Patricia Rice (35 page)

She looked up when he entered the room later, but his scowl made her heart thump with trepidation. Since they had isolated themselves out of hearing of scandalous tongues, she hadn't seen that expression in months.
 

Laughing, Jeannette ran on uncertain legs to hug the man she called "papa." A gabble of words spilled from her tongue now, laced liberally with sounds of "papa" and "dolly" and "auntie" as Nicholas lifted her up and she displayed some fascinating characteristic of her doll to him. The scowl softened as Nicholas carried his daughter across the room and bent to place a kiss on Eavin's head.

"The news is not good," Eavin said in a voice as calm as she could, so as not to worry the child.

"No." Nicholas bounced Jeannette in his arms and spoke through her squeals. "The British are trying to negotiate with Lafitte. They are offering his crew full pardon and large sums of money in return for his aid. Claiborne has made such a clown of himself over the pirates, the offer must be very tempting. And if the governor hears that Lafitte has talked with the British, he'll go after the whole island. He's only been looking for an excuse."

"And what will you do?" Eavin held her arms out and allowed Nicholas to deposit his daughter in them. She knew without asking that he was leaving.

He looked relieved at her easy acceptance. "I won't know until I get there. If the British are so bold as to meet with Lafitte, they must be confident of their success. Eavin, we don't even have a navy to hold them back. There's nothing to stop them without Lafitte. I've learned to live under many flags, but I'm not eager to accept a British one. I have to go."

"I know." Eavin kissed Jeannette and returned her to the floor, then rose to stand beside Nicholas. "You don't have to hide your feelings from me. You're very good at pretending, but I know how much you care about what happens to New Orleans, to your friends and family. I understand."

She didn't add "because I love you." She just went into Nicholas's arms and kissed him with a lingering farewell that promised much for when he returned. He had burdens enough to carry without adding another one. She not only knew what he wanted to eat, how he wanted his servants to behave, what he liked in bed, but she knew what he needed from her: acceptance, with no strings attached.

And Eavin gave it unequivocally. A woman in love was capable of strange things. She called for Clemmie to pack Nicholas's bags and sent Hattie to warn the stable boys to saddle a horse while Nicholas gathered whatever papers he meant to carry with him.
 

She kissed Nicholas good-bye and watched him ride away before fleeing to her room and pouring her tears into her pillow.

* * *

"I didn't think you would return to the city already."
 

Arriving at his city home, Nicholas was caught by surprise at his mother's appearance.

"Obviously."
 
Hélène gave her son's muddy boots and sweat-stained clothes a disdainful glance. Warily she asked, "Where's Mrs. Dupré?"

"At home, I'm here on business. I haven't come to socialize. I'm in something of a hurry,
maman
." Nicholas started up the stairs.

"Be careful, you will terrify Gabriella with that scowl," she called after him.

Nicholas sent her an incredulous look and took the remaining steps two at a time.

He didn't return to the house for three days, and when he did, it was as if they had been waiting for him. He hadn't bathed in two of those days, and he had spent the last one crawling through bayous and thickets fit for nothing but alligators and mosquitoes. Nicholas was extremely conscious of his ripe appearance when he entered and found the elegantly dressed assembly waiting for his arrival.

The American Governor Claiborne rose and nodded. His young wife smiled boldly, with a hint of laughter in her eyes at his muddied attire. Madame Dupré lifted her eyes nervously and away again. The pale female at her side gasped and stared, and
 
Hélène Saint-Just gave her son a disparaging glance.

"We will delay our meal another hour, Nicholas. Go and wash."

The command was very similar to one a mother would give a child, but his mother had never used that particular tone in her life. Usually her commands were made with a languid grace. This curt tone did not bode well.

Nicholas sent the governor a suspicious glance, nodded and made polite excuses, and escaped to the upper story. He had half a mind to change and slip out the back stairs, but the fate of New Orleans could lie in his hands tonight. He would have to force Claiborne to understand the urgency of the situation. And he would have to do it without frightening the ladies.

He took care with his attire, something he'd not had to do in months. His cravat was snowy and simply arranged; his tan frock coat lay smoothly over his shoulders; his trousers were neatly pressed, and his shoes shined to perfection. Then confident that the governor would look on him as the French gentleman he imitated when he was so inclined, Nicholas sauntered downstairs.

To his annoyance, he found himself leading Gabriella into dinner and sitting beside her at the table. He needed to converse with the governor, but patiently he listened to the girl's timid remarks, gallantly made her feel at ease, and bided his time. The smothered look of fury he sent his mother went right past her.

When it came time for the company to retire from the table, Nicholas abandoned the child and approached the governor with the promise of some brandy in his study. The American was shorter than Nicholas, but he carried himself with the dignity worthy of his office.
 

The governor gestured toward the ladies entering the salon in refusal. "I believe the words we have to exchange would best be said in front of the ladies. Besides, I cannot condone smuggled brandy. You understand my position."

Nicholas lifted a sardonic brow as he glanced at the lace adorning Mrs. Claiborne's silk gown, but wisely, he held his tongue. Let the man think he was avoiding smuggled goods by denying himself good brandy. There wasn't any silk or lace in this town that hadn't been brought in by the pirates.
 

"What I wish to say must be done in private, Governor. I do not wish to frighten the ladies."

Claiborne sent him an ill-concealed look of irritation. "Now is a fine time to develop sensibility. You don't think your rendezvous with the pirates was a secret, do your?"

Nicholas had, actually, but he didn't allow his surprise to show. He didn't know who had betrayed his presence on Barataria, but he could very well guess. Raphael had been quiet these last months, but then, it would have been a trifle difficult for Raphael to reach him when Nicholas was isolated on the plantation with an army of slaves at his disposal. He should have known the
canaille
would have taken the time to cultivate spies.

"I have never made my dealings with Lafitte a secret," Nicholas replied, bowing to indicate that the other gentleman enter the salon first. "He is a friend of mine, and would be a friend of yours if you would but listen to reason."

"I was not elected to befriend criminals. My office requires that I uphold the law. I understand that there is a difference in our cultures, but there is a limit that every self-respecting man must draw somewhere. Mine is in dealing with pirates, thieves, and murderers." Claiborne threw his host a piercing look, then took a chair beside his wife.

Nicholas didn't like the tone of this conversation. He could hear the warnings but couldn't find the direction of the attack. With a charming smile he dispensed sherry to the ladies and poured a good madeira for himself, as if all was well and he was no more than an unexceptional host. He knew the role well, had used it frequently, and he could be very convincing.
 

People believed what they wanted to believe. He was born of good family, blessed with aristocratic good looks, and he was rich. It was much easier to forget that "Old Nick" had sailed with the navy and pirates alike and came by his fortune in ways too dubious to mention.

"Madame Saint-Just, Madame Dupré, perhaps you will allow me to broach the subject that is most on your minds." Pompously the governor drew attention to himself.

Nicholas raised his eyebrows and winked at the lovely Mrs. Claiborne as he sat down. That lady hid a smile behind her fan as her husband took the floor.

"Monsieur Saint-Just, I was prepared to sign a warrant for your arrest until I was approached by several citizens of the community assuring me that your intentions might be misguided but are not traitorous. I fear I doubt their assurances. Forgive me, ladies." He bowed in the direction of the two older women. "But the facts remain. Nicholas Saint-Just is a known smuggler, an associate of the pirates who even now are treating with the British, and a man who has engaged in dueling resulting in death. His private morals do not withstand inspection. Nonetheless, I've been given to understand there were unfortunate circumstances involved, and that you are a man of honor. Would you say that of yourself, Saint- Just?"

"A man of honor does not speak for himself, Claiborne. His actions speak for him. If you wish to arrest me, please do. We have laws and courts in Louisiana. I am persuaded I can stand before any of them without a qualm." Nicholas calmly arranged his long legs before him and straightened the seam of his trousers. He kept his irritation well in check. Eavin would be proud.

"Good. I do not wish to give these good ladies undue concern. Women tend to allow their emotions to cloud their judgment. But as an honorable man, you will do the right thing, and I will recognize your intentions by your actions. I understand your feelings at your wife's unfortunate demise—I have lost two wives of my own—but it is time you returned to proper behavior. Your neighbors tell me you settled down appreciably when you married, and it is only since your wife's death that you have fallen from grace. I think, and the ladies agree with me, that the solution is in your remarrying."

Fury flew through him with the speed of lightning. Nicholas straightened, started to push from the chair, then remembering his pose, brutally bottled his temper and lounged against the seat back. Locking his fingers over his chest, he eyed the governor speculatively.
 

"I didn't realize your duties included match-making, Governor. In France we allow old widows with nothing else to do to engage in that chore." He'd never been in France in his life, but he amused himself with the color purple straining at the other man's cheeks.
 

While the governor was controlling his own temper, Nicholas sent his mother a scathing glance. She had been nagging him for months now. This was an example of her handiwork.

Somehow she managed to look repentant and nervous at the same time. With a grimace of disdain Nicholas returned an innocent gaze to his judge and jury.

"I'll ignore your insolence, Saint-Just. A man doesn't like to be told what to do, but I'm persuaded you do not know the situation and will be eager to make amends once you do."

Nicholas had a few French phrases he'd like to use to tell the old meddler what to do right now, but he smiled genially and sipped his wine. "Of course, if I can be of assistance... ?"

"By killing Raphael Reyes, you have caused a young girl to be thrown into a strange land without a home, without family, and without protection. She is not only any young girl, but she is a cousin of your wife's. It is your duty to see that she is protected, and the only way that can be done is to marry her."

With the certain knowledge of a condemned man, Nicholas turned to the pale young female clenching her hands in her lap and watched her blanch at his inspection. Her fair hair was the only resemblance he could discern to Francine. His gaze lifted to the two duplicitous old women wringing their hands in their laps. Why in hell did they hate him so much? What had he ever done to make their lives so miserable?

His unruly temper gathered and concentrated into a curled ball inside his gut. With an astonishing and deceptive calm Nicholas returned his gaze to Claiborne. "I was not aware of the relationship, nor do I understand your reference to Reyes. But most of all, I resent your interference in a highly personal matter. I am certain the young lady does not wish to be chosen as a pawn in a game beyond her understanding. I think it is time that we adjourn to my study, Governor, and discuss whatever is bothering you at length."

"I was betrothed to Raphael," the girl whispered into the angry silence.

Those words were followed by another lengthy pause in which Nicholas suffered the verdict of a jury of his peers and had the first glimpse of understanding. He had been judged and found guilty, and they were about to announce his sentence.

Confirming that thought, his mother broke the silence. "The governor means to have you arrested if we cannot assure your good behavior, Nicholas. If you will not agree to our wishes in this, then he knows our promises are nothing."
 
Hélène sat stiffly, her spine never touching the curved back of the gilded chair. The fading gold of her hair still held a glint in the candlelight, but pain had etched lines in the once smooth fairness of her skin. Pain deepened those lines now.

A trap. A foolish trap with enough holes to ride a herd of horses through, but one sufficient to make him step warily. Nicholas sipped his wine and smiled genially.

"How interesting," he murmured to the company in general. And when they began to relax and talk among themselves, he threw back the rest of the wine and let the alcohol add fuel to his anger.