Patricia Rice (27 page)

He was already a part of her before he came into her. Eavin exulted in the physical recognition of what had already gone before. Their needs were such that nothing less could have sufficed, and she rocked against him with all the pleasure and vulnerability he had opened in her. She was his for the taking, and as Nicholas ground himself into her, Eavin was at peace with that knowledge.

Afterward, with the moisture of their bodies rubbed and blended into a soothing lotion across their skins, Nicholas pulled Eavin into his arms. His kisses whispered across her face, and his hands massaged and caressed her back.

"Don't ever slip away from my bed like that again," he murmured into her hair. "I want you beside me when I wake. Promise me that."

The man was quite insane, but Eavin could deny him nothing. She had spent a lifetime denying herself pleasure. In just a few short hours Nicholas had taught her what life could really be like. She would pay for this someday, but not right now.

Touching him gently, exploring the curves and planes of his chest, lingering at the torn places in his flesh, Eavin nodded acquiescence. If she had her way, she would never leave his bed. Impossible thought, but she smiled at it just the same.

Pleased with the ease of her surrender, Nicholas stroked her cheek and pressed a kiss there. "Does Jeannette always wake babbling?"

The sound of the infant in the other room woke Eavin to reality, and she stared into Nicholas's face with panic. The gash across his cheek had hardened into a bloody crust. Combined with the wild mane of his hair, he looked the part of pirate or worse, but his smile was extraordinarily gentle.

"Go to her. I'll meet you later downstairs. I have an interest in preserving your good name, too."

And so he would. Rising from the bed, terribly conscious of her nakedness and Nicholas's smiling scrutiny, Eavin reached for her nightclothes. Getting dressed would have to wait until she had warm water with which to wash. She couldn't go to breakfast with the scent of Nicholas still on her.

Rather liking the idea of being stained with his love- making, Eavin smoothed the loose material over her breasts, understanding for the first time the sensuality of her response to the caress of cloth. She had despised her body as a nuisance to be hidden from the grasping hands of men. Nicholas had taught her to appreciate the way she was made, and a hot flush rose to her skin as she recognized his masculine response when she turned back toward the bed.

Nicholas chuckled and took a sitting position as Eavin hastily tied her wrapper and ran out.
 

She didn't emerge from the nursery until she was certain that Nicholas had left her room. She had done a terrible thing and given him ideas that should never have been placed in his head. She remembered all too well their conversation when he had called her the ideal mistress. But she wasn't the ideal mistress. For Jeannette's sake, she had to keep her reputation. And for Michael's sake, she had to stay away from Nicholas.

But after washing and dressing and joining the men for breakfast, Eavin could see that at least one of these obstacles was about to be removed.

"The cane can take care of itself this time of year. I need you to keep an eye on those cotton fields I bought last summer. There's accommodations of a sort there already, enough for you and the field hands. I think it's safe to sink our initial profits in making improvements while you're there. Let me know what you need after you arrive, and I'll see to it that you get it. I have to go into New Orleans to look after the warehouse, so it ought to all fall into place."

Michael sipped his coffee and studied his employer. Nicholas sat there with his arm in a sling and his jaw bruised and scarred as if these were the latest fashions.
 

"Don't you think I ought to wait a week or two until you feel more like riding the fields yourself? The cotton isn't going anywhere just yet."

Nicholas pulled his eyebrows together in a formidable frown. "I have work to do that won't allow me to wallow in pity. I'll be out the rest of the day, so you'd better tell me if you need me for anything else before you leave."

At his intent to go out in that condition, Eavin squeaked in surprise and protest, but the men were caught up in a contest of wills and took no notice.

"If you're going after whoever did that to you, you need someone at your side. There's no call to go after a son of a bitch like that by yourself. Three against one calls for war where I come from."

"I don't need an army to take care of him," Nicholas replied smoothly, but the ominous undertone belied his affable smile. "But I'll employ one to find him. You just worry about the cotton. The last shipment must have made it clear of the blockade. I think we've planted enough acres to double the profit with this next one."

Michael gritted his teeth, turned to Eavin as if for support, then gave up in disgust when she only stared at them both as if they spoke a foreign language. Shoving his chair back, he rose from the table.

"I think the heat down here makes you all insane. But I'm after thinkin' the alligators would toss you back if they ever got a hold of you, so I'll be damned if I'll spend my time worryin'. Eavin, colleen, keep a pistol under your pillow and blow the head off any man who comes near you. I'll be happy to come back in time to clean up the remains."

Eavin frowned at this disparaging remark, but she knew Michael meant it as his idea of a parting pleasantry. He kissed the top of her head and strode out without another look back, leaving her to avoid the eyes of the man who had so thoroughly enslaved her body only a few hours before.

"I don't intend to get killed, you know," Nicholas said as he rose from the table. "I have too many things I wish to do in this lifetime to allow a snake like Raphael to stop me."

He walked off without waiting for a reply. Eavin idled over her tea as she considered his words. The man was quite capable of turning a band of pirates loose on New Orleans to achieve his goal. Why should she worry about the perverse creature?

Her only concern had better be her own self- preservation. She had the quite distinct and unmistakable feeling that Nicholas now considered her one of his possessions, like the cotton fields.

Chapter
 
23

The clatter and laughter and sound of feet in the normally empty room across the hall finally drove Eavin out of the nursery to investigate.

She caught Clemmie leaving the room with her arms full of musty draperies and Jess coming up the stairs ahead of two men carrying a trunk. Puzzled, Eavin inquired about the activity.

Clemmie laughed and raised a cloud of dust as she shook the heavy material in her hands. "Marster Nick done got tired of the ghosts downstairs and is movin' in up here. He's gonna have them rooms down there done all over. Said it was that or burn the place down and start again. Maybe he finally got some sense whupped into him. Those rooms down there are a plumb disgrace."

The house was old and perhaps some of the plaster was cracking, and the walls certainly could use a good scrubbing and painting, but Eavin didn't think those niceties were the cause of Nicholas's sudden distaste for the decor. Stepping across the hall, she watched as the maids scrubbed down the floors while workmen set up a wider bed than had previously adorned this unused chamber. Jess was already unpacking the trunk and sorting through Nicholas's clothes to place them in the empty wardrobe. The room was considerably smaller than the one Nicholas was used to. Eavin didn't think he was sacrificing all that magnificence below stairs for the sake of a new decor. He had every intention of exchanging one pleasure for another, and she could very well guess which one he had in mind.

But when she went in search of him, he was nowhere to be found. Cursing her stupidity, heart pounding erratically at the thought of how far Nicholas would go to get what he wanted, Eavin dropped down at his desk and thought of a dozen scathing diatribes she would like to unleash on him.

Instead she found herself perusing the list of suggestions Daniel Fletcher had sent for another satire. The hypocrisy of the gentlemen attending balls in the white theater while slipping out to meet their mistresses at the colored ball across the street had a certain appeal, but Eavin didn't think it was a topic to grace the pages of a newspaper. If the ladies of New Orleans could tolerate men who would treat them that way, it was their problem. She had enough of her own.

The slave auctions were an entirely different kettle of fish. Everyone knew there was a law against importing slaves. Maspero's Exchange would scarcely do half its present business if not for the suspiciously foreign-speaking slaves sold there. The pirates were responsible for the contraband, but the merchants and the government were responsible for turning their backs on the legal circles that put the slaves on the block. If the militia didn't "capture" the slaves and sell them as contraband, there would be no market at all. She could certainly put her heart into a story like that.

Writing gave Eavin an outlet for her anger. Instead of raging at Nicholas for taking her acquiescence for granted, she could scorn the hypocrisies and cruelties of the revolting practice of slave trading. She doubted that her anger would have any effect in either case, but at least the article to the paper would produce a few coins to store away in her growing hoard.

Someday she wouldn't be reliant on any man for her living. It might take years, but that was better than an entire lifetime at the beck and call of men.

Writing made her feel better, and Eavin began to smile as she mentally counted the coins this excuse to scream in outrage would produce. She really would have to thank Nicholas for opening this opportunity. To be paid for what she wanted to do seemed almost a sin. Perhaps she had better consult with him about that bank account. She didn't trust men or banks, but she couldn't be certain her cache of coins would survive flood or fire or thieves, either. When she had enough saved, perhaps she could put half in the bank and keep half with her. There was no sense in putting all her eggs in one basket.

All that self-satisfaction fled the moment Nicholas walked into the study, slammed the door, and drew Eavin into his arms.

He made it impossible to fight. Even with the gash across his cheek, he was so handsome he took her breath away. Or perhaps handsome wasn't the word.
Virile
. Eavin's mind raced crazily for suitable synonyms as Nicholas's mouth crushed hers. If she could only distance herself...

But she couldn't. The strong arm around her waist reminded her all too clearly of how he had held her naked not so many hours ago. The pounding of his heart beat in time with hers, and when she put her hand up to push him away, she encountered the sling and remembered his agony, and she gave in to the kiss, melted in his arms, and allowed nature to take its course.

Satisfied, Nicholas stepped back and gazed at her through eyes darkened with desire. "I didn't want you to forget. I'm going downriver for a while, and I won't be back until late. Keep the bed warm for me."

Eavin's fingers wrapped in his sling, preventing his convenient escape. "Nicholas, you assume too much. We must talk."

A rakish smile tilted one corner of his mouth, a smile that had not been there with any frequency this past year. Even the lust that drove it did not detract from the charm.

"Write me an argument,
chère amie
. I promise to read it, but I don't promise to fight fair. Your place is in my bed, whether you admit it or not."

She wanted to hit him but could not for fear of opening one of his wounds. He had made it perfectly clear that physical violence was not effective, anyway. Glaring at the insolent assurance on his masculine face, Eavin released her grip and stepped away. "I hope the alligators eat you," she retorted childishly.

He took that with a smile as he strode toward the door. "You and Jeannette will be very rich women if one does, but just think how you'll miss me."

He walked out to the sound of an inkwell crashing against the wall.

* * *

Eavin heard the long clock on the landing chime midnight before she heard Nicholas's boots on the stairs. It had suited her to have him safely tucked in the opposite wing of the house below, where she could not hear his comings and goings. Having him upstairs with her upset her equilibrium.

His appearance in her room at every hour of the night and day would be even more upsetting. As her door swung open, Eavin cursed the builder who had neglected locks or latches on any of the doors. She simply didn't have the proper pioneer spirit. She wanted that door bolted.

"The bed in my room is bigger," Nicholas commented as he began unfastening his shirt. "I could carry you there, I suppose, but I'm in a hurry to get this arm healed and that might not be conducive to the process."

Eavin gave up pretending to sleep and sat up to glare at his silhouette in the darkened room. "Neither will coming in here in the middle of the night, uninvited."

The shirt fell to the floor and Nicholas started on his trouser buttons. "I'll take my chances. I think what I have in mind will be very conducive to healing. The only question is whether it will be here or there."

"If you think I'm meekly following you into your bed, you have seriously underestimated me." Eavin heard the lie in her words even as she said them. She was avidly watching the process of Nicholas undressing himself and wondering how soon he would reach for her. She knew how it would feel when he did, and she knew she wouldn't be able to fight him. Words were her only hope.