LISA Page 15

  “Au contraire,” Max interrupted brusquely, “Governor Villeré believes the pirate problem is worsening.”

  Benedict bristled. “Were we supplied with sufficient men and equipment, Monsieur Vallerand, our forces would be more effective against the brigands. But the people of New Orleans do all they can to encourage the pirate trade. Indeed, they welcome the contraband goods being smuggled into the city.”

  “The naval station seems to be adequately supplied—” Max started, and Lysette interrupted hastily, knowing her husband’s enjoyment of political disputations.

  “Mon Mari, perhaps we should not begin to debate the matter at this time. Do be seated, everyone. Mary will bring refreshments soon.” She settled gracefully on the settee, and they all followed suit. “Lieutenant,” Lysette said lightly, “do tell us what prompted this call.”

  “I came to inquire as to your family’s welfare,” Benedict replied.

  “You did? How kind of you.”

  Benedict waited for some further comment but encountered only silence. Three pairs of eyes were focused on him. He cleared his throat and continued. “Commander Matthews has expressed a similar concern, hence my visit. In the last few days we have heard rumors…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at them expectantly. No one said a word. The lieutenant was forced to break the silence again. “This morning, Monsieur Vallerand, I happened to encounter your brother Alexandre and his charming wife Henriette in town—”

  Henriette, Celia thought anxiously, the woman who loved to gossip.

  “—and she relayed some rather interesting information,” Benedict said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Maximilien replied calmly. “Henriette has often been known to do that.”

  “Yes, well, she told me that the rumor is true.”

  Max’s fingers began an idle tapping on the arm of his chair. “And this rumor is…?”

  “That you have a houseguest who is ailing. Not just any houseguest.”

  Celia clenched her hands in her lap. She felt the blood draining out of her face. After all the time she had spent caring for Justin, he would be taken away. The authorities would be cruel to him. He was still weak, and it would not take much for his wounds to reopen. The scene from this morning flashed before her once again, his head cradled in her arm, his trusting obedience, and husky voice asking, Are you real?

  Max’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Yes, it is true, Lieutenant.”

  Benedict regarded him with suspicion. “Who is it? A relative? Or a close friend?”

  “A relative.” Max met his eyes without flinching. “My son, in fact.”

  Benedict’s color deepened with excitement. “Really,” he said, obviously fighting to stay calm.

  No! Celia wanted to cry out, unable to believe Max was betraying Justin. Telling Benedict that Justin was here was tantamount to signing his death warrant!

  “He was brought here in the dead of night several days ago,” Max continued, “suffering from severe wounds inflicted during his escape from a pirate island.” He glanced at the two women nearby. Lysette was staring at him steadily, while Celia had turned parchment-white. Taking a deep breath, Max plunged headlong into the deception he had hoped would not be necessary. “It is indeed a miracle,” Max said to the lieutenant, “that my Philippe has been returned to us.”

  There was a moment of frozen stillness. Celia could not even think.

  “Philippe,” Benedict repeated, aghast.

  Max nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

  “But Philippe is dead!”

  “We assumed the pirates had killed him,” Max said. “But he managed to survive the attack and four subsequent months of captivity. You are the first to know the good news, Lieutenant. Philippe is alive.”

  Benedict switched his incredulous gaze to Celia. “Is this true, madame?” he demanded.

  Celia nodded jerkily, too stunned to speak. Somehow she had the wits to avert her face and hide her astonishment. Her mind was reeling. It was all some joke, some cruel joke. She wondered if Maximilien had gone mad. Did he think he could deceive anyone with this foolish lie? All the lieutenant had to do was go upstairs and look at Justin to know he was not Philippe. How much time did Max think he could buy with this ploy?

  She felt Lysette’s arm slide around her shoulders. “You can imagine the strain and shock this has been for Philippe’s wife,” Lysette said to Benedict. “As you can see, she is terribly distressed by his condition. He nearly died from his wounds. She has exhausted herself these past days in caring for him.”

  Benedict stood up, looking pale. “I would like to see him now.”

  “I’m afraid that is impossible,” Max said, also standing up. He towered over the lieutenant. “Philippe is too ill to see anyone.”

  “It is necessary that I ascertain if—”

  “Later,” Max interrupted, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He looked so forbidding that the younger man instinctively took a step backward. “Perhaps in a few days. When he is stronger.”

  “I must see him now. There is information he may have concerning the pirate island and the men who captured him.”

  “Philippe is not able to speak with anyone. He has been in a delirium for several days. He has also been blinded. Whether or not the condition is permanent is still in question. He needs rest, and plenty of it.”

  “I will not pose any questions to him. But I insist on seeing for myself if—”

  “This is my house, my property. You are in no position to insist on anything, Lieutenant. My son has been through enough without being made an exhibition of to satisfy your curiosity. I will not allow him to be seen by anyone in his present condition.”

  “Monsieur Vallerand,” Benedict said, “I know what honor means to you Creoles. Are you prepared to give me your word of honor that the man upstairs is Philippe Vallerand?”

  Max stared at him coldly. “That you would dare ask it of me is an insult.”

  The lieutenant stiffened, apparently just realizing that he had affronted the most renowned and lethal duelist in Louisiana. Duels were frowned upon but still widely practiced here. For a hot-tempered Creole, there was no remedy for an insult except a contest of swords or pistols. “I did not intend it as an insult, monsieur, not in the least. Forgive me.”

  Max nodded shortly. “If you must have it, I give you my word of honor that the man upstairs is my son Philippe.”

  Benedict drew in a shaky breath. “It is unbelievable. Why have you not let it be known before now?”

  Lysette replied, her arm still around Celia’s back. Celia wanted to shake it off in irritation but did not dare, conscious of the lieutenant’s prying stare. “Our only thought has been for Philippe,” Lysette said. “We did not wish to contend with hordes of visitors—well-meaning though they might be—all crowding inside the house and demanding our attention and explanations.”

  “Has he been seen to by a doctor?” Benedict asked.

  “He is being given the best of care,” Lysette assured him.

  Benedict looked from Lysette’s pleasant face to Max’s implacable one, and lastly at Celia’s downbent head. “I must report this to Commander Matthews immediately,” he said. “I have no doubt he will require that Philippe be questioned as soon as possible.”

  “Not until my son’s health permits,” Max replied.

  “Excuse me, I must leave at once.”

  “I will see you to the door.”

  The two men left the room. Celia lifted her head and stared at Lysette.

  Lysette withdrew her arm and folded her hands together. “I told you Max would think of something.” She tried to sound confident, but the effort was not convincing.

  Celia could not hold back a spurt of laughter edged with hysteria. She covered her mouth with her hand and continued to gasp with amusement. “Ah, mon Dieu,” she finally said, wiping a tear or two from her cheeks, “I knew I had lost my mind, but until now I thought I was the only one. Did Max really say…no, I am dreaming.
Oh, this is the strangest dream I have ever had!”

  Max had just returned. “You’re not dreaming,” he said sardonically.

  Lysette looked up at her husband, who had begun to pace around the room. “Max, what will happen now?”

  “They will watch us closely. From now on they will be aware of all our comings and goings. They’ll do everything in their power to prevent a suspected pirate from eluding them.” He went to the fireplace and braced his arms on the mantel, staring into the empty hearth. “Justin isn’t well enough to travel or defend himself. I could not spirit him away from here without being caught. And even if that were possible, there is no place I could remove him to where I’d feel assured of his safety. I’d rather have him convalesce here. He’ll masquerade as Philippe until I can come up with a more permanent plan.” Max threw a glance over his shoulder, noting Celia’s stillness. “It will not last long, Celia.”

  “Masquerade as Philippe,” Celia said in a voice so thick and sarcastic that she could hardly recognize it as her own. “Masquerade as my husband…a doctor…a gentleman? Justin would have a difficult time convincing people he is a human being. And how are you going to keep him hidden from all eyes? The most obvious flaw in this…this foolish plan is that twins or not, Justin does not look like Philippe!”

  Max began to pace again. “Not at the moment, with that beard and absurdly long hair. But Justin and Philippe were identical twins.”

  “Identical,” Celia exclaimed, startled. She looked at Lysette, who nodded slightly. “Alors, you think he can be made to look like Philippe, but what about their voices, their mannerisms, their habits—”

  “We’ll keep Justin from being scrutinized too closely,” Max replied.

  “Everyone in New Orleans knew Philippe,” Celia said. “He helped many people, had friends everywhere. You cannot really believe we will be able to fool them all.”

  “For a short time we can.” Max came to the settee and sank to his haunches in front of her. Although his eyes were golden instead of blue, she was reminded of Philippe. Philippe had looked at people in such a way, as if he could see through all their fears and pretensions. “Celia,” Max said quietly, “It will not work without your cooperation. People will not believe he is Philippe if you are not convincing as his wife.”

  “It would not work with my cooperation either,” Celia said. “I could not behave as if he were my husband. I could not regard that…that loathsome beast with any sort of wifely affection, and furthermore—”

  “Celia.” Max took one of Celia’s hands, holding it firmly. “I rarely ask anyone for anything.” His voice was deep and mesmerizing. “I am not the kind of man who enjoys being obligated to others. But there is nothing I will not do to protect my family. Justin is my son every bit as much as Philippe was. In the past I made terrible mistakes that they both suffered for. As a boy Justin would never accept anyone’s help even when he needed it desperately. I will not fail him now. If Philippe were alive, I know he would ask you to help his brother. I am asking you in Philippe’s stead. Help Justin, not for his sake but mine.”

  Celia swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away from him. “I do not want to,” she muttered.

  “But you will?” Max prompted.

  No wonder he was known as a persuasive man. He had a talent for putting things in a way that made it impossible to refuse. “Yes,” Celia said reluctantly. “Because you and Lysette have been kind to me. I owe it to both of you, and to Philippe.” She pulled away from him and stood up, finding that her knees were weak. “I am going back to the garçonnière to think in private,” she said.

  Lysette came up to her and hugged her. “Thank you, Celia.”

  Nodding briefly, Celia left the room.

  Max came up behind Lysette and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her small head. Lysette covered his arms with hers and snuggled back against his chest. “Bien-aimé,” she whispered, “do you think it will work?”

  He sighed against her red hair. “My sweet, ask me anything but that.”

  An hour and a half later Celia came back into the house. The sounds of murmured conversation emanated from the dining room, and the scents of fish and cornmeal were in the air. She wondered how the Vallerands could sit down to dinner after what they had been through. Her own appetite was completely gone. Moodily she went to the double staircase and stood at the bottom, resting her hand on the balustrade.

  She felt a pull from upstairs, a force that compelled her feet to move before she even realized she was climbing the stairs. She felt as if there were fine cords pulled taut inside her body. The palm of her hand was slick against the balustrade. Hot and cold shivers raced down her spine. Justin was waiting for her. He knew she was coming upstairs, she was certain of it.

  She walked softly down the richly carpeted hallway, stopping at the open door of his room, her wide brown eyes focusing on the figure in the bed. Justin was sitting up, his bandaged face turned in her direction. She had not betrayed her presence by the slightest sound, but he was as aware of her as if he had seen her.

  “Celia,” he said huskily.

  The way he said her name made her shiver. Quietly she went to him, stopping at the side of his bed.

  Justin was very still, drinking in her presence. So it was she, the angel who had watched over him. Her cool hands, her soft voice. She had bathed and fed him, forced medicine down his throat, held his hand, assuming he would not remember anything. But he did remember at least some of it. And she had done it, all the while detesting him. Why in the hell had she taken care of him?

  Suddenly he grinned, finding it very amusing. “Celia,” he said with a low, piratical laugh. “My little wife.”

  Celia stiffened. There it was, that nasty, mocking grin she had expected. So Maximilien had explained the situation to him. “I am not your little wife!”

  “To the rest of the world you are.”

  “It will be nothing but a…” She struggled for the right expression. “A faux-semblant—”

  “False pretense.”

  “Yes, that! And I would not be helping you had your father not begged me to.”

  “Father begging? My God, I’d have liked to see that. Of course, I’d like to see anything.” Justin reached out and snatched her arm with ease. Even in her irritation Celia was startled by his accuracy. Pulling her closer, he settled his hand on her hip. “You’ve been eating well,” he observed. She jerked away with a sound of outrage. “I like you better this way,” Justin said. “It’s damn uncomfortable to bed down with a bony woman.”

  “You and I are never going to bed down,” she said through her teeth. “That is one of the things I came up here to tell you. I will agree to help preserve your miserable life only if you submit to my rules.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “I have written them down, and I—”

  “All right,” he interrupted.

  “But you have not heard—”

  “I agree to your rules. Whatever the hell they are.”

  “I wish to read them to you.”

  “Read them to me later. I’ll be bedridden and at your mercy for days.”

  Celia stayed a safe distance away from him, walking around the bed. His head turned as if he were watching her. Silently Celia observed that his color was excellent. He seemed to be recovering with astonishing speed.

  “What are you thinking?” Justin asked. “I can’t see your face.”

  “With that beard you look like a big goat.”

  He smiled, raising his hand to the wiry mass. “I’ll have to shave it soon.”

  “Even then no one would ever mistake you for Philippe.”

  “Is that so?” Justin relaxed against the headboard, his smile turning into a sneer. “I’ll fool even you, sweet wife.”

  “Do not call me that!”

  He scratched his side, wincing at the pull on his broken ribs. “I would like a bath.” A dark patch of hair flashed underneath his arm.

  “Later.” />
  “I want it now.”

  “Lysette or Noeline will see to it,” she muttered.

  “I knew you would be too much of a coward to do it—while I’m awake, that is. But you bathed me while I was unconscious, didn’t you? Aye, I’ll bet you became acquainted with every inch of my helpless body. You probably stared at me for hours.”

  “I did not, you…you conceited pig!”

  “Didn’t bathe me?”

  “I did not enjoy giving you bed baths! I did it because it was necessary. But I do not find you attractive, and I am not a coward merely because I have no desire to see you naked. And I will not bathe you again!”

  “If you say so.” He paused and pointed out, “A good wife would do it for her husband.”

  “You are not my husband. And one of my rules is that you will not take advantage of this masquerade by making ridiculous demands such as this!”

  “Ridiculous? I hope that someday you’ll discover how ridiculous it is to be unable to do a damn thing for yourself and be forced to beg someone to wash your stinking body! At least give me a cloth to wash the parts I can reach.” He heard her walk away from the bedside. “Leaving?” he taunted. Still no reply. There was the splash of water from a pitcher into a basin. He lay there expectantly, listening to her footsteps as she walked back to him. The sheet was stripped from his body with startling suddenness.

  Celia was grateful for the bandages that covered his eyes. She never could have done this had Justin been able to watch. The sight of his nakedness had been jolting enough when he was unconscious, but now that he was awake and knew exactly what she was seeing, she felt a crimson blush cover her from head to toe.

  Impersonally she tucked fresh lengths of toweling underneath him, dipped a sponge into the basin of water, and began to wash his neck and shoulder, taking care not to wet his bandages. Justin sighed quietly and relaxed, not bothering to hide his pleasure at the feel of the cool water on his skin. She pushed his beard aside as she scrubbed his chest.

  “You’re good at this,” he muttered. She did not reply. He moved his arm as she eased it away from his side. “Say something to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a woman’s voice.”