Patricia Rice (29 page)

"He could not get into any more trouble over there than he was about to here, and after all these years of hearing it pounded into my brain, you can be certain I have no wish to ever hear the title again. Henrí
 
has the same noble blood in his veins as I do."

"Not quite the same," she said wryly. "Your noble mother would dispute the fact vehemently. Can you still hold a grudge against her after all these years? Why do you not go to her when you come to town instead of here?"

Nicholas straightened and paced restlessly to the window. "There has never been anything between us but my father, and I wouldn't exactly call him a glue to bind the family. You and Henrí
 
are the family I've never had. Let it go at that. You still have not told me why you object to marriage and did not go with Henrí . Why do you stay here where you can be little more than an invisible woman among society?"

Belle pouted with a sensual bow of her lips. "Ahh, big brother, have you no more eyes than that? An invisible woman has much power. I can do things you cannot do. I can pull invisible strings and bring men tumbling to the ground or make them disappear in a puff of smoke. Why should I give all that up to any man?"

Nicholas scowled at his half sister. "Don't play the priestess with me, Belle. That voodoo superstition is beneath you. You are an educated woman and far more intelligent than most. Why do you waste yourself playing these games?"

"Because I am useful." Her abrupt tone was distinctly different from the languid ones of earlier. "Do not underestimate me, Nicholas, and do not question too thoroughly. You have come here for help in finding Raphael, have you not? You are quite correct in assuming he hired those men to attack you. You would do well to keep someone at your back at all times. He knows he cannot win in any honest fight with you, and he knows you mean to kill him. He has nothing to lose by making you suffer before he moves in for the final blow."

"I'm fully aware of that. Why does he not let his father know he is alive? The old man is grieving himself into madness."

"Snakes don't recognize their parents," she replied scornfully. "He has all the warmth of a copperhead, and the same skills. You will not find him, Nicholas. He is in the bayous. Even if I gave you his direction, he would see you coming and be gone before you got there. Let me take care of him for you."

Nicholas could tell his half sister would relish the task, and perhaps in her mind she thought the deed would repay him for what he had done for her in the past, but he still retained some thread of honor, and he shook his head. "There is no satisfaction in that. If anything, I would have him delivered in one piece to his father's doorstep, but I am aware that is a more difficult request than death. I will wait. He has to come out of hiding sometime."

"But not when you expect it. The child is his, and he is capable of using her if he chooses. A snake does not carry a sword, Nicholas. Poison is his choice of weapon."

A flush of anger darkened Nicholas's skin. "If you hear anything of that sort, you have my permission to take whatever action is necessary. Jeannette means more than honor to me."

"And the lady with the green eyes?" The mischievous tone returned to her voice.

"There is no reason he should harm her." Nicholas dismissed the topic with a languid gesture.

"No? You think Raphael does not believe the rumors his father is spreading? Your dear
maman
is in a state of apoplexy trying to quench all the fires of gossip. Why do you think she stays so late in the city this year?"

Nicholas ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. "You are determined to send me home, are you not?"

Belle answered with the patience of a teacher to her student. "She could not help you when you were young,
chéri
. She tries to make up for it now. When will you forgive her?"

Nicholas finished his wine with gulp. "The past is done. Leave it be."

"My
maman
could run and hide. We were used to starving. Yours could not, Nicholas. She did not know how to survive without her man. You judge her too harshly by the laws of your strength. There are different laws for women. Someday, before it is too late, you must realize that."

Remembering how he had found his half sister and half brother, living on the streets, practicing every trade known to mankind to keep clothes on their back and food in their stomachs, Nicholas clenched his teeth.
 

He had pulled them out of the gutter, sent them to school with what little he could beg, borrow, and steal. But there had been no one to do the same for him or his mother had their positions been reversed. He had grown up in the lap of pampered society and learned strength from abuse. Belle's mother had courageously given up Nicholas's father to protect her children from his malicious temper. She could not have known that she would die before her children were old enough to protect themselves; that had been the cruelty of fate.

"What you say may be right, but it cannot change how I feel. She is a weak woman who thought of herself as much as she did me. There had to be somewhere she could have gone, something she could have done, but she did not. As long as my father gave her a noble name so she could hold her head up in society and could run up debts to keep us in style, she would never leave him. It is too late to change any of that."

"Perhaps so, but perhaps someday you could listen to her side of the story. Did you know he beat her, too?" Belle asked pleasantly, as if discussing the weather.

Nicholas sent her a livid look and strode toward the door. "I can see there is no talking with you today. I shall go humble myself before my mother and accept her reluctant hospitality in a house that belongs to me. One of these days I'm going to find a man who will teach you better uses for your mouth than nagging."

"Next time, bring Mrs. Dupré," Belle called happily after him. "She will sweeten your temper, no doubt."

The door slammed on her tinkling laughter.

* * *

"Nicholas! What are you doing here?"
 
Hélène Saint-Just glanced past her son's broad shoulder to the doorstep, as if expecting to find him towing Eavin and child and sundry other undesirables.

Nicholas didn't miss the look, and he scowled. "You needn't worry. I left Jeannette at home. I simply had some business to conduct and thought to stay the night, with your permission, of course. I didn't think you would stay so late in the city."

His mother waved her fan a little faster than was customary as she stood aside to allow Nicholas to enter the
petite salle
. "I had much to do here. And you know you are always welcome." A little less promptly, she added, "And your daughter, too."

Nicholas raised a cynical brow as he waited for his mother to take her seat. "That is gracious of you, thank you. We will wait until the weather cools, however. You do have plans to leave the city, do you not? I would not have you here if the fever strikes again."

"Yes, yes, of course. I have several invitations. I just haven't chosen which to accept. Do sit down, Nicholas. Your hovering makes me nervous."

Judging from his mother's tone that she was still hoping for an invitation more to her liking than the ones she had received, Nicholas refused to worry. He had no intention of inviting her to invade the privacy of his home. The plantation was his refuge, the only place in the world where he could be himself, and with Eavin safely installed as his mistress, he had no compunction about keeping the rest of the world out.

"I don't have time to visit just yet,
maman
. I'll be back later this evening. I only wished to be certain you are well and would not be disadvantaged by my presence."

Madame Saint-Just drew herself up regally in her chair. "Of course I would not be 'disadvantaged,' as you say. You are always welcome. Perhaps I should arrange a small dinner party. Your year of mourning is almost ended, Nicholas, and I understand you have been attending social functions. It is time for you to begin looking for another wife."

Nicholas sighed and returned his hat to his head as he strode toward the door. "Whatever you say,
maman
. I will return later."

Much later. In general, good Creoles did not drink to excess, but Nicholas figured he had been given excuse enough to indulge just this one night. Nagged by his family, apart from Eavin for the first night in weeks, and still aching from that brutal beating, he allowed himself to be drawn into Daniel's carousing. He was even missing Michael's stubborn Irish company, he reflected with less than sobriety as he raised a glass of the American's abominable whiskey and took a gulp. He should have arranged for his overseer to meet him here. Michael would have loved this place.

Swinging away from the polished bar to admire the gaudily dressed dancing girls at the front of the room, Nicholas decided American tastes were a little raw for his palate, but they had an elemental nature that could be appealing when he was drunk enough.

His gaze wandered over the sea of keelboatmen and other river lowlives that inhabited a place like this, and he grinned drunkenly. The Americans who poured into the city loved to drink and gamble and have a good time. He'd never owned a saloon before. Wouldn't the good people of New Orleans have rolling fits if they found out he meant to buy one?

Daniel watched his employer's hard-eyed grin with a mixture of wariness and camaraderie. Nicholas Saint-Just was a fair man. He'd known that before he brought him here. He just hadn't thought a citified French Creole would be happy about investing money in this kind of venture. But Nicholas was the only man Daniel knew with enough wealth to help finance the purchase, and he was ambitious enough to try anything once. A glow of satisfaction enveloped him as he lifted the bottle in another toast to their incipient partnership.

"Here's to the smartest damn man in the city of New Orleans!" Daniel's tongue was having a little trouble getting the word out clearly, but his companion wasn't hearing any better than he was speaking.

Glassy-eyed, Nicholas held out his glass for a refill.

"And here's to the prettiest little newspaper writer this world has ever seen!" Daniel lifted his glass to his lips only to find the point of a
colchemarde
suddenly at his throat.

He gulped, and Nicholas pressed the point a little deeper. "You do not speak of my woman in public, Fletcher. Is that understood?"

His reflexes must be growing stale to allow the elegant Frenchman to pull a weapon on him so fast he didn't see it coming. Nodding carefully, Daniel breathed a sigh of relief as the sword pulled back. The noisy crowd around them had scarcely noticed the contretemps, and he shuddered at how easily life could be shed in a place like this.

"I apologize, Saint-Just. I did not realize the lady was yours. Shall I offer you congratulations?"

Nicholas ignored the question. "If you are to do business in this city,
monsieur
, you must learn the manners. One does not mention a lady in public. That is why I shall never see her name on one of those articles,
comprenez-vous?

The sword disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared when Daniel nodded obediently.

"I cannot say that she is talented?" he inquired nervously.

"Not to anyone but me." Feeling quite well with the world, Nicholas rose from the table without staggering and issued a general invitation with a gesture of his hand. "You will come home with me? I think a meal is in order."

Daniel considered something in the stomach just what both of them needed, and pushing to his feet with the aid of the table, he imitated his employer's graceful retreat to the best of his abilities, bumping into only chairs and a dancing girl on the way out.

* * *

Their grand entrance into the Saint-Just dining room in the middle of the dinner party brought consternation and outrage from around the table as Nicholas pulled up abruptly and made a drunken salute with his cane while Daniel bumped into his back and nearly knocked him down.

As his mother frowned, Nicholas calmly and with much aplomb took his place at the head of the table and signaled one of the servants to set another plate. Daniel wavered slightly at being placed between a nervous miss and an amused old French gentleman, but the smell of food overcame his reluctance, and with a definite lack of grace, he fell into the offered chair.

All in all, it was a fitting ending to a perfect day, Nicholas mused as one of the ladies assisted his mother from the room. He leered blatantly at the terrified miss on his left and accepted her hasty retreat from the table with a certain satisfaction.

That should put an end to his mother's matrimonial plans.

Chapter 25

"Nicholas, what are you doing?" Eavin rose from the desk as Nicholas slammed the door and the newly installed bolt.

She gasped as he crossed to her in two strides and yanked her into his arms, but it was too good to see him again to protest. Throwing her arms around him in welcome, she returned his resounding kiss with eagerness. But when he began pulling up her dress and carrying her toward the sofa, she wriggled frantically in his grasp.

"Nicholas, put me down! Have you gone mad? What on earth do you think..." She completed that question with a cry as he dropped her to the cushions and sprawled on top of her.