Patricia Rice (33 page)

"We can't. What's done is done. We have to realize that and go forward from there. I'm sorry for my part in it, if that makes any difference to you. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

He rested his hand behind her, and she stiffened but didn't move away. If she allowed herself to be reasonable, she would recognize that Nicholas had endured any number of insults on her behalf for months, and he had gallantly resisted calling anyone out. But to accept that would be to accept that it was reasonable to kill someone for spreading gossip. That might be what society expected, but it was a stupid rule.

"No, you had no reason to lose your temper with Michael. If you had laughed him off, taken him outside, done anything but create a scene, the whole thing would have passed practically unnoticed. Now I am condemned forever."
 

Eavin had tried not to think about what that meant, but the horror on the faces of the women around her warned of her fate. They had rallied for Nicholas's sake and because scandal was something to live on, but she would never be invited to polite homes again. The world knew her as she was now. Perhaps she could face it for her own sake, but there was still Jeannette to consider. She couldn't ruin Jeannette's future.

"Condemned? Is that how you feel about what is between us?" Nicholas touched her shoulder lightly, trying to bring her to face him.

"What is between us?" she asked bitterly. "There is nothing between us but what animals do in the barnyard. There is no need to sugar-coat things for me, Nicholas. My mother has done the same since my father's death. She derives some pleasure from the company, I suppose, and our household finances always needed the help. I just never saw myself repeating her mistakes."

Leaning back on his elbow, Nicholas gazed up at the canopy of dusty oak leaves. "I'll not give you up to a succession of men like your mother has endured, Eavin. What we have is nothing like that. We have a relationship that extends beyond the bedroom door. You are my friend, Eavin. Is it so impossible to think of me in that way?"

It was. Eavin studied the view of the river. If she stood and turned her head to the right, she could see the house. His house. With his daughter inside it. Not hers. Perhaps that was what rankled. She would never have a home of her own. Tears coming to her eyes, she still refused to look at him.

"Yes. Yes, it is. I am your employee as much as Michael is. You can send me away anytime you wish to. I'm thinkin' it would be better if I left on my own before that happens."

"That's what I was afraid you were thinking." Throwing aside patience, Nicholas grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down beside him, catching her head in the curve of his shoulder and holding her waist until she was sprawled along the length of him.

"I'll not allow you to leave," Nicholas informed her. When Eavin began to struggle, he rolled her over and pinned her against the ground, forcing her gaze to meet his. His loins responded eagerly to this position, but he ignored the demands of his body. "I'll build you a house of your own, give you title to it. Then I can never send you away. You will belong here as much as I do."

"You have taken leave of your senses." Eavin tried to retain her control, but already her heart beat foolishly at the pressure of Nicholas's body on hers. She didn't know where her anger had gone, but it had been replaced by an overwhelming sorrow. She had been wrong when she had declared there was no more between them than
animals in the barnyard. There was something here much greater than that, and it terrified her.

"No, it is the perfect solution. We will have separate households and in the eyes of society we will be perfectly moral. And you will know that you will always have a home of your own, no matter what the future brings." His eyes grew dark as they held hers. "But between us it is understood, I do not wish to share you with anyone but Jeannette."

The blood pounding through Eavin's veins almost drowned out the warning bells in her brain. What he was saying wasn't precisely what she desired, but so much closer than she could ever have believed possible that she wanted to shout yes without any further consideration. But she hadn't survived for twenty-four years by ignoring her common sense. With her shoulders pinned to the ground, Eavin couldn't touch his face, but the tension drained out of them as she gave the answer he didn't want.

"Then you would own me as surely as if we were married, Nicholas. It won't work, you know. You can't buy me and keep me here as your slave. What we have won't last, can't last. Don't make it any harder than it will have to be."

Stunned at this rejection of what he had been certain would convince her, Nicholas did not reply with words. Instead he found his answer in the taste of her lips, heard what he wanted to hear in the arching of her body into his, and accepted the reply of her welcoming arms as he enfolded her in his embrace. One way or another, she would have her house and he would keep her.

When they rode back later, Eavin's clothes were rumpled and her hair was in disarray and her cheeks were flushed with the pleasure of lovemaking. Nicholas thought she looked enchanting, but a glance toward the drive, where a carriage waited, warned there were others who might not be so taken with her present appearance.

Halting the horses in the stable yard, he lifted her down and brushed a kiss against her hair before releasing her.

"Go up the back stairs,
ma cherie
. I will distract our visitors until you can change."

At this moment, feeling the passion Nicholas had poured into her, Eavin would have confronted the world with her pride in his possession, but that was never to be. She must learn to keep this feeling between them a secret, but it would be a very difficult thing to do when she felt it every time she looked at him.

As if understanding some of her struggle, Nicholas brushed a kiss across her cheek and walked off, leaving her to deal with it out of his presence.

Inside, he halted at the doorway to the dining room to greet those of his guests who had availed themselves of the brunch the servants had laid out. The sound of his voice drew the visitors from the salon, as he had hoped. The confrontation to come would be much easier in public.

"Nicholas! Where have you been? You shouldn't desert your guests like this. We've been waiting and waiting."

He sipped his coffee, and his mother's complaint brought sympathetic grins from around the table. With an expressive shrug he returned his cup to the sideboard to greet his mother.

With carefully concealed dismay he noted his mother-in-law trailing behind her, towing a young fair-haired female in her wake. There ought to be a limit to the number of battles a man must fight in a day, particularly in his own home. Stiffening his resolve, he made a polite bow.

"And good morning to you,
maman
,
madame
,"—he nodded in Madame Dupré's direction. "What brings me the pleasure of your presence?"

Ignoring his veiled sarcasm,
 
Hélène announced, "We have come to ask you to take us to Villere, Nicholas. We cannot impose on our hosts for such a long journey, so I have told them you will be delighted to see us there. You are invited, too. You have been working too hard. It is time you rested and enjoyed yourself a little. Why, look at you now! You have already been out in the fields. There is grass all over your shirt."

Nicholas stiffened at the snicker behind him, but he had learned his lesson last night. The men at the table could think what they wished; he would not verify it for them. Extending his elbow for his mother to take, he replied, "I am much too busy for a prolonged visit, but I will be delighted to see to your transportation. Come, let us discuss the details elsewhere."

Instead of accepting his proposal,
 
Hélène sniffed and went to inspect the sideboard. "Then offer us a bite to eat, Nicholas. You have adopted too many of a bachelor's habits to neglect your hospitality so. What on earth is this terrible stuff?"

Resigned, Nicholas signaled a servant to assist the ladies with plates while he pulled out a chair for the retiring miss whose name he seemed to have misplaced. "That is Irish soda bread, maman. Eavin and Michael prefer it for breakfast. Eavin has taught the cook to make it. Try some, it is quite good."

"Ugh. Peasant bread. No, thank you. I'll just have some of these beignets. They are a trifle greasy, are they not, Louisa?"

Until now Madame Dupré had remained silent. Beside
 
Hélène's stately, gray-haired presence, she was little more than a small, dark shadow. But she nodded in agreement. "Francine would never have allowed the kitchen to be reduced to such a state."

"Francine taught the cook how to make beignets. Sure, and you can be sartin I never did."

The fox was in the chickens now, Nicholas groaned to himself as Eavin sailed into the room, all flags flying.

Chapter 28

Eavin helped herself to a large slice of soda bread, slathered it lavishly with butter, and sat boldly at the end of the table. A servant hastened to fill her cup with the tea she preferred. As several of the young gentlemen hastily made their excuses, she waved them back to their seats.

"Do sit down, sirs, and finish your meal. I have asked Hattie to bring up some of the champagne Nicholas keeps hidden in the wine cellar. A sip of champagne with those glorious peaches is just what the day calls for. Raoul, please pour the lady beside you some coffee. Gentlemen, you are grown much too lax in your manners."

Nicholas smothered a grin as Eavin imitated his mother's pomposity while softening it with a seductive smile that had the young men falling all over themselves. It was hard to believe that just minutes ago her cheeks had been flushed with his kisses and her hair strewn with the grass of their illicit encounter.
 

Although not pinned in the tight bun she had first worn, her hair was still arranged in a respectable chignon, with only twists of curls escaping in charming disarray. She had daringly abandoned the long sleeves of her daytime chemise for the coolness of a puffed sleeve gown. Nicholas did not dare contemplate what she wore—or did not wear—under it. He could scarcely tear his gaze from the shockingly low bodice.

Eavin sweetly addressed the two older women. "How thoughtful of you to come all this way to pay your respects, ladies. I am certain Nicholas is pleased with the honor you do him. Please, why don't you take a seat and let Hattie serve you?"

Seeing that Eavin had neatly arranged an audience,
 
Hélène could do no more than acquiesce, understanding quite rightly that the men wouldn't leave the table until they had received the promised champagne.
 

Sighing with an air of being put upon, she took a chair and sipped the coffee. "We cannot stay long," she announced formally. "We have only come to ask Nicholas to accompany us to Villeré . It is time he had some rest and relaxation with his own kind."

Eavin knew the men waited expectantly for her reply. Even Nicholas calmly took his coffee and his seat at the head of the table. It would have been so much easier if she had just kept her place in the nursery, but if this was what was required to keep Nicholas, she knew how to fight. Madame Saint-Just didn't stand a chance.
 

Eavin smiled knowingly. "Rest and relaxation? How novel!" She fluttered her lashes at Nicholas, who nearly choked on his coffee. "I know you are considerably older than I am, dear Nicholas, but I never meant to tire you. Forgive me for not understanding."

The suggestive implication of her words and look had all the men desperately trying to hide their laughter while
 
Hélène fumed and the other ladies appeared bewildered. Nicholas just grinned and saluted her with his coffee cup.

"Fear not,
ma chérie
. If I was any more relaxed, I would be asleep. You missed the point. It is 'my own kind' with whom I am supposed to relax. Do you think Mignon would care to join us?"

"I think Lafitte would be more appropriate," Eavin replied dryly. As long as her reputation was in tatters, she might as well enjoy the advantage of it, but Nicholas didn't have to take it so easily. She and every man at the table knew what he meant when he referred to being relaxed enough to sleep. Had the table not been so long, she would have kicked him.

Uncharacteristically, Isabel Dupré stepped into the breach. "I don't believe Lafitte appears in public any longer," she said vaguely, crumbling a croissant on her plate. "The governor is extremely put out with him, although I heard Jean danced with the governor's wife recently. Still, I don't think he would be an appropriate escort. Dear Gabriella looks quite pale at the prospect. No, I'm afraid it will have to be Nicholas who escorts us."

This was said in heavily accented English so that Eavin could not fail to understand. Remembering this was Francine's mother, Eavin nodded respectfully. "You are quite right,
madame
. I was only twisting Nicholas's arm a little bit. He is much too certain of himself, is he not?"

Pleased that her late son's wife had replied in stiff but perfectly correct French, Isabel Dupré dared a smile of agreement before darting a look at Nicholas. "You have more courage than I do,
ma petite
," she murmured.

"She has more courage than is good for her." Nicholas lifted his freshly filled glass of champagne. "To the Irish, who have more courage than sense sometimes, but who always overcome the fault with looks and charm."