Patricia Rice (44 page)

Chapter 37

The dream slid his tongue between her teeth, moaned in delight, and scooped her breasts into both his hands, and Eavin responded as if starved. The words he whispered in her ear were French and not words that Nicholas had ever said to her, but their meaning was clear, and her body responded joyously to their promise. It was only a dream. She didn't have to analyze a dream for lies.

His feverish kisses descended to engulf her breasts, and Eavin grabbed the sheets and arched upward with pleasure. Panic swept over her as she realized her helplessness, but the need was too strong. She dug her fingers into his hair and allowed him to command her as he would.

Nicholas's kisses trailed lower, and Eavin cried out in joy and alarm as he lifted her hips, holding her imprisoned as his tongue took his pleasure until she writhed with desire. Gripping his hair more tightly, she jerked hard, pulling him away, pushing him back against the bed while she slid down his side to find the fastenings of his trousers.

She had never been so aggressive with the real Nicholas, but in her dreams she could do anything she desired. And she desired this. If she were never to know Nicholas's hard body again, she would fulfill all
her
dreams with imagination.

The dream hurriedly rendered assistance to her inexpert fumbling with his buttons, and then her kisses were trailing naked flesh. She had never known dreams could smell and taste real, but she savored the experience, reveling in the maleness that Nicholas alone had taught her, thrilling to the tension rising between them. His moans and murmurs were music to her ears, and she knew a sense of power she had never known when the real Nicholas had held her.

Except this was the real Nicholas, she just refused to admit it. The hands grasping her shoulders were hard and callused against her skin as they jerked her upward. The arms crushing her on top of him rippled with muscular strength and not the stuff of dreams. And the mouth closing over hers was hot and moist and as demanding as the needs of her lower body. Without taking time to wonder or think, Eavin positioned her hips over his.

Nicholas gasped as he suddenly sank into welcoming flesh. He had never expected to achieve heaven again, but his heart and soul savored the moment. With fervent gratitude he turned her over and buried himself deep.

Happy memories of plowing the rich land, releasing the odors of sun-warmed earth, emerged as Eavin's body opened to his. He had visions of seed sending roots deep into nurturing soil, filling him to bursting with a desperate hunger. Nicholas threw back his head and surged deeply, thrusting repeatedly until their joining had taken them as far as they could go, until there was naught else to do but release his life into the furrow he had plowed, and feel the moist heat welcome the seed of his body.

Eavin's cries of joy were soon followed by sobs of another sort, and Nicholas gently pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried. He didn't know by what miracle he had been given these brief moments, but he would cherish them to eternity, as he would cherish the woman he held in his arms.

Overwhelmed as much by emotional exhaustion as physical release, they fell asleep that way. When they woke to the chill morning air on their skin, Nicholas reached for the covers to keep the warmth around them. Then he proceeded to increase that heat by the simple expedient of friction, skin against skin as he lowered his torso over Eavin, and she wrapped her arms around him.

Their lovemaking this time had a bittersweetness to it that had not been there earlier. They were awake now, conscious of the wrongness, unable to hold back once the breach had been made. The solace they found was marred by the knowledge of what lay on the other side of that door, but as long as the door remained closed, they could pretend nothing had changed.

Still, even as Nicholas's seed burned a path to her womb and her body convulsed with the joy of receiving it, Eavin knew this was the end, the farewell they had not been able to exchange before he left. She had cried her tears last night, and her face still felt swollen from the effects. With the dawn she would have to be rational.

"I didn't mean for this to happen,
ma chérie
," Nicholas whispered against her ear, rolling over to ease his weight from hers but keeping her securely in his arms.

"I thought you were a dream." Eavin traced the unshaven growth on his jaw, judging it to be several days worth of beard, wondering at the oddity of the aristocratic Nicholas stooping to such uncivilized behavior.

He chuckled without humor. "I have been having dreams like that, too. They aren't quite the same, are they?"

"No, but
I've never had them before, not even after—"

Nicholas hushed her with a kiss, then stroked her hair as he gazed at her in the first rosy glow of dawn. "I know. I taught you what it was like to be a woman. I should be ashamed of myself, but
I'm not.
I think it may have been the best thing I've done in my life, but then, my life isn't exactly a noble one.
I'm trying to change that, Eavin, but you have to help me."

She stared up at him, at the wide, thoughtful brow, the sharp aquiline nose, the mouth a little too wide to be handsome, and wondered at the change she saw there. It was in the eyes perhaps, the little lines she hadn't seen before, the shadows lingering behind the golden glow, or the tautness behind a jaw that had already been too lean and was leaner still. She caressed the hollow of his cheek and tried to read the message his words couldn't convey.

"If I can't help myself, I'll not be helping you," she murmured.

Nicholas's lips curved at the hint of Irish tilt. "I could listen to you talk for the rest of my life and never tire of it. You have a way with words and a voice that could twist a man inside out if you wanted. Remember that, and I daresay one of these days you can have everything you want."

"I don't think words will buy me what I want," Eavin said sadly, twisting a lock of his hair in her fingers. "You had better go now. Annie will come."

"To hell with Annie. I'm not supposed to be here; I'm supposed to be meeting Lafitte, but I had to see you first. I wanted to tell you I know what a bastard I've been, and I mean to make it up to you if you can wait just a little while longer. Whatever happens, Jeannette is yours. I know you'll do what is best for her. I can't keep holding her over your head. If it hadn't been for you, I never would have known her. You've given me more than I ever deserved. I'll not repay you by keeping what isn't mine to keep."

He dared say these things while his long, lean body pressed her into the mattress, reminding her of all that had gone between them, all that would end as soon as he walked out that door.
 

Eavin shook her head and turned away from the urgency of Nicholas's expression. Perhaps men were innately incapable of understanding what was in a woman's heart. He was going to send her away; she could hear it in his voice. He thought he would be doing her a favor. Instead he was killing what was left of her. She didn't dare tell him that, however, because she knew she had to leave. But there was something he had to know before he left.

"There's no measuring what we've been to each other, Nicholas. We both got what we needed at the time; I understand that. I never expected more. We both have to go on with our lives. I'm just sorry that I couldn't do a better job of looking after Gabriella while you were gone. I tried, but I suppose I didn't try hard enough. That was wrong of me. I know you trusted me, but I really don't deserve that trust. I don't make a very good saint."

Puzzled, Nicholas propped himself on his elbows and studied the pure porcelain of her face. He couldn't believe the openness in those emerald eyes was capable of any wrongdoing, but they were filled now with anguish and worry, and fear chiseled its way into his heart.

"Saints don't belong in my bed," he answered wryly. "I can't imagine you have done anything more or less than I would have done, up to and including murdering Gabriella. What is your imagined transgression?"

"It's not imagined," Eavin whispered, turning her head away so she didn't have to feel the piercing quality of his gaze. "She left you. She's talking about an annulment. She's in New Orleans now. And I did nothing to stop her."

Nicholas rolled over and stared at the ceiling, fighting a dizzying wave of relief. He hadn't thought it of the weak-willed little child. He had hoped, but he had never believed.
Mon dieu,
but he must have terrified her worse than he had thought. He ought to be ashamed, but his heart danced with joy.

"It's not your job to stop her, Irish. It's mine. And I'm not certain that I want that job anymore. I've made some foolish mistakes in my lifetime, but Gabriella was probably the worst. I suppose I had better talk to her, though, if there's time. Jackson will be here in another day or two with his army, and I don't think the British will allow him much time to get settled in. She can't stay in the city now, however she feels about me."

"You don't understand." Eavin felt like shouting, but the words barely left her tongue in a whisper. "She went off with Raphael. He came back. Jeremy stopped him before he could ruin her, but she's still talking of marrying him. And no one is trying to stop her."

Nicholas closed his eyes and waited for the pain to take over, but it didn't come. He ought to at least feel betrayal, but he had betrayed Gabriella long before she had ever turned on him. Still, she was his wife and his responsibility until the law said differently. He couldn't let the foolish girl make the mistake of her life. The hope he had harbored just moments before faded with that knowledge. If he took away Raphael, they would be back where they started. Gabriella would have no one to turn to but himself.

"I'll take care of it,
ma petite
. As much as I wish she had stayed in Spain, I cannot wish a scoundrel like Raphael on her. Where is my mother? Did she return to New Orleans, too?"

With that heavy weight off her chest, Eavin could breathe again. She didn't want to think about the implications of Nicholas's words. He had married Gabriella for reasons of his own, and those reasons had not changed. She would still have to leave, but not with the burden of guilt from Gabriella's departure.

"No, your mother is here. She gave Isabel permission to stay with Gabriella in the town house so she would be chaperoned, but she did not wish to condone her behavior beyond that. I think she is very worried about you and thought she might hear from you sooner if she stayed here."

That would be news to him. Nicholas grimaced at the ceiling, then curled Eavin into his arms again. Rubbing her nose with his, he pressed a kiss to that delectable mouth of hers, then looked up to trace the redness his beard had chafed in her fair skin. "I suppose I must go in and reassure her. I would rather stay here, Eavin. I have spent months dreaming of being in this bed with you. How can I leave after just a few hours?"

His hand pleaded his case very well as it sought the soft purchase of her breast and aroused it to an aching peak with just a few strokes. Eavin met his gaze and held her breath at the smoking desire she found there. She couldn't stop him if she wanted to, and she very definitely didn't want to.

"Annie will be here. And Jeannette will wake." Her voice was already growing breathless as Nicholas pressed tantalizing kisses behind her ear. "Your mother..." She gasped as he pressed the hardness of his arousal against her. "Gabriella..."

That was the one name that made Nicholas hesitate. He wasn't free to do what he wanted. He had to settle that matter before he could indulge in any other, but it was already too late to plead fidelity. What would one more black blot against his name matter?

He took her swiftly, before either of them could change their minds. One minute he was alone, and the next they were joined—and not just in body. Nicholas felt Eavin's life and love flowing through him, felt her joy and fear, and poured his own into her, shuddering with relief.
 

To never be alone again, to share what he was and wasn't with another who would accept him without complaint, that was a goal he had never hoped to achieve, had never known existed until Eavin entered his life. And it was a burden also, one he would gladly carry, for he took her worries and fears into himself and felt them as his own.

Nicholas pressed a kiss to the single tear creeping from her eye. "I wish I could make promises,
ma chérie
. But I can't. I cannot ask anything of you. You are free to do as you wish, as you think best for yourself and for Jeannette. But I wish you would wait until I can come back before you make any decisions. This is your home; you belong here as much as I do. And there is no safer place to be right now. Michael will be in New Orleans shortly. He will know how to reach me if you should need anything. Stay."

Eavin heard the plea in his words and could scarcely credit it. She could not imagine Nicholas Saint-Just pleading with anyone. Her heart felt the pounding of his as they lay with their bodies entwined. And she couldn't have denied him this any more than she could have denied him the other. Someday she would find the strength to say no. But on the brink of war wasn't that time.

She stroked his bristly jaw, memorizing the lines as she answered, "I'll wait."

The promise he couldn't give her was in the words that she gave him. Nicholas could have wept for the joy of them. Crushing her in his arms one last time, he held her tightly against his chest, absorbing the love and gentleness and fierce determination that was this woman he wanted to call his own, knowing he might never be able to do so again.