Justin went to the library and found his father sitting before the fire. The yellow glow turned Max’s hard face into a mask of bronze and gold.
“Philippe’s alive,” Justin said. “Jack confirmed it.”
Max inhaled sharply. “Is he all right?”
Justin’s gaze was bleak. “Considering that he’s been Legare’s prisoner all this time, probably not.”
“I’ll go to Commander Matthews now. God willing, he’ll agree to your plan.”
“Be persuasive, Father.”
“Of course,” Max said matter-of-factly, and left the library.
Justin wandered to the parlor where Celia sat with Angeline. He paused at the side of the doorway and watched unnoticed while the little girl pointed her chubby finger at one of Celia’s sketches. “…the princess went in there,” she was saying to Celia, who lifted her blond brows questioningly.
“Into the dragon’s cave?”
“Oui, to find the king’s stolen treasure!”
Celia’s pencil moved busily at the side of the page, doing a quick line drawing. “Yes, but then the dragon returned, and he found her in his cave! What did the princess do?”
“She…” Angeline frowned thoughtfully. “She made a pet of him!”
“Oh, but he was a very mean dragon.”
“Non, it is only that he was very sad.”
Celia smiled and kissed the top of Angeline’s head. “Poor dragon,” she murmured.
“Yes, poor sad dragon…”
A clutching pain began in Justin’s chest as they continued the story. He had never seen Celia so tender and maternal. The extent of what he was about to lose was suddenly made clear, and it shook him badly. He wanted to give her children, he wanted a family with her, the kind of life he had never even been able to dream of before.
The story of the sad dragon was concluded, and Celia looked up to find his blue eyes on her. She shifted Angeline from her lap. “Darling,” she said to the little girl, and handed her the sketch, “why don’t you go see if your maman is finished with Rafe now?”
“I want to do another one.”
“After dinner, I promise.”
Giving Justin a chiding look as if she knew precisely why storytime had ended so abruptly, Angeline left the room with dragging feet.
Celia stared at his unreadable face. She wished he would come sit by her, but he remained standing, preserving the distance between them. “I know that you and Maximilien are planning something,” she said. “I saw the two of you walking together yesterday morning. What are you going to do?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“But of course I do, I…” Celia paused as she saw how empty his gaze was. “Justin, why are you looking at me that way? What is going to happen?”
“Philippe is coming back. You’re his wife. After he’s returned here safely I’ll be gone.”
Her brow wrinkled anxiously. “Yes, and I will be going with you.”
“No.”
“No? Justin, you don’t mean that you would leave me here—”
“That’s exactly what I mean. When Philippe returns he’ll need you to be his wife and take care of him—”
“Yes, I want to help him. But I cannot be his wife. I am going to give him his freedom. He and Briony love each other, and I belong with you.”
“You’re married to him, Celia.”
She wanted to go to him, but her knees were too weak. “After all the things you told me, and the promises you made, you cannot try to tell me that you don’t—”
“A man will say many things when he wants to take a woman to bed.”
Celia felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “I know that you love me,” she said in a low voice.
“I thought I did. But you were right when you told me you feared you were merely a…passing fancy.” The words were said so smoothly that almost anyone would have believed him. But nothing could hide the twitching muscle in his clenched jaw and his high color.
Celia was confused and terrified, until understanding crept over her slowly. He was trying so hard to be callous and cool, when it was only last night that he had held her in his arms and loved her as tenderly as a man could love a woman. She realized what he was trying to do now, and his reasons for it. Suddenly she got her breath back, and with it a surge of shaky confidence.
“You are lying to me,” she said.
“It’s not a lie. I’ve gotten what I wanted from you. Now I’m finished with you.”
Celia stood up and walked to him. Justin seemed to steel himself at her approach, looking like a fierce mastiff afraid of a small kitten. “I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Then you’re a fool. You have a husband coming home to you, and I’m going to deliver him to you gladly. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of this game we’ve been playing.”
“You’re doing this for me. You think I’ll be safer if you leave me behind. Well, I will be—I’ll be protected and safe and miserable. Is that for the best? Is that what you want?” She began to slide her arms around him, but he flinched and drew back. “Think of how it will be for you, wondering every night for the rest of your life if I am alone, if I am sleeping in someone else’s arms—”
Jealous rage sparked in his eyes. “I’ll be glad to be rid of you!”
She rested her hands on his chest. “The night before last you begged me to go with you. You said you couldn’t live without me.”
“That was before I knew Philippe was alive.” Desperately Justin tried to ignore the scent of her, the soft brush of her breasts against him. But his body betrayed him, his heart hammering, his loins filling with heat and an all-too-familiar ache.
She pressed her warm mouth against his, and he inhaled sharply. The tip of her tongue investigated the seam of his closed lips, and her slim arms encircled his neck. His body stiffened. It took all of his concentration to keep from crushing her to him. Damn her, this wasn’t happening the way he had intended! “I don’t love you,” he said, beginning to push her away. “I don’t—” She took advantage of his parted lips to fasten her mouth to his, and began a gentle search for his tongue. All his wild emotions reared against their restraints. Suddenly he quivered and clamped his arms around her, his control snapping like a brittle twig. Hungrily he molded her to the rigid bulge of his loins, the expanse of his chest, and his greedy open mouth. And she told him without words that whatever he wanted, she would give him.
Frustrated, agonized, he shoved her away, muttering curses under his breath.
Her dark gaze was gently mocking, and full of triumph. “I suppose next you’re going to claim that all you feel for me is lust, not love?”
Justin was silent, his chest moving up and down rapidly. He looked as though he would like to throttle her.
“I am not a child who cannot make decisions for herself,” Celia said. “I am a woman, and I have decided to take my chances with you. If you leave me, I will spend the rest of my life searching for you.” She tilted her head as she peered at his dumbfounded face. “Alors, you might as well tell me what you are planning, or I will find out for myself and—”
He snatched her by the shoulders and shook her roughly before pulling her face-to-face with him. Her hair tumbled free of its tortoiseshell comb and spread around her shoulders. Her toes dangled six inches from the floor. Justin’s snarling visage was so close to hers that their noses almost touched. Shocked into silence, she stared at him with wide eyes.
“Stay at home,” Justin said slowly, deliberately. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay out of this.”
Her face whitened. “You are hurting me!”
His cruel grasp did not slacken. “It’s not just your choices and your life I want to protect, it’s Philippe’s. And my own. Do you want to be responsible for my death?”
“No,” she whispered, and gulped painfully, her eyes turning glassy.
Justin groaned. “Damn you, don’t start that!”
“I’m afraid.”
He set her down and pulled away, although it was agony to let go of her.
“You are going to exchange yourself for him, aren’t you?” She sniffled. “Exactly as Legare planned it. When will it be? Soon? Tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it going to happen?” As he remained silent, she smiled bitterly. “Where? It won’t make any difference if you tell me. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to think I could stop you. I just want to know. I have the right to know.”
He looked away from her, and dragged his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Devil’s Pass,” he muttered.
By now Celia was familiar enough with the terrain around New Orleans to know the name. It was a narrow stretch of swamp located between the river and the lake where she had spent the night with Justin all those months ago. Occasionally the small channel was used by travelers and had to be cleared of the swamp sand and debris that threatened to choke it off.
“Is that where Legare wants the exchange to take place?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She wiped away tears of fright. “It’s all going the way he planned, isn’t it?”
“I’ll make it through this, Celia.”
“How will I know? Even if you live, you won’t come back for me, will you?”
Justin didn’t answer.
Celia bit her lip to keep back a sob of anguish. “Why did you tell me now instead of tomorrow?” she whispered. “Why couldn’t we have had one more night?”
“Because…” Justin paused and thought of lying to her, and found that he couldn’t any longer. “Because then I wouldn’t have a chance in hell of leaving you,” he said hoarsely.
Celia knew she could not stop him from doing as he wished. She should accept his decision with dignity, but instead she was reduced to pleading. “Don’t leave me, Justin, you don’t have to.”
“You’ll have Philippe,” he said.
Celia was overwhelmed with despair. He was going to leave her, and he thought he was doing it for her own good. “No, I won’t,” she sobbed. “Don’t you understand anything?” She was humiliated by her own helpless crying, but she could not stop it. Brushing by him, she strode rapidly down the hall, heading out of the main house to the privacy of the garçonnière.
* * *
Max waited patiently in the parlor of the Matthews residence until the commander joined him. Some men would have donned a dressing robe for such a late and informal meeting. Matthews came downstairs wearing his military coat, breeches, and shoes. His short but stalwart form was impeccably turned out. The only thing missing was his wig. He passed his thick, square hand over his balding pate, smoothing the short gray strands back over his head. Then he approached Max with a frown.
“Monsieur Vallerand,” he said, “I trust you have good reason to call at such an unconventional hour.”
“I do indeed,” Max replied, shaking the commander’s hand. “Forgive me for disturbing your night’s rest, but I had no other choice.”
Matthews gestured for him to sit down, and Max complied. Were the commander a Creole, he would have offered a drink or a cigar, but that was not the American way. From his familiarity with Americans, Max knew better than to expect the kind of hospitality that his own culture was renowned for.
The commander had come from a privileged family in Pennsylvania, compiled an exceptional record in the Tripolitan war, and served in the Navy Department in Washington, D.C. Since the recent war with the British, Matthews had been assigned to New Orleans. He had encountered only frustrations and obstacles in his efforts to deal with the Gulf pirates. Unfortunately, he seemed to feel that the local Creoles’ lax attitude toward smuggling had been responsible for much of his failure so far.
“Monsieur Vallerand,” Matthews said, “I’ve no doubt that what I’m about to say will sound rude. But it is my experience that Creoles never go directly to the point of a conversation, and I am hoping that will not be the case with you. I am tired, monsieur, and I will be quite busy for the next few days. Therefore I hope you will endeavor to tell me the purpose of your visit as concisely as possible.”
“Certainly,” Max replied politely. “I have come to discuss the attack on Isle au Corneille.”
Matthews’ face turned white, then purple. “The attack, the…the…No one is supposed to know about that! Who…How…”
“I have my sources,” Max said modestly.
The commander’s eyes bulged and his chin quivered. “You double-dealing Creoles and your intrigue and your spies. I demand to know the person or persons who gave you information that threatens the security of the government, the navy, the state—”
“Commander Matthews,” Max said, “I have lived in New Orleans all of my life. Throughout the years I have made it my business to know what goes on here. And it was obvious you would have to take a stand against the pirate threat sooner or later.”
There was utter silence in the room. Max met the commander’s challenging stare with an implacable expression.
“What have you come here for?” Matthews asked bluntly.
“To ask if you would consider delaying the attack.”
“Delay it? Why in the name of all that’s holy would I consider that? Good God, man, to hear such a thing from you, after your son was victimized by those devilish bastards—”
“He is still being victimized by them,” Max said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“They still have him. My son Philippe is still on the island.”
“What kind of rot is this? If your son is still on Isle au Corneille, then who has been living with you for the past—” Suddenly Matthews’ jaw dropped open.
“My other son. Justin. Otherwise known as Captain Griffin.”
The commander stared at him in icy fury. “By God, he’s going to hang for this! And perhaps you along with him!”
“Before you make any decisions,” Max said calmly, “you may want to hear me out. I have an offer for you—”
“Bribery won’t work with me!”
“My son has offered to help in the attack on Legare. He claims that before your forces arrive he can dismantle most of the island’s defenses.”
“I don’t believe it. Even if he were able to accomplish such a feat, why would he? Why should I trust him? Or you, for that matter?”
“Because he and I want the same thing,” Max said gravely.
“And what is that? To make fools of the navy?”
“To save Philippe. Surely by now you understand the Creole sense of blood and loyalty. I would give my life in exchange for any member of my family. In that respect Justin is no different than me or any other Creole.”
Matthews’ hard stare relented. “I’ll hear you out, Vallerand. I don’t promise to agree to anything. But I will hear you out.”
“That is all I ask,” Max replied with relief.
Chapter 12
Curbing his impatience, Justin hovered at the side of the parlor and averted his eyes as Max said goodbye to Lysette. Three days had passed since the Duquesne ball. Tonight the exchange for Philippe would be made. If everything was going according to plan, by now Aug had smuggled a dozen men onto Isle au Corneille. In a matter of hours Justin would gain Philippe’s safety and be taken to the island where he would send Dominic Legare to the devil.
“You had better return in one piece, bien-aimé,” Lysette warned, smoothing the lapels of Max’s coat. She had utter faith in her husband’s strength and resourcefulness, but that would not prevent her from worrying about his safety. “It is a great trial to have you as a husband, but I have become rather accustomed to you. And I would prefer to keep you at least a few years more!”
Max grinned and brushed a kiss on her lips. “Just keep the bed warm for me, little one.”
“At least you will have Alex along to watch over you,” she grumbled, and pulled away. She went to Justin and hugged him quickly. “Be careful, Justin. My only comfort is that you seem to have as many lives as a cat.??
?
“It’s Philippe you should be concerned about,” Justin said grimly. “God knows what hell he’s been through.”
“We will take care of him, Celia and I…” Lysette looked around as if just becoming aware of Celia’s absence. “Where is she?”
“In the garçonnière,” Justin answered. Neither he nor Celia had wanted a farewell scene of any kind.
Lysette met his eyes with a pitying, questioning glance. “Justin, I do not know what is between the two of you, but—”
“Nothing,” Justin said curtly.
Lysette was kept from pursuing the matter by Alexandre’s arrival. She went to her husband as he pulled on a heavy black cloak. “Max, when will you come back?”
“First Alex will bring Philippe home,” he said, kissing her gently. “I will return later.”
“How much later?” Lysette asked suspiciously. Her hazel eyes narrowed. “You are not planning to be with Commander Matthews’ expedition when it attacks the island, are you? I will not have it! There is no need for you to do such a thing, your place is here—”
Max gestured for Alex and Justin to leave and then began to back out of the room after them. “I’ll be safe aboard a gunboat, petite.”
“You are not needed in the attack as much as you are needed here. You have three young children to consider, not to mention a wife—”
“And a son in danger,” he said, slipping into the entrance hall.
Lysette called after him anxiously. “Maximilien Vallerand, ecoutes-moi bien—if you are hurt in any way whatsoever I will never forgive you!” She heard his soft laugh, and she stamped her foot in frustration as he left the house.
Celia knelt by the bed and tried to pray, but her concentration was broken by nagging thoughts. She combed through every recollection of the previous day, everything Justin had said to her.