Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (23 page)

Still, he thought, it isn't guilt that makes
me want to touch her now...

* * *

Devon could scarcely break away from the
mirror, so fascinated was she by her appearance. It was difficult
to believe that she was truly the same girl who had run full tilt
down the winding streets of New London and had stowed away on a
privateer, disguised as a surgeon's mate.

At Raveneau's request, she had left her hair
un-powdered, though she entertained a secret wish to see what the
effect would have been. A girl had appeared to help her dress, and
she arranged Devon's golden-rose hair with skilled hands. It had
been pulled up from her face, but wispy tendrils had been left to
curl across her brow and temples. The rest of her gleaming ringlets
were pinned in expert disarray atop her head.

There was no need for cosmetics. Excitement
made her beautiful, eyes sparkling and skin glowing. The gown fit
as though it had been designed just for her. The bodice hugged her
breasts, flattering them, and Devon thought even the lush Azalea
might cast an envious eye her way. Her tiny waist was accentuated
by the panniers that held her satin and lace skirts out on either
side.

Though she had no jewelry to wear, the gown
seemed enough. She stood before the mirror as she waited for
Raveneau, fingering the heavy satin and frothy lace and turning her
head this way and that, studying the contours of her face and neck.
What a night this will be! she thought, and beamed, closing her
eyes in an effort to contain her joy.

"You are a vision, Devon," a voice said from
the doorway.

She opened her eyes and saw his reflection in
the mirror. "Oh, my!" she gasped. "You look beautiful!"

Raveneau's eyes widened, then he burst out
laughing. Devon turned around and stared at him. She had never
imagined a man could look so magnificent. He wore his raven hair
unpowdered. His shirt and cravat were white as snow against his
dark jaw. His coat of rich forest-green velvet fit like a glove,
outlining broad shoulders and lean hips. Finally, there were white
breeches and stockings and buckled shoes. Devon thought illogically
that she hadn't seen his calves since the day on the
Black
Eagle
when he had sat on the table in his dressing gown.

"Beautiful, eh?" Raveneau repeated
cynically.

"I didn't mean it that way!"

"I know." His harshly cut face softened and
he walked over to her and gave her a gentle, grazing kiss. "Every
man shall envy me tonight."

A sweet current of warmth swept over Devon at
his words, but she knew that, in truth, she would be the envied
one.

* * *

The evening passed quickly, but Devon was so
happy she wished to stop time.

The magnificent new home of the Marquis de
Benet was huge, built of red brick, and recently furnished with
thick imported rugs and Chippendale pieces upholstered in rich
brocades. Candles blazed in crystal or silver chandeliers. Punch
bowls sat on every table and there was every sort of meat, pastry,
and sweetmeat, as well as a variety of shellfish.

The guests ate and drank and laughed and
danced, their jewels and brilliant clothing reflecting the
candlelight. Raveneau kept Devon at his side, and she found that
she had been right; every female present had her eyes trained on
Andre, even the elderly ladies. Raveneau remained slightly amused
by the entire affair. His eyes gleamed with cynical mischief as he
played the part of heroic privateer captain. It was evident to
Devon that no one impressed him in the least, no matter what their
title or the size of their fortune. And it seemed to her that he
was impressed least of all by his own notoriety.

In the ballroom, velvet-garbed musicians
played harpsichord, violins, and harp as the guests moved through
the motions of the minuet. Devon hung back. "I have danced before,
but never like this," she confessed.

Raveneau grinned. "I will teach you."

Her heart sped with happiness as he led her
out the French doors into the moonlit garden, where the music
sounded faintly.

"Don't be nervous," he chided. "It is but a
comical dance,
petite chatte,
and worthy only of your
laughter."

He took her hands in his and she shivered.
Slowly, he showed her the steps, letting her practice while
watching the couples in the ballroom. When she began to move with
more confidence, they danced an entire minuet without stopping.
Devon loved the feeling of their bodies moving in harmony, back and
forth, touching, releasing, turning, bowing. Raveneau's grace was
effortless, though he surely couldn't have had much opportunity to
practice.

After a while the musicians went to have a
glass of punch, while the other guests could be seen returning to
the tables for more refreshment.

"Are you cold?" Raveneau asked.

"No, I'm fine."

"Good. Let us remain here for now."

He led her along a brick walkway, into the
mazelike garden. The breeze was chilly, but Devon didn't notice.
"You don't seem to like those people very well," she remarked.

"I wouldn't put it quite that mildly. Most of
them are totally obscured by artificial layers of social grace and
contrived behavior. I have no patience for it or them."

"Then why did you come tonight?"

"Because Benet is an old friend who,
momentarily mad, seems to aspire to this life." He stopped and
looked down at her. "And I came for you. I thought you might enjoy
it."

Their eyes met and Devon was suddenly seized
by a chill. Her palms grew moist as Raveneau reached out to trace
the line of her throat with a finger. She could feel her breasts
trembling and wondered crazily if he noticed.

"Devon, I—"

"La!
Raveneau!" came a shout from the
ballroom. They looked back to see the marquis outlined against the
light from the French doors. He hastened down the path.

"Where have you been? The women are badgering
me mercilessly, demanding a dance with you. For my sake,
Andre—"

Raveneau sighed sharply. "I hate this,
Jacques, do you know that? These people have the manners of
frogs."

With that, he strode away, leaving Devon with
the marquis, who clucked his tongue and shook his head.
"Zut!
There is not a man alive who would not love to be
Andre. It is as though the women are bees and he is the honey, yet
he behaves as though that were a curse."

Devon smiled, happy to think that Raveneau
might prefer her company to that of the elegant women inside.

"I understand that you have come to Virginia
to find your fiancé!" Benet remarked as they started back to the
ballroom.

"Well, yes."

"A fortunate man. Such devotion as yours is
rare. And I am pleased to find Andre in the role of cavalier. It is
encouraging to discover that he has a—how shall I say it?—a
fatherly, protective side to his character."

Devon froze.

"Mademoiselle Lindsay, you look positively
ill! Are you faint?"

"No, no, I am fine. Just a bit lightheaded
for a moment."

The music had resumed, and through the French
doors Devon spied Raveneau dancing with a tall, stunning young lady
who wore a gown of gold cloth encrusted with jewels. He was
smiling, his eyes gleaming with silvery lights.

"Would you care to dance, mademoiselle?"
Benet inquired cheerfully.

"I don't know... I haven't had much
practice."

"Then it is fortunate that I am here to help.
I am a veritable master of the minuet."

Without another word, he led her inside and
they took their places. At first Devon was too distraught to
concentrate, but after Raveneau glanced in their direction, she
determined to enjoy herself. Her body moved of its own volition.
Benet smiled and she smiled in return, brilliantly.

* * *

By midnight, Devon was confused. She was
piercingly jealous of every woman who danced in Andre's arms. Women
followed him like puppies, but he appeared to be enjoying himself.
After a while Devon's pride came to the fore. She ignored him,
flirting with the men who begged a dance and fetched her pastries
and punch, and enjoying the flattery they lavished upon her.

She was standing in the dining room with a
pompous college official when Raveneau suddenly materialized. "I
trust you are enjoying yourself?" he inquired bitingly.

Devon lifted her chin. "Yes, thank you.
Captain Raveneau, may I introduce Mr. Peabody? He is a member of
the board at William and Mary."

The two men exchanged curt nods.

"I think we should be going," Raveneau
announced. "I
know
you will want to be up at first
light."

Devon shrugged a delicate shoulder and
averted her eyes.

"Miss Lindsay, might I presume to inquire if
you would receive me tomorrow?" Peabody interjected. "I would be
pleased to share tea with you."

Raveneau's jaw tightened. "Miss Lindsay is
unavailable. She is getting married in a few days. Good evening,
sir."

With that, one brown hand gripped Devon's
arm, pulling her along before she could say another word to Mr.
Peabody. Outrage swelled in her throat, but in this sea of curious,
smiling faces all she could do was smile tensely in return. The
marquis tried to discover their reason for leaving so early, but
after the briefest goodnight, Raveneau propelled Devon
outdoors.

She watched him stalk along in the moonlight,
the picture of tremendous power straining to be unleashed. His face
looked positively frightening. Although simmering with anger
herself, Devon had no wish to provoke him into losing control. They
walked the short quarter mile to the Raleigh Tavern, her courage
building all the while.

"Excuse me, Captain Raveneau," Devon said at
last, her tone both frosty and quavering. "I think you owe me an
explanation!"

He stopped and turned to glare down at her,
his eyes blazing like silver stars. "Sweet Devon, I am confused
myself. Just exactly what sort of girl are you?"

Her mouth dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that over a month ago I met an
innocent child who begged me with pathetic sincerity to take her to
Yorktown so that she might be reunited with her one true love. I
have seen little of that true love since then. It might have been a
stranger whom I watched tonight at Benet's.
Dieu!
If not for
your hair, I wouldn't have been able to discern you from every
other simpering coquette of marriageable age!"

"You are the most ill-mannered—"

"And you are avoiding the issue. I think that
I have a right to some answers after wasting so much time on you."
Every word he uttered was like a stinging slap to her face.

"You have not been exactly a model of
propriety yourself!" she cried. "If you desired me to remain pure
of mind and purpose, you should never have robbed me of my
innocence!"

Passersby slowed to stare at them until
Raveneau bent a dangerous look on the eavesdroppers. When he turned
back to Devon, there was a glint of amusement in his expression.
"Women! You all possess the most amazing facility for reshaping the
past. We both know what happened that night. I will not be painted
as the villain!"

Her face flaming, Devon turned and started up
the walkway to the Raleigh. "I do not wish to continue this
discussion."

Behind her, Raveneau arched a black eyebrow
and smiled slightly. He followed Devon inside and up the
stairs.

"Good night," she murmured tensely.

"You
may not wish to continue this
discussion, Devon, dear, but I do."

She tried to ignore him when he followed her
inside and dropped into the rose and cream print chair. Standing
before the mirror, she pulled the pins from her hair, one by one,
and deposited them in a Staffordshire bowl.

"Tell me about your Merlin," Raveneau said at
length.

Devon felt as though he had been putting
needles in her all day, but this one struck a major nerve. The
person who was most confused about her relationship with Morgan was
Devon herself. "You are trying to annoy me!" she nearly shouted.
"And furthermore, I resent your attitude. That ball was
your
idea, not mine, and I didn't notice you flying into a rage when I
was dancing and laughing with
you."

This came nearer to the truth than Raveneau
was willing to admit. "You are skirting the issue once again,
mademoiselle," he rejoined coolly. "There is a monumental
difference between me and the rest of the men at Benet's. I know
your situation; you are safe in my company."

Devon seized on this with glee. "Oh, please!
I wish you might be on hand on my wedding night to explain to
Morgan just how safe I have been in your company!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are we going to have
that discussion again? I would be happy to, at length, if that is
your wish."

Devon began to comb her lavish curls
furiously. "No. I am tired. I wish you would leave."

He propped his legs on the bedframe. "I will
do so just as soon as you tell me about Morgan. I am curious,
especially since I may meet him at last tomorrow."

Devon glared at him but sat down on the edge
of the bed. "There are times when I wish I had never met you," she
hissed.

"Oh, really? You will be relieved to learn
that I harbor that same wish—continually. Now, about Morgan?"

She wondered if that were true. Did Andre
despise her? Inexplicably, tears stung her eyes and a painful lump
swelled in her throat. "Fine. If that is what it will take to get
you to leave my room, then I shall be happy to oblige."

Raveneau smiled like a cat, waiting.

"Morgan and I were inseparable friends almost
since the day we were born. He is sweet and idealistic and always
loved me better than anything in the world. He would have done
whatever I asked—"