Patricia Rice (11 page)

His arrival was not a good sign at all. She braced herself as she threw open the door to welcome him. He wasn't even wearing a cloak or rain slicker but came in soaked to the bone and dripping, a huge grin on his face as he recognized his sister.

"Ahh, my beautiful colleen, a sight for sore eyes you be, indeed! Will you not come and give your long-lost brother a hug?"

"I'd sooner hug a drowned dog. Don't use your blarney on me, Michael, it won't work and you know it. Start stripping off those wet things. I'll send for dry ones."
 

Striding off to summon a maid, Eavin felt torn between joy and despair. She had never admitted how homesick she was for her family, such as they might be. Michael's appearance, for whatever reason, sent happiness singing through her veins. But what would happen when Nicholas discovered Michael's identity was entirely another story. There would be no question of seduction while her brother was present, that was for certain. Her brother would rip Nicholas's head from his shoulders.

Once Michael had time to change into old clothes of Nicholas's that were too long in the legs and arms and too tight at the waist, Eavin seated him in front of the fire with his toddy and began her interrogation.

"How was Mum when you left her?" she demanded first.

"Same as ever, far as I know. She's got a gentleman friend now to treat her fancy. She's not likely to be missing us."

Eavin hadn't worried for a minute about that. Their mother was an independent person and expected her two children to be the same. "And the war? Is there any sign they'll open the ports again?"

"Sure, and you must be bored to ask a thing like that, colleen. What difference will it be makin' to the likes of us if the rich can get their brandy and the like? Is that what living in this grandeur has done to ye?" He gestured around the comfortable salon.

Annoyed, Eavin sat back in her chair and examined the changes in her brother. There was a line or two more on his brow than she remembered, and black circles beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. He looked older and less carefree than the brother she remembered, and it was time to quit avoiding the question.

"What brings ye here, Michael? What have ye done now?" She slipped into the accents of her youth.

"Aye, and that's a long story, colleen. We needn't go into that now. And where's the loving family you came to join, love? Mam told me about the babe. I'm sorry to hear it, but perhaps it's for the best. Bringing up a child in this world without a man at your side isn't the life I'd have for you."

Eavin remembered Michael's charm, but not his habit of diverting the subject so brilliantly. Or perhaps she was just old enough now to recognize a humbug when she saw one. Taking a sip from the hot tea she had ordered for herself, she collected her wits.

"Dominic's sister died giving birth. I'm taking care of the child now. Now, tell me what brings you here so I know what to say before Nicholas comes home."

"Nicholas, is it?" Michael's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're living here alone with a man named Nicholas?"

There it was, the anger that boiled up so fast and furious that it got him into trouble every time. Eavin sighed and attempted to defuse the situation. "He is Jeannette's father, and I am Jeannette's aunt, and if you haven't noticed, we're scarcely alone with a house full of servants. Now, I think it's time you tell me what brought you here. No more evading the subject, Michael."

"If he's another of those Frenchies like Dominic—"

Eavin stood up and glared at him. "This is my home now, Michael. If you cannot treat me with respect in it, you may leave. I've heard the likes of this before, and I'll not be hearin' it from you again. Tell me why you've come."

Michael managed to look a trifle sheepish as he drained his cup and gestured for her to sit down. "You've grown up, little sister. I'll not be questioning you anymore. From the looks of that rag you wear, the man hasn't been tempting you with worldly goods."

Eavin sat, but the look of determination remained on her face. "Your reason, Michael. It's good to see you again, but I'll know what's in store for me if you stay."

He sighed and looked tired again. "I'm startin' all over, colleen. I heard the West was the place to do that. I took a ship to New Orleans to see you first, then I thought I'd make my way into Texas."

"That's a very commendable attitude. I'm certain there are any number of people in Baltimore who would be relieved to hear that. But I'd like you to stay awhile, and I want to know if the sheriff's likely to come to the door after you if you do."

Michael's grin was rueful as he watched his baby sister in the firelight. He'd never seen her look quite so beautiful. The pinched lines of worry had left her face, and there was a new serenity to her that became her well. For a while he'd thought she would turn into a harpy at an early age, but though she nagged at him like one now, it was with an assurance that she had not possessed before. Whatever had happened to her in this strange place, it was for the better.

"Word doesn't travel that swiftly, but I'll be grateful to you if you would introduce me as Michael Rourke to your new family. Call me a cousin if you like. If I'm to start anew, it would best be with a new name."

Eavin gave him a look of despair. "Have you been after murtherin' someone to give up your name for it?"

"Well, and there was a bit of a fight, you see. I just defended myself. But the law never looks kindly on the Irish, and the other man had a name for himself. So I thought it wisest to look for a new life."

That was far more than Eavin wanted to know. She supposed it wasn't any different than Nicholas killing a man in a duel, although she rather suspected the argument Michael had ended had little to do with honor. "'Tis a bother you are, Michael O'Flannery, but you're welcome to stay. There's few to talk to in these parts, and I've been a mite homesick. Perhaps Nicholas will know of a place for you hereabouts. Then there'd be two of us against the world."

Michael grinned at that, but the sound of the front door slamming open interrupted whatever he meant to say. Eavin's heart tightened as the expected summons rang through the wide hall.

"Eavin, where the hell is the blasted maid! It's damned cold out here..." Nicholas halted in the doorway of the
petite
salle
. A frown formed on his brow as he regarded the stranger.

Eavin leapt to her feet. "Get that wet thing off, Nicholas." She signaled to the servant entering behind him. "Clemmie, take this downstairs and send someone up with another toddy."

"I don't want a damned toddy. Vile drink. Just give me some brandy." Ill humor emanated from Nicholas in waves as he glared at the intruder.

Michael had risen from the offending chair, but the laughter in his eyes had died and anger was replacing it.

Eavin hastily came between the two men to perform the introductions, stumbling over the name "Rourke" but recovering sufficiently to explain that Michael was her cousin.

Nicholas remained suspicious, but he held out his hand. "Any family of Eavin's is welcome. What brings you to these parts?"

Eavin held a sigh of relief as the two men settled into the chairs with the brandy bottle between them while she went to order another place for dinner. The quietness of these last months had finally broken. She had needed the time to heal, and she regretted the loss of her peace, but it was better this way. She would have to persuade Nicholas to allow Michael to stay. It would be her only salvation.

Nicholas wasn't thrilled with the idea, but as he watched Michael and Eavin at the table together, he had to admit that it was his own selfishness standing in the way. The Irishman had spun a tale of being Eavin's first cousin, and while Nicholas fully intended to verify it, he could see for himself that Eavin didn't fear this man. He couldn't deny the laughter that Rourke brought to her eyes, but he could damn well resent the man's coming between Eavin and his plans for her.

He was relieved when her cousin took the hint and followed one of the servants out to the
garçonnière
after dinner, leaving them alone. Nicholas was still a little shocked at his reaction to this unexpected guest. So when Eavin asked if a place could be found for her cousin in the area, Nicholas found himself offering the vacant position of overseer and wondering what in hell he was doing.

Chapter 10

"Fleming, as you are perfectly aware, I don't have to store my cotton in your warehouses. I can build my own or ship the damn bales to China if I so choose. I do not have to endure your insult or your blackmail. Have you lost your mind, man?" Nicholas smacked his riding crop against one of the offending bales.
 

The warehouse owner was little more than a weasel, cringing in the face of any loud noise or strong wind. Nicholas's desire to hit someone didn't extend to slaughtering the weak.

For the hundredth time he vowed to build his own warehouses. The impermanence of the seas had always been his life, and in the back of his mind he'd thought he would be returning to them. The commitment of building went against his nature, but it might be time to consider it, before he had to strangle the cringing bastard in front of him.

Michael leaned against a stack of bales and watched this confrontation with unmitigated interest. Surprisingly, he'd come to admire his hotheaded employer. Beneath their widely disparate surfaces they had much in common. Of course, Michael observed, he would have simply punched Fleming's ugly nose for the insult rather than threaten him, but Saint-Just had appearances to maintain. Aristocrats didn't indulge in fisticuffs.

"Now, Saint-Just, I got a business to run just like anyone else. There's been threats made, and I can't afford to just ignore them. I don't rightly know if I can afford to take the risk as it is. If they burn my building, I'll be bankrupt, and you'll not be in any position to pay what you owe with your cotton in cinders. I need some insurance up front to make it worth the risk."

"People who burn buildings don't give warnings, you fool," Nicholas gritted out between clenched teeth. "If they meant to burn it, they'd have done it. If you're so concerned about your building, I'll take my business elsewhere. How many other planters do you have on your list with the funds for indefinite storage?"

Knowing full well there were none, the man cringed at this threat. "Now, look, Saint-Just, I just mean to get a bit up front, just enough for insurance, you see." He straightened himself a little more belligerently at another thought. "And ain't anyone else in these parts gonna take your cotton without the same. The rumor's out all over. You've got yourself some powerful enemies, Saint-Just. It don't pay to make enemies."

"It doesn't pay to make friends with snakes, either. I'll pay you one month's rent in advance every month until the cotton is shipped, but I want a discount on the rent since you'll have the money in your hand earlier than if you had to wait until fall. That's the best I can do for you."

Michael watched the man's scheming mind turn the offer over and knew when the definite threat of an empty warehouse won over the indefinite threat of a possible disaster. He wondered what kind of enemies a man like Saint-Just could make, but he had to admire his employer's guts. From what he'd seen, he doubted that there was another warehouse available to hold this much cotton.

As they left, Michael speculated out loud: "I suppose building a warehouse of your own would be prohibitive until after the cotton is sold?"

Still furious, Nicholas threw Michael a searing look, but he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I can do it, if I want to," Nicholas grudgingly admitted. "It's a damned nuisance, but if I stay in the cotton business, it would be more profitable, doubly so if this blockade continues."

From that, Michael deduced that Saint-Just had doubts about staying with the plantation, and that raised his eyebrows. Why would anyone give up the lucrative business of planting? Since his own and Eavin's future depended on the answer, he risked pushing further.

"I thought the plantation seemed successful. Is there some reason you wouldn't stay with it?"

Nicholas found his horse and mounted, visibly forcing his temper under control. "Is there some reason why I should? I can think of any number of more interesting enterprises, and none of them require the indecency of owning slaves."

That radical admission from a southerner brought Michael's eyebrows up to his hairline. "I thought the public policy was that those were your people, like your family, and you take care of them just like you take care of family. I'm after thinkin', Mr. Saint-Just, there's a reason so many people in these parts want to stone you."

Nicholas had to grin at his insolent overseer's tone. "The hell they're my people. My people come from France, not Africa. The damned slaves came with the house, just like some of the furniture. I took the lot in payment for a debt. I never said I wanted them."

"But you couldn't run the plantation without them. And now you've got a family to raise, and you're stuck." Michael summed up the situation knowledgeably.

"Something to the effect, I suppose." Nicholas thought back to the time when he had imagined turning the old house into the kind of mansion that Francine deserved, filling it with their children, entertaining guests and family. The dream had died with Francine. If it hadn't been for Eavin and Jeannette, he would no doubt have sold the place. But Eavin was right. Jeannette was Francine's daughter, and she deserved the kind of upbringing that Francine had had. He just hadn't thought any further than that.