Patricia Rice (38 page)

Eavin was the opposite of what he had thought he wanted. She had a peasant's healthy physique with wide hips and full breasts and the strength to punch him hard enough to cause pain. And a passion to match.

Sighing, Nicholas lifted his wineglass to his lips.
 

Later, Gabriella dutifully trudged off to bed under the tender auspices of Nicholas's mother. He watched them go with a feeling of trepidation. Perhaps they should have stayed in New Orleans for a few days after the wedding. It might have been easier surrounded by crowds of well- wishers. But traditionally, the newly married couple weren't supposed to show their faces for some time after the wedding, and it had seemed simpler to isolate himself here where he felt at home. Where Eavin was.

Instinct urged Nicholas to go to Eavin now and not to his newly acquired wife. Gabriella would be relieved. She was terrified of him, and perhaps rightly so. Gently bred in a more civilized country, she had no notion of what it took to survive here. She no doubt had her heart set on some effeminate young man who would produce a lace-edged handkerchief whenever she looked peaked, and who wouldn't have the audacity to make constant demands on her in bed.

But the marriage had to be consummated sometime. And after today's episode it would be best to do so tonight, or Gabriella and his mother would go crying back to New Orleans. Claiborne had finally relented enough to hear Nicholas's plea for recognition of Lafitte's offer.
 

It might be a little too late, but there was still a chance that the pirates would prefer American rule to British, although the terms of their offer would probably be stiffer now that their island had been demolished. But if Gabriella went flying back to New Orleans for refuge, Nicholas's credibility and honor would be questioned and the treaty with the pirates would be lost. He'd made his bed. It was time he slept in it.

Reluctantly, Nicholas left his study. Gabriella would be alone and expecting him. It had been so much simpler with Eavin. Although frightened, she had wanted his caresses.

Shedding his coat, his cravat already long since removed, Nicholas undressed in the sitting room outside the chamber where his wife waited. He hadn't worn a nightshirt since childhood, but he would have to cover himself with respectability tonight—although the way he felt at the moment, he had very little to hide.

Discarding all but trousers and shirt, Nicholas approached the darkened chamber on bare feet. Perhaps she slept and they could save the final act of this terrible day for morning. That would be preferable. They would both be rested and relaxed.

Trying not to think of the woman sleeping in a strange bed in the house across the lawn, Nicholas crept into his bedroom as if he were the outsider. He had to remember that Gabriella was in a place strange to her also, but he could find no empathy with the silent child. She seemed to have no character, no thoughts of her own. Perhaps she was waiting for him to give her some.

Not relishing that thought, Nicholas bent over the bed to see if she was there.

"I thought you might not come," she whispered.

Nicholas could hear the quaver in her voice and tried not scowl, though the room was dark enough to prevent her seeing. "We were married in the eyes of God and the church this morning," he reminded her. "I must make this a marriage in truth now." He sat down at the edge of the bed.

"I understand. Your mother explained things to me. I will lie very still and let you do what you like. But when there's a baby, will I need to do it anymore?"

Disgust rose in his throat and Nicholas reached to light a candle. He felt like a cradle robber as he looked down on her white face. Her high-necked gown covered everything, enveloping even her breasts in loose folds. She wore her pale hair pulled in a single tight braid that fell over her shoulder. Despite her brave words, terror widened her eyes. Her lips looked cracked and dry, and he had a sudden vision of full, moist red ones quivering eagerly for his touch.

Nicholas fought the image. He sought Gabriella's breast, searching futilely among the folds of linen before he encountered the small mound. She whimpered when he touched her, and a glance told him she was biting her bottom lip. To head off disgust, Nicholas bent to kiss her unappealing lips.

He encountered the barrier of her teeth and something snapped. His hands closed over her shoulders as he pushed her roughly down. He would not have another wife who refused him in bed. Prying at her mouth with his tongue, he pulled her gown upward. Only her childish cry of alarm restored his senses and his repulsion with himself.

Shoving from the bed, Nicholas strode for the door. "Go to sleep, Gabriella. I will speak with you in the morning."

He could almost feel her relief as he shut the door behind him.

Chapter 32

Nicholas slept alone that night. He heard the drunken arrival of Eavin's brother and slipped out to the gallery, fearing Eavin might persuade Michael to take her away. Ignoring the mosquitoes, he sat with his legs propped on the railing, watching the
garçonnière
as lights moved from the lower salon to upper bed chambers. Then the lights went out, and all was peaceful again. She was staying, for now.

He would have to see that she stayed forever. Nicholas leaned back in the cane chair, drinking in the scent of the heavy night air, sipping his wine. He'd had mistresses before. He was a man who enjoyed physical pleasures. But he'd never had one who haunted his thoughts even when she wasn't there.

A breeze caressed his face, and Nicholas thought of Eavin's kisses. The perfume of the roses she had planted drifted upward, and he recalled her delicious scent. He could hear her laughter in the call of the night birds. He could see her eyes sparkling in the lights of a boat drifting by on the river. He could see her walk in the movement of the willows in the wind. He longed for her voice whispering in his ear, but there was only silence.

He was dangerously near a precipice. He didn't know how to pull back, but he recognized the danger. Considered logically, he didn't think he had done the wrong thing. But logic wasn't pulling at him now. Temptation was.

Nicholas rose and returned to the lonely room he had shared with Eavin. Even the pillows smelled of her perfume. He fell asleep hugging one to him.

In the morning, after only a few hours' fitful sleep, Nicholas appeared downstairs to find Michael in the dining room ahead of him. His overseer looked the worse for drink, but the stubborn glow of determination in his Irish eyes was much the same as Eavin's. Nicholas reached for the coffee. He needed to be awake for this confrontation.

"Lafitte was in the bar looking for you last night." Michael produced a flask and added a swig of the contents to his coffee, then passed the flask to Nicholas. "I don't think he was amused that you married in order to save him. Daniel and I had a time pouring enough whiskey down him to keep him from taking the place apart single-handed."

"I'm surprised you hadn't already done it yourself." Nicholas splashed the liquor into his cup and grimaced as he tasted it.

"If it hadn't been for Daniel, I would have. I left him talking about shutting down the paper and buying you out of the bar so he wouldn't have to deal with you anymore."

"That's what a man likes, loyalty." Sitting down, Nicholas picked up a croissant and belligerently bit into it. "So, when are you leaving?"

"Today. One of the other things I learned last night was that the British claim their fleet attacked Baltimore and Washington. I'm going home."

The grayness inside his soul muffled any strong reaction to this news of the outside world, but it didn't stop Nicholas from contemplating the chain of events that would follow should the rumor be true. If the British were boldly attacking the cities on the East Coast, it could very well mean that their fleet in the Lakes had finally shut off those ports, fully capturing the north, and they were now sailing southward to put an end to the war.

It didn't take much imagination to know that New Orleans was the key to the west. Conquer New Orleans, and the British would own the entire Mississippi and all the states and territories along it. The New England states had been against the war all along. The British wouldn't risk arousing their ire by attacking the north now that they claimed Maine.
 

New Orleans was an entirely different matter. New Orleans with their pirates and privateers boldly thumbing their noses at the mighty British navy's blockade would be a satisfying target. The stockpiles of valuable cargo waiting for shipping would be an irresistible temptation to sailors starving for prize money. It had been inevitable from the start.

"There won't be any ships out," Nicholas told Michael. "The only way back to Baltimore will be over the mountains. By the time you get there, we're likely to be British subjects. Our only hope in hell is to keep New Orleans out of their hands."

Michael looked at him in disbelief. "What do we have? Five miserable little ships collecting shrimp in the bay? Lafitte says the British have nearly fifty ships of the line in Jamaica, and Wellington's army is on its way. What are we going to do, set the alligators on them?"

"I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm offering my services to General Jackson. I've never fought a land war, but my ship isn't here, so I don't have a choice. Jackson is a tough man. I don't admire his politics, but he's our only hope."

Michael shook his head as Nicholas sipped coffee as if they were discussing the newspaper. "You have a house full of women and cane and cotton ready for harvest. And you're planning on marching to Mobile?"

That aroused a flicker of pain, but Nicholas quickly dismissed it. "The British would have to sail all fifty ships up the river, ground them, and walk from one to the other before they can reach this plantation. The city is where they'll attack, and they'll have to do that on foot. They'll not get frigates through the mud. As for the harvest, well, I know a man looking for work if you're not staying. I don't know how Baltimore and Washington fought, but no self- respecting Creole will allow New Orleans to fall without a fight. The cane will have to wait."

"I'm Irish," Michael growled. "You can't hate the British any more than I do. If Jackson's the man to lead this fight, I'll be joining him."

Nicholas nodded. He hadn't expected any less from Eavin's feisty brother. Michael was looking for a battle, and Nicholas was only relieved that he had chosen this one and not one against himself. There would be no winning in a fight with Eavin's brother. Even if he beat Michael, Eavin would hate him forever. She wouldn't appreciate his leading her brother to war, either, but women seldom appreciated violence.

"I suppose you better tell Eavin, then. She won't speak to me. I'll make the other arrangements." Resolutely, Nicholas rose from the table. This wasn't what he wanted, but he didn't see any alternative. He'd thought he'd returned from the fighting life when he had come here. But it seemed life was one kind of battle or another after all, the only difference being that war provided a more useful outlet for the rage boiling inside him than dueling.

With a frown Michael watched the Frenchman walk away. All the electric energy that had driven Nicholas earlier seemed to have gone out of him. When he had first arrived, Nicholas Saint-Just had appeared to be a golden warrior, and Michael couldn't fault Eavin for choosing a man like that. But the glitter seemed tarnished now, and the warrior looked too tired to lift a sword.
 

Mindful of his sister's well-being, Michael returned to the room where Eavin had imprisoned herself. She met his news with the same stony implacability as Nicholas. She continued combing Jeannette's hair and fastening a ribbon. When he announced he was leaving, she nodded her head and set the child on the floor.

"Are you going to be here when I get back?" Michael demanded.

Eavin looked at him blankly. "Where else would I be going then?"

Throwing his hands up in disgust, Michael walked out. He would never understand women, and right at the moment he saw no purpose in trying.

* * *

Finding Gabriella still in bed, Nicholas entered the chamber they were meant to share and paced the rug while she pulled the sheets around her and watched him with unmitigated terror.

"General Jackson will be needing experienced fighting men. It's my duty to offer my services. You will be safe here. There's no need to worry."

She watched him stalk up and down and nervously inquired, "When are you leaving?"

Nicholas favored her with a look of disgust. "Immediately. You are herewith relieved of your marital duties until I return. If you are having second thoughts about this marriage, I'd suggest you consult a priest about an annulment. It's still possible now. It won't be later, once I bed you."

If it was possible, Gabriella paled a shade whiter. She clutched the sheet tighter and tears seeped from her eyes.

Nicholas saw the tears, and to his shame, he cared nothing for them. He was terrifying her, and he wasn't the least repentant. All he knew was the disgust welling up in him, and the anger that made him want to shake her until her teeth rattled. He could have raped her last night. Today he would favor beating her. Such a violent reaction to someone he was meant to share his life with did not portend well for the future.

Since she seemed to have nothing else to say to a husband about to go off to war, Nicholas strode out. He should have known better than to expect anything more. He didn't even seek out his mother but began giving a list of instructions to the servants.