Silver Storm (The Raveneau Novels #1) (25 page)

Two excruciating days passed. Devon remained
in her room at the Raleigh Tavern, for propriety's sake, but
Raveneau seemed to take diabolical pleasure in depositing her with
Morgan each morning. He made a great show of leaving to make
wedding arrangements and deflected all of Devon's questions by
insisting that it was to be a surprise.

So she and Morgan passed the time together,
but the intense experiences of the past weeks had changed Devon.
She felt much older, and less a prisoner of her dreams now that she
had tasted their reality.

Morgan had changed, too, but for the worse.
Hardship had exposed his weaknesses, rather than unearthing hidden
strengths. He drank far too much and held his spirits poorly, but
what really worried Devon was his apparent
need
for his ale.
Whenever Raveneau was near, Morgan began to perspire and look for
his mug, and the same held true for any situation that required
forcefulness or quickness of wit. After two days Devon was
horrified to realize that she could scarcely bear to be near him.
Even her old protective instincts toward Morgan had evaporated.

The afternoon of the second day, Devon
persuaded Morgan to take her for a walk on Duke of Gloucester
Street, to the College of William and Mary and back again. She was
trying to separate him from his ale, but their solitude only seemed
to emphasize the distance between them. New London was a painful
subject, Devon was uncomfortable discussing her time at sea with
Andre, and Morgan was equally nervous when she questioned him about
his year in the army. So they talked about Williamsburg, the
surrender, and the likely future of the war. In the past, Devon had
endlessly daydreamed out loud about
their
future, but now
she avoided his every attempt to discuss it. The plans to sail
around the world in their own ship seemed, at best, a cruel joke.
She began to feel half alive, trapped into a fate that she
dreaded.

And then there was Raveneau. She might have
crazily abandoned the proposed wedding to Morgan if not for
Raveneau's involvement. His smile mocked her each time they met;
his supposed concern for the wedding plans grated on her nerves.
Yet in the face of all he had done to get her to Morgan, it seemed
unthinkable that she change her mind.

Now, Morgan held tightly to her arm as they
strolled down Williamsburg's wide thoroughfare, past a colorful
parade of shops, houses, and taverns. The fire-colored trees stood
like torches against the vivid blue sky.

"It's pretty here," Morgan remarked, "but
I've never been to a place that could match autumn in Connecticut.
Gardens or no gardens."

Devon nodded sadly.

"Well, what do you know!" Morgan exclaimed
suddenly. "There's Captain Raveneau now. Shall we hail him?"

"No!" Devon commanded, freezing in her
tracks, her nails digging into Morgan's arm.

Raveneau was across the street, emerging from
a shop which boasted a sign in the shape of a large pink bonnet
above its door. He was not alone. Clinging to his arm and gazing
into his eyes was a beautiful black-haired girl with a pale
magnolia-blossom complexion. She carried a fancy hatbox, and to
Devon's dismay, Raveneau held one as well. He looked dark and
dashing as he laughed at some sally made by his companion.

Jealousy ate at Devon's already tortured
heart, and she fought back tears as she begged Morgan to take her
back to her room.

He complied, and they walked in silence to
the Raleigh Tavern, each alone with private thoughts. When they
arrived, Devon went upstairs and Morgan headed for the taproom. He
drank two large cups of rum punch, his mind whirling madly. He
wanted Devon. His desire kept him up at night and made him sweat
whenever she was near. The fact that the wedding would take place
so soon only heated him further.

Wiping his mouth, Morgan put down a coin to
pay for the rum punch, then stood up. He felt confident and strong.
Unsteadily, he mounted the stairs and by a stroke of luck found the
door open to her chamber. Devon had just set out her water from
that morning and gone back to separate her soiled towels when she
heard footsteps stop in her doorway.

"Morgan! Is something amiss?"

He drank in the sight of her, outlined by the
soft afternoon sunlight that poured through the dormer windows.
Golden lights gleamed in her curls, and her blue eyes were wide
with—was it apprehension?

"No, no, my darling. I simply could not bear
to be away from you." To his own ears he sounded roguish. He
slammed the door shut. "It has occurred to me that I haven't been
forceful enough in our relationship. I know that women often enjoy
that."

Devon, sick at heart, watched him approach
and repressed a wild urge to scream her frustration. Morgan, pale
and sharp-chinned, looked ludicrous as he attempted to swagger
toward her.

"Please... you are being silly. I like you
just as you have always been, and you should know me well enough by
now to realize that I don't want to be forced! Please, I am
tired—"

Devon recoiled as a gust of rum-drenched
breath assailed her nostrils. Abruptly, he wrapped his arms around
her, pressing her near, so that she could feel the revolting
hardness—like a sausage—in his breeches. Devon twisted her head
wildly. "Let me go! I mean it! If you do not release me, I shall
scream!"

Morgan's arms went limp and he stepped back,
staring in confusion. "I... but..."

"I'm sorry, but I simply will not stand for
that. If you love me, you will respect my wishes and keep your
distance!"

* * *

Raveneau strode down the paneled hallway,
candlelit in the evening darkness. He started to open his own door
but turned instead toward Devon's. It was unlikely that she had
already returned from the Market Square Tavern and her supper with
that sallow-faced pup, yet there was always a chance. It seemed an
eternity since he had been alone with her in this chamber.

He knocked. Sensing a presence behind the
door, he knocked again. "Devon? Are you there?"

Raveneau opened the door and peered inside.
Someone lay on the bed, and for one terrible moment he imagined
that it might be Devon and Morgan. Reaching into the hallway, he
pulled a candle from its holder and held it aloft, its flickering
light revealing only one figure on the bed. It was Devon, fully
dressed.

"What is it?" he queried. "Are you ill?"

Crossing the room, he inserted the candle
into a brass holder beside the bed, where it danced eerily over
Devon's tear-stained face.

"I am fine," she choked. "You should not have
come in."

"But why are you here,
petite chatte?
It is barely seven o'clock. Have you quarreled with Morgan?"

"No." She turned away and lay stiffly, her
face shrouded by darkness.

Raveneau stood beside the bed for a minute or
two, staring down at her pensively. Finally he spoke, his voice
harsh. "I have some news that should help to cheer you up. The
wedding is arranged. It will take place here, in the Apollo Room,
tomorrow at two o'clock."

Devon sat up. In the candlelight her face
looked stricken, almost fearful. Blue eyes locked with gray, then
Devon whispered, "Fine."

* * *

Raveneau changed his clothes before leaving
the tavern again. He had arranged to dine with Rebecca, a girl with
whom he had been involved off and on during the past year, but now
he had second thoughts. He wanted to talk to Morgan.

Arriving at the Market Square Tavern, he gave
a stableboy a shilling to take his regrets to Pamela, then went
inside. It was a rowdy establishment, especially since the
surrender at Yorktown, ablaze with light and filled with noisy,
hard-drinking soldiers. Raveneau paused in the taproom, his
slate-colored eyes flicking over the crowd. Smoke hung in the air.
Gabriel Maupin approached with a pewter mug of cold ale, but
Raveneau shook his head.

"You've got your share of women here
tonight," he remarked.

Maupin smiled and winked. "They attract the
soldiers from other taverns. There are one or two real beauties, if
you're of a mind."

"God, no!"

"I thought only to ask! No offense, Captain,
but it seems that even a man like you could have an occasional
unlucky night."

One of Raveneau's black brows slashed down at
an angle, but he said nothing.

"Is there something else you wanted,
then?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I crave a word
with M'sieur Gadwin. Is he in?"

"Yes, but..."

"Merci."

In a few seconds Raveneau had reached
Morgan's door. He lifted his hand to knock but stopped short.
Someone was laughing softly inside. A female. A surge of pure rage
swept over his body and he whispered a string of French
epithets.

Behind the door, Morgan was saying, "Dolly,
you are beautiful! You'll never know how much I need you. Oh...
yes..."

Raveneau knocked sharply. "Gadwin, I would
like a word with you!"

"Who is it?"

"Andre Raveneau." It was all he could do to
refrain from shouting.

"Oh! Wait! I will be right out."

There was a mad scuffling, then the door
opened a few inches to reveal Morgan's chalky face. "A friend of
mine—wounded—is sleeping here tonight. I don't want to disturb
him." He squeezed himself through the opening and into the
hall.

"Perish the thought," Raveneau said. His eyes
traveled over Morgan's half-buttoned breeches and inside-out
shirt.

"I was just—ah—preparing myself for bed."

"I can imagine. However, I have not come here
to discuss your sleeping habits. The wedding plans are firm. The
happy event will take place tomorrow at the Raleigh Tavern, in the
Apollo Room at two o'clock. I will obtain a suit of clothes for you
to wear and will bring it by in the morning. Shall we say nine
o'clock? Perhaps you might spare a moment to take tea with me." His
face darkened dangerously. "There is a matter that I wish to
discuss, but I would not keep you from your bed now."

"Of course," Morgan replied, open-mouthed
with surprise. "Yes. Tea."

"Good evening, then. I am certain you are
anxious to return to your dreams of Devon."

***~~~***

October 24, 1781

Devon had never undressed the night before.
Sitting wide-eyed in the darkness, she had made a clear decision
about her future. Some other girl might be too cowardly to strike
out for herself, she thought repeatedly, but I have never been a
coward. How could I have tortured myself for so long? There is a
simple solution. I will leave this place, and, with luck, I'll
never see Morgan or Andre again.

Watching the moon out her dormer window, she
waited for the dawn to come. Her clothes were assembled, rolled
into a bundle and tied with a strip of lace from an old chemise.
The plan was simple, but it would separate her from Williamsburg
and this horrible coil, and tomorrow's problems of survival seemed
trivial.

Her conscience stung at the thought of taking
the horse Raveneau had purchased in Yorktown, but there was no
other solution. Doubtless he would be furious. And Morgan... Morgan
would be crushed.

There is no other way! her heart cried out,
and, as always, she would follow where it led.

I will go to a new town, she thought, a new
colony, and begin life all over again. I can sew, or work in a
shop, or perhaps I could teach–like Master Hale...

Lulled by the comfort of her dreams, she
tilted her head back against the wing chair and allowed her eyes to
close for a moment. When they opened next, the sun had begun to
rise.

Devon jumped up, but soon realized that only
a miracle would find Raveneau awake at this hour. The past three
mornings had not seen him emerge from his chamber until eight
o'clock. Wearing breeches under her gown so that she might ride
astride if necessary, Devon gathered her lace-bound bundle, slipped
into her pelisse, and propped her farewell letter on the bed.

The hall was cool and still, fragrant with
aromas of the breakfasts being prepared in the huge kitchen. Devon
paused at Raveneau's door only long enough to assure herself that
he was not astir, then tiptoed toward the stairway. From the
landing she could see that the taproom was deserted except for a
flock of servants. Feeling like a criminal, Devon stole down the
stairs, smiling stiffly at the young girls who looked up in
surprise from their cleaning chores.

Just a few more steps, she assured herself.
Holding her bundle under her pelisse, she passed the doorway that
led to the dining room when a familiar voice called out and
paralyzed her legs.

"Well, well! It's Devon! Ah, you young brides
are all alike. Couldn't sleep, eh?"

Sick at heart, she turned her head to find
Raveneau smiling casually at her from a table in the otherwise
empty dining room. He sat with a cup of coffee and the
Virginia
Gazette,
totally at ease, as though it were his custom to take
breakfast at six o’clock in the morning.

"Eh bien,
come and sit down. We will
share the muffins that I smell baking in the kitchen."

Mesmerized by his silvery eyes, she crossed
the room and sat down in the chair that he held out for her. When
she extracted the bundle of clothing, he set it aside as though it
were a loaf of bread, and conversed about her wedding that would
take place that afternoon.

Devon felt nauseous, her senses blunted, yet
when Raveneau put out a bronzed hand to smooth her uncombed curls,
the usual crazy fire shot sparks across her brow.

* * *

By one o'clock, the Apollo Room had been
cleared. Servants bustled about, cleaning the oak and cherry
tables, sweeping the floor, and filling the two huge bowls with
Anthony Hay's tastiest punch. Tantalizing aromas suffused the
entire building as the food which Raveneau himself had chosen was
prepared for the wedding supper.