have put a stop to any liaison if I thought you were taking advantage of her. But that does not seem to be the case. From the moment you arrived there was…an attachment between the two of you that I did not feel I had the right to break.” Max paused and added wryly, “I have been surprised by your attraction to Celia.”

“She is a beautiful woman,” Justin pointed out.

“Yes, but hers is a quiet beauty. And her inner qualities…intelligence, kindness, dignity…no, she is not the kind I would have expected you to show an interest in.”

“It’s more than an interest,” Justin muttered.

“So you may have intentions toward her. But what if Philippe is alive?”

Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground in frustration. “I wouldn’t take her away from him. And I think that ultimately she has too much honor to leave him.”

“It is possible that Legare’s claim is just a ruse—”

“Possible, but I don’t think so. I think Philippe is alive.” Justin’s voice was hard and determined. “Jack Risk has gone to the island to find out for certain. He’ll come here tomorrow night with the news. If they do have Philippe, I swear he’ll be brought back safely. I’ll stake my life on it.”

“I don’t want you to stake your life on anything,” Max said swiftly, and stopped him. They faced each other. “We will find another way, mon fils.” The golden eyes were filled with anxiety and love. “Your life is as precious to me as Philippe’s.”

Justin was momentarily taken aback. His father had always been so aloof and self-controlled. The display of emotion made him uncomfortable, elicited a yearning he had not felt since he was a boy. “There is no other way—” he began, and Max interrupted, more overwrought than Justin had ever seen him.

“Don’t you think I understand? You are like me, Justin, more like me than Philippe. For years you’ve been driven by anger and guilt, just as I was. You’ve made the same mistakes. It wasn’t your fault that some things were easier for Philippe than you. It wasn’t your fault that I didn’t give you the guidance you needed. I was so absorbed in my own grief and bitterness that I turned my back on my sons. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

“It wasn’t your fault that I turned out a blackguard,” Justin muttered. “I’m not like you, I’m like…her.”

“Your mother?” Max clarified, his thoughts turning to that distant time when he had been married to Corinne. “She was selfish and scheming, Justin. But she wasn’t evil. Is that what you thought, that you were fated to be a scoundrel because you were her son? You have not one drop more of her blood in you than Philippe did.”

“Yes, but he…” Justin shifted his weight to his good leg and averted his gaze from Max’s. “He was the good one.”

“That is nonsense,” Max said shortly.

“Is it? All I know is that Philippe was everything I wanted to be but couldn’t.” Justin felt heat creep up from his collar as he struggled to express what he had never put into words before. How strange, that the compulsion to make his father understand this one thing was almost as strong as the need he’d felt to tell Celia he loved her. He’d always been secretive about his feelings, afraid they would be used against him. Now it seemed confessions were being dragged from him, and he was helpless to stop it. “For a long time I didn’t understand why she was gone,” he said, “and why you had turned so cold and bitter. I thought that all of it was my fault, that if I had been good, if I had been like Philippe, she wouldn’t have been unfaithful to you. She would have cared about her family. She would still be alive and you—”

“No,” Max said roughly. “It had nothing to do with you. Look at me!” There was a vibrant note of command in his voice that was impossible to disobey. “No matter what you did, no matter how you behaved, you couldn’t have changed anything. It was not your fault. I’ll make you believe that if I have to say it a thousand times.”

The winter breeze wafted over them gently, filling the air with the rustle of leaves and the scent of cypress. Justin stared at his father without blinking. He felt a curious sensation of relief, and a betraying sting in his nose and eyes. Oh God. Had his self-control become so corroded? He shook off the feeling and summoned a crooked smile. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I believe you.”

“Then you know you don’t have to redeem yourself by giving your life for Philippe’s.”

“My motives aren’t noble. This is a matter of practicality. I’m the only one who can get Philippe out of this safely. You could comb through the civil authorities and the navy, and you wouldn’t find a man who knows one-tenth of what I do about Dominic Legare and the island.”

“And if I gain Philippe and lose you?” Max asked.

Suddenly Justin grinned. “You’d give a damn?”

Max scowled and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, like a wolf with an annoying cub. The gesture coming from a man any less than Max’s size would have been ridiculous. “Yes, I’d give a damn! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”