Only With Your Love

“But then I was wounded and you were there. Every touch of yours was heaven and hell. I thought about putting my hands around your neck and throttling the life out of you—anything to stop you from becoming necessary to me. But it’s too late now. You’re mine, and you have only yourself to blame. You made yourself mine.”

“Kiss me,” he murmured, but her lips were pressed tightly together as she tried not to cry. “Tell me you love me,” he said against her cheek, her chin. He caught at her lower lip with his teeth. His warm breath fanned over her skin. “That’s all I care about. Tell me.”

She knew she would be loved as few women were ever loved

You would have been courted by anyone you showed the slightest interest in. But you wanted something special.” His fingers played lightly in her hair. “Philippe almost understood, didn’t he? But he couldn’t see into that last part of you, the part you keep hidden from everyone. I know exactly what you wanted from Philippe, ma petite, but you would never have had him all to yourself. Philippe was as devoted to his practice as your father was to his. He was not the kind to ignore the needs of his patients just because his wife wanted him at home. You would have had to share, and share generously. And you would have hated it. You never let him know that you felt that way, did you? Philippe married you because he thought you would be the perfect wife for a man of his profession…when the truth is you would have resented every moment he spent away from you.”

Celia lowered her head in shame, feeling exposed, as if all her sins and faults were there on her face for him to see. She thought of lying and telling him he was wrong, but she knew it would be useless. How had he been able to guess at her most private feelings? Was she that transparent to others or only to him? “That is a terrible thing to accuse me of,” she mumbled. “I would not have been so possessive and selfish…”

“It’s not terrible. Some men dream of being loved that way.”

“That girl did not love Philippe selfishly,” she said, and his hand dropped from her hair.

“No. She would have been happy with whatever he chose to give her.”

“What did she say to you when she thought you were Philippe?”

“That,” Justin said dryly, “is between her and Philippe.”

The discoveries about Philippe caused endless questions to turn through Celia’s mind that evening. She went to bed and fell into a troubled sleep, and the nightmare that sometimes haunted her came back. It was as vivid and terrifying as ever. She was leaning over the ship’s wooden rail, staring at