Patricia Rice (8 page)

Eavin looked away from the strong column of his throat exposed by the open neckcloth. "I am certain Francine never thought any such thing. And my reasons are none of your business."

He moved his chair closer to hers, leaning over the small table to fill another glass. The distance between them narrowed to a few inches, but she continued avoiding looking at him. "Have some brandy, Irish. It helps you sleep at night. Since I will have to give up the comfort of Jess's charms, I no doubt will find it difficult to find the escape of easy slumber. But I suppose with your late husband out playing at war most of your married life, you are more accustomed to an empty bed than I."

Not only scandalized but furious, Eavin swung to face him, only to discover Nicholas was far closer than she had thought. His hand with the brandy glass hovered dangerously near her lips. She suppressed a nervous gasp and pushed farther back in her chair.

"I do not need strong spirits to help me sleep. My conscience is clear. I think it is time that I retire. I have some experience with men in various states of inebriation, and I have no desire to repeat it."

Eavin couldn't rise until he moved his hand, and instead of cooperating, Nicholas caught her fingers and wrapped them around the stem of the glass. She felt a jolt of heat at his touch, and she jerked, sloshing the amber liquid.

"You may take the glass with you, Irish. Just answer my question. Why do you think you will never marry again?"

Taking a deep breath and glaring at him, Eavin replied, "Because I cannot bear any more children."

When he sat back with a look of shock, she rose from her chair with offended dignity and escaped.

Chapter 7

To hide his surprise at the vision drifting down the stairs, Nicholas narrowed his eyes and pretended cool indifference, sensing anything more would drive the little widow into flight.

He had suspected Eavin Dupré of concealing more beneath those witch's rags than met the eye, but the shape of a goddess was not what he had expected. In the modest gown she had fashioned from the lavender silk in his storehouse, she revealed an exquisite hour-glass shape that while not precisely fashionable, appealed blatantly to a man's baser instincts. Nicholas was almost thankful she had the good sense to cover herself when they were alone.

That thought jarred loose the answer to a few questions at the back of his mind. With great care Nicholas offered his arm to the approaching Venus, not lowering his gaze any farther than Eavin's face. He received his reward in the form of a shy smile and the slight relaxation of her grip on his coat sleeve.

He had just discovered the flaw in the Irish witch's defenses, but it was of little matter to him that his guest was afraid of men. He had no wish for another woman to complicate his life. He would use her as she used him, and that would be the extent of it.

But it did make things supremely more pleasant to arrive at the soiree with a vision of loveliness on his arm. Keeping his smug satisfaction to himself, Nicholas solemnly introduced his Irish sister-in-law to their hostess and left her in good hands.

"I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dupré. Nicholas has kept you to himself for too long. It is time that you met some of your neighbors. Come along," said Mrs. Howell.

Eavin reluctantly accepted the guidance of the stately woman who had been introduced as Jeremy's mother when she'd far rather hide. The gown she had hurriedly fashioned clung indecently to her breasts as she walked. She had buried herself in heavy, over-large dresses so long she had forgotten what it felt like to wear anything remotely fashionable. She tried to tell herself no one was staring, but hot gazes scorched her skin as she traversed the room, reminding her of why she'd buried herself in black.

Cursing Nicholas's callous desertion, Eavin nodded to Jeremy's sister Lucinda and the other young girls in her company as she was introduced. She didn't
think she'd ever been that young, she mused as they chattered about the various fashions circulating about the room.
 

It was far too late now to learn how to indulge in idle chatter. She would be an abysmal failure as Jeannette's aunt when the time came to bring her out into society.

Trying not to think such thoughts, Eavin excused herself and drifted through the crowd in search of a place where she could hide for a while. Not intentionally eavesdropping, she couldn't help but hear those snippets of conversation that applied to herself and Nicholas. They seemed to leap out from the general conversation as she walked by.

"... he brought the pirate Lafitte to his mother's birthday ball just last week ..."

She hadn't even known the monster had a mother, but she knew it was Nicholas of whom they spoke when they elbowed each other and grew silent as she drew closer. Expressionless, she wandered on.

"... living with him. It's scandalous. Even Madame Dupré..."

Eavin didn't need to see this couple to know they spoke of her relationship with Nicholas. Proper ladies did not live alone with gentlemen to whom they were not related. Even she knew that. But all she had wanted to be was a nursemaid. Nicholas was the madman who had made her come out in this.

"The blockade would destroy business were it not for the smugglers."

Eavin hesitated behind a potted plant at this piece of conversation. She recognized Jeremy's voice and wondered if Nicholas was with him. It seemed very much like the kind of conversation they had indulged in over the newspapers in the evenings. The men were around the corner from the plant, and she could see little more than their coats.

"Old Nick won't let the British keep the ladies from their laces," an unknown high-pitched voice giggled.

"I heard he's bringing in flour," Jeremy responded in evident disgust with his companion's foolishness.

"Everyone knows the best money in smuggling is in slaves. Where do you think he got his wealth? Do not fool yourself, Howell. Saint-Just and the pirates are as thick as the thieves they are."

"And I suppose now you'll repeat that accursed rumor Reyes is spreading that Nick killed his wife and her child? Perhaps you ought to meet the man sometime instead of talking behind his back."

Jeremy stalked out of the alcove before Eavin had time to step back. They nearly ran into each other. Jeremy swiftly ascertained that she had overheard the conversation. Catching her hand, he led her toward the main crowd of the ballroom.

"Sometimes I think men gossip more than women," he muttered as the music began to swell.

"Gossip is the product of idle minds," Eavin responded absently. Ahead, she could see Nicholas leaning over the hand of a strikingly lovely woman nearly as tall as him.

Jeremy followed her gaze. "The widow Mignon Dubois. They're old friends. Her reputation is as wicked as his." He looked up at Eavin's nervous start and grinned. "My mind is as idle as the next's. I apologize. Would you care to dance, Mrs. Dupré?"

"No, I do not dance, Mr. Howell. I'm sorry. Nicholas insisted that it was time to come out of my blacks, but I cannot bring myself to join in as I should. Would you mind finding me a cup of punch?"

He'd barely left her in the company of Lucinda when Nicholas appeared out of the crowd.

As he made his bow, Eavin wondered that such an aristocratically handsome man could also have the gleam of the devil, but she could see it in his eyes now as he met her disapproving gaze.

"Come now, Mrs. Dupré. I cannot have scandalized you so early in the evening. Lucinda, will you excuse us? Your mother has insisted that I must join the dancing, and I have told her I will only do so with my sister-in-law's approval and accompaniment."

At Eavin's evident horror, Nicholas glanced at her with raised eyebrows. "You object?"

"I cannot," she stated uneasily. "I had not thought you would join the dancing so soon after..." She switched directions at his scowl. "If you must dance, take Lucinda. I will be quite content watching."

Nicholas nodded acknowledgment to Jeremy's blond younger sister, but turned the bulk of his wrath on Eavin. "Jeremy would call me out should I sully Lucinda with my attentions. I have told you before that I am not in the habit of devouring innocent females. I mean only to dance once to meet my obligations. I cannot think that cause for consternation."

For a moment Eavin almost felt a flow of empathy between them, a knowledge of hurt and anger and something else as he waited for her to give him her hand so they might face the crowd together. But then she saw the tightening of his jaw, the dangerous coldness of his eyes, and realized her foolishness in thinking him inclined toward the same vulnerability as she. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "I cannot dance, Nicholas. I am sorry."

He did not look particularly appeased by the apology. "Cannot or will not? Never mind, I shall look elsewhere."

When he turned and walked away, Eavin felt something go out of her, and she had to forcibly draw herself up straight to keep from running after him. But she couldn't dance and she had no right to rely on Nicholas. She would learn to face these people on her own.

On the sidelines later, watching Eavin's hair curl around her face in the heat of the crowded room as she promenaded the perimeter on the arm of Clyde Brown, Nicholas felt a disgust he wasn't certain was for her or for himself. Of course, she belonged with the likes of Clyde Brown. To think just because he had taken her into his household made her something she was not was the work of a fool. She was no more than the child's nursemaid.

But her rejection rankled, and the sight of that petite figure he had just discovered in another man's arms irked him endlessly. She had a woman's body, and every man in the room had noticed it by now. While he had been admiring her sharp tongue and quick intelligence, she had been hiding sultry charms and laughing eyes behind those damned black dresses.
Mon dieu
, but Francine's death must truly have made him blind.

Remembering the child and the closeness of the quarters in which they lived, Nicholas reluctantly admitted that it was better this way. Watching as the crowd near the entrance parted and the flapping of tongues increased, Nicholas found a new object for his irritation.

Reyes was not a tall man, but neither was he particularly old or weak. Only the fact that Reyes's fingers were crippled with rheumatism prevented the old man from challenging Nicholas as his son had. Nicholas could sympathize with the man's plight, but he didn't have to fall victim to his lies.

When the music and dancing reached its natural end, the room suddenly fell quiet. The crowd had formed a pathway between them, and everyone waited expectantly.
 

The Howells rushed to interfere, but Reyes brushed aside his host while Nicholas politely handed his hostess over to her son. He despised scenes like this one, but he wouldn't run from it, either. "Good evening,
señor
, I believe you owe me an apology."

Reyes refused to be put on the defensive. "I believe you owe me your life. An eye for an eye, the Bible says. You will pay, Saint-Just."

"If I had killed your son, Reyes, you can be certain that I would have dumped his rotten carcass on your doorstep. He cost me more than his wretched life was worth."

A gasp went up from those nearest, and whispers formed a wave carrying the insult to the back of the room.

Before Reyes could do more than lift his gloved hand to strike the insolent Frenchman standing before him, Clyde Brown caught his arm and pulled it down.

"Carry your grievances elsewhere, Reyes. This is a respectable private party and no place for fighting."

The men who had arrived in Reyes's company flanked him now, but the older man waved them off with disdain. Narrowed eyes focused only on Nicholas, he performed a curt bow. "A life for a life, Saint-Just. You will pay." With that reminder he turned and stalked out again.

Nicholas turned to find Eavin at his side, her green eyes wide and startled as she followed the old man's path. The face earlier flushed with excitement had paled, and he instinctively pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow. Big eyes turned up to him, and he noticed her lashes were so thick and long as to appear almost velvet against the whiteness of her skin. Then she realized she stared, and the lashes lowered to hide the raw fear in her eyes.

At this sign of her concern, Nicholas felt a jolt of something beyond the icy emptiness that had engulfed him for so long. Softly he said, "I am sorry, Irish. Would you prefer to go now?"

She clenched his arm as she watched the crowd around the Spaniard. "He wouldn't harm Jeannette, would he?"

With a touch of bitterness at this response, Nicholas responded in kind, "No, he wouldn't hurt Jeannette," and holding his shoulders stiffly, he turned and walked away.

Chapter 8

Pacing the hall floor in much the same manner as Nicholas, Eavin repeated all her arguments to herself, reinforcing her courage. She had to talk with him. Christmas was just a month away, and it was a sin to go on as they were. Perhaps Nicholas had surrendered his religion, but she had not. She had not been to confession or mass since Dominic's death, and she had always attended Christmas services. Jeannette must learn her faith sometime. She was too young now, but how would she learn later if neither of the adults in her life attended church?