Patricia Rice (32 page)

Michael brought his head up with a jerk when Nicholas slammed the study door behind him. A bruise was forming beneath one eye, and the icepack he'd been holding to his nose was a melted puddle on the desk. He glared at his employer through bleary eyes and poured another drink.

The bottle was half empty, Nicholas noted as he swung himself into the nearest chair, but Michael didn't seem much worse for the drink. His glare sharpened as it focused on Nicholas, and the anger in him wasn't mellowed, just less concentrated than earlier. Perhaps it was better that way.

"You do realize you have just denounced your sister in front of all society," Nicholas began without preamble.

"Is that worse than what you've been doing?" Arrogantly, Michael filled a second glass and shoved it toward Nicholas.

"In the eyes of society, yes." Nicholas lifted the glass and took a drink. The whiskey was potent and burned all the way down. "You don't understand the rules here. It was against the rules for Eavin to live with me unchaperoned, but with your presence and Jeannette's and the approval of our families, it could be excused as eccentric but not immoral. They might think the worst, but no one would ever say it. You, however, said it. In their eyes, that made it real. Nothing I can do now will ever remove the taint."

"Bullshit." Michael sat back in the desk chair and glared at Nicholas. "You could marry her. That is what any decent man would do."

That was a solution that had never really occurred to Nicholas. It was impractical, of course. Eavin wasn't Francine. Society would never accept her or her story. But it wasn't just society that stood in the way. Neither of them wanted the ties of marriage, and even if they did, it wouldn't be to each other. Eavin wanted children, and she would have to marry a man with a family already made to have them. Someday he would have to have an heir, and Eavin couldn't provide one. Marriage to each other was out of the question, but if it would settle this conflict looming between the three of them, then he would put it to the test. Nicholas knew the answer before Eavin could give it, but Michael wouldn't be satisfied until he heard it from her lips.

"I think you mistake your sister's feelings, O'Flannery, but I will not speak for her. Send someone to bring her down."

Michael hurried to do just that. Standing in the hallway, he heard Eavin's refusal when the servant knocked on her door, and he crossed to the stairs and yelled upward. "Get yourself down here now, little sister, or I'm coming up after you!"

The angry silence that followed foretold the unpleasantness to come, but satisfied that she would respond, Michael returned to the study and glared at his imperturbable employer while they waited.

Wrapped in a light linen robe, Eavin appeared in the doorway. Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders in a manner that should have emphasized her seductive femininity, but the furious glitter of her eyes and lift of her chin distracted Nicholas from such thoughts. She was glorious in her fury, but the fact that she didn't even look at him assured him of the outcome of this little charade.

"Well?" Michael lifted a demanding eyebrow in their direction.

Nicholas had stood up when Eavin entered, now he gestured toward a chair. "I have a question to ask of you. Would you care to take a seat?"

"I've no wish to be speaking to the likes of either of you," Eavin replied coldly. "Have what you want to say and be done with it."

"You don't make it easy, you realize." Nicholas loomed over her, aware of every curve and swell of her body with the intimate knowledge of weeks of lovemaking. He wanted to touch her but dared not. Not yet.

"My heart bleeds." She smiled sweetly.

"After tonight, your brother thinks we should marry. It is the only solution to repair the damage that has been done."

Nicholas didn't know how anxiously he awaited her answer until Eavin made him stand there, the glitter of her eyes telling him exactly what she thought of this callous proposal.

"Well, I wish the two of you happy."

Even as he felt the pain of her rejection, Nicholas couldn't help choking on a laugh at Michael's expression. He didn't know his sister well.

 
"I'll be returning to my bed, then," she continued arrogantly. "Jeannette is up early in the mornings." She swung around and was almost out of the door before Michael could recover enough to shout after her.

"Eavin Marie O'Flannery, you get yourself back here!"

Eavin swung around again, her hair flying around her shoulders as she did so. "You go back to whatever hell you came from, Michael O'Flannery. I'll not be taking orders from the likes of you!"

This time when she stalked out, no one tried to stop her. Nicholas continued standing, a wry smile twisting his lips as he watched every swaying movement. He decided she was more compact than stately as she marched up the stairs, but she carried herself with the proud fury of an Irish queen. He wanted her with a passion that he had some difficulty disguising.

Turning around, Nicholas gazed enigmatically at his overseer. "Have you any more suggestions?"

"She always was one to try the patience of a saint." Michael shook his head morosely as he stared into his glass. "Perhaps she'll cool off tomorrow."

"And perhaps it will snow, too. She has her reasons, O'Flannery. You'd best let her be the judge of what she wants; she's in a position to know more than you."

Michael glanced up at the cool Frenchman. He supposed women found Nicholas Saint-Just attractive even though he sported a cracked lip and a hairline scar down the side of his cheek. But what he saw was a man made of fine-honed steel, too hard and unbendable for the likes of his vulnerable sister. Perhaps she was right. She didn't belong with a man like this.

Decisively, Michael answered, "Then I'll be taking her from here on the morrow."

The expression on Saint-Just's face was far from pleasant as he replied, "Over my dead body," and walked away.

Chapter 27

As much as Nicholas longed to go to Eavin that night, he knew better than to compound one error with another. It was late and they both needed a good night's sleep, not another confrontation. Seeing Eavin's door closed and probably blocked by half the furniture in the room, he turned to his own bed and contemplation of how best to handle the morrow.

Only when Nicholas went downstairs the next day, he wasn't prepared for the scene in the salon. That the brother of the man he wanted to kill dared speak to Eavin alone grated every raw nerve. But Alphonso's supplicating position on bended knee required temper control Nicholas barely possessed.

Eavin virtually ignored his entrance. She stood up and demanded that Alphonso do the same.

"This isn't appropriate, sir," she remonstrated, backing away to remove his hand from her hem. "I know you do me an honor, but it isn't necessary. Please do behave, Alphonso."

The Spaniard rose, his pale face taut with emotion. "How would you have me behave? I will do whatever you ask, just let me take you away from this place. It is not fitting that you should suffer for his behavior."

Nicholas didn't even give Eavin a chance to reply to that insult. Grabbing the boy's collar, he shoved him toward the doorway. "Out, Reyes. If you wish to be of help to Mrs. Dupré, then cut out your father's tongue and see your brother hanged. You'll find Raphael skulking in the bayous."

Alphonso recovered his balance and grabbed the door frame, turning to face his opponent. "I will send my seconds," he said stiffly.

"You can send thirds and fourths for all I care. My quarrel isn't with you but with Raphael. Send him out, and I'll accept the challenge." Nicholas folded his arms across his chest and glared at the younger man.

"Raphael is dead, and you killed him. You cannot tell me otherwise. I will send my seconds, and if you refuse them, you will be scorned by all."

Nicholas shrugged. "What else is new? Go home, Alphonso, and don't come back or I won't bother with the formalities. I'll just cut your ears off."

Insulted, Alphonso strode out without another look back. Restraining a sigh of impatience, Nicholas swung around to capture Eavin before she could escape through another door.

"Don't you dare leave," he ordered.

Eavin picked up her sewing and continued toward the far door.

"If you want a scene, I'll give you one, but you won't like it." Nicholas leaned against the door, blocking this escape route.

Eavin stopped to face him. "Then say what you have to say and be done with it."

"I want an end to these strutting suitors of yours. You're mine and we both know it. There's no use in continuing the pretense." That wasn't at all what Nicholas had intended to say, but the words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. He had spent a miserable night longing for her welcoming arms, hating the arguments that kept them apart. He had meant to put an end to all argument, but this wasn't how he had meant to do it.

"Is that all you have to say?" Eavin raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

A calm Eavin was unnatural, like the silence of the swamp when a stranger intrudes. He had given her enough ammunition to blow his head off, and she was choosing her moment.

"No, there are many things I would like to say, but these are not the best surroundings in which to say them." Nicholas caught her arm before she could realize his intent. "Come with me. It is time you learned to ride."

That caught her off guard. She turned and stared at him rather than fighting his grip. She was growing accustomed to seeing Nicholas's face battered and bruised, and she did not allow sympathy to stand in her way. "I think not. Besides, I don't have the appropriate attire."

"I will buy you whatever you need later. For now, have Clemmie fetch you one of Francine's habits. The skirt should fit in everything but length, and there is none but me to see you."

Eavin hesitated. She was still furious, but Nicholas had removed the trigger. Had he shouted at her, she could have shouted back. Had he ignored her, she could have got even in any number of ways. Confronting her calmly wasn't his expected behavior.

She didn't see sense in postponing the fight they both spoiled for, but Eavin supposed it would be better to carry this particular argument out of hearing.

"I'll be ready shortly." Coldly she eyed the hand on her arm until Nicholas released her. When she walked out, it was with the knowledge that his gaze was upon her. He'd called her his! Of all the bloody nerve…

* * *

She didn't keep him waiting as he had expected. Obviously having worked up to a full head of steam again, Eavin sailed down the stairs, disdaining his offered arm as she stormed toward the door. Nicholas followed, attempting to hide his smile as he watched the flash of her stockinged ankles beneath the long skirt she held up. He admired the smallness of her waist and the curve of her hip in the revealing cut. Once they got the fight out of the way and laid a few ground rules, he would enjoy removing that particular article of clothing.

The horses he had ordered saddled were waiting. Eavin didn't have any choice but to accept his help in gaining her seat. The scathing look she sent him prevented him from taking too much advantage.

They rode slowly, Nicholas giving her instructions as they went, occasionally stopping her and adjusting her hands or the way she sat, explaining what the horse expected as he did so. It was early yet, and there was none to see their progress but the slaves in the fields. Their guests had not risen after the night's debaucheries, and the household servants would take care of their needs when they did. The stickiness of the July heat and humidity had not yet reached unbearable proportions.

When they reached a high point, some distance from the river but providing a spectacular view, Nicholas halted the horses and swung down. The spot he had chosen was shaded by a sprawling oak and cooled by the breeze off the river. When he lifted her down, Eavin could see that a natural dip in the top of the hillock would provide privacy. That point had not gone unnoticed by Nicholas, who spread a blanket over the tufts of grass in the hollow and led her toward it.

"I don't see why we have any need to sit down for this discussion." Eavin resisted his tug.

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't. I don't see any reason why we shouldn't lie down if we like. We've gone beyond the need to be coy with each other, Irish. Sit, and let us discuss this reasonably."

Irritated, Eavin sat, flouncing Francine's skirt around her. She wore a skirt that belonged to another woman, had ridden a beast she had never thought to ride, and was sitting in a savage land that was beyond anything she had ever known. And worst of all, the man beside her was so far from the elements of culture with which she was familiar that he made her feel little more than a heathen. As Nicholas lowered his elegant frame beside her, she was tempted to pick up her skirt and run.

At least he wasn't wearing the formal frock coat and cravat of last night. His shirt was open at the neck as she had been accustomed to, and his hair was falling down in his eyes, eyes that were as puffy with lack of sleep as her own. That gave her some satisfaction. Reaching for a handful of the coarse grass, Eavin tugged it.

"What is there to discuss? You and Michael behaved abominably. You ruined everything. How can we discuss that away?"