Patricia Rice (23 page)

Eavin wrung out the sponge and mercilessly handed it to him. "We wait. As I have waited for days. Your drunken doctor has not seen fit to put in an appearance. Your neighbors have no desire to come any closer. And I did send word, but you didn't see fit to respond. Here, she must be kept cool with this. That is all I know to do."

For the first time Nicholas tore his gaze from the child and lifted it to the woman sitting woodenly in the chair.

He vaguely recollected that Eavin had worn that same dress when last he had seen her. But the lustrous piles of her hair hung now in limp tendrils about her throat, held only by pins she had absently shoved in to keep the strands out of her face. Her eyes were wide and filled with pain against the pallor of her face, and the fear he read in them went straight through his heart and made him want to weep.

This wasn't something that could be confronted with sword and pistol. Nicholas didn't know how to deal with death like this. Pleadingly he clasped the infant in his arms.

"There must be something else. There has to be. Help me."

Too tired to think, Eavin shook her head rather than speak, and the tears spilled over when she saw the despair form in his eyes.

"I cannot combat what I do not understand," she whispered. "I try to keep her from burning up in the fever, and I try to feed her liquids so she does not dry out. More than that I cannot do. Did your mother not get the message? I had hoped she would tell me what to do."

Nicholas stood up and went to the infant's crib, laying her down against the cool sheets and removing her wet gown. "I did not go to my mother's. Send one of the maids up here. I will send someone to look for the physician."

By that, Eavin had to assume he had gone to some other house, to one of those little houses on Rampart perhaps, perhaps to the woman called Labelle. She knew the men of this society often kept their women there, women by whom they frequently had children. She had thought Nicholas would have given up his mistress when he married Francine, but perhaps he thought it was time to renew his acquaintance.

Bowing her head in acceptance of this flaw in Nicholas's nature, Eavin called for Annie. She couldn't struggle with her ambivalent feelings about Nicholas Saint-Just while Jeannette's life lay in danger.
 

Knowing her fears were shared eased the burden. They worked well together, one anticipating the other as Nicholas learned the tedious tasks that had kept his daughter alive this long. The physician still didn't arrive, and Eavin had discarded all the potions and possets as ineffective. There remained only the continuous ritual of bathing and feeding.

* * *

Miles away, in a ballroom glittering with chandeliers and jewels, Jeremy Howell anxiously scanned every new arrival for the one face he needed to see most. He had spent these last months putting his life in order, and he was prepared to proceed with the plans he had made, but first he needed the reassurance that he was doing the right thing.

From behind him, a feminine hand caught his arm, and a whisper of roses breathed around him. "Surely you do not look for the little peasant when your so lovely inamorata awaits?"

Jeremy didn't bother to look at Mignon as the door opened to a crush of new guests. "Your tongue will rot in your mouth one of these days,
madame
," he answered absently.

Mignon laughed. "You do not change,
mon ami
. Neither does Nicholas. You do not truly believe he keeps that lovely peasant for the sake of a child, do you? We have not seen her since he returned to the bayou. He does not bring her to greet your return, that says it all, does it not?"

Jeremy felt his heart freeze over. Giving Mignon a curt bow, he walked away. He would seek other confirmation of that vicious insinuation before he would believe it. One did not bring a mistress to polite houses, Mignon was telling him. Though he believed Nicholas capable of anything, he did not believe Eavin would so lower herself.

* * *

It was late and Eavin had the idle thought that the Howells' ball must be in full swing when she heard the furious shout of a man below followed by frantic knocking. She looked up through bleary eyes at the slamming of a door and cursing. Nicholas didn't even bother to rise from his place beside Jeannette. He merely replaced the old cloth with the new one Eavin handed him.

Eavin grew nervous at the sound of boots running through the hall, followed by the frightened voice of Hattie, the downstairs maid. She glanced at Nicholas, but his jaw was set in grim lines, and the glitter in his eyes was too dangerous to question. Lifting Jeannette's head, she poured a small spoonful of honeyed water between the child's lips.

The boots soon found their way to the stairs, and a familiar voice bellowed upward. "Saint-Just, I know you're back! So help me, if I find you anywhere near Eavin, you'd better have your weapon on you!"

Although his gaze was bleak, a wry smile twisted Nicholas's lips. "Jeremy," he murmured, almost apologetically.

Apparently guided by the light in the nursery, the furious intruder found them almost at the same time as his name was uttered. He stopped short in the doorway when the light of a single candle revealed the tableau inside.

Nicholas lifted the cloth from his daughter's brow and dipped it into the basin of ice water while regarding Jeremy coolly. They had found it easier to take turns holding Jeannette rather than bending over the cradle, and he was well aware that he was kneeling at Eavin's feet, close enough to run his hands up her skirt had that been his inclination. He didn't think any man in his right senses would make that assumption under the circumstances.

Hand shaking, Eavin set the spoon aside and met Jeremy's startled gaze. She hadn't seen him in months, and he looked particularly well tonight, garbed in his finest coat and trousers, his hair neatly barbered and slicked back. She thought she saw pain in his eyes, but there was nothing that she could say.

"It was generous of you to leave your homecoming ball to visit the sick, Howell," Nicholas offered sarcastically from his position on the floor. "Might I inquire as to your haste?"

Struck by guilt, Jeremy entered the room. He didn't have to repeat the rumors that had brought him here. He had made that clear with his abrupt entrance.
 

"My mother was concerned that you hadn't arrived yet. She had heard that there was illness here and she feared Eavin might have fallen victim to it. Newcomers often do."

"Eavin's been here over a year, Howell," Nicholas retorted. "She had the fever last summer and recovered. Unless you know some remedy for infants, I suggest you go back and dally with your betrothed."

Eavin started, but she wasn't certain whether it was from the harshness in Nicholas's voice or the news that Jeremy was betrothed. Her gaze fell to the sleeping infant, and she imagined that Jeannette stirred at the sound of her father's voice.

"The announcement hasn't been made. You are a little premature in your congratulations," Jeremy said sourly. "I am an American, after all, scarcely suitable for the ladies of New Orleans."

By this time, aroused by the alarmed maids, Michael had arrived in the upper hallway. His eyebrows lifted at the sight of two grown men arguing in the nursery over his sister's head, but the infant in Eavin's lap made the scene innocuous enough. He shouldered his way past Jeremy to lay the back of his hand to Jeannette's cheek.

"Poor wee colleen. Have you tried a drop of the bitters in her water? Mam used to swear by it."

Michael's presence defused the situation. He wasn't a tall man like Nicholas, but sturdy with a strong sense of self-assurance. Jeremy looked even more embarrassed that he could have suspected the worst while Eavin's more than competent cousin was in the household. When Michael turned to him with curiosity, Jeremy backed toward the door.

"My mother has a maid who is good with fevers. I'll send her over. Eavin, I'm sorry..."

Eavin nodded farewell. Jeremy had been a pleasant companion, and his protective instincts had won a piece of her heart, but she could see him more clearly now. He wasn't a strong man like Nicholas and Michael. He was nice, and he would make some woman a good husband, but that woman wasn't herself.

"Be careful, Jeremy," she said. "The road is dangerous this time of night. Wait until morning before you send anyone over."

Both Nicholas and Michael looked at her with suspicion, but Jeremy only flushed and bowed and turned away.

Michael's his voice held more command than question. "I'll send up one of the maids to see to the poor wee lassie. It looks as if Eavin could use some sleep."

Not intimidated by Michael's tone, Nicholas merely removed Jeannette from Eavin's arms and stood up. Holding out his hand to Eavin, he spoke to her. "Go get some rest. I'll stay here and tell the maid what to do. You'll do no one any good by working yourself to exhaustion."

"And do you think I'll sleep while Jeannette lies like that?" Eavin asked crossly, rising stiffly. "I've been after seein' to her while the two of you played. Go about your business and leave me to her again."

There wasn't any good argument for that. Irritably, Nicholas shoved a hand through his hair, then glared at Michael. Reaching a decision, he lifted Jeannette to his shoulder and started for the door.

"Suit yourself, but I'm taking her downstairs, where it's cooler and where there's a bed large enough for resting in. Bring her paraphernalia with you if you're coming.

Eavin knew what he meant to do, and although she knew her brother would be shocked at her acquiescence, she hurried to do as Nicholas ordered. It wasn't as if she were a stranger to Nicholas's bedroom. She had practically lived in it while Francine was alive. The master suite was one of the most spacious and comfortable rooms in the house. There was a small bed in the adjoining room where they could take turns lying down. There was room enough for any number of people to turn around without stumbling all over each other like in the nursery. And it was cooler.

Without a word, Michael picked up the basin of water and followed Eavin to the rooms below.

It was nearly dawn before the crisis came. Eavin lay fully clothed across Nicholas's bed, hugging Jeannette to her body as the infant shivered and cried. Nicholas had brought blankets to wrap around her and worriedly paced the floor. Michael fell asleep on the daybed in the adjoining room.

Jeannette's cries turned to whimpers as Eavin pressed her to her breast, hugging her closely and praying to the only God she knew. She could feel the dampness seeping through the layers of blankets, and she prayed more fervently. With a groan of anguish, Nicholas fell down beside them, gathering them both against him until Jeannette was huddled between their bodies, enveloped in their heat. Her shivering slackened, and moments later, she was lying peacefully in Eavin's arms.

Terrified, Eavin tore at the blankets, her fingers searching the tiny face and throat for some sign of life. Hair plastered to her brow with sweat, Jeannette murmured and smiled in her sleep as the blankets fell away.

Eyes swimming with tears, Eavin looked up to meet Nicholas's gaze, only to see him brush a hand at his face and turn away. With the child in between, she couldn't reach out to him, but she had the feeling that he needed a human touch even more than she did.

But she wasn't the one allowed to give it. With his name on her lips, Eavin curled around Jeannette and slept.

Chapter 20

Jeannette's starving wails brought them all to wakefulness at dawn.

The sound was music to Eavin's heart as she reached for the infant. Her hand encountered another, and strong fingers circled hers. She looked up with shock to meet Nicholas's amber eyes staring from a bearded, sleep-bleared face.

She had little time to register his presence before Michael lurched into the doorway.

"Can't you do something for the lass, Eavin?" He staggered to a halt and brushed his eyes as he slowly took in the couple on the bed with the wailing child between them. Suspicion dawned as Eavin curled Jeannette into her arms and rose.

Nicholas stretched his long length over the bed and insolently propped himself against the bed's head before greeting his overseer. With careful regard to the woman at the bed's edge, Nicholas offered Michael an outlet from the impending confrontation. "Welcome to the charms of being a father, Rourke."

True to character, Michael refused the escape. "I'm after thinkin' there's more to these rumors than I gave credit to." His tone was low out of respect for the woman and child, but his black expression was clear enough. "Get your things, Eavin. I'll be takin' you into New Orleans this day."

Eavin started to protest, but Nicholas overrode her words. "And I'm after thinkin',
monsieur"
—he mimicked Michael's furious accents with a new twist of his own— "that I don't need men around me I can't trust. You can stay or go to hell as you choose, O'Flannery, but Eavin stays here."

The use of his real name didn't escape Michael
or
his sister. He whitened a shade as he threw her a furious look, but she could only stare at Nicholas in surprise.

Noting this exchange, Nicholas growled and swung his long legs over the bed's edge. "
Mon dieu
, you are a surly bastard in the mornings. Your sister has not been whispering your secrets in my ear. Did you think me fool enough to hire a man just on her recommendation? Or to throw him out for the same reason? You can believe what you will, but if you're working for me, you'd better have a damned higher opinion of my intelligence."