Patricia Rice (6 page)

"She needs to be kept in the barn with the animals until she learns manners," he grumbled, rising and holding the wet stain from his leg.

As the child set up a protest at being changed, Nicholas stood over her warily. "You will see that she has what she needs while I am gone. I will give you an allowance to cover your expenses and hers. I will leave it in my bottom desk drawer. The key will be in the center drawer." He touched an inquiring finger to the infant's and watched tiny fingers wrap around it as he finished giving orders. "I will be gone three days. I should be home by six of the third day and would like to eat at seven. I would also like your company at dinner, so do not go hiding yourself when I arrive. This is a damned empty house, and if I'm to spend any time here, I wish to have a little companionship."

He removed his finger and strode out before Eavin could recover from her shock and reply.

She had plenty of time to think of things she could have said over the next few days. She could have asked him what earthly good was an allowance when she couldn't go anywhere to spend it. She could have told him she had hired on as a child's nanny and not his. She could have spat in his face and kicked his shins, but she doubted that he'd notice that any more than the other protests. Nicholas Saint-Just was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. Eavin didn't think it had ever occurred to him that the recipients of these orders might have opinions of their own.

Clyde Brown arrived on the morning of the third day of Nicholas's absence. A storm had briefly relieved the heat and humidity, and Eavin had brought Jeannette onto the gallery in an old cradle she and Annie had unearthed from the attic. She watched as the lawman stomped up the high stairs. He was wearing an odd broad-brimmed hat, but if he had any weapons, they were on the horse below. When he caught sight of her, he hesitated, then walked down the gallery.

"Good morning, ma'am. Is Mr. Saint-Just at home?"

She rather liked the lawman's open easiness. He used flat American accents to pronounce Nicholas's name and didn't posture or pose as he awaited her reply. He even took his hat off respectfully, and she smiled at that.

"I don't expect him until this evening, Mr. Brown. I would hate to think you've ridden out all this way for nothing. Would you care to have a seat and some lemonade? I believe some has just been made fresh."

He didn't seem displeased by this offer, and while Eavin sent a maid scurrying for the refreshments, he bent over the cradle and rattled one of Jeannette's toys, to her intense enjoyment.

When Eavin was seated again, he asked, "This Saint-Just's little one? She's a mite dark, ain't she?"

Eavin's suspicious nature returned, but she replied easily, "Her name is Jeannette. I understand both the Dupré and Saint-Just families are French. I believe dark hair is more prevalent than light. Was there some message I could forward to Mr. Saint-Just when he returns?"

Brown took a seat on a cane-webbed chair and accepted the lemonade. Eavin merely sipped her refreshment and set it aside. The sheriff was making her uneasy again. She didn't know what would happen to her and Jeannette if Nicholas were put in jail, and she didn't want to know. The sum of money in the desk drawer seemed immense to her, but she wasn't certain of the value of things in Louisiana.
 

The paper bills had been in French, and some of the coins were Spanish. She wasn't even certain of their value. There might be enough to take them into New Orleans and to Madame Dupré if Eavin could figure out how to do it, but beyond that she couldn't venture a guess. And she very much wanted to stay here.

Clyde Brown regarded her speculatively. "Don't know that I should, ma'am. I don't want to disturb you. Saint-Just can take care of himself. I just thought he ought to know Reyes is bent on making trouble."

"That much is obvious," Eavin replied drily. "Do you think his son has run away as Nicholas suggests?" She knew she had made an error as soon as she let slip the familiar name, but she had taken to thinking of Saint-Just by the name Francine had used and not by his proper title. She lifted the lemonade glass to her lips and pretended innocence.

Brown didn't so much as arch an eyebrow. "Well, it's unusual not to find a body if a man's dead. These French place a mighty store by honor. To my way of thinking, if Saint-Just killed Raphael, he'd have sent the body back with flags and ribbons. But then, I've only been here a year or two, and there's a lot I don't know about these people. I thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Dupré. It's not often I get a chance to talk with a pretty lady in the line of duty."

Forgetting her gracious lady pose, Eavin rose and followed him toward the stairway. "I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Brown, but I am more concerned about Mr. Saint-Just. Do you think this Señor Reyes will cause him harm?"

"Now, I knew I shouldn't have said anything." He turned and took her hand, patting it like a child's. "Saint-Just is capable of taking care of himself. I hear he's fought with the Barbary pirates, blowed them clean out of the water. Anyone who's sailed the sea has to have a lot of backbone. And he came out here and turned this place around single-handed, beat off the alligators and Indians to get that cotton in when everyone said he was moon-touched, and he's never looked back. I don't think one old man is going to hurt him none."

Perhaps not, but there were many ways of causing hurt. Eavin watched with a thoughtful frown as the lawman rode away. She'd heard the pirate story often enough to begin to believe it. Nicholas Saint-Just upon occasion might play the part of languid French aristocrat, but she wasn't blind enough to believe the pose. She could see him sailing ships and climbing masts. She could also see him with gun in hand, decimating alligators and Indians and men who dishonored his wife. He had that kind of temper.

Turning back to Jeannette, Eavin wondered what the story was behind Francine's capitulation to a man not her husband, but she would probably never know the truth of that. The Francine she had known had been quiet and withdrawn, but she had heard enough from Dominic and his mother to know that wasn't the true Francine. She didn't think Nicholas would have married a ghost, either, and that's all the woman in the bed had been.

As Eavin returned Jeannette to the coolness of the house, she felt it close around her like a prison wall. She wanted to retreat to the sunshine, but she recognized her foolishness. It was just a house like any other in these parts. It wasn't even a very large house based on the standards of her home. The brick and timber walls downstairs merely held storage and work areas. The family mostly lived on this second story. The salons and dining area and master suite were here. Upstairs were the smaller rooms that Eavin and Jeannette and guests used. Without the ground-floor storage area, her mother's boarding- house had been bigger.

But Eavin felt its gloom as she climbed the stairs to the nursery. Perhaps it was the heavy oaks with their trailing moss and spreading shade that caused this oppressive feeling. Perhaps it was the knowledge of the powerful river less than a mile away, with its ability to spread and kill that caused the tension emanating from the walls. Whatever it was, Eavin would be glad when Nicholas returned to dispel her fanciful notions.

The knowledge that she was looking forward to his return surprised her. Unable to lie down and rest in the afternoon as was the local custom, Eavin searched the library in the study when Jeannette went in for her nap.
 

The loneliness must really be worse than she had imagined if she was wishing for the pirate's return. Perhaps she ought to sit and write her mother a letter. That should relieve any homesickness.

There was paper in Saint-Just's desk. Sitting down in his chair, Eavin rummaged through the drawers in search of writing utensils. Since Nicholas had given her his key and access to the drawers, she didn't think there could be anything of value and had little compunction about putting it to use. Still, she jumped as if guilty when a voice spoke.

"What you doin' in Marster Nick's desk?"

Eavin looked up to find the African woman Nicholas had taken for a mistress standing in the doorway. He cared little what his servants wore, and he had obviously paid for her services with the piece of vibrant red silk Jess wore wrapped around her now. It not only accented the darkness of her skin, but the voluptuousness of her body, and Eavin stared out of curiosity.
 

She had long wondered what the fascination was between men and women, why one woman appealed to a man when another didn't. She didn't know why Dominic had wanted her physically, or why she hadn't returned his feelings. She had heard that ladies weren't supposed to have the same feelings as men; at the same time, she had seen with her own eyes how some women were attracted to men, and the feeling seemed mutual. It was very confusing, but obviously not to this slave.

"I'm writing a letter," Eavin responded. It wasn't what she wanted to say, but she felt uncomfortable telling servants to get out and mind their own business. She kept thinking of them as people capable of feelings, like herself.

"You ain't got no business in Marster Nick's things. You get yo'sef out o' here." Jess raised her hands defiantly to her broad hips.

That gesture brought Eavin's attention and thoughts to even more personal things as she imagined those swaying hips in Nicholas's hands. She looked away and began to sharpen the pen. "Why don't you just go and make yourself happy in his bed until he comes home? Surprise him. He'll be here in a few hours."

The woman's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened as if she had more to say, but abruptly she turned and stalked out.

Eavin gave a sigh of relief and stared at the paper, pen posed above it. How did she go about telling her mother that she was suffering not only from hallucinations, but from a desire to know more about a strange man's bed?

Chapter 6

"If he's holed up in Grand Terre with your pirates, Lafitte, I'll blow the place to hell and back. Don't lie to me.

The black-haired gentleman with the devilish eyes stroked his mustache and watched his dinner partner with amusement as the lion-haired gentleman paced the room. Lafitte was on close terms with many of the businessmen of New Orleans, but this was the only one who dared speak to him in such a manner. And the only one from whom he would allow such language.

"You and who else, Saint-Just? Don't threaten me unless you mean it. Since you have started playing nursemaid to women and children, you have sold your best ships to me. The schooners you have left may evade the blockade with some success, but they do not make good privateers. You will need cannon to reach me."

Nicholas grew dangerously still as he swung around to face the man no one sensible would ever call friend. He met the other man's eyes coldly. "And you do not think I can summon cannon? Claiborne wants you out of there,
mon ami
. I will not be very popular with the merchants of New Orleans, but I will see you pounded into the swamps if you do not turn Reyes over to me."

Lafitte had not built his empire by pushing men too far, but only as far as they would go. Smiling, he crossed a booted foot over his knee and reached for his cup. "He is gone. My men do not think highly of the Spanish. Did you know he was wearing padding under his shirt? Your blow would have killed him were it not for that."

Nicholas closed his eyes and sent curses to the heavens. Then flinging himself to the nearest chair, he reached for a goblet. "I suspected as much, but I was too wretched to care. Where has he gone?"

Lafitte shrugged, but the dangerous narrowing of Saint- Just's eyes caused him to reconsider. "The ladies nursed him to health. One of them was Mexican. My men thought she would be an attractive addition to their beds, but she had other ideas. Reyes stole some silver and a boat and the girl and left during the festivities. I would suspect that they are making their way to Texas, perhaps on to Mexico."

"If you are telling the truth, then his father is more fiendish than I have given him credit for." Nicholas swallowed heavily of the wine.

"I have heard the rumors, too." Lafitte watched him sympathetically. "They do not like you much here to believe such assinity. To believe you would kill your wife and her child is the work of fools."

"My father was accused of worse in his time, and most of it was no doubt true. Why should they not think the same of me? It's of no moment." Nicholas shrugged.

Lafitte snorted. "That is why you marry the lovely lady? Because you do not care what people say? Bahh, you are as big a fool as they."

Nicholas thought of Francine's lovely laughter in the days when she had been happy, remembered her look of unadulterated relief when he had made his offer, remembered the brief moments when he had held her in his arms as the tears shook her slender frame, and he shook his head. Perhaps he had been a fool for taking her in as he had, but that fool's life had been the most pleasant he had ever known.

"Honor makes a gentleman, not a fool, Lafitte. Honor may be all I have left, but I will abide by it." Nicholas rose to his feet and waited for the other man to realize the conversation had ended.

A clever man, Lafitte understood what his companion had left unsaid. Scowling, he rose and shook Saint-Just's hand. They both had led lives unknown to the idle, wealthy gentlemen of New Orleans. They both walked the city's streets in the same guise as those idle fops. But only one of them had clung to his notion of honor and deserved the title of gentleman their wealth bestowed upon them.