Patricia Rice (45 page)

"
Je t'aime
." He whispered the words he had never thought to say. Then steeling himself for the coldness of separation, Nicholas threw back the covers and stepped out of bed.

Eavin clung to the warmth of the sheets where Nicholas had been just moments before, pulling them around her as she watched him dress. He was the most magnificent man she would ever know, and probably the only man she would ever know. She watched his every movement greedily, storing it in her heart for that time when he would come no more. His words whispered and echoed through her mind, but they weren't quite real, not as real as the man drawing up his trousers and fastening his shirt, covering the body that had just been part of hers not minutes ago.

When he reached some semblance of respectability, he pressed a kiss to her hair. "I will take Jeannette into the house with me and send Annie with your tea. Stay here until I am gone. This is where I want to remember you."

Nicholas smiled at the flush of red tinting Eavin's cheeks, then refusing to think this might be the last time he would see her like this, he walked out.

Eavin stared at the door long after he had gone. She was crazed to think he meant anything by his words. Nicholas had been charming women for years. But Nicholas wasn't a man to make promises he couldn't keep or say words he didn't mean. That thought terrified her, for if she translated his French correctly, he had just told her he loved her.
 

Lying back against the pillows, Eavin tried to remember everything he had said, every nuance, every movement and she squeezed her eyes tight in growing terror. He couldn't love her. He couldn't. He was married. She could never bear his child. She had to leave here sooner or later, or they would break more commandments than they had done this morning. It would be much easier to leave if she thought Nicholas would be happier without her. She had to be imagining things.

But when Annie appeared with her morning tea, she knew she wasn't. Her maid smiled knowingly at the single gardenia blossom beside the cup. The man who knew how to wield sword and gun and whip so well had never taken the time to look at a flower before. Eavin touched it reverently and looked up to the smiling maid.

"Belle will be proud of this day's work," Annie said happily. "You drink up that tea and lie there nice and still for a while, give it time to work, and see if everythin' don' turn out fine."

And unable to do anything else while Nicholas was in the house, Eavin did as told. The tea warmed her, and the memory of Nicholas's hard body inside hers caused tingling through her middle that she would have cause to remember for the rest of her life.

Chapter 38

"The British are sailing into the lake! The fleet's going out to meet them." Michael slid down the earthen breastworks Jackson's militia had begun to build and landed in the trench where Nicholas was attempting to solve the constant problem of seeping ground water.

Nicholas glanced up to give him a scornful look. "Fleet! Five fishing boats and we call it a fleet. You're better off finding an ax and filling the bayou to keep out the Brits, O'Flannery. Those boats don't stand a chance in hell. If your damned fool Americans had listened to Lafitte, they could have a navy out there now."

Nicholas's words trailed off into a string of French epithets on the stupidity of mankind that had the Alabamians staring. One elbowed another as they stopped to gawk, but Nicholas caught them at it and issued a few curt orders in a language they could understand before climbing out of the trench and stalking toward the barricade of fallen trees blocking this entrance to the city.

Michael scrambled after him. "Jackson's listening. It's Claiborne who's holding out. He's the one who has to have to live with pirates walking the streets after this is all over."

"After this is all over, he'll be lucky if anyone's walking the streets. It's time to get the women out of the city. I doubt if Belle can be persuaded to leave, but try. Isabel and Gabriella can take the Enterprize when it sails upstream. Shreve said he thought he could dock easily enough at the levee."

Michael came to an abrupt halt, forcing Nicholas to stop and look at him with irritation. Belligerently, Michael placed his fists on his hips. "I'm not your whipping boy anymore, Saint-Just. I'll take care of Belle, but I'm not toting your damned wife back to the plantation to make my sister miserable. Let Raphael take care of her. He's naught better to do than sit at the coffee house and drink anyway."

Nicholas wiped a mud-smeared hand across his brow, adding more streaks to the dried ones already there. His golden hair rippled in the breeze off the water, but he wore no coat to cut the wind. Perspiration drenched the cotton of his shirt, and he shivered as his body cooled. Suddenly weary, he met the other man's furious gaze with a nod of understanding.

"I apologize, O'Flannery. I'm used to giving orders. I'll see to Isabel and Gabriella myself, if you can take care of Belle. Until I hear differently, Gabriella is still my wife. Eavin understands that better than you, I think."

Startled at this unexpected acquiescence from a man who usually exploded with fury when contradicted, Michael snapped his mouth shut and stared before daring to speak again. "I don't think you're feeling well. You'd better get back and get some sleep, or you won't be doing anybody any good."
 

Nicholas smiled stiffly. "You're beginning to sound like your sister. I'm fine."

"Eavin will have my head if you come down sick," Michael argued. "And then she'll be here to look after you, so you'd better keep that in mind when you're busy making a saint of yourself. I'll see to the women. Your Creole buddies aren't of much use, and Jackson will be needin' you before this is over."

"After today I believe you'll find my 'Creole buddies,' as you call them, will be more than willing to lend a hand. The sight of the British Navy sitting in the lake with artillery aimed at them will turn rumor into fact fast enough."

Michael frowned dubiously. The gentlemen of New Orleans had looked down their aristocratic noses at General Jackson's crude American militia since they had arrived. Their scathing opinions about the rough frontiersmen not being any better than the unruly keelboatmen who tore apart the riverfront on Saturday nights were well known. But Jackson's pitifully small army was all that stood between New Orleans and the finest war machine in the world.

"Let's hope they're not waiting for us to save them." Turning on his heel, Michael stalked away.

Belle was oddly agreeable when Michael approached her about joining the others at the plantation. She had taunted him for a week before taking him to her bed, and he wasn't prepared to let her go so easily, but she smiled and ran her fingers through his curls, and he melted like butter.

"Don't worry," she murmured huskily. "I'll be back soon, when you're not so occupied. You must keep an eye on Nicholas for me. He is in grave danger, but he will not heed me."

"He lives for danger," Michael growled, pulling her into his arms and pressing her full-length against his stocky frame. "And you're not much better. You'll not be murtherin' poor Gabby while I'm gone, will you?"

She laughed softly against the curve of his throat and began unfastening his shirt. "In some ways you are much wiser than Nicholas,
mon chéri
. He lives by a code that no longer exists. But I think you do not. Will you love me one more time before I go?"

As intelligent as his sister, Michael knew her flattery hid an insult, but unperturbed, he scooped his will-'o-the- wisp lover into his arms and carried her to her bed. When it came right down to it, Belle needed an anchor to hold her to the ground, an anchor that he could provide. The time to live in another world would come after they had enjoyed this one.

* * *

"A steamboat! Thar's a steamboat a'comin'." The cry echoed up the gallery and through the halls, bringing dark and light faces alike to the windows.

Eavin watched the river with awe as the newfangled boat belched a stream of smoke and plodded along against the current without an oar or manpower. Daniel's letters had told her about an enterprising businessman who was providing supplies to New Orleans now that the British blockade and the dispersal of the pirates had successfully put an end to trade, but she had never actually seen the Enterprize.
 

It was stopping at the levee! It was landing here! Picking up her skirts, Eavin raced through the hallway and down the stairs, shouting orders to the gawking servants. Seemingly unruffled,
 
Hélène drifted in her path, languidly waving a hand to indicate the placement of tea trays, nodding absently at an anxious question, and giving every appearance of boredom as the first steamboat ever to land at the levee maneuvered to the shore.

A carriage raced to greet the visitors while the kitchen fires were fueled to bake fresh rolls and boil water for tea and coffee. Eavin ordered fresh linen and water for the wash bowls, sent maids to scour the privies, and gardeners to cut magnolia leaves to fill the vases in the hall. It was nearly Christmas and it felt strange to decorate without the fresh scent of pine, but she was learning to compensate.
 

Scooping Jeannette up from the floor, Eavin positioned herself at a window to observe the carriage as it arrived. Only Nicholas would commission a steamboat to stop here. Her heart couldn't help pounding with hope.

The first sight of their guests sent a sinking sensation to her middle, but Eavin fixed a smile on her face and joined
 
Hélène in the hall to greet Isabel and Gabriella. They entered in clouds of perfume and rich pelisses, followed by a man introduced as the captain and a servant carrying stacks of gifts. The luggage was being loaded on a wagon that would follow, the captain assured Eavin as she led them into the
petite salle
.

Isabel and Gabriella were busy unleashing a torrent of French and Spanish on
 
Hélène , and Eavin was left to entertain the American captain while Jeannette and the gifts were carried away to other rooms. Eavin wished she could concentrate on the agitated speech of the women, but she knew the rules of hospitality, and she applied them to learn as much as she could from the admiring man captain.

Discovering that Michael had been the one to book passage and disappointed that the man knew nothing except that Nicholas was working with General Jackson, Eavin turned him over to Hélène
.
 

The excited cries of the maids and strangely familiar laughter drew Eavin downstairs, seeking the nagging familiarity of that husky voice, remembering it even as she came in sight of the speaker.

Belle
. Nicholas's sister turned mocking eyes toward the stairs, and her knowing gaze swept over Eavin with a look of triumph.

"So, you took my advice,
chérie
." Belle remained where she was. The anxious black servants stepped aside, nervous at this confrontation.

Eavin wasn't certain what Belle was talking about, although she ignored an uncomfortable flutter of knowledge. "Why did you not come in with the others? Where is your luggage? I will have it carried up to a room for you."

Belle's laughter echoed against the brick walls, and a smile or two appeared on black faces. Even Annie shook her head at her mistress's lack of understanding.

"You and your brother see with different eyes,
chérie
. I will not close them. Michael says he has rooms in the
garçonnière
. Perhaps I might use them while I am here." It wasn't a question but a statement, as if she had her choice of accommodations and preferred this one.

Nicholas's sister had refined polite Creole reticence to a higher plane, requiring the listener to hear what wasn't being said. Eavin lifted her eyebrows at the implications.

"Of course," Eavin graciously agreed. "That is where I reside also. If Nicholas collects any more women, he will have to find another name for the
garçonnière
."
 

She turned to the expectant servants. "Clemmie, see that Belle's trunks are carried to the room next to mine." She turned back to this unexpected guest. "The others are having coffee upstairs. I believe Nicholas would wish you to join them."

Belle laughed, but the mockery had left her eyes. "You are probably quite correct, but I do not always do what Nicholas wishes. I will stay here, where I am wanted, and leave you to endure their disapproval."

For a fleeting moment Eavin wished she could stay down here, too. Once that was all she had hoped to be, a servant in this household that didn't need any more servants. Now she belonged neither here nor there, but for Jeannette's sake she would go above.

"That is your choice to make, but I don't think Nicholas's wishes are the only ones you flout. My brother has more pride than Nicholas when it comes to those he loves." Eavin noted she had scored a point when the other woman almost imperceptibly flinched.

"He will need it," Belle responded drily. Then glancing again at Eavin's midsection, she smiled wickedly, "And so will you."

Uneasy, Eavin merely nodded and gave orders for lunch. She had enough on her mind without having to interpret Belle's innuendoes.

Upstairs, the news of the battle on Lake Borgne had their guests chattering in three languages to accommodate the steamboat captain. Eavin discerned it hadn't been much of a battle, but the brave American fleet had postponed the British landing a while longer. She was terribly glad that Nicholas had sent his sailing ships away. He would have been on board if they had been here, and he wouldn't have surrendered. For the first time the war became very real.