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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."
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
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."
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
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