Patricia Rice (5 page)

"Someone has told him about the duel. I'm afraid I'll have to take you in, Saint-Just. Governor Claiborne outlawed dueling, and when a man dies ..."

Nicholas waved a dismissing hand. "This is ridiculous. His son disappears and he blames it on me. Raphael was in debt up to his ears. I would think it more likely he has run to escape prison as he has done in the past, or perhaps this time someone he owed took exception to his inability to pay."

"They say you killed him the night your wife died, Saint-Just. I can't dismiss an eyewitness report."

Eavin felt Francine's ghost breathing down her neck, urging her to speak. She glanced nervously to Nicholas, but he seemed dangerously calm, his eyes glittering with a mood she had no desire to interpret. She turned back to the lawman, who seemed as nervous as she. The Saint-Just reputation was not for nothing, then. She coughed lightly, causing Brown to turn to her.

"I do not mean to intrude, sirs." She spoke quietly, keeping her eyes on her hands folded over the mending. "But Mr. Saint-Just was with his wife that night. I was there. He never left her side. He was terribly distraught. Even ..."
 

She hesitated, more for effect than because she didn't know what she meant to say next. "Even afterward, we could hear him in his grief. You may ask Madame Dupré or any of the servants. This house is not so large that such anguish cannot be heard. Your informant is dreadfully misinformed."

Brown breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Thank you ..." Suddenly realizing he didn't know her name, he turned to Nicholas for an introduction.

Blithely speaking over the Spaniard's sputtering objections, Nicholas rose and made a perfunctory bow in Eavin's direction. "Mrs. Dupré, my sister-in-law. She came to us after Francine's brother died, and has graciously agreed to stay to help me raise the child. Mrs. Dupré, may I introduce Clyde Brown? He attempts to keep some semblance of law around here."

"My pleasure, sir." Eavin attempted the gracious nod of her head that she had seen Francine use.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Dupré." Unaccustomed to the graceful gallantry of the aristocracy, Brown turned his hat in his hands while giving her a warm smile. "Not that I think this will ever come to that, but would you be prepared to testify to what you just said in court?"

Eavin felt the flutter of fear in her stomach, the same flutter she had felt every time the law had come knocking on her door looking for her brother, but she had learned how to smile and pretend assurance. The time to worry hadn't arrived. "I hope it isn't a French court, sir. I don't speak French."

Reyes was babbling incoherently now, shaking his fist and the riding crop, and Brown merely acknowledged her statement before he grabbed the older man's elbow and began to lead him out.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, Saint-Just. Just doing my duty."

Nicholas followed them to the door. "Of course, monsieur, I understand perfectly."

Eavin had the feeling that the purring French accent from Nicholas was a good deal more dangerous than his usual curt American tones. She shuddered, then remembering Francine's ghost, sought her presence again. Whatever had been there was gone, and she wasn't certain whether or not to sigh with relief.

Nicholas returned to the room and poured a brandy. When he turned to face her, the glitter in his eyes was more mocking than dangerous. "Your morals intrigue me, Mrs. Dupré. You disapprove of making love, but have no qualms about lying or, evidently, murder. Would you care to explain yourself?"

Hands shaking, Eavin set aside the shirt she had been mending. It took what remained of her courage to face him, and she did so only once she had risen from her chair and was prepared to flee. "I didn't lie. I merely withheld the full extent of the truth. And if murder has been done, that is on your conscience; I know nothing of it. I merely did what was necessary to protect Jeannette. Should they arrest you, she would have nothing. You, at least, are better than nothing."

A dark smile turned Nicholas's lips. "At least I will have no trouble knowing where I stand in your eyes, Irish. You will keep me informed when you decide I am no longer worth even that much?"

"I think you will know, sir. May I be excused now? I find this day has become most tiring."

She did, indeed, look suddenly very tired. Nicholas regretted his facetiousness. She knew nothing of him, yet she had done him a favor that he suspected even his best friend would not have done. Even if her reasons were purely selfish, they had saved him from an unpleasant night or two. Standing there in that shapeless black gown, she looked young and alone. He could afford to be generous.

"How can I show my gratitude? Were it not for your quick thinking, I might have had the misfortune to spend the next few nights in an extremely unpleasant jail. You deserve some reward. Perhaps a new gown or two?"

Remembering Francine's ghostly presence, Eavin glared at him. "You might show your gratitude by giving your daughter a little attention. A child needs a father, and as far as she is concerned, you are hers."

Nicholas struggled with his rage. The chit wasn't so slow as not to have guessed that he was not Jeannette's father. His fingers clenched around the brandy glass until it cracked, but there was no denying her request. For whatever reason, he had allowed Francine's child to remain here. She would bear his name. He had thought that would be enough, but the Irish widow was making it plain that it wasn't. He despised interfering women, but her interference had saved him a great deal of unpleasantness.

Sensing some of his struggle, Eavin waited. She owed Francine this much. Dominic's sister had taken her in unquestioningly, welcomed her with the open arms that Madame Dupré and the rest of society would deny her. Because of Francine, Eavin had a roof over her head and food in her stomach and her pride relatively intact. Francine's daughter would lack for nothing as long as Eavin was in a position to look after her.

"She is too young yet to know that I exist," was all the response she received from Nicholas.

With a look of derision Eavin lifted her skirts and prepared to leave. "A child is never too young for love. But then, perhaps you were never a child. Good night." She walked out before she could see the bleak expression on his face.

He had only one really strong childhood memory. He had been very young, so it must have been in Santa Domingue. He could remember the blistering sunshine above and the parade of colorful dancers in the street below the balcony where he had hidden. They had seemed so full of joy and life as they danced and swung about in their brilliant costumes, the drums beating an exciting rhythm around them. They wore masks and feathers, and many of them had bare feet. He had wanted badly to join them, but before he could figure out the best method of escape, he had been dragged back into the cool shade of the salon and the door had shut on the swirling colors of joy.

Nicholas couldn't remember what lesson it was he had been avoiding that day, but the beating he had received had taught him not to shirk another. And he hadn't. He'd gone on to excel in everything he did. It was some consolation to know that he had the ability to conquer every lesson set before him. But sometimes the childish desire to join the dancers came back.

Disgruntled, Nicholas slammed his glass on the table and strode out.

Chapter 5

Eavin tried not to show her surprise when Nicholas walked into the nursery the next morning. He was dressed casually in tight riding pants that clung indecently to strong thighs, and an open-necked linen shirt that revealed too much of the sun-browned column of his throat. His overwhelming masculinity in this tiny room scented with baby lotion and milk made her more aware of the man than ever before, a knowledge that did not sit easily, given her past experiences with men. It took an effort not to flinch.

Oblivious of her uneasiness, Nicholas studied the infant rocking on her hands and knees on the floor. "Should she be out of bed like that?"

Eavin wished she had one of the cool short-sleeved muslins she had seen in Francine's wardrobe. The long- sleeved gown she wore now was suddenly stifling, even though it was October and the weather should be turning cool. Ignoring her discomfort, she picked up Jeannette.

"How will she learn what the world is like if she is not allowed out in it?" Eavin asked more calmly than she felt, handing the child to her father.

Nicholas looked stunned at finding his hands filled with a small, chubby body. The babe gurgled and blew a bubble, gazing through innocent dark eyes at the stranger who held her.

"Lay her against your shoulder. Let her get to know you," Eavin instructed, hiding her amusement. Saint-Just suddenly seemed less intimidating with an infant dangling from his hands.

Gingerly, he adjusted the child to his shoulder, holding her tightly as if fearing she might break or get away. A small palm patted his lean face, and he grimaced, but when he discovered she would not dive from his arms, he took the window seat and stretched his long legs out before him. With curiosity he probed tiny fingers and feet in the same way in which Jeannette explored him.

"She doesn't see many strangers. Some children are afraid of anything different. She seems to adapt well." Complacently, Eavin took up her embroidery.

"Francine never knew a stranger. She welcomed everyone." Nicholas felt the wrenching pain of the memory. He had been a young boy when his family had first arrived in New Orleans. He had known no one, and the circumstances under which they had arrived made the world seem an unfriendly place. But he could still remember the golden little girl stopping her duenna in the street so she could say hello. Francine had loved everybody. Unfortunately.

As if following his train of thought, Eavin replied, "There are good and bad points to that trait. We will need to teach her caution."

That he would do of a certainty. Filling with an incomprehensible urge to protect this helpless creature, Nicholas raised Jeannette to meet his eyes. The small face looked startled and a trifle wary, and he grinned. "You will learn,
enfant
. That wicked witch in black over there will teach you to keep a sharp tongue, and I shall teach you to keep a sharp knife. It's never too soon to learn."

Eavin raised her eyebrows, but she offered no protest. The fact that Nicholas had lowered his evil pride to come in here and acknowledge the child was sufficient to raise him a step higher in her eyes. She was well aware that some men would never have had the maturity to accept another man's child as his own.
 

"It will be good for her to become accustomed to a man's voice. She hears nothing but women as it is."

"Perhaps that is the way it should be. We could send her to the nuns when she is older, and she would never know about the male of the species." Nicholas sent Eavin a mocking look that demanded reply.

"That is a little like learning about sunshine and closing your eyes when the nighttime comes and pretending it doesn't exist. Ignorance can be as dangerous as knowledge. More so, perhaps."

"You are a hardhearted female, Irish. Dominic is scarce gone a year, and already you have forgotten how to weep for him, Should you not be protesting the benefits of men and married life rather than comparing us to nighttime?"

Eavin had never truly wept for Dominic, and this devil seemed to know that. She had cried the night they wed, but never again. It had almost been a relief to know that her husband wouldn't be coming back. Only after she had lost the child had she felt any regret.

But she wouldn't give Saint-Just the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under her skin. "I've not had the luxury of sentiment. I've learned a few things in this life, and one of them is that with knowledge, it is possible to make constructive choices."

Nicholas watched her consideringly. He had never made any inquiries as to her background. He didn't even know her age. The harsh morning light revealed only a complexion as soft and touchable as Jeannette's, and wide eyes that reflected pain, humor, and intelligence. She might even be attractive in her rather blatant peasant way, if she ever loosed the tight confines of her hair and wore something besides sackcloth. She was so entirely different from the malleable women of his world that he could not help but be fascinated.

"You do not sound as if you have had an easy life. Where did Dominic meet you?" Nicholas had not meant to linger, but the child reclining in his lap was restful, and his curiosity about the woman who cared for her was only natural.

Eavin threw Nicholas a shrewd look from behind politely lowered eyelashes. "My family owns a boardinghouse. Dominic had rooms there."

A working-class family, as he had suspected. Even the democratic Americans didn't have Irish aristocracy. Dominic had married far below him, when he should have been looking for wealth. No one had ever claimed that Francine's family had a lick of sense; here was living proof of it. Still, Nicholas could understand the boy's fascination with the exotic. He had fallen for it himself in the past.

"I suppose that is where you learned to run a large household so capably. I am fortunate. There is always food available when I want it. When I first came here, I was forced to rummage about." Nicholas grimaced as a warm, wet spot formed on his trousers, and he held the offender to her. "She's wet," he said politely.

"She's a little young to know better." Eavin efficiently took the infant to a dressing table and began to strip her. "There is no need for you to linger if you have business to carry on. I only meant for you to realize that the child has needs, too."