Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(94)

“I am certain she will return soon,” Lysette said evenly.

Alexandre frowned. “I will go for Dr. Dassin,” he said. Lysette nodded to him, and he left with a purposeful stride.

Philippe’s face was drawn. “Is Celia in trouble?” he asked.

“Of course not…you are not to worry about anything, comprends? Bien, here is Noeline with some soup, and after you eat you will see Dr. Dassin and have a long rest.”

Philippe looked at her with the shadow of his old smile. “You almost make me believe everything will be all right, Belle-mère.”

“But it will,” she said, so reassuringly that she almost believed it herself.

“No. Justin is at Legare’s mercy,” Philippe said huskily. “He traded his life for mine.”

“Justin is very resourceful. And he has lived among men like Legare for many years. He knows how to take care of himself—and how to get what he wants. Mon Dieu, he managed to rescue Celia from the pirate island and bring her here safely.” She handed him the spoon. “Try some of the gumbo,” she urged, and he began to eat slowly. The spoon shook in his hand. Lysette wanted to take the utensil and feed him as if he were a child, but she did not offer, knowing he would rather do it himself.

“Alex said that Justin has been masquerading as me,” he said after the first few mouthfuls.

“Yes. We thought you were dead. When Justin was brought here wounded, we thought it was the best way to protect him.”

“Badly wounded?”

“Oui. At first we thought he might die. But Celia…” Lysette hesitated, wondering how much he should be told. “Celia nursed him back to health.”

Philippe put down his spoon. “And while he took my place she has been posing as his wife,” he said quietly.

Lysette nodded.

“He did not try to take advantage of her? Celia is an innocent. She would not understand someone like him, his dark side—”

“No, I believe she…understands him very well,” Lysette said uncomfortably.

“Really.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at Lysette in a puzzled way. “I would have thought someone like Celia would hate him, be frightened by him.”

“No, that was not the case. Your brother…relied on her.”

“Relied on her for what? Justin has always had contempt for soft, gentle creatures of her kind.”

“Justin has changed, Philippe. He has made peace with your father. I believe has has come to value many of the things he once discarded so lightly. His cavalier attitude and wildness seem to have been replaced by a new caring…and Celia has been—” She stopped and looked at him helplessly.

All at once Philippe understood. His blue eyes held a stricken look as he read her thoughts. “My God. You’re trying to tell me there is something between Justin and my wife. That is why she is gone now, isn’t it?” He closed his eyes. “No, don’t answer. Don’t tell me any more. Not right now.”

He seemed utterly lost and alone. Lysette wanted to comfort him, but she knew it was beyond her ability. “Philippe,” she said hesitantly, touching his sleeve, “shall I send for Briony?”

The name seemed to pierce through his numbness. “Briony,” he repeated gloomily. “She wouldn’t come if you did send for her. Aside from you, she’s the one person in the world I’ve never had to fear being hurt by. I should have worshipped the ground beneath her feet. And instead I hurt her.”

“Philippe, Briony understood why you had to choose someone else—”

“Yes, Briony understood,” he said bitterly. “In my vanity and self-importance I felt she wasn’t good enough for me. She wasn’t educated or refined, she wasn’t born a lady.” He focused on a distant memory, his lips suddenly touched with a smile. “She’ll never be able to speak a word of French. I tried to teach her, and it was hopeless. If I had married her, everyone in New Orleans would have laughed and gossiped.”

“Perhaps for a little while,” Lysette conceded. “Would that have mattered?”

“I thought it would.” Philippe shook his head listlessly. “What I did to her was unforgivable. Now it is too late.”

“Is it?”

“There is no reparation I can offer her, nothing but shallow, useless apologies that she’ll only throw back in my—”

“Shall I send for her?” Lysette interrupted gently.

Philippe gripped her hand and stared into her hazel eyes. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Justin was awakened by the shock of cold water thrown on his face. Groaning faintly, he lifted his chin from his chest. His arms were fastened high above his head—it was useless to even try to tug at them. Gradually consciousness came to him. He had been beaten on the journey to Crow’s Island. He was fairly certain one of his newly-mended ribs had been refractured. His entire body ached.

“Open your eyes, Captain Griffin.” Dominic Legare stood in front of him with a feral smile. He smoked a thin cigar, exhaling through his narrow nostrils.

Justin discovered that his hands were fastened with iron manacles and attached to a hook on the ceiling. The chains had been pulled tight so that his heels just grazed the earthen floor. His shirt hung off him in tatters. He was somewhere underneath the fort on the island in a large cell that was sometimes used to hold unruly slaves. The room was one of many flanking a wide corridor that gave access to other passageways and rooms in an underground labyrinth of wood, stone, and shell-studded caves.