Patricia Rice (7 page)

* * *

"What in hell? Get out of here, you slut!" The furious shouts echoed through the lower rooms and up the stairs.

Eavin halted on the way down, her hand resting on the banister as a woman's whining voice replied. It took a moment before she realized what was happening, and then a grin formed on her lips.

"I don't care what you thought! Get your Filthy black ass out of my bed and back where it belongs! Out! Now!"

A thud followed by running footsteps indicated a forcible removal and irate retreat. Eavin debated returning upstairs, but Jess arrived in the hallway, and giving Eavin a scathing glance, scampered away from approaching boots. There wasn't time to squelch laughter at the insolent woman's ignominious flight before Nicholas arrived.

Seeing the mirth in Eavin's eyes, Nicholas's shouted, "Who in hell gave her permission to be in here?"

"Sure, and you didn't like the surprise? A bother it is, but it kept the spalpeen out of my way. Dinner will be at seven, as you requested." Twitching her skirts, Eavin made a more dignified retreat beneath Nicholas's black scowl.

Sometimes her temerity terrified her, but Eavin gathered her courage when it came time to go below for dinner. She had spent three days stewing over Nicholas's orders to accompany him at the table. She shouldn't have vented her anger by using Jess. But the deed was done and she must face up to it.

Nicholas was waiting for her as she came down the stairs, probably intending to drag her down had she been a minute late. He had actually donned a cravat and brushed his hair back, although he hadn't bothered to fasten any of the buttons on his coat or waistcoat. A scowl still darkened his brow, but he held out his arm for her and led her into the dining room without comment.

He seated her on his right and poured a glass of wine for each of them as a maid carried out the first course. Eavin eyed the array of forks and spoons with trepidation and wisely followed Nicholas's assured choices of silverware as the meal progressed.

"You have made your point," he finally admitted in a tone of disgruntlement as he drained his glass. "The baggage will stay in the kitchen, and I will stay out of it. Do you have any further surprises waiting for me?"

"Not of my making. The sheriff was here to see you. You might wish to speak with him sometime." Eavin answered with relief that he had held his temper, but she kept her gaze on her plate. Nicholas emanated a fierce tension that made it difficult to concentrate, much less eat.

"Brown?" He stifled a curse. "I dare say he was more interested in seeing you than me. He's never bothered to come out here before. I find it amusing that you don't even need to leave the house to find suitors."

That forced Eavin to look up. Nicholas was leaning indolently back in his chair, one elbow propped over the curved wood as he drank his dinner and watched her. Amusement glittered behind his dangerous eyes, and she tightened her lips in anger.

"I am glad you have found something to amuse you. I had supposed there to be a dire dearth of amusements in these parts."

"Sarcasm does not become a lady. There are many amusements to be had here. I was thinking it time to attend them again, although most of the frivolity has returned to New Orleans by now. I think, under the circumstances, that you should be returned to society at the same time that I am. The Howells are having a small soiree Friday night. You will be ready at half-past seven."

The fork clattered out of her hand, and Eavin retrieved it without looking at him. "I will not be one of your amusements," she said when she had gathered her wits.

"No, you will be my protective armor. I cannot think of any more formidable shield against eager young things than a matronly widow on my arm. But you cannot attend in that ghastly black. Have you nothing in gray or lavender or something less depressing to the eye?"

He was baiting her. Surely, he must be baiting her as her brother often had. Eavin raised her head to meet his gaze in defiance. "I dyed all that I owned when Dominic died. Black is all I have. And I don't mean to keep you entertained if you are bored with society. My place is here with Jeannette."

Nicholas's voice was smooth and confident. "Your place is where I tell you, Irish. This is my household, and I expect all members of it to respect my orders. Find something in one of Francine's wardrobes that will be suitable."

Men really knew absolutely nothing about anything. Glancing down, Eavin tried to imagine forcing her sturdy figure into the tiny bodices and long skirts of her tall, slender sister-in-law, and without thinking, she giggled at the image. If she did not spill out of the one, she would trip over the other.

"You would get what you deserve should I obey that particular order." With more calm than she felt, Eavin reached for her wineglass.

Nicholas lifted a languid eyebrow. "Indeed?" His knowing gaze dropped to the shapeless bodice of her gown. "How tall are you ?"

"At least four inches shorter than Francine, if I am any judge. And you may stop looking at me like that. I can assure you, her gowns will not suit, and I would not wear them if they should."

Nicholas narrowed his eyes, and she could see him mentally rearranging her bodice, before he came to the same conclusion. "You are right. You should wear ruby or sapphire or emerald. We will look in the warehouse in the morning and see what is available."

Eavin clenched her fork more tightly. "I will not go with you. I do not belong in society. Do not play me for a fool. Irish is not a synonym for stupid."

"You speak remarkably well for a bog maiden. Better than many of these Kaintucks who come down here posing as gentlemen. You are Jeannette's aunt. They must accept you as they must accept Jeannette in the future. If you wish to be the one to rear her, you must become acquainted with the society into which she is born."

That not only had the ring of finality to it, it had the ring of truth. Cursing and biting her tongue, Eavin offered no further protest. She could not imagine why the madman had suddenly decided she needed to meet the neighbors, particularly on such a formal occasion, but she was in no position to argue.

Before dinner was over, a sharp rap at the front door intruded. Remembering the unpleasantness of the last intrusion, Eavin sent a questioning look at her dinner companion. She didn't think she could call him her employer any longer, but she had not yet determined her status in his household. It was still as a nonentity, she decided, when Nicholas merely sipped his wine and waited for the maid to announce the visitor.

"Nick, you're a damned elusive bast—"

The visitor halted suddenly at the sight of Eavin. Swiping his tall hat from his head, he bowed and apologized. "I beg your pardon, madam. I did not realize... I..." He turned to Nicholas for rescue.

Nicholas was smiling as their caller looked from him back Eavin. "Eavin, Jeremy Howell; my sister-in-law, Eavin Dupré. His family is hosting the soiree of which I spoke."

A slight gentleman with sandy brown hair and a face more friendly than handsome, he seemed torn between surprise and pleasure, and was finally induced to take a seat when Saint-Just kicked a chair out from under the table for him.

"I didn't mean to intrude, Mrs. Dupré. I just never thought of Old Nick dining like everyone else. You will be attending our entertainment on Friday?"

"She will," Nicholas answered firmly for her. "Eavin,
ma
chère
, since this will soon devolve into a business discussion, why don't you go check on Jeannette or something?"

For a brief moment Eavin contemplated what it would be like to be someone like Francine, with all the wealth and background to do anything she liked. At this moment she would very much like to bring a plate of rice down over this arrogant monster's head. As it was, she merely lifted her skirts and beat a hasty retreat, much as his black mistress had earlier.

Once she was out of hearing, Jeremy returned to his seat and glared at Nicholas. "Can't you leave your hands off any woman who comes in reach? My word, Nick, Francine's scarce been gone four months."

Nicholas lifted his lips in small amusement. "My taste would have to have changed dramatically to offer carte blanche to an Irish mouse. We annoy each other, that is all."

"She cannot deserve what those angry wives will make of her should you introduce her to society. Have some pity for a change, Nick. If you want to flout society, do it with someone better able to fight back. She couldn't be more than a child."

"
Au contraire, mon frère
. Mrs. Dupré has the calculating mind and sharp tongue of an adder. She is capable of setting a few clacking tongues back in place. She was quite admirable when Reyes and Brown appeared here."

Jeremy remained dubious. "I still think it unfair of you. She has no defense against the fact that she is living here with you without chaperonage. Where in hell is Madame Dupré?"

"One could only hope she is in hell," Nicholas replied with feeling. "I sent her packing after the funeral. And I don't need any more females clacking about the place, so don't push me on this, Jeremy. Eavin is the child's aunt. That is it and no more."

"You would have done better to send them both with your mother-in-law. If Reyes should ever get wind of your other occupation—"

"Shut up, Howell, you talk too much." Rising abruptly, Saint-Just stalked from the room.

Eavin had no intention of returning below for the rest of the night, but sometime after she heard the front door slam, the sound of boots on the stairs warned Nicholas wouldn't leave her in peace. Standing over Jeannette's cradle, she was too far from her room to run toward its safety. She tucked a straying strand of hair over the infant's ear.

"Howell's gone. You can come out of hiding now."

Eavin straightened and glared at the shadowy figure in the doorway. "I am quite content right here."

"Are you?" The shadow leaned against the door frame. "That's most extraordinary. You have no friends, no one to talk to but a man you despise, and you consider yourself content. You cannot have led a very pleasant life, Mrs. Dupré."

"You used my name with enough familiarity earlier, why do you hesitate now? I did marry Dominic, you know. I have the papers to prove it." Against her better judgment Eavin moved toward the doorway. This was no place to hold an argument. It would give Jeannette nightmares.

Nicholas politely moved into the hall, out of her way, then appropriated her arm and led her toward the stairs, not slowing when she balked. "I have no doubt that you got precisely what you wanted, Irish. You are a very determined woman. Under your gentle auspices I have acquired a daughter to raise for the next twenty years and a nursemaid who does not always hold her tongue. To be fair, I've also been rescued from certain imprisonment because it did not suit your needs. I think it is time we get to know each other better."

"I think I know more than enough about you already. I fail to see why we should know each other at all."

"Because circumstances have thrown us in each other's way. Quit being so damned recalcitrant, Eavin. We don't have to be enemies." He threw open the door of the
petite salle
and escorted her to her chair.

"I think I would prefer just being Jeannette's nanny," Eavin said stiffly as she sat down.

"Then I would have to send you away in a few years and hire a governess and a duenna and who knows what other assorted females, which I refuse to do. Do you have any education at all?"

Eavin drew herself up irately. "I can read and write and do mathematics, if that is what you ask. My parents were Irish, not savages."

"Very well." Nicholas accepted that with aplomb, taking his comfortable chair and meeting her glare. "That is more than any female around here knows. I would prefer that Jeannette at least knows how to write her name rather than just the usual etiquette and such. When I take you out in company, you will need to observe the other ladies to see how they go on. I would rather Jeannette did not grow up with the temper and manners of an Irish virago, however. You seem to possess the essential social skills. I suppose the Irish inherit them by birth?"

Eavin ignored his sarcasm. "My mother was a lady's maid before she came to America." Before she had been accused of theft would be more accurate, but he didn't deserve the full truth. She continued her defense. "Before he died, my father was a fairly wealthy builder. I am not ignorant of social skills." Nor of how her father had made some of his wealth. Still, he hadn't been any more dishonest than the rest, and some of the finest buildings in the new capital of Washington were standing because of Sean O'Flannery. She wouldn't blacken his memory.

"How very noble." Nicholas splashed some brandy into a waiting glass. "With such an aristocratic background, you should be planning on remarrying, not hiding in the backwoods for the rest of your life."

Eavin definitely wasn't stupid. She heard not only the implied criticism but the suspicion in Saint-Just's comment, and she bit back an angry retort in favor of a truthful one. "You have no need to worry about my intentions, sir." The words came out a trifle more angrily than she had intended. "I have no wish to marry again, and I certainly do not have my sights set on you. I could not think of a more certain way to invite misery."

Loosening his cravat, Nicholas gave her a long, thoughtful look. The amusement on his lips did not quite reach his eyes as he made himself comfortable. "The name is Nicholas. You have my permission to use it. Aside from the fact that even Francine would no doubt agree with you about my company, why would you denigrate marriage in general? I thought that was the state to which all women aspire."